Mo's Blog

So okay, dear reader, we've danced this dance before: I start blogging, disappear for months on end, only to reappear full of new life. I blog a few more times, then disappear again. The cynics among you are no doubt thinking "here we go again!" For shame! Have you no faith? I'm back, really. For good! Oh fine, I'll admit that even I'm having a little trouble believing that

So where have I been, you might wonder? Well, I disappeared in February 2007 because we became pregnant again. Being pregnant the 2nd time was exhausting! It was tiring the 1st time, too, I suppose, but I don't remember. All I know is that this time around, with a toddler in tow, I basically sleep-walked the entire 9 months. Blogging did not rank highly on my "to-do" list! So I have returned, unrepentant for being gone, but nevertheless glad to be back.

I would blog about our beautiful son Thabo's arrival, but hubby Scott already beat me to it by a mere 8 months! Check out Baby Thabo Arrives Note the part where he says he will always listen to me from now on...music to my ears, that! Suffice it to say that November 19, 2007 was a phenomenal day for us

So yes, I'm back. Wiser, this time, and less hasty about making foolish promises. No daily blog updates from me, I tell you! But I am going to blog regularly -- and for those that read Scott's blog, I'm talking "regularly" by common-man standards, not super-geek ones

I thought hard about what to blog about for this "je reviens" entry. There's lots to say about putting my career on hold while I enjoy time at home with my boys. There's the ever-interesting marriage and family dynamics. There's money. But ultimately, as a parent it had to be about the kids.

A few months ago Zenzo, now an old man at over 2-and-a-half, became ill. It started out fairly harmlessly, a little throwing up, an upset stomach. He goes to school 3 mornings a week, so he picks up all sorts of bugs there - joy. So we weren't unduly alarmed when he became sick. But then the illness progressed, and after 2 full days of keeping nothing down (not even a small sip of water) it became evident after talking to his pediatrician that it was time to head to the ER. Every parent knows the anxiety that goes with this trip. Should we have gone in earlier? What if it's spread and become incurable while we waited at home? What if he picks up other bugs while we're there? Will they keep us overnight? If they do, should one of us go back to be with the baby, or just let him keep sleeping at his aunt's? The questions are endless, as is the second-guessing.

We got to the ER and were seen fairly quickly, thank God. There's nothing worse than having to wait hours to be seen when you have a sick child! The chap on duty was pleasant enough, and seemed to know what he was about. He confirmed that Zenzo was dehydrated, and recommended that he be given an anti-nausea pill, and also be put on an IV. I cannot describe the dread that filled my heart when I heard that! My family is notorious for having hard-to-find veins, and after 2 days of drinking and eating almost nothing I could only imagine how tough it would be to find Z's. We promptly mentioned this to the Doc and the nurses, who of course told us it would be fine, they were trained at this, etc, etc. Scott and I looked at each other, but what could we do? You hate to be that parent that thinks you know better than the professionals, and yet in some instances, you really do.

There have not been many moments thus far as a parent that I have wanted to kill someone with my bare hands. I like to think of myself as a fairly educated, rational type. Reasonable people do not maim doctors and nurses who are trying to help their kids. But in the interest of full disclosure I must admit to having some troubling thoughts that day. Zenzo's screams could be heard miles away, and the wrenching "don't let them hurt me, mommy!" gave me nightmares for days. There I sat, trying to convince my son that they knew what they were doing (while secretly wanting to punch them for the pain they were causing him as they kept poking him unsuccessfully), and still I asked him to be brave. I'd heard parents talk of wanting to trade places with their kids, of wanting to be the ones subjected to the pain, not their kids...I got it that day. After failing - twice - to find his veins Scott finally called a halt. Everyone was apologetic, couldn't believe how hard his veins were to find, did we want them to bring in the specialist team so they could try his feet, etc...no, we were done.

I learned a lot that day about endurance. Trust. Faith. Humility. I am in awe of my son. Sobbing and screaming through it all, he would have stayed there because he trusted us. Mommy and daddy said the doc and nurses knew what they were doing, so even though it hurt he would have endured. I am in awe of Scott, too, who made the hard call and ended the misery. A tough night, for sure.

As you've probably guessed, Zenzo soon got over the bug, and the weight he had lost came back. For the longest time I couldn't even talk about this incident, that's how traumatized I was. And yet, interestingly enough, Z has not-unhappy memories of that night. Why? Because on the way out the doc gave him a popsicle. Which he promptly threw up 15 minutes later in the car, to be sure! But all he says about going to the hospital that night is that the doctor tried to poke him, but that was okay because he was sorry and gave him a popsicle. Oh, to be a child!

In December 2006 Scott and I took our son (Zenzo) and my in-laws to Tanzania. As you may recall, beloved reader, I am originally from Zimbabwe (Zim). But with all the challenges that Zim is facing my family has slowly left, one member at a time. I now have no immediate family remaining there. And, when you consider that I have 6 siblings, it is quite a testament to the level of brain drain that is happening there. But I digress!

My oldest sister works for the United Nations in Arusha, Tanzania. She took my mother and our youngest sister in, and they have been living with her for the past 4 months. The purpose of our visit to Tanzania was to spend time with them. In fact, my brother, his fiancée and their daughter also came up from South Africa, so the trip became a family reunion.

I have much to reflect on from that visit. The food, the kindness of the people, their way of being – there was much that was impressive. But one thing I observed that stands out in my mind is the notion of “belonging”. Something interesting happens when a person looks like they belong, but in fact does not. I say that because being black allowed me to very quickly and very easily be accepted as a local. The fact that I speak very little kiSwahili, the language spoken there, became secondary. When the locals saw me they saw one of their own, and they treated me as such.

When I went into town, I was left alone. People would greet me politely, and I would greet them back. But other than that, I was free to wander the city at will with absolutely no problems (except for when I had to communicate at length with a local.) My husband and in-laws, on the other hand, had a different experience. You may have noticed that they are white. When people saw them they immediately saw “muzungu” (which I believe translates to “foreigner”, though many assume it means “white person”.) The treatment they received was different from mine, and try though they did they could not blend in and “go unnoticed”. Children begging in the streets would come running as soon as they saw them, and very persistently, too. Likewise, the vendors on the street would come rushing with their wares, hoping that the muzungus would buy something. I was left alone, largely ignored. It was assumed that as a “local” I would have little interest in buying anything from them. In fact, a couple of times I got the distinct impression that the vendors hoped that I would not hinder their potential sales. If I could not help them convince the muzungus I was with that their wares were worthy, would I mind stepping aside and not ruining it for them?! I marveled at that.

Scott is an amateur linguist. In the month we were there he learned more than 200 kiSwahili phrases, all of which he spoke with an uncannily authentic accent. But even though he spoke and understood so much more of the language than I did, he was still treated as a foreigner. And one, it was assumed, who did not speak a word of kiSwahili. I, on the other hand, would often have people holding one-sided conversations with me. I would turn to Scott, and between the 2 of us we often got the gist of what was being said... though I remember a couple of instances when we had absolutely no idea what they were saying whatsoever! But the resistance to the idea that he could speak kiSwahili better than I could remained. Even at the end when we left, some still assumed that I was his translator.

I have come to no conclusions about this concept of belonging. As I continue to learn more about myself, the world and what it means to belong, I am often surprised at how accepting we can be. And yet, conversely, how resistant we can be when others sound like us, but look different…

My cousin once pointed out something I hadn't noticed about Zimbabwean (Zim) society. He said in Zim a person can be promoted to family status. I chuckled at that, but am inclined to agree with him. In truth, a person can go from a stranger to family, it just takes some time.

I was reminded of this because my sister (Chipo) recently went back to Zim and returned full of news about how things are there. She was also kind enough to bring me some tea and music...no doubt fearing that she would never hear the end of it if she came back empty handed! I was explaining to a friend that I was going to visit this sister of mine, and the friend was surprised: as of last week she thought I only had 1 sister in the States (Nqo), why didn't I tell her that other family had arrived? I explained to her that this sister I was talking about is not my biological sister. In fact, she's not related to me at all. However, consistent with the Zim way, we are family because we come from the same place. Having that in common means we look out for each other, and basically treat each other as family.

I like that way of being. The idea of having 2 kinds of family (the ones we are born with and the ones we choose) is a rather neat one. It meant that when I 1st came to the States by myself I found myself surrounded by several "family" members. And if the price to pay for that is having to explain which brother or sister I'm talking about, that's okay with me!

It's a special thing, this concept of the fluid family! Oh, and this cousin of mine I mentioned at the beginning? We're not biologically related, either - his family lived in the same neighborhood as mine for many years, and they were eventually promoted to "cousin" status.

So Scott David had a birthday recently, and the family got together to get him a Wii. Who knew that actually finding one would be such a to-do! We searched high and low in the Portland area, but no luck. (Remind me, didn't this thing come out at the end of last year? So why is it still so hard to find?!) It practically took an act of God but we got him one, just in time for his birthday, too!

I'm actually enjoying the Wii. I had almost given up on trying to understand Scott's toys. Having been through the PS, the XBox, the XBox 360, etc. with him, I had decided that these gadgets were designed for men. And not just ordinary men: engineers! I found them rather clumsy, they weren't intuitive and it just took a lot of work for me to sort of "get it". So I had just about given up. But the Wii is a lot of fun, more so since it gets us moving.

But my reason for this post is to do a little reflection about something that happened to me. Scott had mentioned in passing that he would like more Wii remotes and nunchuks. I happened to be in Salem for a couple of days and I thought "what the heck, I'll look around and see if they have them". I went to a large retailer and of course they were out. But in my infinite wisdom I asked them to call their sister store to see if they had any there: I was in luck. So off I went to the sister store.

I am rather ashamed to admit that when I got to said store and found 2 older women (probably in their 70s) working in the electronics department I groaned silently. I seriously doubted that they would know what I was looking for. In truth I didn't know too much about it myself. I looked around the department, and there in the distance was a male sales assistant who looked to be in his late teens/early 20s. I was so tempted to go to him, even though he was helping someone else and I would have had to wait. To be fair to myself, it wasn't that I thought these ladies were incompetent or unkind - I just didn't think they were into Wiis. But I gave myself a stern talking to. After all, many people have been discriminated against because of their age. Did I want to contribute to that kind of humiliation of others? Am I not a better, kinder person that that? And what if they were the "with it" types, the ones who played the Wii every week-end with their grandkids? So, full of shame, I approached the counter:

Mo: "Hi, I called about some Wii remotes and nunchuks and was told they'd be put aside..."

Saleslady: "You called about some what?"

Mo: "Wii remotes and nunchuks"

Saleslady: "Oh. What are those? Are they related to that new gizmo that came out?"

I'm not going to bother blogging the rest of the conversation. It was painful, probably because it was the blind leading the blind. In the end we did have to find the young salesguy I had 1st contemplated going to. (And no, it wasn't at my insistence! The lady helping me graciously suggested that he'd probably know more about it.) He did, and I was out in minutes. 

I am still noodling on that experience.

So almost 5 months to the day since my last blog entry, I have returned. Did you miss me?

Well yes, it turns out quite a few of my (5!!) readers missed me. Nothing like a little validation to make a gal feel good One of my friends teased "You've really embraced this being an American thing, haven't you? You've become a slacker like the rest of us!" Well, good news: I have returned!

There's lots to blog about, I've decided. And since this is a new year and all, I have returned full of enthusiasm and joie de vivre. After seriously considering dropping my blog I decided, instead, to keep it. I enjoy writing, and I've decided I miss it. No, no - there'll be no crazy commitments here! I'm not promising to do any more than I meant to do before: i.e. blog once a week. The only difference is that I've figured out how to incorporate it into my day. (What's her secret, you wonder? Easy - since we weaned Zenzo my husband Scott David has been putting him to bed, which frees me up for anywhere from 30 mins to an hour-and-a-half each evening.)

So there it is, I'm back! Watch out world, I'm back! Well okay, watch out you family members and friends that still check my blog...but I'm not bitter

And hey, today is Scott David's birthday, so happy birthday to you, Scott David! (Don't even ask why I call him by his 1st and middle name - just accept it and move on 

And on that merry note I say hasta next week

So 8.30 this morning found me sitting in the INS office [I guess technically they now call themselves the CIS office] waiting for my naturalization interview. I had studied and reviewed those civics questions, and by golly I was going to get them all right! [Of course you, dear reader, already know how many House of Representatives there are, right?] I was quite relieved to have the quiz be the 1st part of the process. But a mere 6 questions into it the guy interviewing me was ready to move on to the next part. [You’d better believe I called him on it! We were done with the civics quiz? Already?!] But he said he had what he needed there, so we could move on. And 15 minutes later – about 4 of which he spent making photocopies – we were done. In just 15 minutes it was all over. No drama. No dragging on for hours. No thunder and lightning. Last night I went to bed a Zimbabwean; tonight I’m going to sleep as an American. Wow.


For anyone who’s ever been through an immigration process it is sometimes hard not to feel a little like a second class citizen. Sometimes the treatment given by the staff is less than courteous. Half the time the hours the offices are open are less than ideal. And everything takes FOREVER! So when I finally decided to become a US citizen, I must admit I was expecting the same slow, half-hearted experience. Not so! Less than a month after I sent in my naturalization application I received a letter acknowledging receipt and notifying me that the process would be complete in 6 months. 4 months later – today, in fact - I was sworn in as an American.

I hardly have the words to express the …awe?...that I’m feeling. It’s one thing to talk about becoming an American; it’s another to actually stand there before God and family and swear that I will bear arms to protect the United States if it is asked of me. In that instance I actually paused and had a “MO”ment, it was that surreal. The lady who officiated our swearing-in ceremony said it best: while she is an American by chance, effective today I am an American by choice.



To my husband Scott, a heartfelt and sincere thank you. Our conversations on this topic have gone from: “what are you, nuts?! Why on earth would I want to be a US citizen?!” to today, when I am overwhelmed by the honor that has been bestowed upon me. There is much that doesn’t work in this country, but so much more that does. And how lucky am I, today, to be able to live here freely without having had to be a stow-away in a ship or worse to accomplish it. It is a very special husband who can understand why it was important for me to come to the decision to be a US citizen in my own way, in my own time. So with much love and respect, I tip my hat off to you, Scott!

Dazed and a little punchy, I am off to bed. It was a good day, today was. And so a new chapter in the Mo book opens – Citizen Mo, American By Choice. Ain’t that grand!

Many before me have said that men and women communicate differently. What I didn't realize was just how differently! Scott and I have been married going on 6 years now, and we still struggle with this issue from time to time. Most of the time it's because I give a lot of details, while he is willing to forgo said details and just settle for the minimum info he needs to understand what I'm saying. Where's the fun in that?! I'll ask him how his day was and the response is typically "fine, the usual." And when I try to prod and get a little more out of him I often end up frustrated and annoyed. Honestly, having a root canal is easier - trust me, I'd know!

So the other day I was trying to tell him about something that happened to a friend of mine, let's call her Sue. Our conversation went something like this:

Mo: When I was at Willamette I went to school with Sue. Remember her? You met her at my graduation. She was kinda tall and had long, curly, brown hair. She wore this stunning Malaysian outfit to the ceremony.

Scott: Hmm.

Mo: Yeah, it was really pretty. She actually let me borrow it once. You wouldn't believe the number of compliments I got. I was surprised because I didn't think the color would work on me, but I guess I was mistaken. People loved it.

Scott: Heh.

Mo: Totally. Anyway, I really liked Sue. She and I had to work together on this project once and it was awesome. She was really a life-saver. The group was made up of a bunch of slackers, so she and I basically saved the day. Man, it was hard work! But she was a trooper! A real team player, that Sue.

Scott: Is there a point to this story, and will we get to it today?

Mo: I'm nowhere near the point, I'm just laying the foundation for you. I can't just jump into it, you know! It won't make sense otherwise.

Scott (impatiently): Let me guess - you bumped into her today and she wants you to write her a letter of recommendation? No, she's moving to Portland. Wait, she just had a baby? Am I even warm?

Mo (a little frustrated): No! It's nothing like that. Why can't you just hear me out?

Scott: Because you take too long to get to the point! Why do I need to listen to 15 minutes of background before we get to a 2 minute story?! Just nutshell it for me! Get to the punchline, already!

Mo: And she cried.

As you can imagine, it took Scott another half an hour of apologizing and promising to be a better listener before he got me to tell him about Sue. Who, it turns out, had been crying because she was laid off from her job while in the middle of a divorce.

So fellas, be careful what you ask for! You've got to ask yourself, wouldn't it have been easier for Scott to just listen to me for 10 minutes than the near-hour it ended up costing him?! Besides, just getting to the punchline leaves SO much out, don't you agree?!

So our son Zenzo is going to be 8 months old next week. He's been crawling since he was about 6 months old, which is great! But I'm writing this entry after the fact because I am only now just beginning to feel better about it (it happened a few weeks ago.)

Scott and I pride ourselves on being very good parents. We're quite attentive to the Z man, as well we should be since he's our only child. So when he started crawling we (mainly Scott) did an awesome job of baby-proofing the house. Or so we thought! Up went the cleaning chemicals. We moved any small things he could choke on, and we put restraints on drawers, toilets, etc, etc. At the end of it all, we felt the house was quite baby-proof, so Z could crawl away to his heart's content.

Oh, the best laid plans...! 2 weeks later I was in the shower and Z was crawling around merrily in our bedroom. It is amazing how quickly he learned to move. One day he was rocking back and forth, and the next he was zipping along at a fast crawl! Anyway, I left him crawling around our bedroom because I felt confident we had done due diligence: the house was safe.

I knew there was trouble when I heard total silence. I stuck my head out of the shower and there was Z holding on to the toilet bowl cleaner and the plunger. The one that I had hidden out of his sight, or so I thought! Ack! So much for that premature pat we gave ourselves on the back!

To protect the innocent, I still maintain that neither the plunger nor the toilet bowl cleaner made it into his mouth. But alas, they came dangerously close! To make matters worse, as I was jumping around in a flurry of wet activity he seemed quite amused by my near hysteria, and giggled away in great amusement. I, on the other hand, was not so amused! I dragged him with me into the shower to hose him off (and promptly almost dropped him because he was slippery when wet.) Feeling traumatized and out of sorts, I decided that a nap was in order for me. Thank goodness Scott came by and took the squirmy Zenzo and dressed him.

Ah, parenting! You just gotta love it! [I wonder how much therapy Z'll need because of this little incident?!]