Happy 1 year in Africa!

Exactly a year ago today, I arrived in South Africa. Crazy to think I’ve been here for so long… at least sometimes. Time has a way of flying by at times and practically coming to a complete halt at others. Let’s just say that the week that the following story took place was so long, it seemed to repeat itself 6 times!

How I became the mother of a 7-year-old boy
(Alternate title: Why NOT to play with children you don’t wish to take home)

It was September 14, Lindsay’s birthday, and the two of us were heading back to Catandica from Chimoio. We got to the chapa (bus) stop around midday and were just waiting for it to leave, when a little street boy came up to the chapa. He was shy but looked familiar—I had seen him around in the city a couple times.
Not really having anything better to do, we played around with him for maybe 20 minutes, making faces at him out the window. For a while, he came and sat in the car, though wasn’t really near us. Time passed, and we grew bored of the game and were distracted. When we finally got on our way to Catandica, I just assumed that he had gotten off himself or that the cobrador (basically, the guy in charge of letting people onto and off the chapa and taking money) had kicked him off.
We stopped to get gas just outside of town, and I noticed that the little boy was sitting in our chapa. I asked the cobrador who he was with and where he was going, but he ignored me. Flash-forward 2.5 hours. We get into Catandica and are ready to make the 30 minute walk back to the school with lots of groceries. Not far into our trip, we stopped for a second, turned around, and the little boy was FOLLOWING US!! When I asked him where he was going, he started bawling. GREAT!
I went and chewed out the cobrador for his irresponsibility, thinking he’d arrange to have the boy taken back on the next chapa headed for Chimoio. Oh no. He said they’d take him the next morning and that we should just take him home with us for the night. Having recently attended an event about child trafficking, I cited that as a reason why he could definitely NOT come home with me and told him that the child was his responsibility because he had so blatantly ignored me earlier. That A-HOLE then turned my same child trafficking argument back on me, saying that I needed to take the boy to the police (thus alleviating the cobrador from responsibility), or people might think we had tried to lure him to come with us.
Took him to the police, who asked questions of both him and us. Through this, we learned that his name is Tino, he’s from Chimoio, is 7 years old, is in 1st or 2nd grade, had never been to Catandica and knew nobody here, and has a father works in the chapa stop, selling CDs. In the same inquisition, I was asked my profession, residence, nationality, marital status… because CLEARLY that is important! They took down the information for our chapa and grudgingly (after asking the boy if he wanted to go stay with us several times and almost being punched in the face) said he’d be sent back tomorrow (Monday) and that the police would take care of him for the night.
Monday morning: I was sitting at home, preparing for my afternoon classes, when I heard loud crying outside my house. Whoever was crying sounded particularly upset, so I looked outside, and TINO was right in front of our house. How he found it, I have no idea, but- GREAT- now the kid who follows strangers onto chapas knows where I live.
He was really upset, so I took him back into town, ready to tear somebody’s head off for being that irresponsible with him.
Got to the police station, and an officer said she had just taken responsibility for him but that he had run away. Thanks, Captain Obvious. Not only did he run away- he ran away to a house he didn’t know THIRTY MINUTES AWAY! Apparently, the asshole (My most sincere apologies for the foul language. I’ve tried to refrain from it thus far, but believe me- I’m still very much censoring my language.) cops from the day before hadn’t told her that he’d followed the American teachers home. Nor had they told her that we provided him with the information about the chapa, so he had yet to be sent home.
Tino didn’t know his father’s phone number (and at my house told me that they hadn’t yet contacted him), though, to her credit, the policewoman told me that she had contacted his school in Chimoio to get his teacher to contact his father. I couldn’t go off on her, when I looked like she was at least somewhat genuinely concerned, so I left him there in her care, with promises that he’d be going home soon.
Wednesday morning: Again, preparing my lessons, Lindsay sees Tino outside our house. Again. Same clothes he’s been wearing since Sunday. This time, however, he had a smile on his face and looked like he wanted to play. Oh HELLLLL no! I will NOT have that little boy thinking that it’s okay for him to come to our house to play around, especially when child trafficking apparently really is an issue here (I’d heard the day before that there had been a kid taken from Tete that same weekend). With what little patience we had left, Lindsay and I dragged Tino back to the villa and to the police station. I really was ready to strangle somebody that day. I spoke to the same lady, who told me he had been transferred to the Acção Social (Social Action) group on Monday, thus relieving her of the blame.
A social action worker was at the police station, so the three of us set out to take Tino back. Tino, however, didn’t like that idea, and refused to walk, crumpling down to his knees. The social worker had just started carrying him when Tino started thrashing and pitching a fit. THEN, he started trying to bite him. I tried holding his head and arms, but he was too out of control. Lindsay took his feet, I took his arms, and we started carrying him the short walk toward the center. He tried to bite my hands several times in that period, so I kept dropping one arm or even both (not that I wanted to hurt him, but I’m pretty sure that a bite from a little boy is something that would almost definitely get super-infected in this country and is thus not something I was willing to risk). He was thrashing and biting, and I’m pretty sure that in the course of that 5-minute walk, I paid my penance for any temper tantrum I ever pitched as a child.
Got him to Acção Social and started yelling at the people there. Like the female cop, they, too, had not received any information about his situation. Didn’t know he had followed us. Didn’t know that he’d been coming to our house. Didn’t know that we had the information for the chapa (so that he could be sent back on it at the expense of that cobrador and so that they would receive some sort of punishment). Didn’t know anything.
As far as I know, he’s been sent back to Chimoio. I stopped by the police station two days later, and they said he was going to be taken back that day (Friday—FIVE days after he followed us here). I feel sorry for him. I can’t imagine what his life must be like if, after playing around with us for 20 minutes, he thinks we’re cool enough to follow 150 kilometers away.
Lessons learned:
-It really IS true that good things don’t always come in the big packages (or however that adage goes). I bet Lindsay never thought she’d be getting a 7-year-old for her birthday!
-BE CAREFUL when playing with kids, especially outside of your village. Adults here don’t normally play with kids. I guess that when he saw two adults playing with him, he thought we really liked him. Not true. I like kids but only those who can be returned to their parents when they get fussy/ need to eat/ need a bath. I can barely take care of myself sometimes- much less a 7-year-old Mozambican boy! Though Lindsay and I get along well, I don’t think we quite envisioned adopting a son as part of our Peace Corps service.
-As sad as it is, child trafficking is apparently a very real thing in Mozambique.
-There is an epic lack of communication, even within the same organization. When we had given the chapa information to the first cops, had spoken to several witnesses, and had even gotten the number to call to track down the chapa, that information was not relayed to anybody, even their fellow cop. And let me tell you, THAT is frustrating. To have that little boy coming to our house and causing trouble all over the villa and know that the cobrador had snuck away from that whole situation like a dirty, filthy rat, just makes me boil.
I’m posting this from Chimoio. Tomorrow, I will get on a chapa to go back to Catandica. If I feel the need to be followed home, maybe I’ll just try for something simple this time, like a puppy.