theres so much i miss about our small house in sofala county. i miss the quiet and the noise, the silent, swallowing black when the electricity goes and the happy explosion of neighborhood cheer when it returns.

weeks ago, we celebrated the fourth of july with stripes and chocolate shakes in a portuguese restaurant named 'clube nautico'. afterwards, we walked on the beach and talked about the importance of travel, of absorbing new ideas and experiencing both the intriguing differences and unifying similarities of people throughout the world.

silva & friends, playing in front of our small white house. rosa hung the laundry and i loaded film, hoping to capture the feeling of the moment, the delicious happy simplicity of the afternoon.

“If while washing the dishes, we think only of the cup of tea that awaits us, thus hurrying to get the dishes out of the way as if they were a nuisance, then we are not ‘washing the dishes to wash the dishes.’ What’s more, we are not alive during the time we are washing to dishes. In fact we are completely incapable of realizing the miracle of life while standing at the sink. If we can’t wash the dishes, chances are we won’t be able to drink our tea either. While drinking the cup of tea, we will only be thinking of other things, barely aware of the cup in our hands. Thus we are sucked away into the future —and we incapable of actually living one minute of life.”

The Miracle of Mindfulness: A Manuel on Meditation
Thich Nhat Hanh

 

 

rio savanne, sofala county, mozambique

the market, a maze of wooden posts secured together with reed ties and old shoelaces. the air is thick with the smell of deep-fried dough, rotting garbage, citrus and alcohol. women sit on mats and sell peanuts, dried fish, bananas, avocados, pumpkins, bread. their children cry or play nearby, returning every few minutes to drink from someone's breast or eat a tangerine. men linger in groups and drink colorless liquor from plastic pouches. some sell assorted silverware or american films, another sits behind an ancient sewing machine surrounded by scraps of fading fabric. 'amiga, amiga!', a woman setting tomatoes and garlic calls across a narrow, crowded path. i smile and call back, 'amanha!'.