Journey to Africa

Was I really going to Africa? Alone? A singular thought acted on just by saying it outloud?

I sat before the travel agent. Jane, my ex-husband's wife; my daughter's step-mother; and now my commerade in my path for peace. We spoke a foreign itinerary of names and places I onced dared to only dream. Mozambique. A world away. There would be multiple flights with layovers, time differences and languages to cross. My hand shook as I wrote the check with no turning back. It was to be my journey.

Amazon.com afforded the Pimsleur method to European Portuguese. I imagined speech of a more tribal content, but was quick to learn that Portugal once occupied this massive country in Africa. A wretched enslavement of the natives who would gain their freedom in 1975. It is questionable if this freedom created independence. The struggle of poverty, education and advancement is far reaching today, thirty four years later.

My trip was scheduled to begin on May 27th 2009. The daunting process of preparation began in January. I sent away for my first passport and once received mailed it off to the Embassy of Mozambique to gain a travel visa. I began the schedule of vaccinations (ie Hepatitis A&B, yellow fever, and tetanus). I was given contemplation to the 4 different types of Malaria meds. Claustophobia, paranoia, and nightmares was on the list of side effects. A hard thing to sign up for, but getting malaria, for sure, far worse. Malarone became my drug of choice, and I am happy to report I felt no ill effect. A pill taken daily, and I remained diligent in upholding the regiment.

January afforded time and space that loomed way out in the distance. Without warning, the months gave way to weeks, days and then, abruptly, a tomorrow. Richie and Haig prepared to drive me to the Comfort Inn near the Portland Jetport on Tuesday, May 26th. My mind was spinning with details and retracing every item in my suitcase. Richie and Haig looked on, tearfully, as we wheeled my luggage up to my room after a dinner at Chile's. How to say good-bye? It felt strange and unchartered. The distance left to travel so magnifiscent and mysterious. We found our words and embraced to settle emotions. And the journey begins....

The wake up call came at 3:45am. I was downstairs and boarding the shuttle in quick time. My heart fluttered in my chest, and there was no way to appease anticipation. I gave myself to the process and knew that time was moment to moment. I would savor every second.

I said good-bye to my suitcase at JFK. It was filled with birthday surprises from Jamie and I for Nia's 24th birthday. Shredded swiss cheese, chocolate brownie torte, the movies Rent and Sister Act 2, to name a few. Precious cargo in the making of a joyful reunion. "See you in Maputo", I quietly regarded to my luggage, myself and the clerk at check-in.

Approaching hour 8 of the 15 hour flight to Johannesburg, I felt my ass bone had drilled a hole in my seat. I sat next to an unfortunately heavily set man who sweat a great deal and incessantly spoke about himself. He would happily receive extra food that I would not consume, and at one point looked on and uncomfortably expressed an unsettled stomach. I closed my eyes, took a deap breath and privately chanted, "This is part of the experience".

A six hour lay over in "Jo Burg" afforded me time to explore every nook and cranny of this massive port. I was in awe over the fact that I was now "in" Africa. Spending US dollars and receiving change in Rand. How international.

My flight to Maputo (the capitol of Mozambique) threw me right into my Pimsleur method. My limited Portuguese would find me deciphering words and breaking down content. Intimidating, at best, and fascinating all the same. As the wheels touched down, my heart soared knowing that my daughter was in reach.

Franco, my Mozambican taxi driver, met me as promised. I was quick to hand over my travels to this English speaking beacon. The language had become a little frightening for me alone. There was no other for me to turn to and say, "What?"....more like "Que?" and then the reply would be lost on my ears. Frantically, searching for words to recognize.

I was expeditiously wheeled out of the airport by a little man who would bypass customs. That turned out to not be an advantage when I was ready to leave the country. It seemed a comfort at the time, however. The drive away from the airport propelled me into the life I was about to bear witness to. Third world...it is all I can say.

Franco pulled up to Hotel Africa and his fluent English, after 12 years in NYC, was crucial in communicating my pick up for 6am the following morning. The 7 hour time difference alluded me as I was able to sleep during Mozambican night on my flights from NY. I was acclimated and ready to get it going.

Nia had arranged for some of the Peace Corp volunteers to get me out of my room and take me out. I had drinks with her friends and, in addition, visiting parents from NJ. It was surreal to have journeyed to Africa and sit in a sidewalk cafe, drink sparkling water and talk about Jersey. I felt and tasted every moment. My senses were on high alert.

The flight to Nampula was met with so much emotion that I found myself crying in intervals. I could only imagine the sight of my daughter. I could only guess how my body would react to the touch of her skin, the moment that her body would hollow against mine, and the joy of this journey would end to a new beginning.

I was told later, that I was so ambitious and steadfast that I looked to be plowing ahead as if I had flown to Nampula a thousand times before. Nia and Jamie would be waving at me from a second floor balcony, but I was blind to everything around me. My vision found me focused straight ahead with intention.

As I wheeled my luggage out the front door of the airport, my eyes struggled to see familiarity. I wondered if two years would make the sight foreign and if I would have instant recognition. And my knees grew weak. It was as instant as turning on a light, and a thunderbolt of emotion struck me deep inside. I hardly remember how I got to her through the crowd. I wept openly and loudly as I held her in my arms. Never too old to be cradled. Never too big to be my baby girl. I couldn't get close enough and I couldn't let go.

From that moment on, I was an infant. Experiencing everything for the very first time. Nothing was typical or commonplace. Every sight, sound, smell, and touch was brand new. I was wide eyed and ravenous. I was drinking it in as if I had been stranded without water. There are few moments in our lives that strike us with so much impact.

We hired a private driver in order to alleviate the doubts and reliability of "African" transportation. With 11 precious days to experience, every moment became important and with purpose.

Ilha is a small island attainable by a bridge that is one lane and literally a car length wide. Very interesting transport in the darkness. Headlights ahead meant to pull over in one of the few side park areas to give way to any oncoming traffic. It was a dance with specific timing. We spent one night and an afternoon walking the boundaries. I was being eased into life in this remote place on earth by the experience of having a flushing toilet.

Nia's boyfriend, who has been nick-named her "lovas" by one of her students, found no akwardness in our meeting. What could have been strange felt habit. Jamie has no pretense or ulterior thoughts. He is true to himself and anyone he meets.

The dirt road to Chocas seemed to be on its way to nowhere. It spanned out mileage of 30K which felt like 100. In Musseril we dropped off Jamie's roommate, Imani , where the safe transport of his new laptop reached completion. I had been carrying this precious cargo for days and felt a relief to know that my mission was a success.

The vision of the latrine was my first glimpse into what was to come. Jamie and Imani's house allowed me insight to the labor intensive nature of what the simplest chore becomes without running water. ie laundry, showering, cooking, doing dishes and even washing your hands.

This reality would be held at bay for a few more days as we loaded back into the car with destination "beach" in Chocas. It felt like being dropped off on a desert island. There was one restaurant with simple fare and several bungalows which one became home.

I broke out the homemade granola, fixings for fondue, and we ate, we napped, we watched Rent, Sister Act 2, footage of filming from Kennett and home, photos of family graduation , anniversary party and memories of Dad and Jane's visit in November. It was relaxing, memorable and filled with reconnection.

Exploration of a Mother's Heart

There is a special and distinct place in a mother's heart. A compartment that grows when our daughters are placed in our arms for the very first time. I was given the opportunity to explore this place inside me. I have been blessed with experience. A discovery of stength that would not be known, if not for the path I walked. I am able to retrace every footstep in the sand. I find the salt of my tears sweet. My joy, immeasurable, just for the knowing of despair.

My Journey to Africa began five years ago when a deafening silence fell between my daughter and I. Words were spoken, yet resounded foreign and indecipherable. Each of us had our own code for pain. Lost to one another's interpretation. Scrambles of words, emotions, tears and frustration. Puzzles of pieces that didn't fit. A deepening pit into darkness that grew with each encounter. And we spiraled and fell without wings.

I don't remember the exact moment that I felt my daughter no longer loved me. And yet, memory allows me the way that it felt. I had believed from conception that biology held a cosmic connection. A life born inside my womb would continue to flourish in open air always in sight. A love that never reached farther than the length of a mother's arms.

The dance of estrangement between mother and child is mysterious and off beat. It is uncoordinated and disconnected. It threatens the nervous system and challenges perception. A mother stomping furiously and frantically to find solid ground realizes her fragility of power. The terrifying reality creeps in. Control beyond our own thoughts and actions does not exist. A paralyzing grip takes hold when you know that sight must become inward and not towards horizons. I fell to earth. My nightmares allowed me to hit the ground, when most wake up seconds before. I became the only person on the planet. Feelings of isolation, self doubt and guilt imprisoned me. I was terrified all the time. I lived for months of tomorrows without reaping the glory of moments. Bottom struck when I found myself face down on hands and knees searching for lies.

The truth finds its way to us whether we want to know it or not. We are given insight to our power for choice. The truth presents us with tremendous opportunity to rejoice in life's simplicity. Moments of grandeur come few and far between when the little things constantly surround us. There is glory in seeing the forest for the trees. It is empowering to capture the journey as a whole and not a specific moment. And therefore accepting that today is our reality. Tomorrow will never come in less than 24 hours.

The honesty of hope and fibers of strength burst from that compartment in my heart. With me or apart from me I knew my love for my daughter. She would always be born of my body and therefore carried with me each and every day. And I gracefully bowed to the process of distancing with love. For a mother it bears a semblance of giving up. Initially riddled with uncertaintly. And then, mercifully, it gives way to recognition. We are powerless to make choices for others. Even our own children.

On May 27th 2009 my five year journey to Africa became the end of this story. I boarded a plane, and another one, and another one. On May 29th I took a 4th and final flight straight into the arms of my child. A loving and most tearful embrace that consisted of old hurt, past doubts, the roar of silence, but mostly with joy of hope. On this vast and foreign continent we were women. We were powerful. We were together.