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 9^th 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 11^th and 12^th 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 11^th and 12^th 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 11^th grade and cell biology, plant physiology, and animal physiology in 12^th. Teaching 12^th grade means that now I get to be in charge of controlling the 12^th 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 12^th 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!