Things to “soak up”……

Walking to the market this morning, I made a conscious effort to notice as many things about my village as I could that I don’t want to forget.

The sticks meticulously pounded into the hard dirt to form a simple fence around a house or a tree. The fact that piglets are probably some of the cutest animals that will quickly turn into the ugliest grown ones.  The packs of half clothed criancas playing outside who turn to statues when I pass, but then break into a chorus of “tata azunngo!!” and that simply by flashing a thumbs up I deserve a round of applause.  The bags and buckets balanced on the women’s heads. The babies bouncing, sleeping, and sweating on their backs, just along for the ride.  Choosing which side of the dirt road I want to be standing on when a car passes depending on the way the wind is blowing. The girls sitting on the ground in silence having their hair braided by a woman, chatting with her neighbors and friend’s  charcoal burning on the ground – in the morning shade of a little house. Bicycles carrying two or three people.  Goats drinking the water that has sloshed onto the hard ground around the water pump and the women who are washing clothes and drying them on rocks and shrubs. The omnipresent sun that shines on the mountain in the distance. The constant beat of music that makes up the soundtrack to the market. The chatter of the women selling tomatoes and mangos that I don’t understand as they sit behind their piled goods. Seeing an old woman wearing the capulana that was offered to all the women in the village when the President came to visit…and knowing that I have the same one at home. The way the acacia trees grow twisted and knobby, each one completely different from the next.  The primary school kids in their blue uniforms, carrying a 5-liter oil container that has been repurposed as a water bottle that their moms handed them before heading out in the hot sun. Whistling when I’m still three houses away from home and seeing Stella’s ears pop up as she runs to greet me, even though I’ve only been gone for an hour. 

Aquela outra ja saiu??

Yesterday, my beautiful roommate and better half moved out of our little house.  Helen is COS – ing (that’s “close of service” for those of you who aren’t accustomed to Peace Corps obsession with abbreviations) a week before me on November 8^th (as opposed to my date, November 15^th).  While I was super excited for her and I’ve been completely dreading her leaving me alone here, even if it’s for just a week. 

Here in Cateme, we pretty much function as a unit.  I know a lot of Peace Corps roommates who constantly are fighting for independence from one and other… they desperately want to be individuals with separate lives and experiences…. And I totally understand that. But we didn’t take that route – and it worked out perfectly for us.  We had different roles and responsibilities at school, but we worked as a team on just about everything else. People mix up our names, and when talking to one of us, refer to the other simply as aquela outra (“that other one”).  Sometimes we take it one obnoxious step further, and when attending a party with a fee (like, remember in high school tickets to dances were 15$ stag and 20$ for a couple), we generally opt for the couple price.  It’s just easier!

Anyways, back to my original story – Helen left yesterday.  Last week, when she started packing, I went ahead and starting packing my stuff too. I figured it would be less painful doing it together than watching her and then having to pack alone the next week.  When the day finally arrived, people had been at our house all morning, getting in some last minute time with her  - so we didn’t have much down time. So when everything was packed and ready to put in the car yesterday, and it came time to actually say goodbye, we both lost it.  Conveniently, we live all of 30 yards from the teachers’ room and the classrooms…. So the two azungos (local language for ‘white’) crying outside made quiteee a scene!  As soon as we let go of our hug, Helen was quickly ushered into a car, and I was taken inside our house and forbidden from watching the car drive away (my eyes were closed and I was still crying anyways). 

In an attempt to move on from the scene I’d just made as quickly as possible, I put on some happy music and threw myself into a pizza making project (I bribed a fellow teacher – who is also my REDES counterpart’s husband – with pizza for doing some school work for me while I was at training for the Moz19 group).  Two hours later, a pizza that looked pretty legit was in the oven and I had successfully calmed myself down. I ventured over to the teachers’ room to find out when said pizza would be consumed and was instantly greeted with “Epa! Carolina, estava chorar, pa!!” (“Whoa! Carolina you were cryingggg!!”) from the other teachers, all of whom are men.  If men in America don’t know what to do with a little crying white girl – Mozambican men have NO clue what to do with a little crying white girl! They attempted to force feed me cookies – which I accepted – and then they trailed me back to my house.  So the pizza that I had intended to feed one man ended up feeding five.  They wanted to come in and sit around for a while – which I also accepted.  Soon after they left, my girl Mariana reappeared wanting to hang out.  I desperately wanted to take a nap… but that clearly wasn’t in the cards for the day.  So I taught her how to make friendship bracelets. Two hours, at least 15 other students had stopped by to chat.  It was becoming increasingly evident that the whole school had sprung into “make sure teacher Carolina isn’t crying alone at home” duty.  Then (the nail in the coffin), Mariana insisted on brushing my hair which I also accepted) because, lets be honest, who doesn’t like to have their hair brushed?!).  

Later that night, while I was outside washing dishes and talking on the phone, my neighbors (the same guys who saw me cry and ate the pizza) kept checking on me.  They were veryyyy concerned that I staying in the house alone would scare me.  They also had some misconception that I would stop eating all together when Helen left (…please, are you kidding?).  So after that had confirmed that I did, in fact, manage to eat dinner alone, they told me that if anything happened during the night and I just had to “scream real loud “and they would run right over. So sweet.

Like I told the other teachers in my attempt to justify my tears…we’re here alone. No family, no relatives.  She’s like my sister.  We’ve celebrated holidays and birthdays – and we’ve had our ups and downs together.  And since Thanksgiving (aka. the day I will arrive in LOUISVILLE!!!) is quickly approaching – I am so incredibly grateful to have had a roommate like Helen.  My service would have been completely different without her.

So. I’m trying to push through this last week and still soak it all in.  And as it turns out, having this outpouring of comfort from my school community these last few days (in Helens absence) will be one of the things that I cherish and remember the most.

Full Circle - Moz 19 Training

Each time a new input group of volunteers arrives in-country, they have 10 weeks of  pre-service training.  Now, its been about 2 years since I completed my training – so the details are a little fuzzy. But overall, I have fond memories of making lots of new friends and bonding over how entirely confused we were by our lives. It was tough though.  Training sessions, endless Portuguese lessons and cross cultural workshops occupied my life Monday through Saturday.  And if I wasn’t in a training session, I was exhausted from constantly straining to understand even the simplest conversation in Portuguese (fyi. If you haven’t learned a new language in a while – or ever … knowing “rojo” means red in Spanish doesn’t count ,fools – it is incredibly tiring).  Pre Service Training was one of those things you just had to push through and hang on to those fun moments when you were actually feeling carefree and having a good time.

Each week, two PCVs go to training to lead sessions, answer questions and reassure the newbies that they will, in fact, survive their service in Mozambique.  I was lucky enough to attend the 4th week of training for the Moz 19 group.  I wanted to go for a few reasons.  First, I’ve had a lot of different experiences here and I think I’ve maintained a positive (albeit somewhat cynical) attitude.  Sharing it with the new kids only seemed natural.  Secondly, I wanted to go back to Namaacha (the training village) and really see how much I’ve learned and changed since I was a trainee.

I was greeted with lots of hugs and kisses from former language and technical teachers – which is always nice, who doesn’t like to be hugged and kissed when they walk through a door?!  I let the new kids go question-crazy on me about classroom management, testing, lesson planning, having a roommate,  and learning Portuguese.  I had forgotten how completelyyy foreign this life was to me during training… and it reminded me how much I’ve learned and accomplished over the past two years.  I mean, I could answer ALL of their questions! And not because I’m super smart, or a rockstar volunteer – just because I’ve done it, and I survived it. 

I made sure to give a big pitch for Tete and specifically Cateme.  You know, things like, “Tete has this super cool, unique culture….. and we have baobob trees…. and it borders Malawi, Zambia and Zimbabwe.” And “Cateme has a beautiful school with a computer lab…. And our house has running water…. And we’re leaving a chest freezer, a gas stove and a wonderful dog!!”  I specifically left out that Tete is by far the hottest place in the country…. And that, if you get sent to Cateme, you’ll wait an average of 2 hours for a car to pass.  Whatever. Highlight the positive, right? They’ll figure the rest out on their own! I’d hate to ruin allll the surprises ;)

My final task while in Namaacha was to stop by and visit Mama Joana, my host mother.  Although I only got to stop by for a few minutes, it was WONDERFUL to see her again.  She was such a great part of my training experience.  I got a ride to her house in one of the land rovers, and she was working out in the field by her yard.  She was super excited to see me and we spent a some time catching up, making sure our families were all in good health, etc. Then she grabbed my arm and pulled me into the yard to show me ‘a surprise’ …. Sitting in front of her pink house was a car! She bought herself a car and is taking driving lessons! A middle aged, single mother of three – and she bought herself a car!! That is SO awesome! I couldn’t have been more proud – so we stood and held hands and admired the car for a few minutes. 

Elidio

Every time I sit down to write a blog post, I feel like I’m either gushing with good news or I’m beside myself.  And that doesn’t really surprise me.   High highs, low lows.

After a nice weekend on Mozambique Island (doing really horrible things … like sailing, laying on beautiful beachs, drinking beers while wading in the Indian Ocean and eating as much shrimp and calamari as I could get my hands on… high highs),  I came back to Cateme on Monday afternoon.  Our final English exam was scheduled for Tuesday morning, so I went to bed early in preparation for chaos and out of pure travel exhaustion.  Students here are expecting to contribute a few metecais (the local currency) to have their tests copied… So on Tuesday morning,  I was busting down the outdoor corridor to each classroom collecting money.  My first stop was 8A. They’re my littlest kiddos – and while they can absolutely be the most frustrating, they are also my favorite class.  We have good chemistry, they seem to be improving, and we usually have a good time during our twice a week English class (once, in that class, I was writing on the chalkboard and felt a sneeze coming… it didn’t come very quickly though and I found myself frozen like a statue in front of all 45 of them for a solid 5 seconds.  Long enough to be considered an awkward pause. Finally, I the sneeze hit me. Hard. And it caused me to bend completely over at the waist whipping my ponytail down and over my head, and then back again when I popped back up. I instinctively let out a little laugh at myself which was followed by 45 amused giggles…it was a snowball laughter.  And I’ve loved them ever since).

 Anyways,  I stopped there first.  Three of the boys were standing outside, looking awkward (not unusual, they’re 8^th graders, they excel at awkwardness).  One of them kind of grabbed my arm and just blurted out “Teacher, Elidio died.”  (He was the fourth member of their little bike-riding rat pack, and one of the sweetest, hardest working, kids I’ve encountered. Ever.) I thought I had misheard him and made him repeat it about three times before I started asking real questions. When?  (Last night). Was he in an accident?! (No, he was in the health center).  Had he been sick for a long time?? (No, just three days).  Does the school know yet? (No, that’s why we’re telling you). 

Ok, I thought, as we all stood there looking at each other… first thing: tell the school director. I took the boys to the office, and we explained what had happened.  The director sent them back to their classroom to continue with finals.  Death is strange here.  It happens, and you just have to keep going. No one is going to provide counseling, or suggest you take the day off.  There won’t be a loving song, or a paper chain made in memory of the person.  Even if you’re 13 and you’re best friend just died. You go back, sit in your desk, and take that chemistry exam you paid to have copied.   

Oddly enough, I had been scheduled to proctor that classes exams for the day.  Calling the kids by number, one at a time to pick up their tests was heart wrenching… I skipped from 16 to 18 without missing a beat – number 17 had been crossed off the list.  They started the exam, and I stood in the back of the room (thebest place to catch cheaters), purposefully averting my eyes from the empty desk in the middle of the room.  I’d never seen it like that before – Elidio never missed a single English class. He worked hard. He went from being the sweet kid who was friends with the little troublemakers – to the kid who improved so much that I could always count on him to answer questions in class. He was one I was rooting for.  Our school lost a good one… It happens, and life here will go on. And I’ll mark that day down as a low low.

A Virtual Tour

As requested by my lovely mother  (who claims she can picture my old site – Moatize, but not Cateme….it should be noted that she actually visited Moatize), I’m attempting to give virtual tour of Cateme.  Now, the really important thing to know about Cateme is that there is NOTHING here. You might think I’m exaggerating, because, ya know, I’ve been known to do that… but I’m not. There are no little shops, no where to buy prepared food… Nada.

Here’s what happens.  You leave bustling Moatize heading toward Malawi. And seriously, Moatize has a lot going on. The main road is full of shops and little restaurants.  About 20k down the road, you turn off the nice paved road onto a dirt path.  Continuing down the path, you see nothing but brush and the occasional mud hut.  While its only 17k, it takes about 30 minutes by car… and about 20 minutes into the bush-drive, you might think you’ve been kidnapped and that no ‘community’ is ever going to appear.  But at last, the path veers left and you cross some railroad tracks (that obviously came out of no where).  And BAM! Welcome to Cateme.  There’s a little painted welcome sign and everything. 

Cateme has been referred to as everything thing from the Twilight Zone to the Mozambican Pleasant-ville. Why? Because it’s probably the strangest and most unnatural village in all of Mozambique.  I mean, the place “opened.” As in, the village of Cateme opened in 2010.  Come on, that’s bizarre.  Every other village I’ve ever scene is very unplanned.  Mud houses pop up every where, there is no set roads – just things that look like goat paths, and once enough people are there, some kind of market/beer-selling establishment appears.  It seems like a pretty organic process. Cateme, on the other hand, is a resettlement community.  Basically, 200 families, who lived in one of these organically formed villages, were all moved at once into previously built homes in an extremely ‘planned’ community. 

Once you cross the railroad tracks, the dirt road appears to continue straight forever.  You are now entering Cateme. On your immediate left, you pass a model home (built as an example and now sits empty) and our Plaza – a strange piece of “modern art” that is the center of our community celebration.  The town square, if you will.  On the right, is a white-washed structure that looks like a stage/grandstand.  This was built this past March for the President’s visit in May.  This permanent structure has been used for a total of 2 hours. 

Continuing straight down the road (lets be real, there’s no other direction to go), you’ll get to the schools.  On the left, the Secondary School and houses for those teachers – and on the right, the Primary School and their teacher housing.  Also on the right, our “Police Station.”  (Yes, the quotation marks are necessary; it’s just a little box of building).

The next stretch of road is just houses.  Each family has a main house, an outdoor kitchen, an outdoor latrine/bathhouse, and depending on the size of the family, a one extra unattached bedroom.  That’s generally reserved for a grown son and maybe his young wife. Each house sits on a pretty sizable chunk of land (what we might call a yard…. A non-existent concept here). All the houses are situated the same on the land and all are painted white plus one extra color. This is why it looks like Pleasantville.

Coming up on the right hand side of the road – the Health Center.  This actually appears to be a pretty legit establishment (ignore the goats wandering through said center). There are two nurses who work there, each with her own house (the same layout as the teacher houses).  Fun fact. One of the nurses has a chest freezer – for to chill beer, of course. So if you need to sit and have a beer, you call up this chick and she moves some chairs outside on your front porch and serves beer.  Bonus – if someone is looking a little rough (the beers are extra large here), she will offer you some sort of free food.

Enter the Brian Reagan theory….

Once, when I was about in 8^th grade, on my way home from Indianapolis with some good family friends, I was introduced to the comedian Brian Reagan.  Now, I’ll laugh at just about anything – seriously – but I was especially entertained by this recorded stand-up routine in the back seat of the mini-van.  So much so, that I still remember (and laugh about) pieces of it. 

Last week, while the Cateme Secondary School “prepared” for the provincial science fair, I was reminded of a specific bit….

“I think the worst day was when the science project was due. Waking up that morning, that was fun, huh.  Your head would pop off that pillow…. Oh no.  That’s due today.  I had nine months to work on it. I did nothing. I have a cardboard box! And you’d show up, you’re scared cause you don’t have anything good and you find out, all the other kids, their parents made them for them.  One kid with a volcano… he didn’t know how to zip up his own pants but he built a volcano.  How’d ya swing that?!”

We’ve been talking about the science fair since early May.  It’s nationally organized by the Ministry of Science and Technology in coordination with Peace Corps Mozambique. The plan is, that each school has a science fair, picks two winners (a boy and a girl – always with the gender equality), and takes those kids to the provincial fair to compete against other schools.

Here’s what I’ve come to realize. A “science fair” is a very… American? Developed? Difficult to understand? Concept.  Its awesome, don’t get me wrong, and it’s a wonderful learning experience.  The challenge is that most of these kids have no idea what the Scientific Method is, let alone have seen or done an experiment.  Basically, for this to run smoothly and efficiently, it takes a lot of work on the part of the volunteers and the teachers at the school.  And it takes a LOT of time and patience.   

So there we are, the Thursday before the provincial fair (Saturday in Tete City).  We’ve given up on having a school fair, and have resorted to just choosing a boy and a girl, handing them a project, and hoping they could explain it to the judges on Saturday.  The Director (aka principal), the chemistry teacher, the geography teacher, the PE teacher, Helen and I convened in the teacher’s room to try and come up with some experiments.  The table normally used to lesson plan and discuss discipline problems is now covered with cups of water, matches, candles, knives, baking soda, salt, batteries, beets… anything that we could pull from our houses to piece together an experiment.  The director is pulling what little money he has on him out and sending kids out on bicycles in every direction to pick up stuff from the market or the farm.  Quite the scene. So much so, that the older kids who were getting out of class crowded around open doors and windows to the room to see what we were up to. 

Eventually, we came up with two experiments (using beet juice as a natural pH indicator – tested with baking soda and lemon juice…. And soaking a raw egg in vinegar to completely dissolve the shell) for our two 9^th grade participants.  Being the little smarties that they are, they caught on right away to what was happening and how to prepare for Saturday.  They didn’t win at the provincial fair, but it was an exciting experience for both of them. And most importantly, they’ll know how to prepare for the fair next year.

Twenty Four Trips Around the Sun

You know how some birthdays pass just like any other day? And yes, I’ve had a whopping 24 of them so I’m plenty qualified to make that statement.  Not bad, but not really awesome – just a day.   Well, I felt like this July 3^rd was exceptional – even on a Tuesday…

Well first I have to tell you about my pre-birthday weekend.  Hannah and I had planned a troca (“exchange”) for our REDES groups.  The plan was super simple – which is key to planning events with students in Mozambique.  Helen, Ana (our Mozambican counterpart and friend) and I chose 14 students from our girls group, rented out a chapa, packed everyone up on Saturday morning and set out for Hannah’s rural village, Kaunda.  The girls spent the morning mingling with the Hannah’s group and played an intense game of soccer. After lunch, they had a very informative sexual health lesson and presented a theater piece and some dances. 

Ok I digress…. but I’m sure you’re equally fascinated by my REDES group and my birthday! Anyways, leaving our troca, we scooped up Hannah and Eden and captive-ly brought them back to Cateme to entertain us.  The four of us spent practically every weekend together last year (when we lived in Moatize), so it was nice to have our little family together again… especially since I wouldn’t be seeing Hannah or Eden on my actual birthday.  We had a low-key birthday dinner of fried green tomatoes and homemade brownies while we sat on the floor of our house watching Modern Family. What more could a girls ask for?! (That question is proof I’ve been in Africa too long)

On Tuesday, my actual birthday, I woke up early to get on the road to Chimoio.  I wasn’t super psyched about making the 6 hour trek alone, but I figured Chimoio with some good friends outranks Cateme any day.  Upon waking up, I already had a ton of facebook notifications on my phone.  Each member of my immediate family had dug up an old baby picture, and uploaded them with Birthday messages.  I literally lay in bed laughing at the pictures – especially the gem my brother posted of the two of us with very serious faces.  Then, I found a zip lock bag full of candy and a full size box of Hot Tamales – my absolute all-time favorite candy – from Helen.  Such a good roommate, she’d been hoarding those Hot Tamales since Christmas!! (Don’t worry, they’re just as good 6 months stale).  And finally, hidden in a stack of papers I was taking with me, I found a homemade birthday card (including the traditional Goff family limerick) from Hannah.  By the time the sun came up, I was all smiles. 

I had an easy and fast first leg of the trip – and made it to the Tete border by mid morning.  Before I even walked to the spot where I had planned to hitch, a nice truck stopped for me.  I got in the private car and chatted for the next four hours with the driver – and older South African man one his way home to visit his grand kids.  At one point, he noticed that I was munching on some peanuts and insisted on stopping to buy me a “proper snack.”  I never told him it was my birthday…  I figured I was having a good karma day and there was no need to press it.

I made it to Chimoio by about 4 pm, just in time to find two of my favorite people and good friends  - Mona and Emily, waiting for me in the Peace Corps office.  We went straight to one of our favorite bars and sat outside under the little tiki huts to enjoy some birthday beers.  Once the sun went down, we met up with some other pcvs and had pizza for dinner. Pizza is ALWAYS a treat. Really, anything with cheese = super special.

So there you have it, an exceptional African birthday – and my last one here in Mozambique!