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.