Time

Our days are full.

Every morning I wake up at 5:30 to begin preparing breakfast and otherwise get ready for the day. For breakfast, I have papas fritas and salad. I skin potatoes and throw them on the skillet, then skin tomatoes and throw them into a bleach bath to kill bacteria along with onions and lettuce. Then, I mix everything along with some oil and vinegar into a bowl and we eat.

Time here is different. Yesterday, I made a comment to my mãe at 7:20 how I was late meeting my friends to walk to class, which started at 7:30. She laughed, saying that it wasn’t a problem. She started work at 7:00. On our first day in Mozambique, one of the Peace Corps staff stopped in the middle of explaining the daily schedule for us. He said, “In the US, your time is decided for you. In Mozambique, time is for us.”

We have hours of class, but they pass quickly. There’s time to snack and chat, but we want more. Every evening, I come home to my mãe and my host sister and we talk about our day as we set the table, eat dinner, and do the dishes.

Things are different here; they are simpler. The people know what matters.

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