The Prep School of Moçambique: Escola Secundária Armando Emílio Guebuza:
On Saturday, the school is hosting a Baile dos Finalistas (a dance for the seniors), which I’m guessing is about Mozambique’s equivalent of a prom. Tickets are 300 Mtn (about $13) for non-finalistas and 250 Mtn ($10) for finalistas. The girls are wearing ball gowns (some of which look a heck of a lot like adolescent flower girls dresses… pictures to come soon!), and the boys are supposed to wear black pants and black jackets of sorts. When I asked what I should wear, they said, “Teacha’, don’t you have a ball gown here?”
At this dance, the students will be dancing the waltz and salsa, which they have been practicing for about half of the year. I’m a little nervous because my students are really excited that the American teachers will be there and I’ve already been informed that I WILL be dancing. It’s funny: this is the closest these students will have to the American version of a prom. Not only will teachers attend, but also important people from the community, like the administrator, mayor, and various chefes (bosses or leaders), will also be there.
This past Sunday (10/12) was Dia dos Professores (Teachers’ Day). It’s a big deal here, and the profession of teaching is generally very well respected. (Just ask me what I think about that statement after my students have been punks all week, though.) There was a ceremony at the praça (basically, at every holiday or important event, the villa congregates at the praça for the same general ceremony), after which there was another ceremony and some dancing/ singing.
The crowning glory was the party for the teachers that night. It was held in the gymnasium at the school, had a DJ, food, and drinks. Every teacher was served a dinner of an entire chicken. That may not seem like a big deal, but there are about 50 teachers at our school, plus their guests. AND, all of those chickens had to be killed, plucked, and cleaned. Thank you, students, for doing the dirty work! We ate very well and then danced with our colleagues until about 11:30, wayyyy past my bedtime. It was hilarious watching the teachers dance. Even our headmaster shook his bum for a bit, and we got to dance with our favorite pedagogical director (assistant principal). Some people perhaps had enjoyed themselves a bit too much throughout the day, as there were quite a few inebriated teachers by the end of the night. The next day, there were a lot of missing teachers at the school.
Concert in Moz:
After an English Theatre competition in Chimoio, we sent the students back to Catandica and stayed in Chimoio. That evening, we went to dinner at a pizza restaurant called Vapor. Later that night, there was a concert by a legitimate band. I had to check a couple times to make sure I was still in Mozambique because it seemed like something I’d go to in the States.
Some folks Lindsay and I have met were there. They all work for a company based out of Chimoio that has operations in Catandica and frequently uses helicopters to get here. The following Monday afternoon, I was teaching and heard the sound of a helicopter coming really close. The helicopter circled the school and waved- it was our friends from Saturday night saying hello! My students thought Guebuza was coming back!
The perfect storm:
On Friday, there was a huge thunderstorm, which is a good thing because the temperature had gotten up to 41°C that day. It started to get pretty strong right at dusk, and almost all of Catandica lost power. I sat on the porch and watched the lightning until the power came back on. I don’t know if I have ever seen anything like it. I could see lightning from miles and miles away. The rain was so hard that I couldn’t hear Lindsay talking—or even IF she was talking.
I was a little disappointed to get power back, but then I thought of all the people who don’t have the luxury of having such a sturdy roof over their houses. I remember a few storms during training (when I lived with a Mozambican host family) during which I was unable to sleep because of the noise of the rain and thunder and thought the roof was going to blow off. I wouldn’t wish that kind of an evening to anybody in Catandica.
Grades:
School is ending. This is officially the last week of classes, though I will be here throughout the remainder of October and parts of November to help my students prepare for and then control/ correct national exams. That means that as I’m writing this, I’m currently procrastinating. Calculating grades is not at the top of my fun list, as shocking as that may sound.
It’s difficult for me to give grades here because of the Mozambican grading scale. The grading scale is out of 20 possible points, and to pass, a student must only get a 10 (technically, I guess a 9.5). I have given out only one 20 in all three trimesters, and the highest average for the year is a 17 (and that’s only one student- the same one who got the 20), and after that four students got 16. My averages for my turmas are around 12.5. The funny thing is that I know that when I turn in my grades next week, they will most likely be among the highest of all the disciplines.
It has seemed to me that the low mark for passing has caused many students set a low mark for themselves. If they only need to get half of the test questions correct to receive a passing grade, why learn all the material? Why not learn only half of it?
I’m comin’ home:
Less than 2 months! I get into NYC on December 12, and I can’t wait! I’ll probably be in SC/ NC until New Years and then NY/ RI the first week of January. Let me know if any of y’all’s plans coincide with mine because chances are that I’d love to see you!
Saturday, September 27, 2008
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.
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.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
I suppose that by now, it should be understood that my blog updates are pretty rare, but I must comment at least once more: Gee whiz, it’s been a long time since the last time I wrote.
Guebuza’s visit (wow, it really has been a long time!). He came 2 weeks before Mozambican Independence Day, and it was a BIG deal. Guebuza arrived in a convoy of helicopters- 6 in total. I had never seen that many helicopters that close up and thought it was pretty cool. Needless to say, the crianças who had never seen a single helicopter went nuts. My fame was challenged that day, though the pack of kids that crowded around me when I pulled out my camera affirmed that the Americans are still pretty neat. We met some Italian volunteers that morning and later had lunch at their house- a real Italian lunch, complete with lasagna and little bowls of grated Parmesan cheese on the table! (Lasagna is quite a production- it requires cheese, big noodles, and a good oven—none of which are readily available in Catandica… well, except for the Italians’ compound.)
A Sua Excelência Senhor Presidente da República de Moçambique Armando Emílio Guebuza stayed for two days to see the villa, school, and the surrounding areas. The highlight of his visit was meeting the two American teachers during his tour of the school. President Bush is old news now that I’ve met President Guebuza!
25th of June/ 4th of July. Catandica saw a little action for American Independence Day. Our 4th of July happened just a week after the 25th of June, Mozambican Independence Day. Mozambican Independence Day was celebrated with a day off work/ school, dances, speeches, and American Independence Day was celebrated with a bonfire, a couple cervejas, and a hodgepodge of American-ish foods.
Feira de Ciências. On the 5th of July, I ran our school’s 2nd annual Science Fair. I had about 12 students participate (most of which were my 12th graders), and I was pleasantly surprised at how high the attendance was. Many of the projects were simple and included a lemon battery, chemical reactions, magnetism, homemade radio, etc. I had prepared the students for a laid-back morning of people wandering through for a couple hours. Instead, the director changed the format the morning of the fair to public defense of their work. If that’s not bad enough, the a-hole judges and school director asked them impossible questions and criticized their projects in front of the audience, just to make them feel stupid. It got so bad at one point that I pulled the director (principal of the school) out of the room and gave him a “the science fair is supposed to be fun and should encourage the students in the sciences, and all of your criticism is NOT accomplishing that” talk. Sadly, that was not one of my more successful “talks” I’ve given as a teacher because the assault continued. I think that next year, his invitation might have to get lost in the mail.
The local fair ended, and a few weeks later, I took a girl who did a project identifying the release of a gas in a chemical reaction and the boy who made a radio to a regional fair of about 10 to 15 schools. Catandica cleaned house that weekend by winning 1st (the boy, Carlos) and 3rd (the girl, Sillén) places. They got good prizes (a CD/DVD player and camera, respectively). Better than that, Carlos gets to go to Maputo, the capital of Moz, at the end of August, to present his experiment and do other science-y stuff. I’m incredibly excited for him. It will be his first trip to Maputo- to pretty much anywhere- and definitely his first time traveling by airplane!
Mom in Moz. The day finally came (which just-so happened to be the day I last updated my blog)! My mother came to visit me in Mozambique. It was so great seeing her and being able to show her where I live. She was quite an adventurer, and for the first half of her visit, we travelled by public transportation- machibombos (buses) and chapas. Her first chapa was from Chimoio to Catandica, on her second day in Moz. The motorista (driver) was a speed-demon that day, except for when we stopped to pick up more passengers and buy fish (which was then hung in front of the vehicle, using the windshield wiper as a hook). We stayed in Catandica that night so that she could meet my students who were still in town (a 2 week break had started that same day, so many of them had already left). They were super-excited to meet her. Lindsay and I took her to the school, where the students spoke to her in their semi-broken English. Some of the girls who live in the dormitory did a little dancing for her. She left globe key chains for all of my students, and they went NUTS when they received them. My 12th graders walk around with their globes hanging from their pants pockets like some sort of a fashion statement, and other students and teachers have been asking me if I’d give them one too ever since!
After spending the weekend in Chimoio (at the Science Fair), we returned to Catandica for a few days, at which time I had the awful realization that my passport was missing. I knew I had it when I got on the chapa, but it had not made the trip all the way back to Catandica with me. That afternoon, one of the young guys who “works” at the Catandica chapa stop came to our school to say that they had found the passport on the floor of the chapa. It was delivered to me later that evening. I thanked my lucky stars that night that I live in a teeny little villa where everybody knows me.
We travelled to Gorongosa Park, which is supposedly the best place to go around this region for safaris. Whoever told me that must have called all of the big animals to warn them that we were coming because I didn’t see a single stinking lion, buffalo, zebra, hippo, or elephant. The numbers baboons, warthogs, waterbucks, and impala helped make up for the lack of big guys. One morning, there was a group of maybe 20 or 30 baboons out on the staff soccer field, running around. Some of them even came up into the base camp where we stayed and ran around for a bit.
After Gorongosa, we went to the beach! My mom and I flew up to Pemba, in Northern Mozambique, for almost a week at a stunningly beautiful beach. The water was 7 shades of blue and turquoise, and we snorkeled right off of the beach. I found vibrantly-colored starfish the size of my hand- cerulean blue, jet-black, and a color that seemed to be a mix of fire-engine red and Clemson orange. My only major complaint about Pemba (other than the fact that I neither live there nor is it easily accessible from Catandica) was that we had no real opportunity to rest out on the beach. There were always people coming up to ask for money and to sell crafts or snacks. Tourism is an important industry there, but the number of tourists is very small. As a result, we were easily singled out as tourists (I guess my blindingly white skin in a bathing suit didn’t really do too much to help me blend in).
We spent a night and day in Nampula on our trip back to Beira and were there for the Sunday wood market. There were a lot of hand-carved wood crafts, jewelry, and furniture, which makes me wish it were easier to ship things to America. The market is very busy and attracts a lot of foreigners looking for souvenirs, which makes it a perfect location for theft. While wandering through the market, we got stuck in a little bit of a human bottleneck. I felt a hand go into the pocket of my jeans and grabbed it. The nearby vendors laughed when I caught the man who tried to pickpocket me, who then claimed that he was “just trying to pass by.” Pass by, my derriere!!
Overall, I had a great trip with minha mãe. It was very interesting to be the one who knew what was going on. She commented that I was basically assuming the role of a single parent while she was visiting: I spoke the language and thus could communicate, I made all of our travel arrangements, I ordered for both of us in restaurants, etc. When I finally put my “child” on a plane back to America, I did feel somewhat like a parent sending their child back to college for the semester. And lucky for me, I’ll get to go home in December to visit!
Start of the 3rd trimester. I’ve been sick with bronchitis/ flu/ cold/ sore throat for about two weeks. Last weekend, I spent a day or two without a voice and wrote out everything I wanted to say on a dry-erase board. When some students came by to visit, I realized that writing everything out- in Portuguese- hinders my ability to have any sort of a quick and witty conversation.
As far as teaching goes, my job this trimester (other than the regular curriculum) is to prepare my students for the 12th grade national biology exam. Eek!
Guebuza’s visit (wow, it really has been a long time!). He came 2 weeks before Mozambican Independence Day, and it was a BIG deal. Guebuza arrived in a convoy of helicopters- 6 in total. I had never seen that many helicopters that close up and thought it was pretty cool. Needless to say, the crianças who had never seen a single helicopter went nuts. My fame was challenged that day, though the pack of kids that crowded around me when I pulled out my camera affirmed that the Americans are still pretty neat. We met some Italian volunteers that morning and later had lunch at their house- a real Italian lunch, complete with lasagna and little bowls of grated Parmesan cheese on the table! (Lasagna is quite a production- it requires cheese, big noodles, and a good oven—none of which are readily available in Catandica… well, except for the Italians’ compound.)
A Sua Excelência Senhor Presidente da República de Moçambique Armando Emílio Guebuza stayed for two days to see the villa, school, and the surrounding areas. The highlight of his visit was meeting the two American teachers during his tour of the school. President Bush is old news now that I’ve met President Guebuza!
25th of June/ 4th of July. Catandica saw a little action for American Independence Day. Our 4th of July happened just a week after the 25th of June, Mozambican Independence Day. Mozambican Independence Day was celebrated with a day off work/ school, dances, speeches, and American Independence Day was celebrated with a bonfire, a couple cervejas, and a hodgepodge of American-ish foods.
Feira de Ciências. On the 5th of July, I ran our school’s 2nd annual Science Fair. I had about 12 students participate (most of which were my 12th graders), and I was pleasantly surprised at how high the attendance was. Many of the projects were simple and included a lemon battery, chemical reactions, magnetism, homemade radio, etc. I had prepared the students for a laid-back morning of people wandering through for a couple hours. Instead, the director changed the format the morning of the fair to public defense of their work. If that’s not bad enough, the a-hole judges and school director asked them impossible questions and criticized their projects in front of the audience, just to make them feel stupid. It got so bad at one point that I pulled the director (principal of the school) out of the room and gave him a “the science fair is supposed to be fun and should encourage the students in the sciences, and all of your criticism is NOT accomplishing that” talk. Sadly, that was not one of my more successful “talks” I’ve given as a teacher because the assault continued. I think that next year, his invitation might have to get lost in the mail.
The local fair ended, and a few weeks later, I took a girl who did a project identifying the release of a gas in a chemical reaction and the boy who made a radio to a regional fair of about 10 to 15 schools. Catandica cleaned house that weekend by winning 1st (the boy, Carlos) and 3rd (the girl, Sillén) places. They got good prizes (a CD/DVD player and camera, respectively). Better than that, Carlos gets to go to Maputo, the capital of Moz, at the end of August, to present his experiment and do other science-y stuff. I’m incredibly excited for him. It will be his first trip to Maputo- to pretty much anywhere- and definitely his first time traveling by airplane!
Mom in Moz. The day finally came (which just-so happened to be the day I last updated my blog)! My mother came to visit me in Mozambique. It was so great seeing her and being able to show her where I live. She was quite an adventurer, and for the first half of her visit, we travelled by public transportation- machibombos (buses) and chapas. Her first chapa was from Chimoio to Catandica, on her second day in Moz. The motorista (driver) was a speed-demon that day, except for when we stopped to pick up more passengers and buy fish (which was then hung in front of the vehicle, using the windshield wiper as a hook). We stayed in Catandica that night so that she could meet my students who were still in town (a 2 week break had started that same day, so many of them had already left). They were super-excited to meet her. Lindsay and I took her to the school, where the students spoke to her in their semi-broken English. Some of the girls who live in the dormitory did a little dancing for her. She left globe key chains for all of my students, and they went NUTS when they received them. My 12th graders walk around with their globes hanging from their pants pockets like some sort of a fashion statement, and other students and teachers have been asking me if I’d give them one too ever since!
After spending the weekend in Chimoio (at the Science Fair), we returned to Catandica for a few days, at which time I had the awful realization that my passport was missing. I knew I had it when I got on the chapa, but it had not made the trip all the way back to Catandica with me. That afternoon, one of the young guys who “works” at the Catandica chapa stop came to our school to say that they had found the passport on the floor of the chapa. It was delivered to me later that evening. I thanked my lucky stars that night that I live in a teeny little villa where everybody knows me.
We travelled to Gorongosa Park, which is supposedly the best place to go around this region for safaris. Whoever told me that must have called all of the big animals to warn them that we were coming because I didn’t see a single stinking lion, buffalo, zebra, hippo, or elephant. The numbers baboons, warthogs, waterbucks, and impala helped make up for the lack of big guys. One morning, there was a group of maybe 20 or 30 baboons out on the staff soccer field, running around. Some of them even came up into the base camp where we stayed and ran around for a bit.
After Gorongosa, we went to the beach! My mom and I flew up to Pemba, in Northern Mozambique, for almost a week at a stunningly beautiful beach. The water was 7 shades of blue and turquoise, and we snorkeled right off of the beach. I found vibrantly-colored starfish the size of my hand- cerulean blue, jet-black, and a color that seemed to be a mix of fire-engine red and Clemson orange. My only major complaint about Pemba (other than the fact that I neither live there nor is it easily accessible from Catandica) was that we had no real opportunity to rest out on the beach. There were always people coming up to ask for money and to sell crafts or snacks. Tourism is an important industry there, but the number of tourists is very small. As a result, we were easily singled out as tourists (I guess my blindingly white skin in a bathing suit didn’t really do too much to help me blend in).
We spent a night and day in Nampula on our trip back to Beira and were there for the Sunday wood market. There were a lot of hand-carved wood crafts, jewelry, and furniture, which makes me wish it were easier to ship things to America. The market is very busy and attracts a lot of foreigners looking for souvenirs, which makes it a perfect location for theft. While wandering through the market, we got stuck in a little bit of a human bottleneck. I felt a hand go into the pocket of my jeans and grabbed it. The nearby vendors laughed when I caught the man who tried to pickpocket me, who then claimed that he was “just trying to pass by.” Pass by, my derriere!!
Overall, I had a great trip with minha mãe. It was very interesting to be the one who knew what was going on. She commented that I was basically assuming the role of a single parent while she was visiting: I spoke the language and thus could communicate, I made all of our travel arrangements, I ordered for both of us in restaurants, etc. When I finally put my “child” on a plane back to America, I did feel somewhat like a parent sending their child back to college for the semester. And lucky for me, I’ll get to go home in December to visit!
Start of the 3rd trimester. I’ve been sick with bronchitis/ flu/ cold/ sore throat for about two weeks. Last weekend, I spent a day or two without a voice and wrote out everything I wanted to say on a dry-erase board. When some students came by to visit, I realized that writing everything out- in Portuguese- hinders my ability to have any sort of a quick and witty conversation.
As far as teaching goes, my job this trimester (other than the regular curriculum) is to prepare my students for the 12th grade national biology exam. Eek!
Thursday, July 10, 2008
A month after it was written AKA the pleasures of living in the middle of nowhere
Armando Emilio Guebuza, the president of Mozambique, is sleeping in my bed...
Perhaps that's not QUITE true. The Prez and his posse are coming to Catandica either next week or the week after. There's one main pensão (pretty much the Mozambican equivalent of motel) here with about 5 rooms, not sufficient for Guebuza's gang.
Last week, there was a meeting of all the teachers who live in the 12 school houses (that are technically outside of school grounds, but that doesn't stop students from coming over at all hours of the day). Because the school and school housing are so spiffy, we've been asked to give up a bedroom in our houses for the week of the visit so that an ambassador or official of some sort can stay there. I volunteered my room from our house because Lindsay has 2 mattresses. The school director, a really nice, short man, asked if any of the houses had problems, especially in the rooms in which the ambassadors will be sleeping. They're trying to fix them all well to impress the folks.
O Senhor Director asked me directly if I had an problems with my bed. Being unsure, I said, “Vamos ver esta noite.” What I MEANT to say was that I would check that night. What I ACTUALLY said, in Portuguese, was not quiiiiite that, as shown by the peals of laughter emitted by my colleagues. Were I in America, I would have been violating many a sexual harassment law by propositioning my boss. Oops!
When Guebuza comes to visit, it's going to be a week-long festa. I don't know what the president will do in Catandica for an entire week, but I'm going to find out. I've been told that school will be canceled for the week, and I'm sure there will be fancy parties at the Governor's and Administrator's houses, to which I'm hoping to get invitations.
If he comes in 2 weeks, his visit will coincide with two important events: 25 de Junho, which is Mozambican Independence Day, and June 27, the day of the second election in Zimbabwe. For Independence Day, I'm sure there will be dancing and singing and lots of excitement. For the Zimbabwe election, I just hope that things happen peacefully and for the best. There are Zimbabwean money changers who hang out in the villa. What an unpleasant job now! To buy a chicken dinner, you would need about a grocery bag full of Zimbabwean dollars, and the price at the start of dinner might not be the price you pay at the end.
Catandica is full of fruits and vegetables... at least those that are in season now (tangerines, pineapples, apples, bananas, lettuce, tomatoes, onions, etc). Just for the heck of it, Lindsay and I decided a few weeks ago to try to go a week eating only the fresh fruits and vegetables. No oil, no spices, no sugar, nothing but fruits and vegetables.
Day 1: 5 bananas, 5 tangerines, attempt at making a salad dressing using only lime juice, garlic, and piri-piri (really hot peppers), and an intense desire to bite my own arm.
Day 2: Lots of water, 5 bananas, 5 tangerines, naked salad (due to the canker sores in my mouth brought on by the “salad dressing” and the fact that the “salad dressing” tasted like garlic-y battery acid), and a bit of a cranky attitude.
Day 3: Decided I needed to change the rules a little bit. Added eggs and allowed myself a teeny bit of salt. Eggs, vegetables, and lots more fruit.
Day 4: CHEGA! After the fourth kid came over before 8 am (not a great way to start off the day), I decided I had had enough of that and had a granola bar.
Because I live just outside the school grounds, everybody knows where I live (not that they wouldn't anyways... I'm just more accessible to the students here), and students and neighborhood kids are always stopping at our house or hanging out in front of our gate. Sometimes, it's great. I can play frisbee with the meninos (little boys/ kids) or work with them on the alphabet. Or we can have an impromptu Mozambican dance party with the students who are walking by.
On the other hand, it is often NOT quite so pleasant. When they get to the house (if we're not visible... for example, if I'm taking a nap in my room), they stand at the door/ front gate and instead of knocking or ringing the door bell, they say “Com licença” or just “licença” over and over until you're so fed up from hearing them say “licença” that you answer the door... I've had students “licença” me for 15 minutes (that would that nap to which I was referring... my curtain was open just enough so that I'm sure the kid could see me laying on my bed. That's generally where I hang out waiting to leap up at the first “licença”... So just to spite him, I didn't budge. Not particularly nice, but I'm not an all-night diner- I am not, in fact, available all the time.
On our walk into the villa, the kids who live along that road have become accustomed to walking with us, playing with us, and talking to us as we walk. The part closest to the school has most of our favorites, the ones of whom I have lots of pictures. After that, there are the “HELLO” kids. When they hear or see us coming, they say “hello” incessantly in different voices. There are about 10 or 15 of them, and sometimes the “hellos” can last 2 or 3 minutes straight. After the “hello” kids, there are a bunch of houses set back a bit from the street. We don't know those kids so well, but they, of course, still shout out to us. Generally, it's just “How are you?” or something in Portuguese. In the past few weeks, there have been 2 pretty significant deviations from that. The first was a chorus of “F*** you”s... probably 3 kids shouting that out as we walked by. They had no idea what they were saying, and it was pretty hilarious! The second was just the other day. I was walking by and heard one of them shout out: “Don't touch me!” I can't wait to find out what other English they have stashed away.
After the expletive group, there's a 2-year-old girl with a voice high enough to function as a dog whistle who shrieks “Howareyou” repeatedly when she sees us. Other favorites are the “How is my your name?” kids and the little girl who we had never seen wearing a shirt until a couple weeks ago.
Less than a month until my mom makes the big trip to Africa on July 10. I'm super excited about that, but due to the excessive amount I've already written, I'll save it for next time. Até já!
Considering that TODAY is July 10, I clearly haven't gotten to the city in quite some time. I'll have quite a bit to add about the past month while my mom and I are traveling!
Perhaps that's not QUITE true. The Prez and his posse are coming to Catandica either next week or the week after. There's one main pensão (pretty much the Mozambican equivalent of motel) here with about 5 rooms, not sufficient for Guebuza's gang.
Last week, there was a meeting of all the teachers who live in the 12 school houses (that are technically outside of school grounds, but that doesn't stop students from coming over at all hours of the day). Because the school and school housing are so spiffy, we've been asked to give up a bedroom in our houses for the week of the visit so that an ambassador or official of some sort can stay there. I volunteered my room from our house because Lindsay has 2 mattresses. The school director, a really nice, short man, asked if any of the houses had problems, especially in the rooms in which the ambassadors will be sleeping. They're trying to fix them all well to impress the folks.
O Senhor Director asked me directly if I had an problems with my bed. Being unsure, I said, “Vamos ver esta noite.” What I MEANT to say was that I would check that night. What I ACTUALLY said, in Portuguese, was not quiiiiite that, as shown by the peals of laughter emitted by my colleagues. Were I in America, I would have been violating many a sexual harassment law by propositioning my boss. Oops!
When Guebuza comes to visit, it's going to be a week-long festa. I don't know what the president will do in Catandica for an entire week, but I'm going to find out. I've been told that school will be canceled for the week, and I'm sure there will be fancy parties at the Governor's and Administrator's houses, to which I'm hoping to get invitations.
If he comes in 2 weeks, his visit will coincide with two important events: 25 de Junho, which is Mozambican Independence Day, and June 27, the day of the second election in Zimbabwe. For Independence Day, I'm sure there will be dancing and singing and lots of excitement. For the Zimbabwe election, I just hope that things happen peacefully and for the best. There are Zimbabwean money changers who hang out in the villa. What an unpleasant job now! To buy a chicken dinner, you would need about a grocery bag full of Zimbabwean dollars, and the price at the start of dinner might not be the price you pay at the end.
Catandica is full of fruits and vegetables... at least those that are in season now (tangerines, pineapples, apples, bananas, lettuce, tomatoes, onions, etc). Just for the heck of it, Lindsay and I decided a few weeks ago to try to go a week eating only the fresh fruits and vegetables. No oil, no spices, no sugar, nothing but fruits and vegetables.
Day 1: 5 bananas, 5 tangerines, attempt at making a salad dressing using only lime juice, garlic, and piri-piri (really hot peppers), and an intense desire to bite my own arm.
Day 2: Lots of water, 5 bananas, 5 tangerines, naked salad (due to the canker sores in my mouth brought on by the “salad dressing” and the fact that the “salad dressing” tasted like garlic-y battery acid), and a bit of a cranky attitude.
Day 3: Decided I needed to change the rules a little bit. Added eggs and allowed myself a teeny bit of salt. Eggs, vegetables, and lots more fruit.
Day 4: CHEGA! After the fourth kid came over before 8 am (not a great way to start off the day), I decided I had had enough of that and had a granola bar.
Because I live just outside the school grounds, everybody knows where I live (not that they wouldn't anyways... I'm just more accessible to the students here), and students and neighborhood kids are always stopping at our house or hanging out in front of our gate. Sometimes, it's great. I can play frisbee with the meninos (little boys/ kids) or work with them on the alphabet. Or we can have an impromptu Mozambican dance party with the students who are walking by.
On the other hand, it is often NOT quite so pleasant. When they get to the house (if we're not visible... for example, if I'm taking a nap in my room), they stand at the door/ front gate and instead of knocking or ringing the door bell, they say “Com licença” or just “licença” over and over until you're so fed up from hearing them say “licença” that you answer the door... I've had students “licença” me for 15 minutes (that would that nap to which I was referring... my curtain was open just enough so that I'm sure the kid could see me laying on my bed. That's generally where I hang out waiting to leap up at the first “licença”... So just to spite him, I didn't budge. Not particularly nice, but I'm not an all-night diner- I am not, in fact, available all the time.
On our walk into the villa, the kids who live along that road have become accustomed to walking with us, playing with us, and talking to us as we walk. The part closest to the school has most of our favorites, the ones of whom I have lots of pictures. After that, there are the “HELLO” kids. When they hear or see us coming, they say “hello” incessantly in different voices. There are about 10 or 15 of them, and sometimes the “hellos” can last 2 or 3 minutes straight. After the “hello” kids, there are a bunch of houses set back a bit from the street. We don't know those kids so well, but they, of course, still shout out to us. Generally, it's just “How are you?” or something in Portuguese. In the past few weeks, there have been 2 pretty significant deviations from that. The first was a chorus of “F*** you”s... probably 3 kids shouting that out as we walked by. They had no idea what they were saying, and it was pretty hilarious! The second was just the other day. I was walking by and heard one of them shout out: “Don't touch me!” I can't wait to find out what other English they have stashed away.
After the expletive group, there's a 2-year-old girl with a voice high enough to function as a dog whistle who shrieks “Howareyou” repeatedly when she sees us. Other favorites are the “How is my your name?” kids and the little girl who we had never seen wearing a shirt until a couple weeks ago.
Less than a month until my mom makes the big trip to Africa on July 10. I'm super excited about that, but due to the excessive amount I've already written, I'll save it for next time. Até já!
Considering that TODAY is July 10, I clearly haven't gotten to the city in quite some time. I'll have quite a bit to add about the past month while my mom and I are traveling!
Sunday, May 25, 2008
My life the past month-ish:
Cultural spectacular. There was a lot of dancing, acting, playing of instruments, and singing. The majority of the performers were wearing capulanas, which is a much more traditional method of dress than I've seen at other performances. Some folks even had feathered headdresses! There were a lot of batukes, a drum set, keyboard, guitars, some handmade one-stringed instruments, and a 2 meter long xylophone. The whole thing went down in the school gymnasium, and it seemed as though all of Catandica (or at least all of the children of Catandica were there). It was somewhat strange to see kids there who aren't from our bairo (neighborhood). A lot of them still knew our names regardless.
As for our bairo. Escola Secundaria Armando Emilio Guebuza is situated in Bairo Mugabe (that's right, the very same Mugabe that currently has the attention of every eye in Africa). We're currently on the outskirts of the villa, though there is a heck of a lot of construction going on. The school farm is a 5 or 10 minute walk from my house, and the students have been working their derrieres off for the past few weeks. President Guebuza is coming to Catandica towards the end of June, and they want the machamba (farm) to look good. Recently, they have planted pineapple plants, of which I sadly will not get to taste the fruits. There is a rule that every student at our school has to be in charge of one plant... most of them have 4 or more. They have to water it and make sure it's growing well. This week, they've made an addendum: every teacher now has to have one plant as well. I planted my bananeira this afternoon. It has 1.5 years to grow large and produce bananas, or I'm going to cut it down before I leave. Before banana plants can produce fruit, they first have to give off a certain number of leaves- something like 28 or 38. Currently, I'm at leaf # 0.5... not sure if the pre-existing one counts, so I'll only give it a half.
We are friends with a group of little boys (most of which are from the same family and all of which come to our house to practice the alphabet, count, and speak a little English). The brothers are from a family of 10 kids. And their father is a corandeiro (a traditional medicine man, kind of witch doctor-esque, though there is another name specifically for witch doctors).
In the market 2 days ago, we stopped to talk to a lady who was selling different powders and such from plastic bags, all traditional medicines. A lot of them were for fertility purposes, but she also had some for head and stomach aches. She had the shell and spikes of what appeared to be a sea urchin (or porcupine). If you're really having a bad day or bad luck, she told us to break off a spine, stick it in your hair, and chew on a specific herb.
A few days earlier, we were walking around the outside of the section of the market that sells clothes, and a guy rode up on a bicycle with a MONKEY on his back! He bought a bib for the monkey, who was absolutely adorable, and we asked to take a picture. Afterwards, we asked what the monkey's name was... George Bush! Ha!
I've been going out walking/ jogging (which generally ends up being more walking than jogging because my lazy bum is not used to all of the hills around here... unless I'm headed downhill). I've been exploring a bit at the base of the mountains. It's so stinking pretty! Sadly, I haven't spent too much time exploring thus far, but I'm excited to take a day hike up there some day soon.
Still not really sure what's going to happen with the Zimbabwe situation. It's possible that we'll have to peace out of Catandica for a while if things get messy over there. There has already been a large influx in the number of Zimbabweans in the villa since the election. You can generally tell who they are when you get a blank stare after greeting them in Portuguese.
That's about all I've got for now. Até a proxima vez!
Saturday, April 19, 2008
This is a lovely photograph of me with some of the neighborhood criancas. They fight to hold Lindsay's and my hands when we walk to the market. Super cute.And speaking of photographs, I finally put up some more pictures. I switched websites. The new one is: http://community.webshots.com/user/carriecarnevale?vhost=community
If I don't get to put captions with the pictures this time at the internet, it'll happen next time.
As for current events, I just got back from spending a week at a place called Rio Savane. It took us an hour an a half down a dirt road to get to the boat that took us to what was pretty much a deserted island (technically, it's a peninsula, but it might as well have been an island).
It was a week of sleeping 7 people in a 4 person tent under coconut palms... seems serene, except that the sound of a falling coconut in the middle of the night can take weeks off of your life.
It was a week spent cooking over a self-made fire with only 1 pot for 9 people, eating out of a frisbee with only spoons or fingers, surviving on oatmeal, popcorn, and rice. I cooked a darn good meal of shrimp pasta... over a fire I started myself from scratch. We bought the shrimp from a fishermen's village about a kilometer down the beach from where we stayed, and I probably could have eaten them all. One night, we had a bonfire on the beach and had smores! Pictures to come... eventually.
Now, it's back to Catandica for my second trimester.
Ate a proxima vez!
Monday, April 14, 2008
Big one...
It's been a while. Rumor around Catandica is that we might get internet this November-ish. On Moz time, that probably means that I'll get to use it once before I return to America.
Here's a lil' recap from the past few weeks...
One Monday afternoon, a friend of ours took us in his car up to the top of the mountains in Catandica. I can't even describe how amazing it was, but we could see all of the villa of Catandica and mountains mountains mountains all around. Apparently, we were only about 10 miles from the border to Zimbabwe. There is a large semi-migrant population in Catandica who travel between here and Zimbabwe (the majority of this trip, mind you, is through a decent-sized mountain range) on a monthly-ish basis. They walk. They walk with 35 kg sacks of rice on their heads. They walk with 35 kg sacks of rice on their heads with a baby on their backs. Amazing. Anyways, we're planning to go camping up there one weekend so that we can see the sun rise.
Tuesday of that same week, before classes started, the director of the school made an announcement that every person who enters the school grounds must wash their hands with bleach water in order to prevent Cholera. If you have a problem with that, don't come to school. So, for the remainder of the week, there was a lovely bucket full of chlorine-scented somewhat-greyish water waiting for me to dip my hands into. They also have hand washing “stations” along the EN7 (the road we take from Chimoio to Catandica) at which every person riding in the vehicle must get out and have bleach water poured over their hands. If you see a particularly Peace Corps-esque picture of me next to a bucket, that's it.
Wednesday was the day of the dance. We got taken to a nearby village called Nhazonia to watch an African dance group practice. We got there, and there was a man pounding away on the batuke. I just assumed he was practicing for when the others got there, but when we asked, he said he was CALLING the other folks. The 8 or so dancers arrived, along with swarms of children and older women. The dancing was out of control. I swear, the derrière of the African woman is controlled by the same brain as the rest of her body.
Due to a change of plans that Saturday, we ended up at a lake near a town called Manica with a family of really nice South Africans. We played big sister to the 2 daughters that day, went out in their motor boat, went tubing in a lake with crocodiles (don't think I've ever held on so tight!), and had a barbeque on a rock island in the middle of the lake. I never imagined that I'd wind up on a motor boat in Africa. This continent never ceases to surprise me.
Back in Catandica, I've been doing a lot of teacher-esque work. I gave my first exams and had to give quite a few zeros. Even after several warnings of “if I see your head move one more time, even a little bit, you're going to get a zero” and similar threats, some of those lil' punks still couldn't keep their eyes on their own paper. Guess they'll know that I'm not joking next time.
We have recently been working with some of the neighborhood crianças who like to hang around our house. In spite of VERY limited Portuguese skills (most of them speak Mbarue, a local dialect), we learned that they range from ages 5-12 and have never been to school. A lot of them cannot recognize numbers out of sequence, and even simple math problems like 2 + 2 are difficult for them (8 was a popular answer for that one when we started on math). Lindsay and I will work with the crianças in our spare time. I think our light skin is reason enough to make us interesting, and they all really like the attention. They're in awe of our skin and our hair and will just sit next to us, touching our skin or hair. One weekend, some of the girls braided my hair, and I don't think I've ever had such a painful hair care experience.
On the downside of that, we frequently have a herd of the neighborhood kids hanging around outside our house, hoping to see us and ask us to come out. That's great... when I'm not busy lesson planning or working or don't particularly want to have 10 kids competing for my attention. “Anda ca,” “ta ta,” and “aZUngo” can all be heard throughout the day (which mean “come here,” “hello (in Mbarue),” and “white person (in Mbarue)”). They also will ask for things like water and food and for us to let them into our house. When they show us their big bellies, swollen from malnutrition and parasites, it breaks my heart to tell them no, but we have to draw the line somewhere. Otherwise, our house will turn into the local watering hole.
This week, we have our regional Peace Corps meeting at a hotel called Garuso, just outside of Manica. We'll get back from there next Monday, and that same day (hopefully), my friend Nancy will arrive from Zambia. Tuesday, we'll head to Chimoio so that we can catch a 4 am bus to the beach on Wednesday!!! More to come from those adventures soon!
And because I just now got to the internet (almost 2 months after starting to write this!!), round 2...
I'm in Chimoio now for a journalism conference with a student group. I brought 2 students to spend a week learning from Mozambican journalists, discussing pertinent topics, and having a darn good time. I'm in charge of one of the teams of students, who will, in the evenings after meetings, compete in various games. The ninjas (my team) will be walloping the pirates (the to-be losers). Ninjas and all things ninja-related are super-popular in Mozambique. Almost every villa has at least one movie room (Catandica has at least 4 that I've counted). They're basically just rooms with a TV, DVD player, sometimes benches to sit on, and always bad, way-too-loud audio equipment. Because action films can often overcome language barriers, kung-fu films (and thus ninjas) have attained the same level of fame and popularity as the movie Titanic during my preadolescence. Many of my students are of the opinion that, as an American, I should know all other Americans, especially the famous ones. Thus, one of the first questions that I get asked upon first meeting somebody new is “Teacha', do you know (insert name of obscure action film star or rapper)?” One day, I had some crianças convinced that Jean Claude van Damme is my uncle, and Lindsay told them that Jackie Chan is her father (the resemblance is just startling).
As for the past few weeks, the highlight was definitely Vilankulo. Seeing a familiar face from America in Mozambique was wonderful, and I can't wait to go visit Nancy in Zambia. The beaches here are AMAZING!! So much more beautiful than anything I've ever seen before. When we were in Vilankuo, we were pretty much the only tourists there. The beaches were deserted for most of the days, except for when the fishermen were going out or coming in in their dhows (small, generally colorful sailboats). When they came in, there was an impromptu seafood market out on the beach, where they sold the crabs, shrimp (some of which are HUGE- make jumbo shrimp in America seem tiny!!), fish, stingrays, or whatever else they caught. One day, we went snorkeling out in the islands of the Archipelago de Bazaruto- pretty much crystal-clear water to check out the rainbow of colors. The islands themselves are something to be seen. Lots of them are mostly untouched, and some have huge, mountainous sand dunes. The Archipelago is apparently the Mozambican vacation spot of the rich and famous. Clearly, that's where I'll be spending my next holiday.
Perhaps I lied a bit. After the journalism conference, I have one more week of vacation (we have 2 weeks off at the end of the trimester), and I will be spending it at the beach. Sadly, the Peace Corps allowance is not sufficiently large for such luxury as Bazaruto.
I've been learning a little bit of dialect. The folks get quite a kick out of hearing me try to speak in Mbarue.
Malála. -- Good morning.
Ndiwe ani? -- What is your name?
Ndiri Carolina. -- My name is Carolina.
Iwe uri bom? -- How are you? (Are you well?)
Ndiri bom. -- I am well.
Because this 2-blogs-in-1 is far too long already and because I don't know how to say “until next time I'm in Chimoio” in Mbarue, I'll end with “até manguana” (“until tomorrow/ see you tomorrow”).
Here's a lil' recap from the past few weeks...
One Monday afternoon, a friend of ours took us in his car up to the top of the mountains in Catandica. I can't even describe how amazing it was, but we could see all of the villa of Catandica and mountains mountains mountains all around. Apparently, we were only about 10 miles from the border to Zimbabwe. There is a large semi-migrant population in Catandica who travel between here and Zimbabwe (the majority of this trip, mind you, is through a decent-sized mountain range) on a monthly-ish basis. They walk. They walk with 35 kg sacks of rice on their heads. They walk with 35 kg sacks of rice on their heads with a baby on their backs. Amazing. Anyways, we're planning to go camping up there one weekend so that we can see the sun rise.
Tuesday of that same week, before classes started, the director of the school made an announcement that every person who enters the school grounds must wash their hands with bleach water in order to prevent Cholera. If you have a problem with that, don't come to school. So, for the remainder of the week, there was a lovely bucket full of chlorine-scented somewhat-greyish water waiting for me to dip my hands into. They also have hand washing “stations” along the EN7 (the road we take from Chimoio to Catandica) at which every person riding in the vehicle must get out and have bleach water poured over their hands. If you see a particularly Peace Corps-esque picture of me next to a bucket, that's it.
Wednesday was the day of the dance. We got taken to a nearby village called Nhazonia to watch an African dance group practice. We got there, and there was a man pounding away on the batuke. I just assumed he was practicing for when the others got there, but when we asked, he said he was CALLING the other folks. The 8 or so dancers arrived, along with swarms of children and older women. The dancing was out of control. I swear, the derrière of the African woman is controlled by the same brain as the rest of her body.
Due to a change of plans that Saturday, we ended up at a lake near a town called Manica with a family of really nice South Africans. We played big sister to the 2 daughters that day, went out in their motor boat, went tubing in a lake with crocodiles (don't think I've ever held on so tight!), and had a barbeque on a rock island in the middle of the lake. I never imagined that I'd wind up on a motor boat in Africa. This continent never ceases to surprise me.
Back in Catandica, I've been doing a lot of teacher-esque work. I gave my first exams and had to give quite a few zeros. Even after several warnings of “if I see your head move one more time, even a little bit, you're going to get a zero” and similar threats, some of those lil' punks still couldn't keep their eyes on their own paper. Guess they'll know that I'm not joking next time.
We have recently been working with some of the neighborhood crianças who like to hang around our house. In spite of VERY limited Portuguese skills (most of them speak Mbarue, a local dialect), we learned that they range from ages 5-12 and have never been to school. A lot of them cannot recognize numbers out of sequence, and even simple math problems like 2 + 2 are difficult for them (8 was a popular answer for that one when we started on math). Lindsay and I will work with the crianças in our spare time. I think our light skin is reason enough to make us interesting, and they all really like the attention. They're in awe of our skin and our hair and will just sit next to us, touching our skin or hair. One weekend, some of the girls braided my hair, and I don't think I've ever had such a painful hair care experience.
On the downside of that, we frequently have a herd of the neighborhood kids hanging around outside our house, hoping to see us and ask us to come out. That's great... when I'm not busy lesson planning or working or don't particularly want to have 10 kids competing for my attention. “Anda ca,” “ta ta,” and “aZUngo” can all be heard throughout the day (which mean “come here,” “hello (in Mbarue),” and “white person (in Mbarue)”). They also will ask for things like water and food and for us to let them into our house. When they show us their big bellies, swollen from malnutrition and parasites, it breaks my heart to tell them no, but we have to draw the line somewhere. Otherwise, our house will turn into the local watering hole.
This week, we have our regional Peace Corps meeting at a hotel called Garuso, just outside of Manica. We'll get back from there next Monday, and that same day (hopefully), my friend Nancy will arrive from Zambia. Tuesday, we'll head to Chimoio so that we can catch a 4 am bus to the beach on Wednesday!!! More to come from those adventures soon!
And because I just now got to the internet (almost 2 months after starting to write this!!), round 2...
I'm in Chimoio now for a journalism conference with a student group. I brought 2 students to spend a week learning from Mozambican journalists, discussing pertinent topics, and having a darn good time. I'm in charge of one of the teams of students, who will, in the evenings after meetings, compete in various games. The ninjas (my team) will be walloping the pirates (the to-be losers). Ninjas and all things ninja-related are super-popular in Mozambique. Almost every villa has at least one movie room (Catandica has at least 4 that I've counted). They're basically just rooms with a TV, DVD player, sometimes benches to sit on, and always bad, way-too-loud audio equipment. Because action films can often overcome language barriers, kung-fu films (and thus ninjas) have attained the same level of fame and popularity as the movie Titanic during my preadolescence. Many of my students are of the opinion that, as an American, I should know all other Americans, especially the famous ones. Thus, one of the first questions that I get asked upon first meeting somebody new is “Teacha', do you know (insert name of obscure action film star or rapper)?” One day, I had some crianças convinced that Jean Claude van Damme is my uncle, and Lindsay told them that Jackie Chan is her father (the resemblance is just startling).
As for the past few weeks, the highlight was definitely Vilankulo. Seeing a familiar face from America in Mozambique was wonderful, and I can't wait to go visit Nancy in Zambia. The beaches here are AMAZING!! So much more beautiful than anything I've ever seen before. When we were in Vilankuo, we were pretty much the only tourists there. The beaches were deserted for most of the days, except for when the fishermen were going out or coming in in their dhows (small, generally colorful sailboats). When they came in, there was an impromptu seafood market out on the beach, where they sold the crabs, shrimp (some of which are HUGE- make jumbo shrimp in America seem tiny!!), fish, stingrays, or whatever else they caught. One day, we went snorkeling out in the islands of the Archipelago de Bazaruto- pretty much crystal-clear water to check out the rainbow of colors. The islands themselves are something to be seen. Lots of them are mostly untouched, and some have huge, mountainous sand dunes. The Archipelago is apparently the Mozambican vacation spot of the rich and famous. Clearly, that's where I'll be spending my next holiday.
Perhaps I lied a bit. After the journalism conference, I have one more week of vacation (we have 2 weeks off at the end of the trimester), and I will be spending it at the beach. Sadly, the Peace Corps allowance is not sufficiently large for such luxury as Bazaruto.
I've been learning a little bit of dialect. The folks get quite a kick out of hearing me try to speak in Mbarue.
Malála. -- Good morning.
Ndiwe ani? -- What is your name?
Ndiri Carolina. -- My name is Carolina.
Iwe uri bom? -- How are you? (Are you well?)
Ndiri bom. -- I am well.
Because this 2-blogs-in-1 is far too long already and because I don't know how to say “until next time I'm in Chimoio” in Mbarue, I'll end with “até manguana” (“until tomorrow/ see you tomorrow”).
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Let's not even say anything about the Stupid Bowl. I don't want to talk about it.
I have successfully been a teacher for 3 weeks (well, guess “successfully” is a debatable point, but, heck, I think so!). I was well into my second week of 9th grade, getting comfortable with the kids (some occasional laughter, often at my expense, witty banter, and lots of foliage), when I got called into the office of the Pedogogical Director (basically, the Mozambican equivalent of an Assistant Principal... eek!). The biology teachers for both 11th and 12th grade were both transferred to other schools (to either teach biology or work in administration), and IIIIIIIIII am the only biology teacher remaining at Escola Secundaria Armando Emilio Guebuza with the qualifications (university degree) to teach the upper levels. Thus, as of week 3, I am the new 11th and 12th grade biology teacher. Fine by me- at least the material is more interesting: taxonomy (so we get to study all living things, not just plants) and organ systems in 11th grade and cell biology, plant physiology, and animal physiology in 12th. Teaching 12th grade means that now I get to be in charge of controlling the 12th grade national exams, in which I have heard there is generally rampant cheating. Not on my watch!!
Back to the other teachers being transferred, though. About 5 or 6 of our colleagues received notice that the ministry of education decided to place them elsewhere- a week after school started! Talk about great planning! One teacher is our next door neighbor, an upper level English teacher who was not happy with the switch. Apparently, however, they didn't get much say in the matter. Most of them still live in Catandica and teach night school. Teachers here, in general, work their rear ends off. Some teach classes in the mornings, afternoons, and nights (potentially 7am-11pm). They are given quite a bit of respect here, though. It is impossible to walk through the villa without hearing “Teacher Carolina, Teacher Carolina!” Even some of the crianças (children) who have yet to even start primary school call us “Teacher Carolina” and “Teacher Cecilia.” Lindsay and I both go by Mozambican names in Catandica to make it easier for everybody. Also, Carrie is awfully close to Kelly, the name of the volunteer who was here before us. Although everybody seems to have really liked her, we are not, in fact, the same person, so Carolina it is.
The road we take to go from the school to go into town, which we have unofficially named the Criança Road, is always a trip! It's about 20 minutes long (maybe 3-ish km?), though walking can take considerably longer because there are so many darn cute kids along the road who think we are just about the niftiest things ever. Even after having been here since December, our “new” still hasn't worn off. Some already know our names (and, darnit, I'm trying to learn their names, but there are just soooo many!), and they'll call out “Teacher Carolina,” plus any phrases they have learned in English, regardless of the appropriateness. The others just shout out “Muzungo!” (white person in Xona, the local dialect) or “Azungo!” (white people, plural, when I'm with Lindsay). They like to walk with us and hold our hands and absolutely went NUTS when we brought a camera one day (pictures soon, I promise!).
This week, the governor of the province of Manica was in Catandica- big deal, apparently. He stopped by the school around noon today, but by about 10:30, there were droves of students lined up in the front of the school to welcome them. While I spent that lovely hour and a half unknowingly getting a rosy pink sunburn to celebrate Valentine's Day, the students sang and danced, hooted and hollered. There were several young guys who played the batuke (African drum), while the girls danced. One of my new 12th grade students is the chefe (boss) of the dance group, and I will be making her aware that her biology grade is contingent upon her ability to transform my disastrously-white-girl dance moves into something a bit funkier. The governor came around noon, along with a swarm of others from Catandica and beyond, gave a quick speech, and was gone before my pink turned to red. (I should know by now that time is relative here- always wear sunscreen.)
Peace Corps, the lovely dears, finally brought some packages to Chimoio that they didn't give me during training, so I get to go into the city for the day this weekend (thus, I can use the internet and put this up). Getting so many packages is going to be like Christmas Part 2: The Second Noel. Hopefully my sunburn will be gone by then, or Rudolph may have some competition in the sleigh-guiding category. Don't think I'll be back in Chimoio again until our regional meeting in mid-March. I've heard rumors of a pretty nice hotel. With a pool! Woohoo! Until then, take care! For now, I'm off to bed, and judging by the fact that my last 3 meals have been rather heavy on the beans, I'm afraid it might not be such a Silent Night (sorry, I know that's crude, but I couldn't resist another out-of-season Christmas song joke).
Newsflash: I found bacon in Chimoio!! That's worthy of its own post. Amazing. It goes very nicely with my waffle iron (thanks again, Dad and Karen!). I really can start my days off right with a lovely not-so-little breakfast!
Saturday, February 2, 2008
a little recap
Since I waited so long to start putting anything online, I’ll play catch-up now: here’s the down-and-dirty for the past four or so months…
August: Peace Corps finally placed me! Biology education in Mozambique, leaving in September. Eeek! The next several weeks were pretty much a scramble to get everything together, see family, and relax a bit before leaving the US of A.
September: Head to Mozambique via Philadelphia, New York City, Dakar, and Johannesburg to start training.
September-December: We stayed in Maputo for the first few days to receive lots of shots, get an introduction to Peace Corps Mozambique, and learn a little bare bones Portuguese. After that, it was off to Namaacha, our home for the next 10 weeks. I lived with a host family who spoke very little English (definitely a good incentive to learn Portuguese). I had a host mom, a 19-year-old host brother, and 12 and 16-year-old host sisters. The day that we arrived, it was really rainy and muddy, and I immediately learned the word matope, which loosely translates into “muddy mess that gets everything dirty and makes you want to stay inside, even if you really need to use the bathroom and your bathroom is outside the house.” The first days were… interesting, to say the least. Lots of non-verbal communication and laughter from all sides (honestly, I figured it was better to laugh WITH them instead of just being laughed AT)
During the week, we had language lessons for several hours a day and technical sessions occasionally (how to be a PC volunteer, how to teach, how to respond to certain situations, etc). Towards the end of training, we had 2 weeks of model school, in which I taught 4 classes a week of 10th grade biology… in Portuguese! Should be interesting when I get thrown into the real thing!
December 7-ish: Swearing in! I officially became a Peace Corps volunteer, and what was really wacky was that the former director of the entire Peace Corps was at our swearing-in ceremony (who I randomly met one morning on the street in Namaacha). The next day, we set off for our sites. I flew into a city called Chimoio, which is the capitol of Manica province (in the central part of Mozambique in the mountains). From there, I traveled to my new home, a town called Catandica. There, I live with a girl named Lindsay from South Dakota, and we will teach in the Escola Secundaria Armando Emilio Guebuza, which was built in 2005 by the World Bank. Our house is amazing and is so much nicer than I ever could have expected: running hot and cold water, ceiling fans, doorbells, electricity, an electric/ gas oven, a garden, etc. The school is also fantastic and has so many resources (computer and science labs!) in addition to what seems to be a great and very helpful group of directors. We live about 3 km from town, so it’s a nice (and frequently rainy and/or hot) walk to go to the market.
Christmas and New Years: The volunteers from the central provinces (Manica, Sofala, and Tete) all gathered in Gorongoza, which is home to one of Mozambique’s national parks, for Christmas. We ate many a good meal, had a white elephant gift exchange on Christmas day, and basically enjoyed all the benefits of 17 people living under 1 roof without running water. For New Years, about 10 of us went to Chimoio. There, we continued the good cooking for a New Years Eve spectacular feast. We spent New Years Day at the house of a new friend named Alfredo, and it didn't at all feel like we were in Mozambique: lounging in the pool, watching MTV, and enjoying almost all the comforts we would find back home.
January: Back to Catandica to arrange ourselves before school starts. I have learned, 4 days prior to the start of school, that I will be teaching biology in 9ª classe (9th grade), which is basically plants plants plants. Though the subject material is in no way close to my favorite, I think 9th grade will be good to teach. Secondary school starts with 8th grade, so I won't have the “freshmen.” Also, there are national exams in both 10th and 12th grades, and those professors deal with the stresses of under-prepared students and trying to cram review of 8th, 9th, and 10th grades into a few weeks. Since I will be teaching for the first time ever- in Portuguese, no less- I think 9th grade will be perfect! It's going to be a very photosynthetic year for the alunos de 9ª classe. I will plant seeds of knowledge and watch the students blossom (clearly, I can't make it through this whole thing without a little bad plant humor).
January 29: The “real world” in Mozambique starts (AKA the first day of school).
February 3-4: SUPERBOWL SUNDAY (though in the case of Mozambique, the majority of the game will be seen on Monday, super early in the morning). February 3 is also a Mozambican holiday, Heroes' Day, which just so happens to be observed on the 4th. Thus, I can go to Chimoio to watch my Patriots dominate the Giants... maybe all Boston sports needed in order to succeed was my absence from the region/ country/ continent. In a couple years, if anybody particularly wants to see the Bruins win the Stanley Cup, I would gladly accept a trip to Fiji (all-expenses paid, of course).
August: Peace Corps finally placed me! Biology education in Mozambique, leaving in September. Eeek! The next several weeks were pretty much a scramble to get everything together, see family, and relax a bit before leaving the US of A.
September: Head to Mozambique via Philadelphia, New York City, Dakar, and Johannesburg to start training.
September-December: We stayed in Maputo for the first few days to receive lots of shots, get an introduction to Peace Corps Mozambique, and learn a little bare bones Portuguese. After that, it was off to Namaacha, our home for the next 10 weeks. I lived with a host family who spoke very little English (definitely a good incentive to learn Portuguese). I had a host mom, a 19-year-old host brother, and 12 and 16-year-old host sisters. The day that we arrived, it was really rainy and muddy, and I immediately learned the word matope, which loosely translates into “muddy mess that gets everything dirty and makes you want to stay inside, even if you really need to use the bathroom and your bathroom is outside the house.” The first days were… interesting, to say the least. Lots of non-verbal communication and laughter from all sides (honestly, I figured it was better to laugh WITH them instead of just being laughed AT)
During the week, we had language lessons for several hours a day and technical sessions occasionally (how to be a PC volunteer, how to teach, how to respond to certain situations, etc). Towards the end of training, we had 2 weeks of model school, in which I taught 4 classes a week of 10th grade biology… in Portuguese! Should be interesting when I get thrown into the real thing!
December 7-ish: Swearing in! I officially became a Peace Corps volunteer, and what was really wacky was that the former director of the entire Peace Corps was at our swearing-in ceremony (who I randomly met one morning on the street in Namaacha). The next day, we set off for our sites. I flew into a city called Chimoio, which is the capitol of Manica province (in the central part of Mozambique in the mountains). From there, I traveled to my new home, a town called Catandica. There, I live with a girl named Lindsay from South Dakota, and we will teach in the Escola Secundaria Armando Emilio Guebuza, which was built in 2005 by the World Bank. Our house is amazing and is so much nicer than I ever could have expected: running hot and cold water, ceiling fans, doorbells, electricity, an electric/ gas oven, a garden, etc. The school is also fantastic and has so many resources (computer and science labs!) in addition to what seems to be a great and very helpful group of directors. We live about 3 km from town, so it’s a nice (and frequently rainy and/or hot) walk to go to the market.
Christmas and New Years: The volunteers from the central provinces (Manica, Sofala, and Tete) all gathered in Gorongoza, which is home to one of Mozambique’s national parks, for Christmas. We ate many a good meal, had a white elephant gift exchange on Christmas day, and basically enjoyed all the benefits of 17 people living under 1 roof without running water. For New Years, about 10 of us went to Chimoio. There, we continued the good cooking for a New Years Eve spectacular feast. We spent New Years Day at the house of a new friend named Alfredo, and it didn't at all feel like we were in Mozambique: lounging in the pool, watching MTV, and enjoying almost all the comforts we would find back home.
January: Back to Catandica to arrange ourselves before school starts. I have learned, 4 days prior to the start of school, that I will be teaching biology in 9ª classe (9th grade), which is basically plants plants plants. Though the subject material is in no way close to my favorite, I think 9th grade will be good to teach. Secondary school starts with 8th grade, so I won't have the “freshmen.” Also, there are national exams in both 10th and 12th grades, and those professors deal with the stresses of under-prepared students and trying to cram review of 8th, 9th, and 10th grades into a few weeks. Since I will be teaching for the first time ever- in Portuguese, no less- I think 9th grade will be perfect! It's going to be a very photosynthetic year for the alunos de 9ª classe. I will plant seeds of knowledge and watch the students blossom (clearly, I can't make it through this whole thing without a little bad plant humor).
January 29: The “real world” in Mozambique starts (AKA the first day of school).
February 3-4: SUPERBOWL SUNDAY (though in the case of Mozambique, the majority of the game will be seen on Monday, super early in the morning). February 3 is also a Mozambican holiday, Heroes' Day, which just so happens to be observed on the 4th. Thus, I can go to Chimoio to watch my Patriots dominate the Giants... maybe all Boston sports needed in order to succeed was my absence from the region/ country/ continent. In a couple years, if anybody particularly wants to see the Bruins win the Stanley Cup, I would gladly accept a trip to Fiji (all-expenses paid, of course).
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