I notice that I am not afraid anymore.

I have spent seven weeks here in Maputo. This coming Monday I was supposed to fly back to Europe. I have changed that flight now.

I used to be scared all the time in traffic here. Granted, I am a person who normally is scared while riding in cars. But here everything just seemed too intense and fast, on the wrong side for me, unintelligeble. Now I have been biking here for a month and I understand the flow better. I find my place and I recognize the way people watch out for each other. Watch out for me. All is falling into place, and I am falling into the flow. And today while riding home in the chapa, the local minibus, I felt no fear but only strong admiration for the knowing hands and feet of the driver as he conducted his beat-up veichle through the busy streets riddled with potholes. I was relaxed, knowing that if death or damage is to come for me, there is nothing I can do about it anyway. Better not stress about it.

I have willingly opened up to change and I have enjoyed neuroplasticity. There is a lot to learn for me here, a lot to take in. Here, bodies are becoming with place in a different way. Shit is more real. As I lean forward to wash my clothes, I realize my back is not strong enough, and my hands are clumsy as I wring the cloth. I cannot cut the onion like the locals do, nor cook the rice. I am like a child again and I am taught. Slowly, I am becoming with the place.

…

(This story told in pictues.)