Ignoring hunches

Tonight I felt horrible about a moment in which I’d lost my temper today—today I typed up a paper João Zeca from church had written for school, as a favor. I did it a bit grudgingly, because I only found out when he brought it over that it was 11 pages long—but I didn’t want to go back on my word, so I did it anyway. When he came to pick it up today, before saying thank you, he asked me if I had been able to make a cover page for it, and as much as I feel embarrassed about it now, I kinda blew up at him, asking him why he didn’t say thank you before anything else, and telling him he needed to learn to be more grateful. Even if I was partly right, I was much harsher in the way I said it than I needed to be, because I was angry—and after he had apologized and thanked me and left, I felt that I should go after him and say I was sorry for reacting so harshly. But I didn’t follow the prompting, and let the moment go. This evening, my embarrassment about this was multiplied over again, as I found out that João Zeca’s mother died Tuesday. He hadn’t even been able to be home when she died—he had been at a leadership training for church (one I had been at, too). When I heard that, I felt like the biggest scum on earth for chewing him out as much as I did when he had the best reason in the world to be a bit out of it and not exactly concentrated on manners at the moment. I felt so petty and spiteful for what I had done, and especially for not following my prompting. It was the second prompting I had not followed in as many days, as last night I had felt a prompting to ask Alan to say a nightly prayer with me (we went to bed about the same time, after everyone else, and I think they had already prayed), and had decided that it would be bothersome and that I wouldn’t. In both cases, I felt a sinking in my stomach knowing that I had ignored the guidance and advice of the Lord—especially in this case, when I had yelled at a good man who’s busy grieving for his mother. I can’t wait to see João Zeca again, because I need to apologize to him—I can’t let this slide, or I don’t know what I’d think of myself.

Manaus temple announcement is official!!!!!

I found out today that it’s official—the Manaus temple has been announced!!!! João, my immediate boss and good buddy here, has a friend that’s a Seventy in Brazil, and he forwarded to João (who then forwarded to me) the email/letter from the First Presidency announcing it.

“We are pleased to announce that a temple will be constructed in Manaus, Brazil. We are confident that this will be a blessing to the many faithful Saints in this and surrounding areas who have had to travel long distances to enjoy the blessings of the temple.”

AMEN!!!! Oh man oh man oh man this makes me soooooo happy—how long so many members in Manaus (and returned missionaries) have been waiting for this!!!!

“We commend the Saints for their devotion and faithfulness, and are thankful for the blessings that will come to them through the construction of this new temple.” Signed, The First Presidency.

Oh man—the more I think about it, and about the specific people I know who will be rejoicing so much at this news and who will make such good use of this temple, the more joy I feel. I can’t WAIT to be there for the dedication!

America's potential for greatness

I read up a lot more on Barack Obama’s campaign today, and watched a couple of segments with him (like his appearance on This Week with George Stephanopoulos and David Letterman), and like has happened several other times as I’ve sat down for a few hours to read his speeches, or his writings, or to research his positions, the more I watched, the more I grew to love this man and be so thankful that he’s around, to run for office and to bring hope for change to this country. He is the first candidate that has inspired real hope of serious change in Washington that I can remember in my lifetime—it feels like what I imagine the atmosphere feeling like around Robert Kennedy in the late 60s, or JFK in the early ones. A feeling of possibility for real statesmanship and reason and understanding in the Oval Office—a feeling of potential for America to become great again. It’s an amazing feeling—I can’t wait for the chance to feel proud of my country and what it is doing in the world again.

Prayer

I listened to Elder Scott’s talk on prayer several times while running around downtown this morning on several work-related errands. It’s amazing how much insight there is to be gained over time about something as simple-seeming as prayer. It seems like these basic principles that are principles of action, like prayer and scripture study, are the principles that there is more to learn about than any other—but it’s the type of learning that can only come with experience. Only experience with prayer can help me come to know my Father and develop a rich and deep relationship with Him—no amount of studying can do that.

Good work days

Today was a work-hard-physically-and-leave-you-feeling-satisfactorily-exhaused-type day—which especially after lying prone on my back with malaria for a good chunk of last week, felt amazing. I was mainly running around town getting the paperwork necessary to print up and bind a whole bunch of copies of the curriculum I wrote, so that all the Care For Life staff (as well as myself) can get copies and be trained in them before I leave. Way satisfying—both to be doing such a last-pillar-of-my-work-here type of thing, and also to be out and about all day in the Mozambican sun on my bike. Mozambique, if nothing else, has instilled in me an eternal love for the bicycle.

It’s been a good day.

Brushing up to theft

Wow—so the last hour or so has been pretty intense. I was just sitting with Eric and Alan on the sofas in our living room and we were talking while I was eating dinner (they’d already eaten, while I was on the phone was Kristy), when we heard the door open behind us. I figured it was one of the Wheelers (the couple from BYU that’s here as interns and are living out back—he’s doing financial audits for Care For Life, and she’s doing data entry), but my back was the to the door and I couldn’t tell. Alan, who was on the sofa facing the door, looked up and didn’t look like he recognized whoever was there—he said, “Tudo bem?”, but the door shut quickly and he and Eric were running out back before I had really processed what was happening. It turns out it was a thief, who then scaled the wall (with broken glass on the top) to the neighbor’s yard while Alan yelled “Mbava!” (thief in local dialect). After hurting himself pretty badly on the glass, the thief made it into the neighbor’s yard, where the neighbor’s guard started fighting with him. Our guard on duty, Carlos, who had been out front, ran around at this point and scaled the wall after him (thankfully not hurting himself too badly). We mainly heard fighting at this point, and then the thief apparently started getting away before some people on the street stopped him. The Wheelers, Alan and I were still in the backyard, not really sure what to do, when Eric ran off to see what was happening, and ran back into the house for rags, as the thief had been caught and handcuffed by Carlos, but was apparently bleeding really bad. So I went out to where everyone was with the thief on the street, in front of the bread store next store, with more people gathering around by the second (as always happens around here). The next few minutes were very tense, as we were trying to get a hold of someone from Care For Life who could come and take the thief to the police station (we were finally able to get a hold of Solomon, who came), while Eric was trying to keep people from further hurting the thief. Theft is very, very socially discriminated against here, which in a sense is a good thing, except for that it also promotes a lot of vigilantism—lots of folks who were gathering around wanted to kill the thief. My heart went out to Eric, who was trying to defend him and keep people from further hurting him—one guy came up, said, “Listen, white, this country’s full of thieves,” and kicked the thief on the ground as hard as he could straight in the face, opening a huge wound on his forehead. We were lucky to keep Eric from starting a fight with the guy right there. Luckily, Solomon came before anything bad happened, and he and Carlos took the thief off to the police station. We’re now locked up inside, a bit jumpy, but safe behind really huge grates and locks. I hope this guy doesn’t have friends who come back later and jump Carlos for revenge, or anything like that. This is the first time this has happened since I’ve been here—it definitely makes you realize your own vulnerability and humanity a lot more.

BEST NEWS EVER

I heard some amazing news today that I’m UBER-CRAZY-EXCITED ABOUT and afraid to believe at the same time, because I haven’t heard it from any official sources—at the same time, though, I’ve heard it from two completely independent unofficial sources, so I have already begun rejoicing. THE MANAUS TEMPLE WAS ANNOUNCED!!!!! I was so excited I ran out into the house looking for someone to hug, and almost toppled poor Alan (the new guy who’ll take care of the volunteers and came here a few weeks early to get things ready for them). I then ran outside, where my buddy Amude was on guard duty, and when I told him the news he knew me well enough to rejoice completely, picking me up and carrying me around on a victory lap of the backyard as I hooted and hollered my lungs out. It was a glorious moment. Oh man—TEMPLE IN MANAUS!!!!!!!! I’ve been waiting for this day ever since I first arrived on my mission—they’ve had the land for that long, and have just been waiting to have enough faithful members to make it worthwhile. I’ve been crossing my fingers every General Conference since I got back, hoping they announce it—AND NOW THEY DID!!

TEMPLE IN MANAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!

Trivial and not-so-trivial debts to padres

I rediscovered how much I really love the Temps and Motown up through around ’70 today. I guess you can thank Dad and all his Hitsville USA CDs for instilling that—ah, where would I be musically without my parents? Not to mention the whole actual-physical-body part.

I was able to DO stuff today!

I got a good chunk of the Portuguese curriculum more fully grammatically refined today, so that I can print it up and take it around to shop for orders for printing it in large numbers tomorrow. I’ve got enough strength that I’m working again! Wooooooooot! I’m excited to get that done. I also got an email back from Joan (my professor who got me here in the first place) today telling me what she thought of it after having read from the beginning through the health sections, and she had very strong praise, which make me glow with pride, coming from her. Really, that made me feel like a million bucks. However a million bucks must feel. Papery, I suppose.

We keep getting new folks by the day around here who are going to be here for three month-ish stints during the summer—thankfully they’re not all staying here, or I would have no bed. I like beds. Hammocks more, but when hammocks lack, I dig beds.

Anyhow, it’s been a productive day! WOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOO!!! I’m not lame anymore!!

Stoned job interviews—Good thing he couldn't ask for a urine sample over the phone

Tonight, I had my second and final interview with South Bronx Charter School, and though I’m still fighting off the final grogginess of my malaria treatment, I think I hid it pretty well and I think it went off pretty nice. This one was with the Executive Director of the school, whereas the last one was with the principal—I’ll admit I like the sound of the principal a lot more (a lot more energetic and dynamic, even over the phone, and a lot more engaging—whereas the Executive Director kinda reminded me of Ben Stine, only not funny). To be honest, I think I’ll probably get called for the job, but if I do, I’d like to find out some more before taking it, because as the school is so new (just established last year) and its website is still pretty basic, there’s a lot I still don’t know about it that I would like to know before joining their team. Anyhow, even the half-stoned Rolf knows how to win friends and influence people! Success!

A Malaria-Induced Vacation

So I've had a little hiatus from blogging, as a couple folks have emailed me about, and the biggest reason is that, since last Friday, I've been slowly getting a worse and worse case of malaria. A pretty bad one, too—I got four little cross-checkmarks on my malaria test, which was apparently bad enough that they said if I wasn't able to keep my pills down, I'd have to be hospitalized. Luckily, I was able to keep my pills down.

As much as I'm very much not dead, and as much as I in a sense feel much more like I've arrived at "true" adopted Mozambicanness, I still wouldn't recommend malaria to anyone anytime soon. It's kinda like the worst symptoms of the flu, for at least a couple days straight. That part's over with, at least (in large part supported by the amazingly kind help of Eric and Solomon, who between them have checked in on me at least once every two hours during the last few days, bringing me anything I might like and not looking at me the way I'd probably look at them if they rolled part of their blanket into a yogurt—really, those two men are saints).

Also on the positive side, one really amazing thing happened, yesterday—I've had some really weird patches of non-lucidity (one in which I apparently asked Eric to bring me some dust to eat), but I've also had some really amazingly clear moments of insight. For example, yesterday while I was reading the Book of Mormon, as much as I've loved Alma 32 for a long time and have some very dear personal associations with it, I felt like it came alive for me as I was studying yesterday, and I almost couldn't put it down. I studied for about an hour and a half, scribbling notes like crazy, and then trying to transcribe and organize them later in something that resembled sanity. It was the most amazing feeling while I was studying—but I'm very curious as to how understandable the end result is. So, Rolf's malaria-driven musings on faith, 1 2 3 go:

Faith gets a bit of a simple-minded bad name these days, to the point where it can start influencing the way even people of faith see their faith. I’ve noticed this in myself—even though I’ve felt a strong dedication to my religious beliefs from a young age, I can think of times when I’ve overemphasized the logic or reasoning behind my beliefs in order to make them feel more justified in certain company.

However, especially what I’ve been studying recently has reinforced strongly to me the truth that not only is faith not just for the simple-minded—but that true faith leads to true knowledge through a path that requires the sacrifice and struggle to help us fully appreciate it.

I started thinking about this while studying Alma 32, especially when I started studying verse 18, in which Alma explains the difference between knowledge and faith. His explanation is simple: knowledge isn’t faith, because “if a man knoweth a thing he hath no cause to believe, for he knoweth it.” This may almost seem like a cheap dismissal of knowledge, but to me it seems more like a dismissal of knowledge easily acquired. When one starts with faith, acting on that faith requires incrementally growing trust—and not blind trust, but thoughtful, informed, analyzed trust, like the kind of trust that you see build incrementally in the children of a good, loving parent, as he or she is consistently there for them. That trust over time is tested, and there is stretching, reflection and struggle—and, in the end, knowledge (to follow the same example, after years of building trust, you not only trust, but know that your mother or father is there for you and loves you). However, that end product of knowledge, without the process that was required to reach it, seems empty—if you know your father is trustworthy, but that knowledge never was tested or proven, will that knowledge lead you to be as loving, loyal and trusting to him as you would be if you had reached that same point by faith? Really, starting at faith seems like the only way to imbue knowledge with the dedication and passion that make it useful. This type of faith seems to me to be the regular starting point not just for the religious person, but for any passionate person in search of truth—in other words, all knowledge in its truest and fullest sense is reached by starting with faith. Seen in this context, it is he that dismisses the faith-driven path of a seeker of truth as the path of a simpleton that seems truly simplistic.

In verse 19, Alma explains how this difficult and struggled path from faith to knowledge demonstrates the love of God for His children: “And now, how much more cursed is he that knoweth the will of God and doeth it not, than he that only believeth, or only hath cause to believe, and falleth into transgression?” Because those who know Divine truth (or some aspect of it) and don’t practice it are more condemned than if they didn’t know it, God has prepared a way so that those who do come to know a portion (or more) of Truth are those who will have already shown their dedication to Him and It through the time and sacrifice they have made to seek It out. These—those who have sacrificed, and struggled, and who value the Truth they have found—these are they who shall be allowed to truly know, because these are they who can be trusted to live It.

Then we get to the famous definition of faith: “faith is not to have a perfect knowledge of things; therefore if ye have faith ye hope for things which are not seen, which are true.” A similar scripture can be found in the Bible, in Hebrews 11:1, where Paul says that faith is “the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” However, Paul’s version lacks something which you see here—a hope for things which are not seen, that are true. Once again, we see reason to cut the tie between Faith and Simple Minds (as much as I love 80s pop): it doesn’t take a stupid or simple person to believe in things that are true. It only takes a sensible one. Also, it’s important to note that neither Paul nor Alma says that this hope is based in nothing concrete—they only say it isn’t based in anything seen. Though somewhat harder to measure objectively, feelings can be quite concrete and identifiable—and when especially powerful, can far outweigh the memory of sights or sounds. Even more appropriate, then, that most personal experiences of faith begin with concrete feelings.

However, once those feelings are felt for the first time, the knowledge is hardly complete. The person in question must “experiment” upon what they have heard and “exercise” (Alma 32:27) their faith—faith is a principle of work, not blind acceptance. And that work is rewarded, with more and more concrete feelings: feelings of swelling, of something sprouting, of the beginnings of growth (Alma 32:30). These feelings may seem small, but they are nonetheless distinct, and can be identified as something good that comes of God. I love the simplicity of Alma’s litmus test in that sense: you can easily identify light and truth, because “whatsoever is light, is good, because it is discernible, therefore ye must know that it is good” (Alma 32:35). You might not be able to take it out and show it, but you can feel it and discern that feeling, which cannot be denied.

However, the process hasn’t stopped here, either. Knowing that something is true is not the same as knowing how and why it is true, steps which must also be taken for knowledge to become full and mature. To stop here would be like stopping after learning that electricity is an energy source, without bothering to learn how it functions or how it can be harnessed or what it can be used for. As Alma puts it, “now behold, after ye have tasted this light is your knowledge perfect? Behold I say unto you, Nay; neither must ye lay aside your faith, for ye have only exercised your faith to plant the seed that ye might try the experiment to know if the seed was good” (Alma 32:35-36). In other words, once it has been discerned, it can’t be abandoned—it must be fed. In that sense, faith is like any other living, organic thing—once you have given birth to it with those first feelings you had, once it has been given the spark of life, it must continually be fed so that it may grow big and strong.

“And behold, as the tree beginneth to grow, ye will say: Let us nourish it with great care, that it may get root, that it may grow up, and bring forth fruit unto us. And now behold, if ye nourish it with much care it will get root, and grow up, and bring forth fruit” (Alma 32:37). And not just fruit, but “a tree springing up unto everlasting life” (Alma 32:41). This is the point at which faith matures. It must still be fed (with great care, no less), just as a mature man must still be fed if he’s expected to keep on being a man, but it has become, through experience and dedicated discipleship, wise and understanding. At this point, your faith becomes more than a means of gaining knowledge, because that knowledge has already been strengthened and confirmed—it has become yours. But at this point, it also becomes a means of work, or an enabling power. Your faith becomes a vehicle of social change. Because you have reached this point of complete knowledge, and because you have reached it through faith, in a way that has made it a precious part of you for which you have sacrificed, your passion for this newly acquired knowledge will drive you to expand it. You will see the fruits of your personal growth not only in yourself, but in the lives of others. This type of faith has no limits—it can grow as much as you’re willing to believe it can. In this perspective, the words of Christ take on a much fuller meaning: “If ye will have faith in me ye shall have power to do whatsoever thing is expedient in me” (Moroni 7:33).

Those I-Have-Arrived Moments

So the power’s gone out again a few times in the last few days (hence no blog yesterday)—something I dig in part because it makes you look for much more immediate ways to occupy yourself, but which is a bit frustrating when it gets to be about that journal-writing time o’ night, and your typing speed is a whole lot faster than your writing speed.

Yesterday had one huge high point when we were visiting in Inhamízua (another of the communities where we work)—Ana Micas, the teacher/coordinator who’s easily had the hardest time learning the interactive methodology that I was sent here partly to teach (FAMA, by ProLiteracy Worldwide), did an amazing job with her class. It was the best I’ve ever seen her teach. I had seriously the biggest high after that—she’s in charge of the health classes, an older lady who’s been a nurse for most of her adult life, and though she knows everything there is to know about all of the most common diseases and maladies here and has an amazing motherly bedside manner when visiting sick people, she is very, very much not a teacher, and I’d almost given up on her learning the teaching techniques we’ve spent a few days a month learning in trainings. But today, man—she was just on. It was amazing. She followed the FAMA steps of discussion, but did so so fluidly you would never guess she was following any sort of pattern or technique. She looked as gracefully in her element as a dolphin going for a morning swim. It really made me feel, especially after all I’d been thinking about the day before, that with all the flaws and fall-backs of what I’ve done here, I have accomplished something. I seriously felt like I had just run a half-marathon, that they-should-make-an-inspirational-poster-of-this-moment feeling. Amazing.

In other cool news, I have a second phone interview with South Bronx Classical (a charter school that I’d interviewed with before) next week with their Executive Director/founder (last time it was with the principal), which will be the deciding point of whether they want me or not. I be pumped.

Big Question Musings

As I was sitting and doing some gospel study in Mungassa today (one of our communities), I was reminded of another visiting day in Mbatwe, when I was studying the story of Joseph and Potiphar’s wife, and while I was Celestino came up to me and asked me what I was doing. When I told him, he asked me to tell him the story I was studying, and so I talked to him a bit about the story and about the principles it teaches of chastity and self-control. I remember him smiling as I did so, and feeling like I’d really communicated something.

It was a nice memory to have in that moment, because all morning I’d been thinking over the Family Preservation Program in my mind, and wondering if this program that I’ve invested a lot of my own energy in really is making a positive difference in the lives of the people in these communities, or if it’s worthwhile in the long run. I’m not sure—because a lot of the things I’ve seen when following up with community members and talking to them seem to indicate that most people are still only changing their behavior because of the incentives they’re receiving, and I’m worried that that behavioral change won’t continue past the time we’re in these communities. I’m worried about the possible negative effects when we pull out after three years. I’ve spent hours worrying about all of these things before, but I think especially as I get close to leaving, I’ve started wondering a lot more reflectively whether this was a project I should have gotten involved with or not. There’s no denying some of the positive effects of what we’re doing, especially the part I’ve been working with most directly, the community classes being taught—there’s no denying that people are learning things in those classes that they might not have known otherwise. But there’s also no way of knowing yet whether the bigger changes we’re seeing now thanks to the program as a whole will be sustainable in the long term. And a lot of anecdotal evidence I’m seeing makes me doubt that it will be.

There’s also no denying the fact that this has been an amazing experience, and that I’ve learned a ton—lots of practical experience working with NGOs, lots of experience training and teaching, lots more experience writing lesson plans and planning out classes and teaching moments, lots of organizational experience as I’ve been Care For Life’s monkey boy. Not to mention all the wonderful experiences I’ve had in the church here, in my calling and in home teaching visits and in other things. And even more so, there are the relationships that I’ve developed with people that I consider dear friends and near-family. But I really don’t feel like my own personal experiences and benefits are enough to say my time here has been worthwhile or not—my purpose for being here is to help Care For Life’s efforts to empower people to change their own lives, and I’m not sure whether I’ve done that. There are so many aspects of the way Care For Life does their work that I absolutely don’t agree with, and that’s made me wonder about the worthwhileness of what I’ve done for them—it’s made me wonder if I’ll ever be completely happy with any development work that I might do that I don’t organize myself. In the end, I’m still not sure—I know I’ve loved my time here, but I’m still not sure if I’ve done all that I could have done to help people here.

As I was thinking about all this sitting in the Mungassa community center, waiting for classes to start, a few things happened that reminded me of what I love about this place, though—first there were a few little kids that came in and started showing off to me, dancing a dance they’re dancing in the children’s club here and singing a few of the children’s club’s songs. Then Chimica, one of my good friends and one of the local leaders in Mungassa, came over to where I was sitting, handing me a few tangerines and sitting down next to me. We sat and chatted and ate tangerines for about a half hour—mainly about buildings in the U.S. (Chimica refused to believe that a building could be a hundred stories tall). Peaceful, good times spent with good people, people that care about me and that I care about—even if the organization I’m working with isn’t all I’d like it to be, I don’t feel like I could rightly go without recognizing amazing blessings like these.

Mozambique, I can see why Bob Dylan wrote a song about you

Today was the first day in a loooooooong time that I’ve been able to be in one of the communities we work in for most of the day (it was Mbatwe), and it reminded me of most of the things I’ll miss most when I have to leave Beira in less than a month.

Around 1 PM, after spending the morning in Mbatwe and then leaving for a bit to take care of some business downtown, I was walking back when I noticed a very mischievous-looking grade schooler walking the same direction I was. He was walking about the same pace, ambling home with his backpack in his hands and bouncing off his knees. So I took my iPod headphones out and said hi. After five minutes had passed and we were best friends (in that trusting, almost-instantaneous way that grown-ups tragically forget how to do), he took me off the road a bit to show me a monkey that lives with a nearby family. After a few minutes of monkey-bonding, we continued on our way to Mbatwe and ran into another friend of his, coming back from a different school. A few adult folk that we passed on our walk looked at us three chatting and smiled—it felt kinda like being a less-malicious-and-musically-inclined pied piper. In the best of ways.

The classes that Care For Life taught and that I oversaw today had all the prototypical aspects that I’ve grown to love so much—dozens of mothers were listening, with their babies wrapped to their backs and staring at me with their still-bulging baby eyes. Dona Maria was there, an amazing old lady who was still making everyone laugh with her not-quite-old-lady-seeming comments from the back of the grass community center. A few other very strong ladies kept speaking up every few minutes, reminding me of what I love and admire about Mozambican women. A little kid that used to be afraid of me and cry whenever he saw me was holding on to one of the wooden pillars of the building and intently spinning around it with that level of focus that seems to be reserved only for three-year-olds and those boat-in-a-bottle-making guys. Kids outside were playing jump rope and running around with their little cars made out of spare wire. A few others were playing soccer with a ball the size of an apple. All of the meetings and classes began and ended with songs (I love the songs here. Why wasn’t I born with a natural gift for harmony? Not fair, I tell you).

After and before the classes, a lot of kids were hanging around the community center, smiling whenever I would look at them and beckoning for me to come play—I tried to resist interrupting the class while it was going, but it’s tough when there are so many smiling little kids to chase around and play airplane with. I love walking up to each of them to shake their hand and hearing them laugh when I shake their arms all up and down and around. I love being called Tio (literally uncle, but used pretty widely as an affectionate title for an adult that’s not related to you). I loved seeing one kid grab another’s hand and try to shake it, saying, “No no no, the white guy does it like this.”

I love my life.

Teach For America is gonna be amazing

Tonight I finished this really, really cool little book that Teach For America has as the first part of its self-training program that they ask you to do before entering the formal training they do starting in June—it’s the retold story of real a TFA elementary school teacher going through her first four years of teaching. And it’s amazing—I mean, yes, I am a total sucker for inspirational teacher stories, and always have been, but part of what made this one so touching is that it’s not a retelling starring Michelle Phieffer or the Boys Don’t Cry girl, even when those are based on true stories. It’s real. The kids who completely turn around their achievement are real. This woman and everything she did is real. I dig things that are real—because they much more vividly lead you to remember real amazing stories from your own life, and are so much more inspiring in terms of showing you what is really possible with a little idealism and genuine love for your fellowman.

It’s interesting that prepping for Teach For America feels a lot like prepping for a mission—not just because of the anxiety or sense of limbo you feel going into any major life change, but because both are hard things that you only do if you want to do them, and both are focused on people. Both are experiences that can be amazing and life-changing for you and those you work with, if you put in the effort to make it so. I think one of the reasons this is on my mind is because I ended up talking online for a while with Hana, the preteen daughter of Marcelo and Edite, one of the families I got closest to on my mission—and like it always is with them, I just got on the biggest high from hearing about how amazingly well they’re all doing, and from giving and feeling once again that level of love that you only feel with family, or those that are family in everything but blood. I can’t wait to get to New York and plunge myself into the twitchy little grade schoolers who I hope will be the newest addition to that group.

I dig relieving society

This afternoon I was the priesthood supervision for a Relief Society activity—the first time I’ve ever seen that happen to a single guy under 25. It was really, really cool, though—it was a rather belated celebration of the anniversary of the Relief Society (March 17^th), and a couple sisters gave amazing talks. One sister talked about equality in marriage, about walking side by side with your husband—someone very, very desperately needed here (though I think the husbands tend to need to hear this more than the wives). One Brazilian sister who’s here with her husband as a missionary said something that I loved, because I feel the same way—she said, “I really admire you Mozambican women. Without you, this country wouldn’t exist.” When you think about all that the women do here, holding up both the family and the family income, it’s amazing to think about the strength and capability of these women. Whoever said women are the weaker sex, aside from being a complete cretin, has never been to Sub-Saharan Africa.

Next week I'm gonna look into the process for getting a walking license

After the time I’ve spent abroad in developing countries, I’ve gotten to the point where I expect a certain amount of bureaucracy when doing just about anything involving the government. But today was a high point of how funny and just plain ridiculous bureaucracy can get. I might’ve found it frustrating if it wasn’t so hilarious.

So a few months after I got here, and after riding my bike a whole lot, I found out that it’s illegal to ride a bike here without a bike-driving license. That’s right, a bike-driving license. I remember laughing the first time I heard that. And mainly because it all seemed so ridiculous, I didn’t really take seriously the idea of getting one for most of my time here. But then, a couple months ago, as much as I’d already gotten most of the use I would get out of my bike, I realized that I wouldn’t feel quite right unless I did my part to “obey, honor, and sustain the law”, and so I started trying to make time for the process to get a bike license. And today, I did it. First I went to the city government building, where I had the usual series of papers to fill out and take to different windows to get stamped and paid for (As anyone in the fam would probably say about now, or anyone else who’s seen Asterix and the Twelve Tasks, “You have to go window 838 to get the pink form, but before that you need to go to window 827 to get the green form in triplicate,” etc etc etc.). I then learned that I had to have two photos, which I actually knew already and had already taken, but left at home—so I had a hour (the driving test was scheduled to start at one in the afternoon, and it was noon) to rush back to my house on the other side of town, grab the photos, and run back. When I got back, about 15 minutes late, I had another form to fill out, and then I was sent to take the test at the Fire Department about 10 blocks away. When I got to the Fire Department, as opposed to seeing what I might have expected to see (a group of people heading off to take the test, which I might have to beg a little to be able to join, having come late), I found about three or four firemen kinda hanging around. When I asked about the test, one of ‘em got up to poke around a bit for me and find out what the process was (something seemed to tell me that this “the test is only offered Friday and Tuesday at one” bit wasn’t exactly a hard and fast rule), and I found out that the guy that gives the bike test is eating lunch. So, after trying to politely decline an offer to just have my papers signed and let me be on my way without taking the test, I sat down to wait for the testing guy.

When he showed up, he kinda reminded me of a 5-foot-one version of George C. Scott in Patton. Very shined shoes, the best pressed uniform you’d ever seen, and a face that said “Those who have attempted to give me crap are buried under the fire truck”. At this point, I gotta say I was pretty curious as to what would be included on this test.

Which is part of what makes the test itself so hilarious. I never once had to get on my bike—the test consisted of four questions, said with the straightest the-toilet-just-blew-up-in-my-face face you’ve ever seen:

Question #1: What is a bicycle?

I mean, c’mon—questions about traffic signs, yielding to cars, whatever, I might have been expecting it. But what is a bicycle?

Question #2: How does a bicycle work?
My answer: Um, your legs give it the power to go?
[Insert I’m-gonna-kill-you pause and stare right here]
Toilet-face-man: With your legs? Don’t you push it with your feet?
Me: Um, aren’t your feet part of your legs?
Toilet-face-man: [Cue look of utter disgust and shaking of head and “Tsk, tsk, tsk”]
Me: OK, yes, that’s exactly what I mean, with the feet.

Question #3: What does it mean to have priority on the road?

Apparently, I soon learned, there are tons of intersections with no stop or yield signs, and when four cars or vehicles meet at one of these, the law dictates that one of them must decide to let everyone else go first, and that that driver will make sure that everyone else crosses in an orderly fashion. So traffic laws here are built on the scientific assumption that there will always be one very kind, patient driver out of every four. ….yes.

Question #4: What is an intersection?
My answer: A place where two roads meet.
Toilet-face-man: Just two?
Me: Um, no I suppose not—a place where two or more roads meet.
Toilet-face-man [said dead serious]: WRONG! [Pause for dramatic effect] …It is the meeting-place of two or more roads.

I had some serious trouble keeping a straight face during this oh-so-thorough examination. Especially when I found out another guy who arrived after me failed on the What-is-a-bicycle question. If anyone is ever looking for any material for a Danny-Kaye-style slapstick comedy, I know a fireman they need to meet.

Remind me never to take a job as a translator

Today was a day of awesomeness. Why? Because I finally finished translating the curriculum I’ve been working on into English. I've had a working draft of it in Portuguese for a while, but as of today, it is available for the whole English-speaking world to see. Today I proofread it again, looked over it, and felt the most satisfied that I’ve felt in months. DUDE! DONE! How awesome is that?? Eric and I watched Muppets from Space to celebrate. It was pure awesomeness.

P.S. If anyone who reads this hasn’t gotten a copy and wants one, I’m looking for all the extra proofreading eyes I can get.

Who knew a high five could mean so much?

I talked to Ryan (the intern that just left a few weeks ago) for a few minutes today, and when I asked him how life back in the States was, he said, “I never know when I’m being funny or not”. That really made me laugh, ‘cause I can totally picture the same thing happening when I get back—one of the things I think I’ll most sincerely miss when I leave here, in terms of just day-to-day personal interaction bits o’ culture, is the way people respond to jokes here. When you make a funny joke, people not only laugh, but they put out their hand for you to slap, high-five-style (though usually down low, so it’d be more of a low-five). I gotta say, funny jokes are a lot more satisfying when followed by some real from-the-gut-laughing and a high-five than they are when followed by the polite smiling and eyebrow-raising we Americans seem to be more fond of. After getting used to big reactions like that, I could easily see myself wondering if people got it if all my jokes brought was the American eyebrow raise. Don't worry Mr. Ryan, I’m gonna try to bring the hand-slap over. We'll start the biggest fad since tight-rolled pants.

Don't telllllllll me, it's not worth dying fooooooooooooor

Solomon told Eric today that he looked like Bryan Adams. A reprise of the Robin Hood love theme was unavoidable.

Why can't we just forget ourselves and go to work?

One thing that’s been making me really sad here recently is to see Gil Vicente, the director of the program I’m writing the curriculum for within Care For Life, playing a whole bunch of power games against Solomon, who’s the national director of the organization (i.e. Gil’s boss). Gil interviewed for the big boss job at the same time as Solomon, has more experience in NGOs than Solomon, and is older than Solomon, and I think is very jealous that he didn’t get the national director job, because he keeps talking bad about Solomon and pointing out his faults and errors behind his back, and doing all kinds of really stupid power play things that really make me frustrated and mad, especially since these types of things are exactly what messed up and effectively paralyzed Care For Life back when Augusto was here doing the exact same thing with João. It’s really sad to see this type of fight-for-the-big-dog-spot ego crap happen, especially in a non-profit organization like this that targets helping disadvantaged people empower themselves—I mean it really blows my mind, how could you go into this kind of work to advance your own ego? If that’s what you want to do, why couldn’t you go into business or something, where at least that dog-eat-dog crap seems more fitting? It’s really sad to me—like when you see people coming into the Church here for the same reasons, not because they really feel like they have found the LDS Church as a means to draw closer to God, but because they see it as a big rich American organization with benefits to offer. I talked to Solomon about this for a while this afternoon, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Gil Vicente leaves Care For Life in the next little bit—whatever the chosen solution is, I really hope to not see or hear about Care For Life going through the same time-wasting internal power politics that were such a waste when I got here.

Rolf Digs Animals

So Friday morning, Eric, the Hobsons and I left Beira early to go to Goronghosa National Park, the biggest safari park in Mozambique. We actually went past Goronghosa (the city and the park), trying to get to another town further north where one of the Hobsons’ missionaries from Cape Verde is going to school and studying to be a teacher (she’s the only one of their Mozambican missionaries that they hadn’t had a chance to see yet during their time here). We didn’t make it the whole way—we made it to a city a few hours away and needed gas, not having stopped because we hadn’t seen any gas stations, not realizing that the collections of yellow plastic buckets that you’d often see with a guy sitting on them were, in fact, the local gas stations. We finally stopped at one of these to fill our tank (basically, pouring gas from one of the buckets into a siphon made from an old two-liter into our gas tank)—I also bought some honey in an old 20-ouncer that a kid was selling on the side of the road. Way tasty. Unfortunately the gas wasn’t quite as good as the honey, and we ended up having car trouble and were lucky to make it back to Goronghosa (the city outside the park, with the same name), where we got it fixed. The saddest part was that we weren’t able to see the Hobsons’ missionary—but we were all mainly grateful that we weren’t stuck with a broken-down car by the side of the road in the middle of REALLY-nowhere, Mozambique. So we headed to the park, and by the time we got into the park and the camp, it was dark, and the Hobsons were pretty tired from all the trouble, so we called it a night.

And yesterday was our big safari day! Well, very-fun-even-if-not-big safari day. We did a lot of driving around, and saw a fair amount of cool animals, interspersed by extended periods of grass-watching. It was really fun, though, kidding aside—especially just for the chance to chat with the Hobsons and Eric the whole time, who are all people I love and love talking to, made even cooler by being in such a peaceful, beautiful place, and seeing a number of God’s most beautiful creatures. I think I would be bored out of my mind to be on the staff here, and I think I could live the rest of my life happily without even going on another safari, but it’s been a very nice thing to do once. If there were a way to do it not in a car, hiking or biking or something, I think I’d love it. Too bad that with lions and elephants and hippos and all that might be, y’know, fatal.

We didn’t see any elephants or lions or leopards—we did see a hippo from way far away, a couple small different types o’ cats, and tons of various and very pretty gazelle-related things and very amusing-looking warthogs. At one point on one of the roads, Brother Hobson saw a few piles of elephant dung and got very, very excited. Once he ran over it and got very excited when it squished, going, “Ooo, look it’s fresh!” It was kinda hard not to laugh. Later we went on a night drive after dark, led by some of the two of the park guides (a Zimbabwean blonde surfer-ish dude and a Mozambican girl), who had a series of rather amusing old-married-couple-with-only-one-remote-control-type spats over who held the floodlight. During the course of the whole day, a number of times I felt impressed by the sheer beauty of the place, which is a very lush and pretty green place—it made me think of the Creation (we actually had a really interesting conversation in the car in this sense about the endowment ceremony), and our stewardship over the earth. For the first time, my mind made a connection between that stewardship and D&C 121:39—“We have learned by sad experience that it is the nature and disposition of almost all men, as soon as they get a little authority, as they suppose, they will immediately begin to exercise unrighteous dominion.” In that context, it suddenly made so much more sense way people feel so free to exploit the environment—because our natural impulse in any situation of power, if we do not control ourselves, is to exercise unrighteous dominion. It’s a depressing realization, but it makes a ton of sense—and helps as a reminder of my need to keep tabs on the natural man within myself.

We took a break in the middle of the day, while the Hobsons rested a bit, I read my scriptures, and Eric wandered around a bit. I was wondering where he was until I turned my head a bit while reading, and saw him out of the corner of my eye near a building that some local workers were knocking down. He had asked for one of the hammers, and was taking a turn knocking down one of the walls himself. I couldn’t help thinking that that is the epitome of Eric: looking around until he finds some way to do something and help. I love that guy.

Today we took our time getting up at Goronghosa, as we weren’t in much of a hurry, and after eating a small breakfast and packing up and such, we headed out on our way home. We talked a bit to Mario, the sculptor who makes the stuff for the gift shop, who I had talked to a bit the night before and become friends with—my only regret about meeting new good people and sharing experiences with them is when you realize you have to leave and you can feel that the person will miss having you to talk to, even if you barely knew each other. That’s how I felt this morning.

Before we left the grounds, we went to a lookout spot called Bué Maria (which means “Blessed Maria” in Sena—like Bua Jesu in the traditional evangelical song we sing a lot at work). It was a really pretty spot, and one thing I liked even more on the drive back from it is that we stopped at this overgrown old chapel on the side of the road. Eric and I tried to look around inside, and it was a bit hard, as it was really grown over, but as we were leaving, I felt an impression to go back inside and say a prayer, to simply give thanks for the chance to spend, on the Lord’s day, at least some of my time in a house dedicated to His name. As I said that prayer, and really felt that gratitude to be where I was, a feeling of peace and comfort and warmth came over me. I’d been anxious since yesterday about the issue of staying overnight at the park into Sunday, not being able to go to church, and having to pay people to work on the Sabbath day. But as I stood in that overgrown old church and prayed, I felt the most comforting peace and warmth in my chest—it felt like the Lord was telling me, “It’s okay. You’re okay.” Moments like these remind me of why people give so many thanks and sing so many praises for the comfort and, specifically, the peace of the gospel. I felt that peace today.

On the drive back, we had some great conversations—really, at least half of what’s made the whole weekend great have been the conversations we’ve had in the car. It’s really reminded me of the long and thoughtful conversations my family would have on our summer month-long car trips to visit family out West. This weekend we talked about race, social class, cross-cultural issues, Cheney speaking at graduation, tons of things. I was reminded of family, and that made it all the more awesome. Like life. Life is awesome.

The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away

This afternoon a girl who started working with Care For Life on Monday, and who no-one knew was pregnant, started suffering while walking around in Mungassa (the village we were visiting today) and had a miscarriage. I had gone to the morning meeting in Mungassa, but afterwards I had gone back to the office to continue translating the curriculum, and the first word I got of all of this was around 3:30, when Gil Vicente called me telling me what had happened, saying the girl had been rushed to the hospital, but that the fetus was still in Mungassa wrapped up in someone’s backpack, and needed to be taken to the hospital for follow-up tests for the mother. About a half an hour later, after a lot of confusing back and forth about who was out with one of Care For Life’s cars and who could possibly go pick up the other workers in Mungassa and who could take the fetus to the hospital, I found myself speeding to Mungassa in one of Care For Life’s pickups, still stunned by what seemed simultaneously so tragic and so surreal. The woman turned out to be okay, and everyone got to where they needed to be, but as I drove home, especially, I couldn’t get the child off of my mind. As much as the rational part of my brain kept telling me that this was nothing new, and that children all around me in this country die daily from malnutrition and disease, it was as always the sudden proximity to tragedy that now made it all so real. I’ve been thinking a lot about my own future children lately, and as I thought about how it might possibly feel had that lost child been mine, it seemed too painful to even consider. Several people I know here came to mind—Luiza, who can’t be much over 30 and has lost three children. João, the kind old man who was the first Mozambican to feed me lunch, who had lost five. As I thought about these good people, it seemed like the only appropriate response was to let myself be humbled by the capriciousness of death, and realize how much each moment of life is like a fortune in my hands.

Silence is the perfectest herald of joy

I feel like I just need to take a moment, or several moments, or as many moments as I can, to just sit quietly and drink in what a beautiful day this has been. In the last several hours, I have felt overwhelmed with blessings—firstly, there’s this morning. Today was International Labor Day, and Care For Life had a party after the big parade downtown for all of its employees. There wasn’t a stereo around at first (and I wish one hadn’t shown up), so we started by singing some traditional local songs, some religious, some which I had never heard before, all amazing. I caught myself, dancing and singing praises to God in Sena and Ndau, and was just flooded with a feeling of how at home I felt, and how much I love this country. It’s been nearly a year now, and these songs and dances that a year ago had me watching jaw-dropped and wishing I could be a part of them now were a part of me. As the group would open a circle for dancers to enter and strut their stuff, I now felt excited rather than anxious to be pushed in the middle, only to laugh together and clasp hands in congratulations with those around me as I would eventually step out for another to enter. After the songs eventually wore us out to where we could only sit and look satisfied, people started telling jokes and stories and riddles, one jumping up to tell his as soon as another was finished, with each one feeding off of the energy and joy-of-company brought by the last. As I stood up several times to throw out my own, hearing the laughter of these friends that are so dear to me and sitting down with a smile on my own face, I felt at home. I felt that feeling of homeness that you so rarely feel outside of your actual home, that feeling of belonging and love and pure enjoyment of the company of good people that feels like what heaven must feel like.

Then, this afternoon, my good and dear BYU friend Eric arrived, here to work with Care For Life’s family gardens over the summer. It was so good to see him, and it’s so good to have him here—he’s a dear friend and a kindred spirit, and I’m so happy to be able to spend this last month with him before I leave.

Then later this evening, I was reading through some training materials I had been sent by Teach For America, and as I’ve often felt since signing up with them, I felt excited for the chance to learn more about the logistics and practical aspects of effectively teaching disadvantaged groups to overcome their disadvantages in impossible-seeming situations, from a group that draws from such an amazing pool of experience, from thousands of teachers over more than a decade. I was reminded of why, along with a rather visceral desire to give back to the system that helped me become who I am today, I joined Teach For America in the first place. But as I thought about this, I was also struck by a rather unsaid-but-felt sentiment I’ve noticed from most of the TFA people I’ve worked with, which is a sort of unspoken assumption that, in fighting educational inequality, our focus must be in the U.S. Granted, I’m sure that if any of the people who are helping me prepare for TFA were asked to compare educational inequalities in the U.S. to educational inequalities on the international level, especially in developing countries, they would say that Oh yes, of course it’s worse out there. But to recognize that, without doing anything about it—Wendy Kopp (the lady who founded Teach For America’s) has consistently used in her rhetoric the argument that it is a moral imperative for us to provide equal opportunities for all children, everywhere. How could we not want to take something like this well of practical experience and eye-lighting idealism that Teach For America has harnessed and try to use it internationally? I started thinking about the possibilities for Teach For America-type programs in Brazil, in Mozambique, all over the world, with idealists in every country fighting for their children’s rights to equal opportunity, and once again I couldn’t help but feel that fire, but feel blessed, blessed to have my life, to have this time, to have these opportunities to help facilitate or enact change.

Then there is my mother—I was just checking my email, and learned about the amazing effort she’s thrown into something as seemingly unimportant as a dentist’s appointment for me in the weeks that I’ll be home in Austin, and I felt, like I’ve felt so many times, just how much my mom loves me. No son could ask for a more amazing mother.

I think about today, and about my life, and I understand why people invented hymns, as a weak human attempt to try to display their gratitude and their love to God, because I feel like singing. But at the same time, I feel like that wouldn’t be enough—like I said at first, it almost feels like the only appropriate reaction to so many blessings is a reverent silence. Like Shakespeare said, “Silence is the perfectest herald of joy”. Or like Ammon said, “I cannot say the smallest part which I feel.” My cup runneth over. Glory to God in the highest.