MOZ likely to sunburn

April 30, 2017

My feet have grown accustomed to my 8 am walk to the local farmers market. My tongue has become comfortable twisting and turning to the blend of Portuguese and Moniga words necessary for conversations there. My smile has grown more genuine and my laugh more sincere as I grow closer to the friends that I have made there. Despite this, for weeks now, I had been anticipating my first break from site since I was sworn in as a PCV.

Last week, I had a conference, known as Re-Connect, where the volunteers in my cohort came together to share the struggles and successes of their first trimester of teaching. It was great to see everyone again. I enjoyed celebrating the triumphs and sharing the weight of the defeats. It’s still crazy how individualized each PCV’s experience is even if they are only the next town over or a couple of hours away.

At the end of Re-Connect, my roommate and I (along with about 20 other PCV’s) were joined by our counterparts for a Project Design and Management Conference. This conference was much more informative and taught strategies on how to implement and follow through with projects. I found it personally rewarding to have time outside of our sites to hang out with our counterparts. My favorite part of the weekend was Felecio admitting that his favorite dish at his first experience with Chinese Food was “arroz simples” – “plain rice”.

Upon my return into Pebane, I was greeted by our neighbor with a “Desapareceu” –“You disappeared”. He then began to explain all the mischief his son and daughter had gotten into, how his first trimester grades had turned out, and how work was going for him. I told him about seeing old friends, eating pizza, and my hope for some of the potential secondary projects.

In short, we were catching up as friends do after an extended period away from one another. We talked. We ate boiled peanuts. We sat in silence. I enjoyed every second of being in that moment. I soaked in every second of the first time that Pebane has felt completely like home.

 

P.S. the sentiment was echoed on my first 8am walk to the market, my first classes with my students, and my first visit to see my host family since returning.

P.P.S. I’m excited and equipped to start working on some pretty cool secondary projects.

 

 

March 14, 2017

In Pebane, the “tempo de chuva comenzou” – “the rainy season has begun”. Admittedly, there is probably no correlation, but I choose to find meaning that it aligned so perfectly with my 6-month anniversary of being in Mozambique. (I’ll give you that I’m writing this 6-month reflection 2 weeks late because I feel this pressure to have figured out a lot more about my life.) If you asked any of my friends back home, you would find out that a large reason I chose to volunteer for 2 years was for the almost guaranteed “path to self-enlightenment” that “the Peace Corps Experience” promises. But, having this as a goal has definitely added some pressure to my expectations of this blog.

While writing this reflection, I struggled with what I wanted to convey to you, my home front. My support system. The scintillating faces I look forward to returning to. I understand that my blog isn’t a big time blog, nor am I the next great writer to be discovered. So my target audience is the people back at home that wish to get glimpses into my life, specifically, or, more generally, the life of a Peace Corps Volunteer. And to be honest, that is a lot of pressure for me. I want to highlight the brightest parts of the culture as well as the personal growth I am experiencing in an candid way without inflating or devaluing the experience. I want my blog to pique your literary curiosities, but remain in my laid back voice so it feels like I’m talking to you like any other conversation. You see I’m intimidated because we have some rock star bloggers in Mozambique and especially in my cohort. Sam Moser can describe the most mundane experience as if he were Tolkien writing the fourth undiscovered novel of the Lord of the Rings. Major props to him, cus’ homedog can write! Peter Berquist effortlessly highlights the humor in the most trivial things. I always feel more optimistic after reading his blog posts and I dare you (no I double dog dare you) not to laugh while reading his prose. Go ahead. Try… Paige and Ashley have got identifying, disseminating, and eliciting the emotions that are connected with this experience down to a science.

When compared to these giants (a long with a whole lot more not mentioned), I tussle with myself to find the right words to describe my experience in a way that is relatable and unique to me. Here it goes…

(Side note: I came up with this intro line that I decided not to use because it was really cheesy but I think it demonstrates the feeling of my internal pressure of blogging, which is the only reason why I am including it: “You see, I too, wish to inspire with witty quip or provoking satire, but, often, my obstinate grasp of syntax and my lack of lexicon abandon me with a less than grandiose voice… and that’s all I have, and that’s gonna’ have to do.”)

As I was saying, the “Tempo de chuva comenzou”. It’s clouds have shrouded the sweltering southern-Alabama summer sun which “graciously” found a way to follow me here to Mozambique. Our beach-sand, dirt roads have started soaking up the water. My chacos have started flinging up this wet, beach-sand, dirt-road, dirt so that my calves and the bottom of my gym shorts are always hidden underneath a layer of the Pebane Earth.

I’m settling in. The days have started to become routine. The, once overwhelming, 27-month journey has dwindled down to a much more comfortable 21 months. I’m starting to envision myself planning and executing some new projects for my community. With that in mind, 21 months sometimes seems insufficient. In the grand scheme of community sustainability of projects, only a year and a half is a bit daunting.

The once labor-intensive task of carrying water from the well to my house has become a menial part of my morning schedule. The mental fatigue of carrying out all of my interactions in Portuguese has greatly diminished. I feel confident to talk to strangers. I also feel confident to, temporarily, bypass the people who will only badger me. “Acunha” (white person, foreigner) is a title I have grown to embrace (most of the time), when once I saw it only as a barrier.

If I’m being honest, I still got a ways to go on integration. I thought each day was going to bring with it the “opportunity for new horizons”… I know right… I was over-idealizing this experience a bit… how basic of me… Essentially, I was expecting this experience to be like going to an amusement park. If you’re like me, when you think about going to an amusement park (or better yet Disney World), you only envision yourself on rollercoasters the whole time. You completely leave out the time spent waiting in line, walking from attraction to attraction, or laying on a park bench after a ride because you forgot to take your Dramamine. This was a mistake that I made when thinking about joining the Peace Corps. In Peace Corps, there is a lot of time spent waiting in line or walking from attraction to attraction or being sick from whatever disease you catch here. That’s not to say that some of my favorite memories at Disney World weren’t the conversations with my friends on the way to the next thing, likewise my time in the Peace Corps isn’t just the roller coasters. I’m learning it’s the whole amusement park.

If I’m being honest, a lot of the novelty of the 5 year old children taking care of their 2 year old brothers and sisters or of the women, with absolutely perfect posture, carrying an entire dining set (complete with a table and 4 chairs) pristinely balanced on their heads has worn off. I walk right past it now without a second glance. I think this was really what I wanted all along (though there is absolutely no way you could have convinced me I would have become this routine half a year ago).

I ‘m learning that just being here is often more important than anything you can say (or cant say) in the new language. I’m learning that, often, you have to seek out your own opportunities. I made the mistake that these chances would just hit me in my face because I was new here. Instead, I’ve been challenging myself daily to do things outside of my comfort zone in order to break my routine.

I’m learning to appreciate the solidarity of a solo beach day with my kindle as my lone companion. (I already appreciate being in the company of many people or new people. That has only been reinforced here.) I’m also learning to appreciate the friends where distance isn’t a factor. As time passes, I am having some trouble connecting as effortlessly with some people back home. Life changes. That’s not a bad thing, but it is a thing to consider and to adapt to.

In conclusion, I still get homesick sometimes. I still mess up on the regular in Portuguese. Some days, I’m not as vulnerable as I would like to be with my roommate, my friends and family back home, or with the people of Pebane. Sometimes, I don’t challenge myself and I take the easy way out. But, I am learning to be much more kind to myself; that it’s okay to not tackle all of these problems in the same day. In short, I’m still growing. But, I have already gained a lot while being here. I’ve learned to cook (even if only super basically). I love the people here and I’m happy to continue my growth with them. I feel fulfilled and that I can make a difference (even if it is only small) here. Most importantly, I am still excited about what lies ahead.

 

P.S. Here are the links to the referenced blogs above:

https://lettersfrommozambique.wordpress.com/author/lettersfrommozambique/

https://peterbergquistblog.wordpress.com

https://paigesferrazza.wordpress.com

To the Queen Who Birthed Me

December 27, 2016

While in Mozambique, many PCV’s trade in their white snow for white sand around the holiday season, and this year was to be no different. Since Ari and I have a site very close to the beach, we naturally wanted the ZamBAE’s (PCV’s stationed in the Zambezia province. At least referred to as such by yours truly.) to come celebrate the holidays with us at our site.

We hosted about 10 fellow volunteers in our humble Mozambican abode. It was a refreshing 3 days with a blend of Christmas and Hannukah themes. The weekend was filled with Christmas in July weather, pineapples, friends, hammocking, dirty Santa (I was informed this weekend that other places call it white elephant…. Clearly not from around these parts now are ya…), Michael Buble’s Christmas album, latkas, fishbowl, the Hannukah lighting, mangoes, a makeshift projector (originally intended for Christmas classics, but ultimately used for holiday budget meetings and The Office), wonderful Mozambican hospitality, and, most importantly, a sense of family.

This was my first Christmas not celebrating with my immediate family and I was worried it would be difficult for me. Despite being a good distance away from my own family, I really appreciated the support of all of the volunteers being here. It was relaxing to feel at home rather than homesick. For that, I am very thankful.

 

P.S. Ari and I got a fridge last week. It was my first official purchase as an official Mozambican homeowner. I felt like I was actually adult-ing for the first time.

December 13, 2016

If the epitome of an ideal Peace Corps Service is to plant a tree under whose shade you will never sit, what does it mean if, during your second week of service, you break a papaya tree that’s been providing food to the village for the last 20 years?… … …

… … … … … … …

… … … …

Do I just go home? Should I plant a forest of papaya trees as my penance for undermining the proverbial Peace Corps goal? Any insight that you all could provide would be greatly appreciated.

So now the actual story of what happened. It was a hot Monday afternoon and the thought of napping in my hammock had been tantalizing me all day. I finally conceded and sprung out my hammock and cocooned myself with my pillow in between a papaya tree and a mango tree. I set my alarm for 1 hour and 20 minutes. 20 minutes to fall asleep and a 1-hour nap. Sufficient time to recharge.

Next thing I know, 2 minutes before my alarm was to wake me, I hit the ground and a part of the tree (the smallest of the 4 pieces it broke into) fell on top of my left knee. There was an uproar of laughter on campus which I accredit to two things. 1. The foreigner was using a hammock (something I’m pretty sure very few people from my town have come in contact with) when the tree broke. 2. The foreigner was a soon to be teacher. Imagine your high school professor came tumbling out of a hammock… It would’ve been a contender on AFV, amiright? Essentially, I’m saying, no hard feelings to you students who laughed at me and didn’t rush to my rescue.

I limped inside in shock form the whole experience and unsure of how badly I was injured. I laid down on the couch to rest and to elevate my bruised leg. I asked my roommate to retrieve my hammock. Upon his re-entry, he said, “I guess it’s a good thing you weren’t previously self conscious about your weight or anything.”… … Thanks Ari.

My host mom echoed this sentiment after I recounted the tale to her. She teased, “Meu filho peso muito. Esta a engordar” – “My son weighs a lot. He is getting fatter.”… … Thanks mom.

Thanks a lot support system. You all are too kind. What would I ever do without you. (On the real though, I’m thankful for your help in this endeavor.)

After a check up with the doctor, I know now that nothing was broken. And the swelling around my knee has been steadily declining (accompanied by my self esteem.)

 

Pictured below: The battleground.

 

December 5, 2016

I woke up this morning at my health site mate’s house, since our house was not quite fully prepared when we arrived. We started our day by greeting his neighbor. After he offered us some mangoes to eat, we were on our way to hang out with some ethnomusicologists from the University of Wisconsin. I know… How did I end up in a place with so many Americans, right? I still have no idea. They have some Mozambican friends (Dona Domingus) who live atop a cliff overlooking the Indian Ocean. We went to have lunch there. We took a walk along the beach and bought some lobster to take up to Dona Domingus’s house. After the emotional stress that was my and Ari’s journey yesterday, it was nice to have a picturesque relaxing day at the beach. Not going to lie, this is about the polar opposite of my expectations for a site in Peace Corps Africa. After a great lunch, I accompanied Ellen, the aforementioned ethnomusicologist, to her observation of one of the dance troupes local to our site.

I thought I was there only to observe, but, lo and behold, after I expressed interest in dancing, the women in the dance group wrapped me in capulana immediately and thrust me into the middle of their dance. As an outsider, this style of dance reminded me of an old-school jump rope routine. These women could express themselves with their own unique styles and pacing to the rhythms of the accompanied African hand drumming. (it’s best you see it for yourselves in the video below.) I was very thankful that the women accepted me so willingly into this tradition and shared their culture with me. I was reminded that dance can be something that crosses barriers.

December 4, 2016

After swearing in, each PCV faces the unique challenge that is arriving to site alone for the first time. Here is a brief recap of my adventure for the last 3 days accomplishing this task.

• I flew into our provincial capital after a phone situation nearly made me late to catch my flight out of Maputo.
• I overnighted in a hostel here.
• I had an amazing breakfast with what was on par with a half dozen walmart doughnuts.
• A couple PCVs’ and I hitched a 2.5 hour ride to the next biggest city closest to my roommate and I’s site.
• We stayed the night there waiting for another ride which was promised to take us to site. (Plot twist: it was supposed to be an ambulance.
  • Meanwhile, my roommate and I bought a gas stove top, a gas tank, and several other supplies need to help us open our site.
• After 2 days, we gave up on our ambulance ride and took an open back truck instead.
• After 8 hours on the road in this truck, we arrived at our site at midnight.

Given the list as is, nothing seems really out of the ordinary, right? Let me take a moment to highlight the last bullet point in detail.

Since we couldn’t get a free ride with some friends (which we were hoping for since they would definitely have enough room to fit all of the stuff we were taking to our site), we went to the bus station and serendipitously encountered an open back truck that could carry us accompanied with all of our things. They even drove to our fellow PCV’s house to pick up our cargo. (How sweet of them!) We had to negotiate the price of the ride down a little bit, but nothing too difficult for newly sworn in Peace Corps Volunteers! We were a bit proud to flex our Portuguese language skills, anyways. It’s a bit funny I chose the word pride there, because my momma always taught me that pride cometh before a fall… (Oh how right you were momma…) They loaded all of our stuff into the bed of the truck.

Here marks the beginning of what shall henceforth be known as “The four treacherous trials of the initial journey” – I apologize for the ensuing melodrama.

1. We realize quickly that our seats will be in the bed of the open back truck. (Coming from small-town Alabama, I am no stranger to riding in the back of a truck. During hayrides or on summer nights, it is actually my preferred method of transport.) However, my red neck rear end has never experienced the peril that is an 8-hour trip on a Mozambican dirt road… Upon arrival, I couldn’t feel my hindquarters at all.
2. My roommate and I were sitting behind a refrigerator, which was “secured” by two ropes entrapping the fridge at about the vertical median on either side. One of the ropes had a second job. It seemed to be holding one of the left side panels of the truck bed in place… and that panel wasn’t even flush with the rest of the side of the truck… by the way, did I mention the Mozambican bumpy road (reference “The four treacherous trials of the initial journey – trial 1”). There were moments I questioned whether we were to be squished like flies beneath a flyswatter. Another recurring thought was, “if worse comes to worse, there was a point in my life where I could leg press the weight of this empty fridge… we should be fine…”
3. What is the most cliché thing that can happen when someone says this can’t get any worse? Ding, ding, ding. It starts to rain. About 2 hours into the trip, there is visible cloud to ground lightning… and we are conveniently located next to the tallest part of the truck, which, I presume to be a good conductor on top of a metal truck bed. At this point, my roommate and I start talking about the various scenarios that could lead to our impending doom.
4. If your guess to my leading question in trial 3 was the car breaks down, then you too are a winner on tonight’s version of “What could possibly go wrong?” Shortly after the sun sets, the truck breaks down for a 2 hour period. My roommate and I wait there in the pitch black. (Slight funny anecdote: my roommate who undeniably looks like a stereotypical Jesus, keeps alluding to the fact he will bless the car to start moving again in hopes to rally the Mozambican morale.) Eventually, 6 or 7 Mozambican men get the truck going with enough of a push that the momentum helps the engine turn back over.

Thus concludes the treacherous trials. After another hour or two on the road, we arrive safely to site a little past midnight

Long story short, I made it to site! I’m alive and well! I have a great story to tell the grandkids.

P.S. If you would like a video depicting part of the journey, you will have to send me an email… Apparently the free version doesn’t let me post videos….#littlesalty

October 22, 2016

Yesterday, I helped bury a man whom I’ve never seen before. The man leading the ceremony gave a eulogy listing a multitude of things he had accomplished in Pebane during his lifetime; most notably, he had worked at the local secondary school for nearly 10 years. This man would have been my colleague, had malaria not claimed his 35 year old body first. He left behind a family: a wife, two kids. Had I seen this man on my first day of classes, a small white hat would have adorned the crown of his head. The man I buried’s name was Abdul. He was Muslim.

As a small town boy from Alabama where Islam is not a topic openly (or ever) discussed, this funeral was my first tangible experience with the Islamic faith. The ceremony began at the house of the deceased. The women, seated further away from the house, sang songs in a language I could not understand. The men, seated on straw mats adjacent to the house, were silent.

When I arrived, my host dad ushered me to a spot at the rear of the crowd of somber men. Throughout the next hour, we waited. We waited quietly, solemnly. More community members came, sat down, and joined in the solidarity.

After some time had passed, my host father, a Christian pastor, leaned over to me and whispered in my ear, “para eles, Allah e Deus” loosely translated to mean, “For them, Allah is God.”

I’m not here to confirm or deny anyone’s religious beliefs. And, I’m not even completely sure that my host father meant the connotation that I drew from that sentence. (As I have lamented previously, my Portuguese is still not great yet.) What I can say is that I believe every person deserves the opportunity to live a life that they are comfortable with. A life that they want to live and that brings them happiness. And, to me, my father’s statement was so accepting of that idea. Even though they probably had very different perspectives and beliefs, my host father and other members of the community gathered together to mourn the loss of a beloved secondary school professor, who was valued, first, for his contributions to the community.

Next, several men brought out white cloth and began diligently preparing it. It appeared that they were cutting precise portions of the cloth, and, then, folding those delicate amounts of cloth into a desired pattern. The cloth was taken back into the house. Then, the body wrapped in this prepared white cloth was brought outside and put in the bed of an open back truck. At this point, everyone rose to their feet.

People stood together to respect the organic humanity this ceremony celebrated; to remember that, in the end, this man was a human being who was faced with his own mortality.

For me, it was a beautiful event. I realized that too often the media portrays jaded views of religious intolerance and the incapability of coexistence. Here, in Austral Africa, a small town of roughly 20,000 people showed me that the things that unite us as humans should be much stronger than those which separates us.

At Abdul’s final resting place, each of the men of the community – American, Mozambican, Christian, and Muslim alike – took the shovel, if only for a moment, to help cover the casket of their fallen friend with a little part of the Earth from which he came. A tree was placed where his head was. A few words were said in Arabic, and then there was a moment of silence at his sepulcher. In unison, everyone breathed in one final breath at his grave and departed.

October 2, 2016

Okay. Admittedly, I have a lot to get through in this update.

1^st this was a rollercoaster of a week for me! I had a good, a bad and a bad that turned out pretty okay kinda week.

First, the bad. (Duh-duh-duh) I had to do my 1^st lesson this week on Meioses… in PORTUGUESE. To begin with, science is often difficult to explain in English; the difficulty only compounds with the language barrier. Secondly, I was told the week before while planning my lesson that it was a 10 minute lesson… On the day of my presentation, mere moments before presenting, I found out it was actually only a 5 minute lesson. Let’s recap. I’m explaining a somewhat difficult science topic in a foreign language (where I had to practice and memorize things I wanted to say to get all of the information across) and, now, I’m on a time crunch with said explanations and memorizations…. Long story short, my first lesson was whelming at best.

Second, the bad turned good. We had our first oral language exam this week. I was resting confident that I was going to do fairly well, since I was certain that I had been improving in Portuguese. I reviewed all of my verb tenses, rehearsed all of my newly acquired vocabulary, and recited some common phrases I was sure would buy me time to think during the interview. I showed up to a smiling staff member (who was very nice by the way), who, little did I know, was about to mentally pummel me. He began by asking me what I majored in in college. Neurosceince. Then he said to describe why the field was so unique. Ummmm…. We interrupt your regularly scheduled blog post reading with the following Peace Corps Mozambique broadcast: We join our favorite goofy-white kid protagonist navigating his way through Struggle City at the intersection of something hard to explain with minimal Portuguese knowledge while trying to avoid a head on collision with the semi-truck of utter failure… Nonetheless, the results came in and, though I was certain I was run over by said semi truck of utter failure, I passed my language exam. (Can you say RE-LIEVED?)

Lastly, the good! I got to go to an orphanage for half a day to learn about informal and non formal education techniques. We taught the kids probably the worst translated version of the Hokey-Pokey in the history of existence. But, they loved it! Also, they shared some of their sing-song games with us, and I must say some of them really touched my heart. They incorporated giving hugs and bowing out of respect to one another as integral parts of some of their songs. It felt like such an open and welcoming environment.

That day, I was the first pick in soccer! At last, I was finally being recognized as the paragon of soccer prowess…. Wrong! They chose me because I was the biggest and could take up more space in the goal making it harder for the other team to score… oh well. It was a good time either way.

The most tender part of the day for me came at breakfast time. All of the kids sat aligned in rows to receive their portion of the meal. There were two kids with mental disorders who wanted more food after they eagerly scarfed down their serving. It was uplifting to see a multitude of kids offer parts of their meal to these two individuals. It was refreshing for me to see the love and support shown to their peers despite their differences. It appeared that each of the children was valued as a contributing members making up their community. I don’t know that I wrote sufficiently for this experience, but either way it really warmed my heart.

Today also marks the end of my first month in Mozambique!! And, I don’t know what it is, but there is just something about the sense of accomplishment I feel when I can proudly say I have completed one month of this 27 month journey. Finishing one month makes this experience feel that much more attainable when 27 months seemed way to daunting in the past.