This last week has been insane. The first of February I started to feel a lump forming on my chin. My throat felt a little scratchy so I figured maybe I was getting a cold. Much to my dismay and my vanity, the lump grew and grew...and grew until one morning I woke up to find I had gained a second chin. This was no small lump. I looked like a blowfish or a frog that forgets to deflate that little chin thing it blows out. I looked like Tim Allen in the Santa Clause after he sees how fat he has gotten, but just in my face. I have so many comparative terms but I will spare you the details all at once. I knew I could not teach with my chin growth, much less eat, drink or swallow. Determined not to be plagued with the cruel nicknames for teachers I know 8th graders are more than capable of producing, I texted the director of my school and said I was sick.
After the slight nervous breakdown caused by Mt. St. Helens on my chin, I texted the emergency medical number for PC here in Moz and received instructions to go to the local hospital and have a surgical technician look at it. That job title sounded high-fallutin for my hood so I texted a Cuban doctor I met who worked there and she assured me that, indeed, a tech did exist. My roommate and I were unable to find a private ride to the hospital so we had to chapa it. Under the Nampula sun, I wore a jacket zipped up to hide my growth - a sweaty sacrifice I was willing to make.
The hospital I went to for an evaluation would send shudders down the spine of anyone who has every been treated in an American hospital. We can moan and complain all we want about healthcare in the US and the cost but we have it SO good. In one part of the hospital compound, there was a huge mass of people waiting to see a doctor, more likely, a nurse. Most of them women with babies or small children. They all sat outside patiently and I would not be surprised if they had been there since the very early morning. The main hospital had old wooden paneling and smelled like what I imagine the entire ytear of 1945 as smelling like. It seemed that the furniture and decor had not been updated since the hospital came into existence. Each hospital room looked like an abandoned haunted hospital straight out of a Stephen King horror novel. The equipment was all old and I did not see a single electronic device the entire time, save for a rusty refridgerator contraption with Blood Bank written on the outside sitting in the corner of the waiting area. When the doctor finally saw me, he proclaimed it to be both hard and large, an astounding diagnosis and proceeded to hand me a prescription for a drug I am allergic to.
We left the compound, crumpled ball of prescription paper in hand and headed back to the road. After walking for about 10 minutes or so, we caught a chapa heading back in our direction. Once at home, I dug through my medical kit and started taking an antibiotic they give us in emergencies and got clearance to take it. The kits are quite nice that the PC gives us, with everything from gauze and ACE bandages to ibuprofen and rehydration tablets. I hoped it would help but it was not meant to be. I continued to swell like I was spawning an alien out of my throat and gained a fever. The icing on this cake of fun was when the energy of our house died. You have not lived until you grope around blindly in the dark for your wind-up flashlight so that you can kill a cockroach the size of your thumb that is stuck between a poster and your wall with a flip-flop. No sirree.
I woke up the next morning in a state that trumps Jay Leno in the chin department. By late morning, I was booked for a flight down to Maputo to see an ENT. Of course I could not get a private ride so I had to take a chapa to Nampula - a trip fraught with the cobrador patting me on the backside, an unexpected hour and a half wait in Namialo so the chapa could fill again, a chapa driver who was on a quest to tell me every word of English he knew so I could feign amazement and surprise - 1, 2, 3, thank you, how are you, driver, etc. - and being forced to sit on a sack of flour with black pants on. All of this with a capulana around my neck to avoid people staring even more than they usually do. Once I finally got to Nampula, I stumbled out of the chapa, feet and my emotions both numb, and took a taxi directly to the airport so wait four hours for my flight. At the airport, I made small talk with the airport guard, a dude flying to Beira and wasted time chugging a fanta and chewing my french fries in the airport restaurant down to a fine paste.
The main roadblock I met with coming to Maputo for medical attention was the chapa situation right now in the city. The price of gas was increased so the chapa drivers increased their fares by 100 percent, something that most people cannot afford when they have mouths to feed and children to send to school. It was declared illegal for them to charge this fare and the drivers went on strike. People began burning tires, throwing rocks and blocking roads in protest. A few have died and several were injured. The protests have spread northward more as well and the drivers and the government are in a state of negotiation.
After a night in a hotel, I was taken to the hospital where I was to stay for five nights. It was one of the most boring experiences of my life. I had no television, no internet and no one who spoke fluent English to describe the medical procedure they needed to do. I went to go see an ultrasound technician. She was a portuguese lady with a raspy Marge Simpson voice and laugh who took one look at my chin and put her hands to her head in alarm. As she squirted jelly on my chin and began to monitor what exactly had made me look like Fat Albert, I could not help but ask whether it was a boy or a girl. She said it was too early to tell, but she could tell me that there was a pocket of puss in there - aka a bacterial infection. Puss pocket. Not to be juvenile and disgusting but it reminds me too much of the hot pocket jingle but with puss pocket inserted. Puss Pocket!
After a couple days of a drip in a vein in my hand, a shot in the backside and three pills every two hours, I went down to have a mini-operation done with a local anaesthetic. I am just going to admit that I had a nervous breakdown on that bed. Crying. Sweating profusely. Heavy breathing. Clammy skin. I felt I had valid reasons to freak out. People who do not speak fluent English cutting open my neck with just a local anaesthetic in Mozambique. No family with me and no one to hold my hand. When he finishes, the doctor asks me why I am crying. He was lucky he was the one holding sharp objects at that point. That was the first time I have every snapped at a doctor. He kept saying acabou! acabou! finished! finished! but I couldnt just turn off my panic attack like it was a switch. I snapped EU SE! I know! I think I scared him. I told Isadora, the PC doctor, I was none too fond of him and I think she relayed that message. She thought it was hilarious. I love Isadora.
While he was sucking out the Puss Pocket! from a hole he cut in my throat, I guess he saw something else wrong with my thyroid. So they patched me up, sent me back to my room and drew more blood. After those five long nights in a hospital room, I am staying at a hotel with fellow PCVs in the city, waiting for the strike to end and my test results to come back. In my first two hours at the hotel, I fell down, flat-out sprawled out three times on the stairs of the hotel, spraining my ankle. I must have walked under a ladder somewhere. Where's a large plastic bubble when you need one? I will update as soon as I know more about this chin problem. Hope all is well and that no one else has contracted odd abcesses on body parts. Cheers!
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
I´m going to pick your pocket now. Ya know, if that´s ok and everything.
I went to the Feira Dominical in Nampula on Sunday. The Feira is a crowded Sunday market where merchants and pickpockets line the streets, both waiting to take your money in their own ways. It was a successful trip. I bought a DVD with 16 movies on it (completely legal in terms of copyright, I´m sure) and sandals for school. There is definitely an art to bargaining for things here. A lot of the time, you can take the price they give you and cut it in half for the real price of the item. If they say no, you start to walk away and then they´re willing to negotiate more because a sale is better than no sale at all. We both got Mozambique hats, short-brimmed hats with the flag on it. Of course this hat was made in China. There is no shortage of Chinese products here.
We were walking away from the market to head back to the chapa stop, bags in hand, when something didn´t feel right. My roommate was walking ahead of me and two guys walking side-by-side split up, each to brush against her on each side as they walked past. That was strange but they didn´t take anything from her. We kept walking and I felt something going on around my pocket. I turned and saw a kid with a plastic bag over his hand trying to pick my pocket. I pushed his hand away and when he saw I noticed, he just walked away, like he thought "oh, okay. She noticed." I hope that kid goes to and stays in school because he was a lousy pickpocket. I think that I could have done a better job. If I get robbed, I want to at least be impressed by how well the operation goes down. I want to see Oliver Twist-esque action.
My friend was on her phone in Nampula one time and this guy just comes up and sticks his hand in her purse right in front of her. She looked at him and said "what the hell!" and another guy started yelling at the thief too. So the thief just walks away. He might as well have been like "Excuse me, miss. Is it all right if I just take a gander through your personal belongings?" I doubt the guy was looking for tampons or chewing gum. People are not overly fond of thieves here, despite the fact that it seems to be a popular profession. I have heard stories of Mozambicans chasing down thieves and beating them up. The next time someone tries to rip me off, I just plan to start yelling at them in English and making a scene. I don´t keep anything, valuable or not, in my pockets though. It´s too tempting for people with sticky fingers. It all goes in my money belt under my clothes and for women, it´s best to put money you´ll need quick access to in your bra.
I´ve stayed in contact with my second family, the Ndoves, in Namaacha. I hope to visit them in the future but it´s expensive. For now, weekly text messages and short phone conversations will have to suffice. Plus now that school is starting, it´ll get harder to find time to do it. I texted them the other day and apparently my sister, Aninha, who´s 13 years old, was cooking with oil and my little brother, Pedo, was with her. The searing hot oil fell onto her feet and splashed onto my brother´s face. They went to the hospital and Aninha spent a few night there but apparently they´re doing much better. They say she´ll be fine. I can´t even begin to imagine how hot that oil was so I hope she doesn´t have scarring, not to mention that it must be horribly painful to walk. She´s such a good kid too so I hope she recovers quickly with school starting. I want to go down there in April during our time off.
Nia and I have had a string of good luck in the last 24 hours. We had originally been given night classes to teach and we were none too thrilled. It´s extremely dark walking home and we would have had to walk by ourselves. So we decided to go and talk with the Pedigogical Director at the school about our problem. We even planned it all out. I was to be the confrontational one, being like "look (dramatic stamp of the foot and defiant pound of the fist), we refuse to teach at night for security purposes." We walked into his office and I launched into my speech about how we aren´t comfortable teaching at night. The Ped Director interrupted me and was like "ok. I just got someone else to teach them." I think both of our jaws dropped. And then the school fixed our front light fixture and main kitchen light fixture and outlet so we can now use these areas without a flashlight at night. We found ketchup at the local store and I made excellent french fries. Nia split a coconut perfectly in half. We are both becoming experts at splitting and eating coconuts. If I ever get stranded on a deserted island, I won´t be the fool who can´t figure out how to open a coconut.
The most amazing thing was this morning. We walked out of our house with our gas cylinder to catch a chapa to go to the gas station in Monapo Rio. We would have had to walk to the chapa stop with the heavy cylinder, wait for a chapa, load it in and wait for an hour or more for the chapa to fill up, go to the gas station and get a new cylinder, and then wash, rinse and repeat with the whole chapa situation. It´s quite the process. We had maybe walked a minute with the cylinder when we ran into the Zimbabweans who live in Monapo. They are starting up a banana operation over in Namialo and are living here for now until their living quarters are set up in Namialo. They had to get gas too so they gave us and our cylinder a ride to Monapo Rio in their car (which had electric windows - which I took full advantage of playing with. I am five years old when it comes to buttons) AND we got to talk in fluent English. It...was...awesome. We couldn´t believe our luck and were endlessly grateful to not have to chapa it. They dropped us off afterwards right in front of our house and gave us their number. They seem like really nice people. Nia and I thought that if we could buy a lottery ticket right now, we would probably win.
We were walking away from the market to head back to the chapa stop, bags in hand, when something didn´t feel right. My roommate was walking ahead of me and two guys walking side-by-side split up, each to brush against her on each side as they walked past. That was strange but they didn´t take anything from her. We kept walking and I felt something going on around my pocket. I turned and saw a kid with a plastic bag over his hand trying to pick my pocket. I pushed his hand away and when he saw I noticed, he just walked away, like he thought "oh, okay. She noticed." I hope that kid goes to and stays in school because he was a lousy pickpocket. I think that I could have done a better job. If I get robbed, I want to at least be impressed by how well the operation goes down. I want to see Oliver Twist-esque action.
My friend was on her phone in Nampula one time and this guy just comes up and sticks his hand in her purse right in front of her. She looked at him and said "what the hell!" and another guy started yelling at the thief too. So the thief just walks away. He might as well have been like "Excuse me, miss. Is it all right if I just take a gander through your personal belongings?" I doubt the guy was looking for tampons or chewing gum. People are not overly fond of thieves here, despite the fact that it seems to be a popular profession. I have heard stories of Mozambicans chasing down thieves and beating them up. The next time someone tries to rip me off, I just plan to start yelling at them in English and making a scene. I don´t keep anything, valuable or not, in my pockets though. It´s too tempting for people with sticky fingers. It all goes in my money belt under my clothes and for women, it´s best to put money you´ll need quick access to in your bra.
I´ve stayed in contact with my second family, the Ndoves, in Namaacha. I hope to visit them in the future but it´s expensive. For now, weekly text messages and short phone conversations will have to suffice. Plus now that school is starting, it´ll get harder to find time to do it. I texted them the other day and apparently my sister, Aninha, who´s 13 years old, was cooking with oil and my little brother, Pedo, was with her. The searing hot oil fell onto her feet and splashed onto my brother´s face. They went to the hospital and Aninha spent a few night there but apparently they´re doing much better. They say she´ll be fine. I can´t even begin to imagine how hot that oil was so I hope she doesn´t have scarring, not to mention that it must be horribly painful to walk. She´s such a good kid too so I hope she recovers quickly with school starting. I want to go down there in April during our time off.
Nia and I have had a string of good luck in the last 24 hours. We had originally been given night classes to teach and we were none too thrilled. It´s extremely dark walking home and we would have had to walk by ourselves. So we decided to go and talk with the Pedigogical Director at the school about our problem. We even planned it all out. I was to be the confrontational one, being like "look (dramatic stamp of the foot and defiant pound of the fist), we refuse to teach at night for security purposes." We walked into his office and I launched into my speech about how we aren´t comfortable teaching at night. The Ped Director interrupted me and was like "ok. I just got someone else to teach them." I think both of our jaws dropped. And then the school fixed our front light fixture and main kitchen light fixture and outlet so we can now use these areas without a flashlight at night. We found ketchup at the local store and I made excellent french fries. Nia split a coconut perfectly in half. We are both becoming experts at splitting and eating coconuts. If I ever get stranded on a deserted island, I won´t be the fool who can´t figure out how to open a coconut.
The most amazing thing was this morning. We walked out of our house with our gas cylinder to catch a chapa to go to the gas station in Monapo Rio. We would have had to walk to the chapa stop with the heavy cylinder, wait for a chapa, load it in and wait for an hour or more for the chapa to fill up, go to the gas station and get a new cylinder, and then wash, rinse and repeat with the whole chapa situation. It´s quite the process. We had maybe walked a minute with the cylinder when we ran into the Zimbabweans who live in Monapo. They are starting up a banana operation over in Namialo and are living here for now until their living quarters are set up in Namialo. They had to get gas too so they gave us and our cylinder a ride to Monapo Rio in their car (which had electric windows - which I took full advantage of playing with. I am five years old when it comes to buttons) AND we got to talk in fluent English. It...was...awesome. We couldn´t believe our luck and were endlessly grateful to not have to chapa it. They dropped us off afterwards right in front of our house and gave us their number. They seem like really nice people. Nia and I thought that if we could buy a lottery ticket right now, we would probably win.
Saturday, February 2, 2008
Latrine Falls and Chalk on the Walls
And so it's February and all is fine in Monapo. The mangos are dwindling and tomatoes larger than ping pong balls and watermelon are slowly but surely making their way into the market. I love going to the market just as it's getting dark. The fishermen who go to the ocean during the day and return with their catch sell in stalls lit by candles. And I love it because people don't realize you're white until you're close to them so there is less staring. I buy my supplies to make french fries, egg sandwiches with garlic and PB&J sandwiches. Those are my specialties for the moment. Everything takes a while to make because you have start cutting or bleaching any vegetables beforehand to get rid of any parts that may end up causing you to dash to the latrine and you also have to light charcoal, an art in itself. It's almost aerobic. While cutting vegetables or fruit, you work your shoulders by waving away flies and you use your biceps and forearms to fan the flames so your fire won't die. Finally, when it's time to eat, you're a sweaty, sweaty mess and ready for a bucket bath.
I had a cold for a few days the other week. One day, I woke up with a runny nose, a slight fever and a headache. Eventually working up the energy to put on flip-flops and maneuver the deadbolts on our doors to go to the bathroom, I went out to the latrine in the corner of our yard. Our embrigadad had just washed the floor inside so the ground was slippery. Just as I thought I was homefree, I fell like a house of cards in a wind tunnel - on the latrine. After lying there for a second in shock and laughing at myself, my laughter quickly turned to concern and serious consideration of how I could submerge myself in our water barrel full of boiling water with bleach to sanitize myself. I've made strides since seventh grade. I used to refuse to touch doorknobs at school without the barrier of my t-shirt and toilets other than the one in my home were considered bacteria-ridden death traps. My 12-year old self would absolutely scream at my 23-year old self or at least shake my hand only with the protective layer of their t-shirt. I walked out of the latrine and came face-to-face with the neighbor's chicken who wanders into our yard on a daily basis, crowing incessantly as if to say "suckas. I'd like you see you try to catch me." Catching that chicken is like herding...well...chickens.
Thursday I had my first day of interactions with students at school. I call them interactions because each class in the afternoon had about 20 students, about 60 less than what I will normally have. I wasn't even that nervous surprisingly. You can't show fear or they'll eat it up anyways. I had more of an adrenaline rush really. I introduced myself and had each of them say their names and where they were from. They were all quiet and attentive. I could barely hear the girls when they talked and they'd cover their mouths with their hands when they smiled or laughed. Yeah, we're gonna work on that.
The real challenge came with teaching the 8th graders during my night classes. They look to range between the ages of 10 and 35. When they see you coming to teach, they run into the classroom and stare at you. And when I say stare, it's intense. You're more interesting than a man with 7 arms in spike heels to them. Night classes are loud and rowdy so I predict discipline problems already. Slightly reminiscent of the students in Sister Act II and Stand and Deliver ("his body's decomposing in my locker"). I had them go to the front of the class to read a script on the board with another person.
Ex:
1: Hello, my name is...What is your name?
2: My name is...
So the students were basically introducing themselves. I had one boy who claimed to "have a fear of writing with chalk" come to the front with a girl to do the script. At the end, when they were supposed to say "nice to meet you," he moves in for the kill, reaching for a hug from the girl and she backed up quickly. The class exploded in laughter an all I could do was wag my finger and say "uh-uh, not in my class." After I finished my classes, I went to watch my roommate's, where every guy in the class wanted to introduce himself to me when I walked in. And then there are the popular questions 1)are you married? 2) how old are you? and 3) how many children do you have?
Yesterday I had four classes, 2 of which I had the students do the "alphabet dance-off." I gave each student a letter of the alphabet and we spelled out English words with the English pronunication at the front of the room. For example, "hotel." I made up a dance move, like the knee wobble and the slide, and "h" had to say their letter and do the dance and then "o" and so forth. They may think I'm slightly off my American rocker but I had their attention. Crazy like a fox? I like to think so. I really enjoy the kids so far though so I think I'm going to like teaching here.
I had a cold for a few days the other week. One day, I woke up with a runny nose, a slight fever and a headache. Eventually working up the energy to put on flip-flops and maneuver the deadbolts on our doors to go to the bathroom, I went out to the latrine in the corner of our yard. Our embrigadad had just washed the floor inside so the ground was slippery. Just as I thought I was homefree, I fell like a house of cards in a wind tunnel - on the latrine. After lying there for a second in shock and laughing at myself, my laughter quickly turned to concern and serious consideration of how I could submerge myself in our water barrel full of boiling water with bleach to sanitize myself. I've made strides since seventh grade. I used to refuse to touch doorknobs at school without the barrier of my t-shirt and toilets other than the one in my home were considered bacteria-ridden death traps. My 12-year old self would absolutely scream at my 23-year old self or at least shake my hand only with the protective layer of their t-shirt. I walked out of the latrine and came face-to-face with the neighbor's chicken who wanders into our yard on a daily basis, crowing incessantly as if to say "suckas. I'd like you see you try to catch me." Catching that chicken is like herding...well...chickens.
Thursday I had my first day of interactions with students at school. I call them interactions because each class in the afternoon had about 20 students, about 60 less than what I will normally have. I wasn't even that nervous surprisingly. You can't show fear or they'll eat it up anyways. I had more of an adrenaline rush really. I introduced myself and had each of them say their names and where they were from. They were all quiet and attentive. I could barely hear the girls when they talked and they'd cover their mouths with their hands when they smiled or laughed. Yeah, we're gonna work on that.
The real challenge came with teaching the 8th graders during my night classes. They look to range between the ages of 10 and 35. When they see you coming to teach, they run into the classroom and stare at you. And when I say stare, it's intense. You're more interesting than a man with 7 arms in spike heels to them. Night classes are loud and rowdy so I predict discipline problems already. Slightly reminiscent of the students in Sister Act II and Stand and Deliver ("his body's decomposing in my locker"). I had them go to the front of the class to read a script on the board with another person.
Ex:
1: Hello, my name is...What is your name?
2: My name is...
So the students were basically introducing themselves. I had one boy who claimed to "have a fear of writing with chalk" come to the front with a girl to do the script. At the end, when they were supposed to say "nice to meet you," he moves in for the kill, reaching for a hug from the girl and she backed up quickly. The class exploded in laughter an all I could do was wag my finger and say "uh-uh, not in my class." After I finished my classes, I went to watch my roommate's, where every guy in the class wanted to introduce himself to me when I walked in. And then there are the popular questions 1)are you married? 2) how old are you? and 3) how many children do you have?
Yesterday I had four classes, 2 of which I had the students do the "alphabet dance-off." I gave each student a letter of the alphabet and we spelled out English words with the English pronunication at the front of the room. For example, "hotel." I made up a dance move, like the knee wobble and the slide, and "h" had to say their letter and do the dance and then "o" and so forth. They may think I'm slightly off my American rocker but I had their attention. Crazy like a fox? I like to think so. I really enjoy the kids so far though so I think I'm going to like teaching here.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Yep, no joke. I WOULD like a shovel.
So I had one of my most fulfilling and action-packed days during my time in Monapo. I woke up around 6:30 and did some exercises, working up a sweat and a sore body for the next two days. That´s what going from constant inaction to jumping jacks and lunges will do to you. My warning to all. Anyhoo, I went to the bank and Oasis, a store in town. As I was walking away from the ATM, a lady was approaching it and asked me as we passed each other "esta pagar?", which means "it´s paying?" It was my shining moment. She expected that I understood portuguese and I did, so I beamed at her and answered "sim!" I gave myself a pat on a sunburned shoulder and kept walking on my way to the store. When I got to the store, a Chinese guy was in there and seemed to be having communication problems with the store owner, which isn´t surprising because the store owner isn´t exactly sunshine and daffodils any time I´ve ever talked with him. The Chinese guy proceeded to ask me in English to ask the store owner what type of bread is better. This guy expected me to speak portugese as well...and lo and behold, I did. So I asked the store owner, getting a shoulder shrug and "I dunno." I relayed the status of the bread, made my purchase and walked out into the scorching Nampula street like Mary Tyler Moore on the Mary Tyler Moore Show. If my baseball cap hadn´t been dripping with sweat, I would have thrown it while spinning beneath it. I basked in the glory of my knowledge of a second language for the ten minutes it took to walk home and then reality set in of having to work on lesson plans.
It´s not that I don´t like lesson plans or that it´s difficult - it´s just boring. I talked with one of our colleagues at work and apparently we don´t find out what grades we´ll both be teaching until tomorrow. Friday. And school starts Monday. So our colleague told us to prepare three weeks worth of lesson plans for 8th to 10th grade. We really don´t understand the education system that well yet so these lesson plans are a total shot in the dark. Better than nothing.
As I sat at my desk, listening to music and scribbling away on lesson plans, I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. I went out into the kitchen area and there was something flying around. At first I thought it was a bird, but then when I walked to the screen door to our porch, I did in fact see a bat clinging to the screen. Instantly I flashed back to when I was little and saw something flying around in our upstairs. I was like "oh, a bird!" And it was a bat in that case too. My mom and dad responded quickly, grabbing a paper bag and a pair of tongs, beelining for the stairway. I had the opposite reaction. This is one way in which I am neither of my parents´daughters, as the term goes. Of course I freaked out and flung the door shut, trapping it between the door and the screen door, calling out to Nia so that we could freak out together. We went out front to catch a glimpse of it and to declare it to be "so disgusting." I worked up the courage to go inside and unlock and push open the screen door so it could fly away of its own volition but it still wouldn´t budge. So of course, what do you do if a bat won´t move? You throw rocks at it. The only result that got was that the bat wet itself on our screen out of fear. Very nice. We attracted a nice little crowd of children who had been shredding cardboard for no good reason in front of our house. Apparently, we became more interesting than cardboard when we started shrieking. "Uma cobra?" they asked. A snake? "Nao!" we called back, as they peered through our reed fence that they parted with their hands to watch our little performance. Nia flapped her arms like a bird, totally not getting the essence of a bat across, but we couldn´t think of the word.
Living in Mozambique has convinced me that I´d fail miserable if I ever took up competitive charades. For example, I later went to the market to buy a shovel to dig a trash pit in our yard. A shovel is "pa." Maybe I´m not nasal enough with some words but when I encounter a blank stare for 2 repetitions of the word or phrase, I launch into full-on mime mode. Flapping and ducking and pretending to eat with my hands. Hand signals here are different too, heightening the hurdle of cultural assimilation. The hand signal of cupping your hand to say "bye" in the U.S. for example, means "come here" in Moz. But back to the business of the shovel. I purchased the shovel to dig our super-awesome trash pit so that children will have to pull a mission impossible with a rope ladder to steal our garbage. I don´t want a mountain of garbage in our yard either, since I´ve taken up gardening and landscaping our yard. I finished a stone path to our bathroom this morning actually. So...I walked around the market a bit with my shovel after successfully getting the lady working the store to understand me and headed home. I have never gotten so many stares and questions since I´ve gotten here. And trust me. I have had plenty. "What are you going to do with that?" was the question of the hour, to which I responded "beat people with it." When that got a silent, awkward response, I continued with "dig a garbage thing," and then I´d get the smile. I´ve found that any word I can´t think of or I don´t know, I tend to replace with "thing", a list which now includes "pit."
As I walked home, casually swinging my shovel, I got offers to work for me and people who would nudge other people and look in my direction. Apparently they´ve never seen a white woman carrying a shovel. Whenever I got the offers for people to work for me, I would respond "no, this is for me. I love shovels," giving my new purchase a loving squeeze. That got a rise out of them. At least walking with it shows people I´m not afraid of work and that if anyone attenpts to rob us , I have yet another weapon in my arsenal of a machete and hoe to wield to scare them. Or maybe they could just steal the shovel too. Who knows. But it was such a good conversation topic. I should carry it around constantly.
It´s not that I don´t like lesson plans or that it´s difficult - it´s just boring. I talked with one of our colleagues at work and apparently we don´t find out what grades we´ll both be teaching until tomorrow. Friday. And school starts Monday. So our colleague told us to prepare three weeks worth of lesson plans for 8th to 10th grade. We really don´t understand the education system that well yet so these lesson plans are a total shot in the dark. Better than nothing.
As I sat at my desk, listening to music and scribbling away on lesson plans, I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. I went out into the kitchen area and there was something flying around. At first I thought it was a bird, but then when I walked to the screen door to our porch, I did in fact see a bat clinging to the screen. Instantly I flashed back to when I was little and saw something flying around in our upstairs. I was like "oh, a bird!" And it was a bat in that case too. My mom and dad responded quickly, grabbing a paper bag and a pair of tongs, beelining for the stairway. I had the opposite reaction. This is one way in which I am neither of my parents´daughters, as the term goes. Of course I freaked out and flung the door shut, trapping it between the door and the screen door, calling out to Nia so that we could freak out together. We went out front to catch a glimpse of it and to declare it to be "so disgusting." I worked up the courage to go inside and unlock and push open the screen door so it could fly away of its own volition but it still wouldn´t budge. So of course, what do you do if a bat won´t move? You throw rocks at it. The only result that got was that the bat wet itself on our screen out of fear. Very nice. We attracted a nice little crowd of children who had been shredding cardboard for no good reason in front of our house. Apparently, we became more interesting than cardboard when we started shrieking. "Uma cobra?" they asked. A snake? "Nao!" we called back, as they peered through our reed fence that they parted with their hands to watch our little performance. Nia flapped her arms like a bird, totally not getting the essence of a bat across, but we couldn´t think of the word.
Living in Mozambique has convinced me that I´d fail miserable if I ever took up competitive charades. For example, I later went to the market to buy a shovel to dig a trash pit in our yard. A shovel is "pa." Maybe I´m not nasal enough with some words but when I encounter a blank stare for 2 repetitions of the word or phrase, I launch into full-on mime mode. Flapping and ducking and pretending to eat with my hands. Hand signals here are different too, heightening the hurdle of cultural assimilation. The hand signal of cupping your hand to say "bye" in the U.S. for example, means "come here" in Moz. But back to the business of the shovel. I purchased the shovel to dig our super-awesome trash pit so that children will have to pull a mission impossible with a rope ladder to steal our garbage. I don´t want a mountain of garbage in our yard either, since I´ve taken up gardening and landscaping our yard. I finished a stone path to our bathroom this morning actually. So...I walked around the market a bit with my shovel after successfully getting the lady working the store to understand me and headed home. I have never gotten so many stares and questions since I´ve gotten here. And trust me. I have had plenty. "What are you going to do with that?" was the question of the hour, to which I responded "beat people with it." When that got a silent, awkward response, I continued with "dig a garbage thing," and then I´d get the smile. I´ve found that any word I can´t think of or I don´t know, I tend to replace with "thing", a list which now includes "pit."
As I walked home, casually swinging my shovel, I got offers to work for me and people who would nudge other people and look in my direction. Apparently they´ve never seen a white woman carrying a shovel. Whenever I got the offers for people to work for me, I would respond "no, this is for me. I love shovels," giving my new purchase a loving squeeze. That got a rise out of them. At least walking with it shows people I´m not afraid of work and that if anyone attenpts to rob us , I have yet another weapon in my arsenal of a machete and hoe to wield to scare them. Or maybe they could just steal the shovel too. Who knows. But it was such a good conversation topic. I should carry it around constantly.
Saturday, January 5, 2008
And so begins 2008...
I had a great time in Angoche for Christmas and I returned to Monapo for New Years because I didn't feel comfortable leaving our humble abode for that long. And lo and behold, someone had stolen our capulana tablecloth through a little hole that isn't covered with netting on our barred back windows. I'm actually fairly impressed, besides being disappointed at the loss of my capulana. They went fishing for that sucker and got it. With that much work, they can just have it. If I see someone walking around with that capulana on though, I'll know that they stole it or got it from someone who stole it because it's a capulana from Maputo and they seem to vary with regions.
I am in the city for the day and it's turned out well. At the beginning, not so much. I caught a chapa where the cobrador (the guy who takes the money) was practically sitting on my lap (he should have been paying me) and I was pushed up against a young mother who was continually breastfeeding her baby. Being from a non-public-breastfeeding country, I wasn't sure where to look. My knees weren't crammed against the seat in front of my though so I had little cause to complain. The real problem came when I got to the chapa stop and I was stopped. They claimed that my passport copy wasn't suitable and that they required the real deal. I assured them that it was an official copy from Maputo, pointing out the stamps and signatures. When they kept pressing me, I told them I could have them talk to my contact person in Nampula and he would sort it out. Then one of them said "so you have a lot of credit to talk?" So he was basically saying, you have a lot of money. To this, I said "no, I am going to have him call us." They didn't want to talk to him though (surprise, surprise) and after about 10 minutes, they let me walk away. It wasn't scary. Just an annoyance really because I definitely got the drift they were looking for money and I wasn't about to buckle. And when I got to the Peace Corps office, I found I'd gotten packages from the family and my next door neighbor in the states (thank you, thank you, thank you!). Using the internet to talk to everyone and pick up mail makes the cobrador's lap dance and the passport stop totally worth it. :)
I have been reading like a fiend at my house while I am waiting for life to become busy. I am also writing four pages in my journal pretty much everyday and going to the market, so I am not lacking in things to do. It is lonely but not that bad. My roommate should be coming back tomorrow or Monday from Angoche so I'll be able to speak in English again. Hallelujiah! :) I have been chatting with a tailor who has a sewing machine on the side of the main road in Monapo each day too and I told him I'd buy a capulana and have him make me a skirt out of it. At first when he started speaking to me, I thought he was talking in Macua but it was portuguese. I felt pretty stupid.
There is a little boy who comes by our house about once a day and yells out for my roommate and when he tires of her not responding (since she's not there and I'm too lazy to get up), he calls for me. Yesterday I told him I would play soccer with him after lunch but then it started to downpour. The rainy season is starting here but I'm excited because that means that more vegetables and fruit are coming down the line eventually. I have been eating a lot of garlic bread and egg sandwiches, which I must admit, are delicious. It seems like one out of three eggs is usually bad though so I always have to crack them open in a bowl first to make sure they're not going to make me use the bathroom at 2 am.
Here's my address for packages and mail now that I have moved north. It's in the city but I'll be coming here probably once every two to three weeks to check on mail and buy stuff.
Erin Lynum, PCV
Corpo da Paz
Rua dos Continuadores No. 24-A
C.P. 526
Cidade de Nampula, Nampula
Mocambique
I am in the city for the day and it's turned out well. At the beginning, not so much. I caught a chapa where the cobrador (the guy who takes the money) was practically sitting on my lap (he should have been paying me) and I was pushed up against a young mother who was continually breastfeeding her baby. Being from a non-public-breastfeeding country, I wasn't sure where to look. My knees weren't crammed against the seat in front of my though so I had little cause to complain. The real problem came when I got to the chapa stop and I was stopped. They claimed that my passport copy wasn't suitable and that they required the real deal. I assured them that it was an official copy from Maputo, pointing out the stamps and signatures. When they kept pressing me, I told them I could have them talk to my contact person in Nampula and he would sort it out. Then one of them said "so you have a lot of credit to talk?" So he was basically saying, you have a lot of money. To this, I said "no, I am going to have him call us." They didn't want to talk to him though (surprise, surprise) and after about 10 minutes, they let me walk away. It wasn't scary. Just an annoyance really because I definitely got the drift they were looking for money and I wasn't about to buckle. And when I got to the Peace Corps office, I found I'd gotten packages from the family and my next door neighbor in the states (thank you, thank you, thank you!). Using the internet to talk to everyone and pick up mail makes the cobrador's lap dance and the passport stop totally worth it. :)
I have been reading like a fiend at my house while I am waiting for life to become busy. I am also writing four pages in my journal pretty much everyday and going to the market, so I am not lacking in things to do. It is lonely but not that bad. My roommate should be coming back tomorrow or Monday from Angoche so I'll be able to speak in English again. Hallelujiah! :) I have been chatting with a tailor who has a sewing machine on the side of the main road in Monapo each day too and I told him I'd buy a capulana and have him make me a skirt out of it. At first when he started speaking to me, I thought he was talking in Macua but it was portuguese. I felt pretty stupid.
There is a little boy who comes by our house about once a day and yells out for my roommate and when he tires of her not responding (since she's not there and I'm too lazy to get up), he calls for me. Yesterday I told him I would play soccer with him after lunch but then it started to downpour. The rainy season is starting here but I'm excited because that means that more vegetables and fruit are coming down the line eventually. I have been eating a lot of garlic bread and egg sandwiches, which I must admit, are delicious. It seems like one out of three eggs is usually bad though so I always have to crack them open in a bowl first to make sure they're not going to make me use the bathroom at 2 am.
Here's my address for packages and mail now that I have moved north. It's in the city but I'll be coming here probably once every two to three weeks to check on mail and buy stuff.
Erin Lynum, PCV
Corpo da Paz
Rua dos Continuadores No. 24-A
C.P. 526
Cidade de Nampula, Nampula
Mocambique
Friday, December 21, 2007
Merry Christmas/Feliz Natal
Hello everyone!
And so begins our third week in Nampula province. Everything is running smoothly. The house is in running order (I killed a large flying cockroach last night with my Tevas and gave it a sailing grave out into our backyard, a lizard fell from the ceiling yesterday as we cooked dinner and a snail somehow made it's slimy way into our back porched in area - we are the Dr. Doolittles of Monapo. We are considering taking a puppy from a PCV in Mousseril once his dog has her puppies). We go out to the market everyday to buy food. We have improved our food situation slightly. I cooked pasta with sauce from Nampula City and we have actually made egg sandwiches. So, yes, we have strayed from just eating bread with peanut butter and mangos. We aren't sure what we'll do once mango season is over. We have heard that the orange season starts right after. I guess the oranges here are much more acidic but don't worry Mom and Dad, I'll make sure I brush my teeth afterward to make all those years of dental work on my pearly whites worth it.
Nia and I made a trip to Ilha the other weekend to visit with Katie on the island. It's an awesome place so I can see why it's such a tourist destination. I never had tried squid before or eaten shrimp with the heads still attached and unpeeled. Before, in the states, my idea of seafood was fishsticks and the thought of those poor lobsters with their claws tied in those circular death tanks. I claimed to be a hater of seafood but after trying Katie's fried squid, I have converted. We went to a music festival on the island and watched Katie perform some songs with her guitar in front of a crowd of probably 2,000 Mozambicans. Pretty awesome. We also went to the beach and attracted a large horde of small children. The three of us were just sitting there talking, doing absolutely nothing interesting and about 10 children came up and laid on the sand in front of us, only about five feet away and stared at us. So I stared back at them to make a point but they just laughed and continued staring. At first, their curiosity is endearing and cute, but after they just wouldn't leave, it got irritating. And when they ask for your water. Or for your sunglasses. Or your hat. I'm getting really good at just saying a blunt ''no.'' I feel like I used to be more of a pushover but not now.
I'm excited because we're heading to the beach for the Christmas and there will be several of us Americans in one apartment overlooking the ocean. And apparently, someone has A Christmas Carol to watch on a computer. I really have a desire to watch Christmas Vacation, but alas, it is not to be. Today we are in Nampula, converging to buy things for the holiday, various foods and gifts for Secret Santa. We left our house in order when we left, with the embrigada to keep an eye on it with everything locked up. I still can't help feeling nervous leaving our house for more than during the day. I left her our numbers in case of an emergency or if anything happened. We went to the police station next to our house yesterday to introduce ourselves and the police officer was like "yeah, someone robbed your house before when the other two lived here but we caught them,'' tossing a thumb in the direction of the jail out back. All in all though, I feel like Monapo is a pretty safe place. I never let my guard down though or let my things out of my site. Better safe than having to spend money on a new phone or camera.
This morning, as Nia and I were getting ready to come to Nampula, she started singing '' It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas'' and we couldn't help but laugh. It doesn't feel like December 21st. It feels like July 21st. Although last night it got somewhat chilly and I used my wool blanket for half an hour.
I want to wish everyone a very merry Christmas and possibly a happy new year, since I don't know when I will be able to get online next because I'm sure hours of internet places change around the holidays. Please watch Christmas Vacation for me, listen to Christmas music on the radio (the only christmas music I have is what Kara added to my music selection and I thoroughly appreciate it - thank you, Kara), enjoy the lights on the Christmas trees and the decorative lights outside. It's tough being away but it helps to have my peace corps friends as another family. Feel free to buy phone cards and email me for my phone number. :) I love you all and hope everyone is doing well. Merry Christmas!
Love from Moz,
Erin
And so begins our third week in Nampula province. Everything is running smoothly. The house is in running order (I killed a large flying cockroach last night with my Tevas and gave it a sailing grave out into our backyard, a lizard fell from the ceiling yesterday as we cooked dinner and a snail somehow made it's slimy way into our back porched in area - we are the Dr. Doolittles of Monapo. We are considering taking a puppy from a PCV in Mousseril once his dog has her puppies). We go out to the market everyday to buy food. We have improved our food situation slightly. I cooked pasta with sauce from Nampula City and we have actually made egg sandwiches. So, yes, we have strayed from just eating bread with peanut butter and mangos. We aren't sure what we'll do once mango season is over. We have heard that the orange season starts right after. I guess the oranges here are much more acidic but don't worry Mom and Dad, I'll make sure I brush my teeth afterward to make all those years of dental work on my pearly whites worth it.
Nia and I made a trip to Ilha the other weekend to visit with Katie on the island. It's an awesome place so I can see why it's such a tourist destination. I never had tried squid before or eaten shrimp with the heads still attached and unpeeled. Before, in the states, my idea of seafood was fishsticks and the thought of those poor lobsters with their claws tied in those circular death tanks. I claimed to be a hater of seafood but after trying Katie's fried squid, I have converted. We went to a music festival on the island and watched Katie perform some songs with her guitar in front of a crowd of probably 2,000 Mozambicans. Pretty awesome. We also went to the beach and attracted a large horde of small children. The three of us were just sitting there talking, doing absolutely nothing interesting and about 10 children came up and laid on the sand in front of us, only about five feet away and stared at us. So I stared back at them to make a point but they just laughed and continued staring. At first, their curiosity is endearing and cute, but after they just wouldn't leave, it got irritating. And when they ask for your water. Or for your sunglasses. Or your hat. I'm getting really good at just saying a blunt ''no.'' I feel like I used to be more of a pushover but not now.
I'm excited because we're heading to the beach for the Christmas and there will be several of us Americans in one apartment overlooking the ocean. And apparently, someone has A Christmas Carol to watch on a computer. I really have a desire to watch Christmas Vacation, but alas, it is not to be. Today we are in Nampula, converging to buy things for the holiday, various foods and gifts for Secret Santa. We left our house in order when we left, with the embrigada to keep an eye on it with everything locked up. I still can't help feeling nervous leaving our house for more than during the day. I left her our numbers in case of an emergency or if anything happened. We went to the police station next to our house yesterday to introduce ourselves and the police officer was like "yeah, someone robbed your house before when the other two lived here but we caught them,'' tossing a thumb in the direction of the jail out back. All in all though, I feel like Monapo is a pretty safe place. I never let my guard down though or let my things out of my site. Better safe than having to spend money on a new phone or camera.
This morning, as Nia and I were getting ready to come to Nampula, she started singing '' It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas'' and we couldn't help but laugh. It doesn't feel like December 21st. It feels like July 21st. Although last night it got somewhat chilly and I used my wool blanket for half an hour.
I want to wish everyone a very merry Christmas and possibly a happy new year, since I don't know when I will be able to get online next because I'm sure hours of internet places change around the holidays. Please watch Christmas Vacation for me, listen to Christmas music on the radio (the only christmas music I have is what Kara added to my music selection and I thoroughly appreciate it - thank you, Kara), enjoy the lights on the Christmas trees and the decorative lights outside. It's tough being away but it helps to have my peace corps friends as another family. Feel free to buy phone cards and email me for my phone number. :) I love you all and hope everyone is doing well. Merry Christmas!
Love from Moz,
Erin
Monday, December 10, 2007
estou aqui
So I am in my new site in Monapo, Nampula. Woot woot. Our house was pretty much already set up for us, which was nice. We have a quaint little house with a fence around it for privacy. It seems like a top location for a dog because it could wander around the yard. We have more things than a dog to think about right now though. We have a front porch area where we can receive visitors, a kitchen with two bedrooms of the exact same size to the left and then a back, screened in area where we keep our water. It pretty adorable. There are bars on the windows and a lot of locks so it seems secure. We also have an embrigada (or a housekeeper) and she has worked at the house for 3 or 4 years so she knows what´s up. She washed our clothes today and carted water for us. She seems pretty awesome thus far.
Monapo is a big, long town. I would say that half the population or so is Muslim and another some percentage are Christian and other. It is hot here too. It seems hottest in the early morning too when you would think it would be hotter later in the day. There isn´t a ton of food here right now but there are the basics. Once the rainy season begins there starts to be a ton of fruit and vegetables and my roommate and I are looking forward to it. We have to figure out how to cook with a gas stove too. It´s a whole new ballgame.
I miss Namaacha and my family there. I called them yesterday to say hello after I hung up with my number one family from the states. I feel like I am going to have issues with separation anxiety by the time I return to the US, what with all this leaving people business.
I have to keep a list of what I want to write here because right now, everything escapes me. Right now I am content and a little nostalgic over the US. I miss the people and the material girl inside me misses some of the stuff. Like an oven or running water and a shower. But I know that what I am doing is good and I don´t have any regrets.
And hey, it´s not too different here in comparison with Namaacha. We have cockroaches and bats in our bathroom this time. Heck yeah (pump my fist).
Monapo is a big, long town. I would say that half the population or so is Muslim and another some percentage are Christian and other. It is hot here too. It seems hottest in the early morning too when you would think it would be hotter later in the day. There isn´t a ton of food here right now but there are the basics. Once the rainy season begins there starts to be a ton of fruit and vegetables and my roommate and I are looking forward to it. We have to figure out how to cook with a gas stove too. It´s a whole new ballgame.
I miss Namaacha and my family there. I called them yesterday to say hello after I hung up with my number one family from the states. I feel like I am going to have issues with separation anxiety by the time I return to the US, what with all this leaving people business.
I have to keep a list of what I want to write here because right now, everything escapes me. Right now I am content and a little nostalgic over the US. I miss the people and the material girl inside me misses some of the stuff. Like an oven or running water and a shower. But I know that what I am doing is good and I don´t have any regrets.
And hey, it´s not too different here in comparison with Namaacha. We have cockroaches and bats in our bathroom this time. Heck yeah (pump my fist).
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