A few weeks ago, my org decided to round up the nurse, some activistas, me, and some other colleagues in our pick up truck, and head out to the mato.
What and where is the mato, you ask?
The mato is way out there. Like the boonies, but in Africa. The bush. Not in the town, but the outskirts. Like...you know...far. But we have people there too who need our help. And our activistas work way out there (sometimes 30-40km away) so we had to visit.
On our first stop, we got out of the car with pretty much the entire community watching us. That's the thing about the mato, they don't get many visitors and when people come...its pretty much the only thing happening at the time, so people come out to watch. The nurse, the activista for that area, and I were led to the home of the community leader. We sat at his house, and I was introduced. Afterward, we discussed the situation with people in the community, the people that we knew or suspected of being HIV+, or having terminal illnesses, and the work of the activistas in the community. After our conversation, we came outside to about 50 kids playing on the back of the truck and maybe 50 more surrounding it. Laughing and playing. I took a picture, and they all squealed with delight. This went on in each of the bairros we visited. Throngs of children on the truck, completely fascinated. Riding through communities with kids chasing behind. Driving through tall grass, through narrow paths, on a sunny day with big puffy clouds in the sky. Meeting people, who had no clue which language to greet me in...so they just guessed. People who speak Makua (Emakua) usually see me and greet me in Ciyao. People who speak Ciyao usually see me and greet me in Makua. People that know Portuguese just assume (correctly) that I'm not from around here and its best to just stick to Portuguese. We encountered a group of people, and since its customary to greet everyone individually, I got bombarded with 3 different greetings at a time...and left completely confused.
It was all so beautiful.
That is...until we were driving through tall grass and trees and got a flat tire. No one had cell phone service. And we couldn't find the spare. We all got out and a group of kids, like 40, crowded around us (children just appear out of nowhere around here...). I started to think "what if we're stuck here in the mato?? I have no clue where I am, no clue how to get back home, it'll be dark soon, and I'm thirsty!"
I thought about what would happen if I died out there in the mato. In the wilderness. With the grass and trees and mato kids and bugs and goats. Stupid me for not bringing water. I had some mandioca and sugar cane. That was it. And I don't even like sugar cane, but if I have to chew it to stay alive, I will...
While I was going off into a paranoid rant in my mind, they found the spare. And we all sat around: me, the nurse, the activistas, and the crowd of children, while the driver changed the tire. Things were well, we all piled back in the car, and I didn't die in the mato.
A happy ending.
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