the literal adventures of the struggle bus

Generally, when planning any sort of trip with friends (ie fellow volunteers), this conversion will arise.  “Soooo…. How do you wanna get to  (random destination – lets be honest, its probably a party)?” “Um, well there’s that bus that leaves at (totally unreasonable hour… usually in the 3 to 4 am range)” “yeah that’s true…. (said in a tone that clearly indicates the dread of said bus trip) but the price just went up and now its like (random amount of meticais that anyone not living on a peace corps salary will think is reasonable)” “Well, I mean we can always just boleia down (“boleia” in English is hitchhike)” “Yep, that’s definitely the better option. We can sleep in and save money (which you probably wont because – since you don’t have to wake up ungodly early - you’ll probably decide to have a few beers … if you give a mouse a cookie…)”

And now is the time when you’re probably seriously reconsidering my ability to make decisions. “Ummmm are you really supposed to be hitchhiking around Africa?” Well, lets weigh the options, shall we. 

Say you take the bus or chapa. It will go something like this… wait for chapa, wait for chapa, wait for chapa. Elbow someone in an attempt to get a seat… which turns out to really just be a piece of cardboard or a metal bar – or a maybe, just a bucket.  You’re already in a super good mood (…not) as a result of just getting on the chapa.  Now, you will inevitably face any one of these situations:

 1. Spend then next 4 hours trying to ignore the cobrador (the guy you pay) who is asking for your number/desperately wants to marry you/ wants you to take him to America. 

2.  Be continually harassed by a drunken man yelling in local dialect that everyone else is finding amusing – and that clearly is directed at you –but that you cant understand. 

3. Think that, this time, your legs/foot/arm might actually fall off because it/you are shoved into a space that is about a fifth of the size you would consider normal/comfortable. 

4. Find yourself within inches of any kind of live animal who is also not pleased about this transportation situation. 

5. Magically end up with someone’s baby/child/suitcase/tub-of-potatoes on your lap (excuse me ma’am, I packed this very small backpack so that I didn’t have to deal with this – it was not an invitation to hand me one of your extra large suitcase… or your child… ps there is NO WAY you can need a bag that large…).  

6. Spend an extra 2 hours sitting on the side of the road because the bus broke down in the middle of no-where.

 SO. There you have it. That’s the “normal” public transportation option.

broken down on the side of the road

Now, lets look at the boleia option. You bypass the bus stop and walk down the road a ways – we’re not looking for local traffic here.  Hopefully, you’re with one or two other girls (one of the few times being a woman here is wayyyyy more advantageous than being guy).  You find a shady spot, put your backpack down, and sit down to chat about how your 8^th grade students still can’t figure out how to use the verb “to be”.  Since its just a two lane road that stretches on forever, you can see cars coming at least 30 second before they pass you.  Now you decide “how picky you’re going to be.”  No one’s in a rush, you decide to be super-picky (as opposed to “I don’t care – if it has wheels and is moving, we’re getting in/on”).  A semi passes – no one flags it down – you’re not desperate. Maybe a flatbed truck with room in the cab or an open back pickup pass  and they stop for you– but the driver wants you to pay 300 mets a person (that’s already half the price of the bus)…. Ehhh … you can do better.  You sit back down.  Then, you see a really sweet car coming – like a nice little car, or a private SUV, or maybe a landcruiser.  Go! Go! Go! Someone jumps up and trots practically into the road (hey, you need the car to stop) and flash a friendly smile.  You see the car has plenty of space –and judging by the fact the windows are rolled up, its probably got AC. Bomb. And its slowing down! So you or your friend, whoever, chases the car as it stops. Turns out it’s a South African on vacation or a nice little Mozambican family or someone on a business trip and of course they’ll take you to (random destination) and they didn’t mention a price soooo its probably free! You wave the other girls over and hop in the backseat. The driver is impressed with your Portuguese, is interested in you’re school/village, and generally fascinated with what you’re doing. BAM. You make it to your final destination in half the time it took the bus, and you got a nice little nap in, too. AND you didn’t pay a dime. In fact, the driver probably bought you a coke or offered you a snack at some point.

free, sweet beach boleia in the back of a flatbed truck

What’s reallyyyyy entertaining though, is when you get to race. Say 12 people are headed to the beach.  So you break in a few groups and see who fares the best.  Its just one road, so you’re bound to pass each other on the road at some point. And hopefully you’re in the sweet car that’s passing the people standing on the side of the road because their chapa blew a tire half way through the trip (which is when you send that snarky “haha! Suckasss”  text).  Its pretty much Amazing Race…

Derby 138

And then – one of my absolute favorite weekends of the year arrived. KENTUCKY DERBY! Hannah agreed to host our 2^nd annual Derby party this year (living about 20 yards from the school isn’t really conducive to what we had planned) – so about 18 volunteers traveled to the little village of Kaunda. 

As was the case last year, I was the lone Kentuckian and thus had a lot of explaining to do. Sidenote – my family really likes to tell this story of how, when I was about 3 years old, I forced my aunts, uncle, parents and grandparents to don an array of hats on my grandpa’s hat rack  (ya know, newsboy caps, toboggans, cowboy hats – any type of hat you can imagine a really cool grandpa owning) for a “party” I was having in their living room. Then I proceeded to have them parade around the dining room table. Now, I was either a hella persuasive 3 year old, OR ( and this is the more likely case) there is something to say for being the first grandchild.  Anywaysss….. I requested that everyone coming to the Derby party wear a hat and a sundress (apparently some things don’t change).  Obviously, coming up with a derby hat in Mozambique was a challenge. However, being super crafty and resourceful Peace Corps volunteers, we came up with some pretty awesome ones (egg crates, cardboard, newspaper, and giant leaves all entered the picture).  In return for their compliance, I promised a spread of good Southern food (cheese grits, fried okra, chili with spaghetti noodles, etc), Derby pie (for those of you who didn’t grow up with all these apparently odd traditions – its chocolate pecan pie), and lots of bourbon.  And, of course, we made pool and all bet horses… lets be honest, its not as much fun if you’re not betting on the race. 

Since Derby fell on Cinco de Mayo this year, we also made piñata and all contributed a few little goodies from home. Now you may be thinking, how does one go about making a piñata in the bush? Wellll seeing as we are condoms are just about as common as nickels here… ya just blow one up like a balloon, tear up some newspaper, and then mix flour and water together to make paste. BAM. Piñata.  Now, we originally aimed for a horse shaped piñata, but that was a little too ambitious – so we settled for painting a horse on the piñata. Some of the really prized contributions to the piñata were sauce packets from Taco Bell, real Kleenex, glow sticks, a few airplane bottles of assorted liquor, and individual servings of Parmesan cheese. 

So at this point, its possible that you’re rolling your eyes and thinking “Good God Zoeller, you’re in Africa and you’re blogging about the Kentucky Derby?!”…… and the answer is, yes.  Those of you who really know me, know…I love Derby. I love Kentucky. And I love Louisville. It’s a wonderful place and it doesn’t get the credit it deserves for just generally being an awesome place. So anything that highlights my hometown goes down as pretty much amazing.  And honestly, missing derby festivities makes me homesick.  So yeah, I’m rambling about the Kentucky Derby. But the thing that’s so cool about this whole thing…. Half the people who came to the derby party came into not having any idea what Derby is. And now, they all know! And they helped me celebrate it 8000 miles away! And of course, they’re all welcome to come to the real deal next year J

Beach Hopping

After the REDES training, I officially started my “end of first trimester vacay.”  Since the majority of PCVs in Mozambique work in the Education project, its always safe to assume that if classes aren’t technicallyyyy in session – there will lots of Americans zipping around the country. I decided that making it from the inland of Tete to the coast was my main goal.  So a few other volunteers and I headed south to Tofo Beach. Tofo is always talked up as one of the best beaches in Mozambique, and since I’d never been there – and time is quickly running – it was high time to make my move.

After a full day of travel (which I’ll discuss in the near future), we rolled into a cute little backpackers on Tofo Beach.  We pitched our tents (cheaper than dorm beds) in some sand and quickly fell asleep listening the waves.  The next few days consisted of laying on the beach, playing in the waves, eating lotsss of seafood, and coming up with somewhat logical excuses to drink beer for breakfast.  After a few days of enjoying Tofo, we woke up early to watch the sunrise over the Indian Ocean and took off for a beach further north. 

As in annual tradition, Americans from every corner of the country convened in Vilinkulos  for a weekend of competition and general debauchery.  Having 60 plus Americans in any one place is quite the spectacle – add matching T-shirts and costumes, and it’s a real party! The beach in Vil wasn’t nearly as beautiful as Tofo – but getting to see so many friends completely made up for that.

Finally, we headed back North towards Tete.  I was kind of looking forward to “resting” for a few days…. Ya know, taking a vacation from my vacation.  But seeing as the first Saturday in May was upon us – there was no time for that. Helen and I made it home to Cateme to find the girls (Stella – my dog, and Olive – Helen’s cat) had been just fine without us for two weeks – and clearly not missed a meal.  We also arrived to all sorts of excitement as the President of Mozambique was making his first visit to little Cateme. To say this place was “aflutter” would be a massive understatement.

 I’ll be honest, I’m SO glad I wasn’t here for the preparation of this visit. I mean, the governor coming was out of control… this must have been a million times more ridiculous.  So that Thursday morning – in rolled an entourage of  about 30 cars and buses. Camera crews. Loads of police. Everyone and their freaking mother, basically.  Being such a pro at this whole “visitor” business, the secondary school teachers were lined up, looking very spiffy – of course. Students were dancing and waving flags.  Out hopped President Guebuza – and he made his way down the row of teachers, shaking our hands as our school director introduced us.  Unlike the governor, I actually recognized this man in an instant. And then I remembered that his picture hangs prominently in every classroom and public building. The school looked beautiful, the students were extra enthusiastic and, in my opinion, it was a very successful visit.  Considered our school is named after him, it was nice of him to come and actually tour it.

REDES Training of Trainers

After my whirlwind of calculating first trimester grades, I went straight into my next major challenge: REDES Training of Trainers.  So hopefully you remember that awesome Peace Corps initiated girls empowerment group, REDES. Well, 2 other volunteers and myself organized and led a weekend long conference for our Mozambican counterparts.  Basically, since we’re constantly fighting the uphill battle of ‘sustainability,’ we decided it would be beneficial to plan this training .We focused on things like reproductive health, effective communication (especially with teenage girls), HIV/AIDS education and how to write a simple budget for any activities where the groups may want to request funding.

Twenty three women between the ages of 22 and 48 attended this seminar.  After a particularly stressful day of travel to Chimoio – where the conference was being held - I was already worn out, especially after that whole “conselhos” madness. However, once we got started with our sessions, I completely changed my mind. I was incredibly excited at how productive each session was. The women had so much to say and so many good questions. Many of them (the majority of which already had children) still didn’t understand the basics of any kind of birth control. Having a space with just women – all of whom are invested in female empowerment – appeared to be a very special thing for these women.  Not only did they become fast friends, but they all seemed genuinely interested in helping with women’s issues here in Mozambique. 

There were obviously a few low points of the weekend – but I don’t really want to get the “international development is an ugly beast” ball rolling right now. It’s just too big! I’d rather share something happy….

One of my favorite women I met this weekend was Ofelia.  She was the youngest participant at the conference (22 years old), and in my opinion is the poster child for the REDES project. When she was 16, she joined a REDES group that was led by a PCV at her secondary school.  Now, at 22, she has finished college (which is AMAZING), speaks beautiful English, and is applying to graduate schools (including some in the States).  And on top of that, she started her own REDES group to help younger girls. One evening when talking with me and my friend Emily, she told us that many Mozambicans think that women simply aren’t capable of the same things as men. Her Peace Corps teacher told her that wasn’t true – and to get people to change that way of thinking, they needed to get out in the community and prove them wrong.

Conselhos de Nota

At the end of the trimester, instead of giving each individual student a report card, the director of each class writes out a giant class report card.  Grades for all 12 subjects and for all students are tediously handwritten on a large poster that is then hung somewhere in the school (can you imagine what would happen if someone tried that in the US? Just posted every grade for everyone to see? Yeah, it wouldn’t fly).

I think I’ve explained this before, but I’ll say it again.  Here in Mozambique, we grade things on a scale of 20 (not 100 like in the States) and a passing grade is 10 and above. So essentially, you just have to get 50% to pass a subject.  To pass trimester, a student must have no more that 2 negative grades (“negative” meaning under 10) above an 8.  For example, a student with an 8 in English and an 8 in Chemistry can still be considered passing if all other grades are above 10. BUT someone with a 7 in History and a 9 in Geography is considered failing. 

This year, for the first time, I had to preside over a “conselho” for my class.  This consisted of me, locking myself in a classroom with 3 other teachers who give classes to my 9B students. Along with individual grade sheets from every teacher, my giant poster of grades, and our class book, this team of teachers had to discuss every student to decide who passed the trimester and who failed. 

There were a few reasons this will go down as one of my least favorite experiences as a teacher here. First of all, general lack of technology.  We’re talking about handwritten posters here people. That means 57 students with 12 grades each – that first must me written in pencil to avoid mistakes, and then copied over in pen to make it oh so official. And, its not just one poster.  Each DT has to make a second one as well.  AND, all of that information has to be copied into the class book (pencil first, obviously…then pen, BLUE pen. No other color). So to wrap up my petty complaining – I thought my right arm was going to fall off and I had a headache from looking at endless columns of numbers.

Then, after about 5 hours locked in that classroom with my fellow teachers, we finally calculated the overall percentage of students in my class who were passing. It was a whopping 35%.  Woof.  If that wasn’t upsetting enough, our Ped Director (who is similar to an assistant principal) came in to tell us that no one was leaving until we had at least a 50% passing rate.  Then, I had to go through and change these kids’ grades so that more of them would pass. And you wonder why there are a significant number of 9^th graders that can’t read? This is it. Some teacher had to just make stuff up so that they didn’t lose their job.  God forbid we send in the real numbers to the people in charge. Sooooo, yeah, that was all types of depressing.

So. To not end on a completely negative note, I was really impressed with a few of the teachers who worked with me. They were just as upset about the state of the education system as I was – and I found that incredibly refreshing and to be honest, I was surprised by it. And yet, in a few months I’ll return to a country where most people are ignorant to how incredibly lucky they are – and my colleagues here will be left to deal with the disappointment of this broken system and the challenge of how to educate their own children…….. Well hey, what do ya know? That turned out to be negative anyway, didn’t it?! 

Bring it on 2^nd trimester, lets try this again…

Dia das Mulheres Mozambicanas

JUNTOS girls on MozambicanWomen's Day

more JUNTOS kids

Domestic Violence play for Women's Day

Ngyous

Stella and Friends

Harriet and Stella come to Cateme

Olive was not a big fan of Harriet

Stella, all grown up!