We just finished the week of ACP exams in Monapo and we all know what that means. We got to play a little game I like to call “close your eyes and point your finger and you’ve got yourself a cheater.” We aren’t even talking about good cheating. Slick 007 cheating. Ocean’s 11 rig-the-deck cheating. No. This is the type of cheating where they see the teacher looking at them and throw their notebook back on the floor. Or the notebook is on the floor but they page through it with their toes. There’s also my favorite: blatantly sitting on the notebook. You can always tell because they might as well have brought a blanket and picnic basket. They don’t tuck in their shirts so that the fabric will cover any corner of the notebook that is peaking out. Also, they look slightly uncomfortable when you walk past them, give you a side-glance or are sweating more than what is seasonably acceptable. When I would yank a notebook out from under a student like the golden egg from under the goose, a look of shock and horror would appear on their faces.
“Senhora Professora! I didn’t cheat! I don’t know how that got there! That’s not my notebook!”
And then I joke that they were probably sitting on the notebook so they could see the board better. They continue to argue with me and the amazing thing is that they actually seem to believe they did nothing wrong. They are just that desperate to pass without doing any work. All of the teachers control the exams of other teachers. We just pass out the tests and keep an eye on them. The teacher eventually comes in and explains everything. I can’t help but feel sheepish when the teacher comes in to explain and I’m standing on a chair, looming over the students in my dark sunglasses, red marker in hand. The teacher usually appreciates it though and backs me up when the students try to complain to them that I’m actually marking down who is cheating and talking.
The students have this trick of not telling you their name after they cheat and not writing their names on the test,so that they can go to the teacher of that discipline later and say that they were sick that day and couldn’t take the test. I have found a good way to combat this problem. I steal from the students. They don’t tell me their name or are suffering from temporary Alzheimer’s? Fine. Osvaldo doesn’t get to wear his shoes on the long walk home. It’s virtually fail proof (unless I worked in a nursing home). When they want their shoes or their random personal belongings returned, they have to go and talk to the teacher. At the end of one test, my tote bag looked like a middle school lost and found.
They take two tests each day for ACPs and one day I controlled 11th grade exams, it was bloodshed. I was handing out “cheated” on tests like a shoe salesman getting commission. After the break between tests, I walked into the room to find a message scrawled on the board.
“Erin – you can not enter this classroom anymore! We are not asking – we are ordering!”
Frankly, I was flattered that they spelled my name correctly. Now if only they would stop spelling English as “Inglesh.” I was hoping for a skull and crossbones. Or at least a Mr. Ick. But alas, we can’t have everything we want in this world.
Life has been amazingly busy between planning a conference in the city and school. I have been dealing with a man who works at a venue in the city where the REDES conference room and food will be provided. I should have known what it would be like to deal with the man from this place (I will call him “half pint”) when one of the first things he asked me when I talked to him in January was “are you married?” I have learned that I just need to lie and say yes in hopes that it will squash the possibility of future discussion of the topic. The problem is that you can tell men you are married, but that isn’t good enough. They need to see your spouse as a conjoined twin at your side, like some warped TLC special, in order to leave you alone. Half Pint attempts to flirt with me each time I go to discuss conference logistics, making me want to shove his stubby tie halfway down the paper shredder in the corner of the office so he can sit there and think about what he’s done.
I went to stay at a friend’s house the other week in an attempt to get more accomplished and in the morning, as I was walking out to the road, I flagged down a chapa to take me to the center of the city. Well, lo and behold, Half Pint was behind the wheel of an SUV directly behind the chapa. He waved for me to come so he could give me a ride. I couldn’t say “oh no, thank you. I much prefer this smelly, dilapidated excuse for public transportation.” So I hopped in with my belongings strapped to my back. The bulk of the conversation went like this.
Half Pint: “I like you a lot.”
Me: “Is that a soccer field over there?”
Half Pint: “When I think about you, I feel frightened by how much I like you.”
Me: “Sporting is a Nampula team? Or is it Benfica? Or are they both?”
Half Pint: “Fright. I don’t know why. Strange, isn’t it?”
Me: “Soccer is a good sport.”
Half Pint: “I like you a lot. We should have dinner the next time you are in the city.”
Me: “I am married.”
Half Pint: “I sense that you are bothered when I talk about how I feel for you.”
Me: “I am married.”
Half Pint: “We should have dinner.”
Me: “I eat dinner with my friends when I’m in the city.”
Half Pint: “You are bothered?”
Me: “Yes.”
Yes, Half Pint is a true Encyclopedia Brown of female emotions. I feel like the closest I could come to him understanding that I don’t like him is by punching him in the face, and outweighing him by a good 50 lbs., I am fairly certain a sneeze would suffice in steamrolling the little feller. I just have to put up with it for another month. Until then, he isn’t charging me for the use of the microphones and sound system.
Speaking of dogs, Timba got his rabies vaccination. So if he bites a thief and they start foaming at the mouth, I can wave a piece of paper in their face and say it must have been something they ate. I was relieved to find out that it wasn’t our town veterinarian but a veterinary technician who was available. The man had gin on his breath but hey, he was a dapper gentleman in comparison with the other guy. I had to pin Timba to the ground while he shot the dog up. I couldn’t plaster the little guy down the whole time and he got up, snarling at the tech. I always love getting a front row seat to Mozambican men yelping like little girls. The man picked up his feet and ran like a collegiate marching band’s half-time show to our front gate and I had to talk to him through the door to have him drop off the paperwork later. Part of the injection ended up on the ground, which the dog promptly lapped up. This is Africa. Waste not. Want not.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Hell Hath No Fury
I was sitting on my front veranda, relaxing after an afternoon of teaching, when my peaceful silence was upset by a ruckus. That's right. A ruckus. The primary school children won't give a moment's peace; particularly when Timba is outside. They tend to bark at him, throw rocks at him and generally taunt him with their presence. They yell "succa!" at him, meaning "go away," but in a rude manner, even though he is clearly in the boundaries of the fence and they would likely prefer that he stay in the fence, given their ungodly fear of all canines. Well, I looked up and saw a gaggle of children taunting him and then running back to the school. They were repeating this over and over again, like those little birds who have nothing better to do but come out of cuckoo clocks. Except these little birds were like the Pauly Shore birds of the cuckoo clock world. Don't get me wrong though. I loved Son-in-Law.
I had enough. I picked up my things, got my bag and keys and headed out the front door to the fence. I looked around in my bag for a moment, like I was prepping for a market run. My acting skills worked. I didn't look at all on a mission as I walked leisurely toward the school. I might have swung my arms more to look to be walking leisurely, now that I think about it. As I walked toward the group of children, the jig was up and they fled like Godzilla was clomping down the dirt path after them. It was that running-while-looking-over-the-shoulder-with-fear-in-your-eyes type of flight. And I'll admit - it was kind of satisfying. I tracked a couple of the fugitives to their hiding place in a classroom, where they were trying to casually blend in with the innocents. Au contraire. If you choose to harass a neighbor's dog, make sure you aren't the only ones wearing non-uniform clothing. They just sat there by their bookbags, as if they had been sitting there, casually chatting up their classmates and discussing the turning point in the economic climates of the United States and Japan.
As soon as I entered the classroom, which unsurprisingly was unchaperoned by a teacher, the kids started screaming. I am fairly certain that the two girls didn't think I would recognize them. I spotted them and grabbed their arms to take them outside. Immediately, one of the girls goes Helen Keller, pre-Ann Sullivan, on me, flipping out and crying and flailing her free arm. An almost immediate sign of guilt and angry denial. I took them outside, followed by every child in the classroom and we were quickly surrounded by what appeared to be every child in the school. There were no classes being held as a result of teachers not showing up, so I, the white girl about three feet taller than everyone within 100 meters, was the main source of entertainment. I think the girls thought I was leading them to the jail that is right next door because they started to drift in that direction. I corrected them and steered them toward the school office. For a moment though, I thought it would have been very interesting. I should make friends with a jailer and then lead the children to the jail to have them sit in a cell for ten minutes. Give them some time to think about what they've done. Deny them their one phone call.
The amazing part is that the girls actually came with me and didn't put up too big of a fight as I marched them out of their classroom and to the school office. If I were a horrible child, I would have laid down and had to have been dragged out, suffragette style. We were surrounded by a swarm of children. One little boy I know said "Irene! What did they do?" But he didn't say it in an "Ah, eegats, Senhora Professora, what did these innocent young whippersnappers do? It couldn't have possibly been that dreadful. You going to the clam bake next weekend?" kind of way. It was a teeth-gnashing, eyes red with the desire for blood kind of "sick 'em" you might see in lynch mobs. When I got to the office, it was closed and no one was there. I looked around and there was only one teacher in school and they weren't even teaching. Again, no surprise. So I turned the girls over to the proper authorities at the school, asked them to inform their students to leave our house alone, and then bid him a stern adieu. It was all very classy. Very Anne of Green Gables "your cow got loose in my pasture."
I never got so many respectful "boa tardes" in my life though as I walked past the school again on my way back from the market. There were groups of children standing around and as they saw me, pointed at me and continued talking in hushed whispers. Ah yes. All of Monapo probably knew about the episode within the hour. But at least now the children at the primary school know that if you mess with the bull, you get the horns. Or at least you run a high risk of me recognizing you and dragging you to the director's office to be given the punishment of cleaning out the school latrines. Personally, I'd much rather get the horns.
I was walking down the street the other day and a drunk man walked up to me. "Hello! You need to get your dog vaccinated! And you have to marry a Mozambican." I'm guessing in that order. This scholar and gentleman was referring to my dog's booster rabies shot. He is due for it in March. I think that the only way this man knew about my dog's vaccination history was that he is friends with the creepiest veterinarian alive. I went last year to get Timba his rabies shot and I had to talk my way out of getting beers with the vet with my own money. And that was before he called me his pita in front of a large group of people.
I will remind you, faithful readers, that a pita, here in Mozambique, is not a delicious sandwich bread that you stuff with an assortment of meats and salads. It is someone you have sex with at your leisure - a quasi-lady of the night, if you will. At that time, I just walked away quickly and ignored the comment. As of late, I have been unable to ignore this comment. Men around here just seem to think that it's a name you can shout out like Bingo on a Tuesday night. I was walking home from school the other day and a guy shouted "pita" at me as if he was calling for his lost dog. And yes, he did whistle. I wasn't appealing in any way, shape or form. I was wearing a bata, the equivalent of a white lab coat, hadn't showered in 48 hours, and was sweating so much, you could have set pots under my forehead to save water for the next dry spell. The next day, I'd had it. I walked past a carpenter's shop and a man called out the magic name. I promptly turned around and flicked him off. I have never flicked anyone off out of anger before and to be honest, it was exhilarating. There's only so much harassment one can take.
I just bought a sewing machine for my girls group and we are going to begin sewing lessons next week. I am becoming more and more busy as the year is progressing. I am starting a school newspaper and between that, juggling my girls group, planning the girls' conference in the city and my library project, I am beginning to talk to myself. That may be the first sign of insanity but hey, at least I'm never lonely. Everything moves at an anvil's pace here. For example, my counterpart for the library project has had to make three separate trips into the city to get the right documents so she can open a joint bank account with me. She had documentation before but the bank informed us that the documents were only good enough to open an individual account. This is an anvil with a heck of a lot of red tape on it. Some people get used to it. I, however, still complain bitterly about it in private every few days.
I had enough. I picked up my things, got my bag and keys and headed out the front door to the fence. I looked around in my bag for a moment, like I was prepping for a market run. My acting skills worked. I didn't look at all on a mission as I walked leisurely toward the school. I might have swung my arms more to look to be walking leisurely, now that I think about it. As I walked toward the group of children, the jig was up and they fled like Godzilla was clomping down the dirt path after them. It was that running-while-looking-over-the-shoulder-with-fear-in-your-eyes type of flight. And I'll admit - it was kind of satisfying. I tracked a couple of the fugitives to their hiding place in a classroom, where they were trying to casually blend in with the innocents. Au contraire. If you choose to harass a neighbor's dog, make sure you aren't the only ones wearing non-uniform clothing. They just sat there by their bookbags, as if they had been sitting there, casually chatting up their classmates and discussing the turning point in the economic climates of the United States and Japan.
As soon as I entered the classroom, which unsurprisingly was unchaperoned by a teacher, the kids started screaming. I am fairly certain that the two girls didn't think I would recognize them. I spotted them and grabbed their arms to take them outside. Immediately, one of the girls goes Helen Keller, pre-Ann Sullivan, on me, flipping out and crying and flailing her free arm. An almost immediate sign of guilt and angry denial. I took them outside, followed by every child in the classroom and we were quickly surrounded by what appeared to be every child in the school. There were no classes being held as a result of teachers not showing up, so I, the white girl about three feet taller than everyone within 100 meters, was the main source of entertainment. I think the girls thought I was leading them to the jail that is right next door because they started to drift in that direction. I corrected them and steered them toward the school office. For a moment though, I thought it would have been very interesting. I should make friends with a jailer and then lead the children to the jail to have them sit in a cell for ten minutes. Give them some time to think about what they've done. Deny them their one phone call.
The amazing part is that the girls actually came with me and didn't put up too big of a fight as I marched them out of their classroom and to the school office. If I were a horrible child, I would have laid down and had to have been dragged out, suffragette style. We were surrounded by a swarm of children. One little boy I know said "Irene! What did they do?" But he didn't say it in an "Ah, eegats, Senhora Professora, what did these innocent young whippersnappers do? It couldn't have possibly been that dreadful. You going to the clam bake next weekend?" kind of way. It was a teeth-gnashing, eyes red with the desire for blood kind of "sick 'em" you might see in lynch mobs. When I got to the office, it was closed and no one was there. I looked around and there was only one teacher in school and they weren't even teaching. Again, no surprise. So I turned the girls over to the proper authorities at the school, asked them to inform their students to leave our house alone, and then bid him a stern adieu. It was all very classy. Very Anne of Green Gables "your cow got loose in my pasture."
I never got so many respectful "boa tardes" in my life though as I walked past the school again on my way back from the market. There were groups of children standing around and as they saw me, pointed at me and continued talking in hushed whispers. Ah yes. All of Monapo probably knew about the episode within the hour. But at least now the children at the primary school know that if you mess with the bull, you get the horns. Or at least you run a high risk of me recognizing you and dragging you to the director's office to be given the punishment of cleaning out the school latrines. Personally, I'd much rather get the horns.
I was walking down the street the other day and a drunk man walked up to me. "Hello! You need to get your dog vaccinated! And you have to marry a Mozambican." I'm guessing in that order. This scholar and gentleman was referring to my dog's booster rabies shot. He is due for it in March. I think that the only way this man knew about my dog's vaccination history was that he is friends with the creepiest veterinarian alive. I went last year to get Timba his rabies shot and I had to talk my way out of getting beers with the vet with my own money. And that was before he called me his pita in front of a large group of people.
I will remind you, faithful readers, that a pita, here in Mozambique, is not a delicious sandwich bread that you stuff with an assortment of meats and salads. It is someone you have sex with at your leisure - a quasi-lady of the night, if you will. At that time, I just walked away quickly and ignored the comment. As of late, I have been unable to ignore this comment. Men around here just seem to think that it's a name you can shout out like Bingo on a Tuesday night. I was walking home from school the other day and a guy shouted "pita" at me as if he was calling for his lost dog. And yes, he did whistle. I wasn't appealing in any way, shape or form. I was wearing a bata, the equivalent of a white lab coat, hadn't showered in 48 hours, and was sweating so much, you could have set pots under my forehead to save water for the next dry spell. The next day, I'd had it. I walked past a carpenter's shop and a man called out the magic name. I promptly turned around and flicked him off. I have never flicked anyone off out of anger before and to be honest, it was exhilarating. There's only so much harassment one can take.
I just bought a sewing machine for my girls group and we are going to begin sewing lessons next week. I am becoming more and more busy as the year is progressing. I am starting a school newspaper and between that, juggling my girls group, planning the girls' conference in the city and my library project, I am beginning to talk to myself. That may be the first sign of insanity but hey, at least I'm never lonely. Everything moves at an anvil's pace here. For example, my counterpart for the library project has had to make three separate trips into the city to get the right documents so she can open a joint bank account with me. She had documentation before but the bank informed us that the documents were only good enough to open an individual account. This is an anvil with a heck of a lot of red tape on it. Some people get used to it. I, however, still complain bitterly about it in private every few days.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Thank you, Mr. Pasteur
We are back in Monapo, putting our nose right back to that grindstone in the state we left it in. School started the other week and I am playing fast and loose with the term "start." Technically, no one shows up for the first week of the year because the school has administrative issues to handle. Then, the second week, no one comes because let's face it, it's just not cool to show up that week. You don't want to look too eager - too overzealous cheerleader from Grease. Then, we find ourselves in the third week of the year. The trimester only has nine weeks in it. And the last two weeks are quite similar to the first few weeks. So you can just imagine how the level of productivity is nowhere close to that of the Keebler Elves. I always loved that commercial. Those little elves...working in a tree...with cookies...So easily confused with Snap, Crackle and Pop, the Rice Krispies sweatshop laborers. But I digress...
We had a new fence built, made entirely out of bamboo. The old one fell down while we were on vacation because of the torrential downpours. The only thing weaker than the structure of the fence itself was the work ethic of the students who built it for us. The fence was important for a number of reasons. We have goats that wander into our yard. Children from the school like to antagonize the dog and stand there and stare at us. It's a far more daunting task to brush your teeth in the morning when you have an audience. I struggle from performance anxiety with all the pressure and as we all know, a thorough brushing is always in order. Well, those children are a tour de force. They have been constantly throwing rocks at the dog, barking at him and stealing bamboo from our fence. Bamboozlers. If these children were in the states, they would have monkey leashes on them. Trust me. If you heard "how ah you!?" about 15 times a day and then see eyes peaking through the fence at you when you are hanging up underwear on the clothesline, you would also feel the urge to hurl a few expletives in English.
My dog is good. And by good, I mean he bit me. I was on the phone with my parents a few Sundays ago and he didn't want to come inside when I called. When I grabbed his leg, he pulled and I held on. Well, apparently it hurt him to pull away and he bit my palm, leaving a bloody puncture/gash. There were Mozambicans standing around watching and here I was, standing with blood dripping off of one hand and my phone in the other: multi-tasking at its worst. Good thing he got his rabies shot a while back. According to Ms. Manners, foaming at the mouth is not very becoming of a lady. At least seeing that the owner's dog even bites the owner is a good theft deterrent. I should have started screaming "Ele esta vicioso! Esta vicioso, eu digo!" (He is vicious! He is vicious, I say!") Then collapse to the ground in convulsions. I am just curious to see if my fifth grade forensics talent was just a fluke or if I should shirk the Peace Corps and move to L.A. My spider senses are telling me that it wouldn't be such a good idea.
My dog has gotten gigantic since I've been gone and more unruly. He is so ill-mannered that it's difficult to train him or even take him on walks. I tell him to come and he walks away. I tell him to sit and he licks himself. At least he's meeting me halfway on the sit. He has the attention span on a peanut. So far, he only knows "sit" and "act like a jerk." He broke his second choke collar. Second! I had to bribe him to come back to me by sprinkling saltines on the ground in front of me. Very Hansel and Gretel. I think he is going to grow tired of the saltines, so then I'll have to buy lemon cookies for him. And then he'll grow tired of those and I'll have to buy him hard-boiled eggs. At that point, I might as well start a college fund for him with all the money put toward bribes. I would palm him a 50 but his lack of opposable thumbs would make that transaction seem downright inhumane.
The other day, I was washing dishes in the back room of the house and I saw a little girl watching the dog through the fence. In one hand, she had her shoe, posed in prime shoe-throwing position. I called out for her to leave the dog alone because he was in the fence and wouldn't bother her. Well, who was I to know there was a hole in the fence? He ran out and misinterpreted her attention as playtime. He wasn't doing anything to her but existing and she threw her shoe at him. I walk out to the front of the house and she is standing there alone.
"He took my shoe."
Yep, she threw her shoe and Timba thought she was showering him with gifts. He picked it up, ran over to the shade of the police station bathroom and promptly began to gnaw on it. When I shook a bag of bread crumbs at him and shouted his name, he came running, leaving the little girl to hunt for her shoe for the next 15 minutes. Well, if you throw your shoe, you have to know that there is a chance you aren't going to get it back. Cause and effect, my dear.
School is going fine so far. I am teaching ninth grade this year, following most of my students from last year. I have all of my students who passed and my roommate's students who didn't pass. It's good seeing them all again after break. It's amazing how different they look. Apparently, I look different too. I was waiting for the obvious "teacher, you got fat!" and have them point out my skin's reaction to the abrupt changes in climate it has endured over the past two months. It's those everyday jabs I've grown accustomed to. However, I wasn't expecting "you got really white." I wasn't sure how to respond to that one. A short "sure did" and a shrug seemed to do the trick.
We have been helping at school a little bit. My roommate has a computer program to make schedules and is a master at it, so she did the teachers' schedules for the school with my occasional help. As a result, we had dibs on which times we'd teach at. We got out of teaching at night again. It's creepy to walk alone at night. Sure, I have an airhorn, pepperspray and a mean upper-cut thanks to my past interest in Tae Bo, but I could do without that discomfort of walking in the dark by myself.
Well, I hope everyone had a lovely Valentine's and a rip-roarin' Presidents' Day. I'm heading to the ocean later for the weekend for my birthday to hang out with friends. I promise to update this more often, Girl Scout's honor. I only made it to Junior status in the scouts until I submitted my resignation, but I like to think I can still lay claim. In all honesty, I only wanted to be a Junior so I could get that leprechaun-green vest. Juliette Low would be proud.
We had a new fence built, made entirely out of bamboo. The old one fell down while we were on vacation because of the torrential downpours. The only thing weaker than the structure of the fence itself was the work ethic of the students who built it for us. The fence was important for a number of reasons. We have goats that wander into our yard. Children from the school like to antagonize the dog and stand there and stare at us. It's a far more daunting task to brush your teeth in the morning when you have an audience. I struggle from performance anxiety with all the pressure and as we all know, a thorough brushing is always in order. Well, those children are a tour de force. They have been constantly throwing rocks at the dog, barking at him and stealing bamboo from our fence. Bamboozlers. If these children were in the states, they would have monkey leashes on them. Trust me. If you heard "how ah you!?" about 15 times a day and then see eyes peaking through the fence at you when you are hanging up underwear on the clothesline, you would also feel the urge to hurl a few expletives in English.
My dog is good. And by good, I mean he bit me. I was on the phone with my parents a few Sundays ago and he didn't want to come inside when I called. When I grabbed his leg, he pulled and I held on. Well, apparently it hurt him to pull away and he bit my palm, leaving a bloody puncture/gash. There were Mozambicans standing around watching and here I was, standing with blood dripping off of one hand and my phone in the other: multi-tasking at its worst. Good thing he got his rabies shot a while back. According to Ms. Manners, foaming at the mouth is not very becoming of a lady. At least seeing that the owner's dog even bites the owner is a good theft deterrent. I should have started screaming "Ele esta vicioso! Esta vicioso, eu digo!" (He is vicious! He is vicious, I say!") Then collapse to the ground in convulsions. I am just curious to see if my fifth grade forensics talent was just a fluke or if I should shirk the Peace Corps and move to L.A. My spider senses are telling me that it wouldn't be such a good idea.
My dog has gotten gigantic since I've been gone and more unruly. He is so ill-mannered that it's difficult to train him or even take him on walks. I tell him to come and he walks away. I tell him to sit and he licks himself. At least he's meeting me halfway on the sit. He has the attention span on a peanut. So far, he only knows "sit" and "act like a jerk." He broke his second choke collar. Second! I had to bribe him to come back to me by sprinkling saltines on the ground in front of me. Very Hansel and Gretel. I think he is going to grow tired of the saltines, so then I'll have to buy lemon cookies for him. And then he'll grow tired of those and I'll have to buy him hard-boiled eggs. At that point, I might as well start a college fund for him with all the money put toward bribes. I would palm him a 50 but his lack of opposable thumbs would make that transaction seem downright inhumane.
The other day, I was washing dishes in the back room of the house and I saw a little girl watching the dog through the fence. In one hand, she had her shoe, posed in prime shoe-throwing position. I called out for her to leave the dog alone because he was in the fence and wouldn't bother her. Well, who was I to know there was a hole in the fence? He ran out and misinterpreted her attention as playtime. He wasn't doing anything to her but existing and she threw her shoe at him. I walk out to the front of the house and she is standing there alone.
"He took my shoe."
Yep, she threw her shoe and Timba thought she was showering him with gifts. He picked it up, ran over to the shade of the police station bathroom and promptly began to gnaw on it. When I shook a bag of bread crumbs at him and shouted his name, he came running, leaving the little girl to hunt for her shoe for the next 15 minutes. Well, if you throw your shoe, you have to know that there is a chance you aren't going to get it back. Cause and effect, my dear.
School is going fine so far. I am teaching ninth grade this year, following most of my students from last year. I have all of my students who passed and my roommate's students who didn't pass. It's good seeing them all again after break. It's amazing how different they look. Apparently, I look different too. I was waiting for the obvious "teacher, you got fat!" and have them point out my skin's reaction to the abrupt changes in climate it has endured over the past two months. It's those everyday jabs I've grown accustomed to. However, I wasn't expecting "you got really white." I wasn't sure how to respond to that one. A short "sure did" and a shrug seemed to do the trick.
We have been helping at school a little bit. My roommate has a computer program to make schedules and is a master at it, so she did the teachers' schedules for the school with my occasional help. As a result, we had dibs on which times we'd teach at. We got out of teaching at night again. It's creepy to walk alone at night. Sure, I have an airhorn, pepperspray and a mean upper-cut thanks to my past interest in Tae Bo, but I could do without that discomfort of walking in the dark by myself.
Well, I hope everyone had a lovely Valentine's and a rip-roarin' Presidents' Day. I'm heading to the ocean later for the weekend for my birthday to hang out with friends. I promise to update this more often, Girl Scout's honor. I only made it to Junior status in the scouts until I submitted my resignation, but I like to think I can still lay claim. In all honesty, I only wanted to be a Junior so I could get that leprechaun-green vest. Juliette Low would be proud.
Monday, January 19, 2009
When You Wish Upon a Yeti
So we went on our DisneyWorld trip this last week. As much as I had been opposed to the trip in the beginning, I found myself starting to enjoy myself. Everything ran smoothly for the most part since my parents went the distance and bought a vacation package through a travel agent. It was four action-packed days of park-hopping and large crowds. Who would have thought that New Years is always a busy time for DisneyWorld? Not I. We went to all four of the theme parks (Magic Kingdom, Epcot, MGM Studios, and Animal Kingdom). We had direct transportation to and from a resort (albeit, the Motel 6 of the Disney resort experience – but still nice and clean) and a meal plan. Just thinking about that carrot cake brings back fond memories and gushing salivary glands.
It was interesting having to share a hotel room with my family, now that both my sister and I are in our mid-twenties. One thing is for certain and that is that nothing has changed. Except maybe the size of the bed. Whenever I had been forced to share the bed with my sister as a child, it had always seemed bigger. We would always fight over someone crossing the center line of the bed and I think I may have actually bitten her at one point. Since we’ve become adults, the bed seems to have shrunk to the size of an ill-fitting suit. We battled each other at night, as in the past, kicking and one of us hogging all the blankets. I can’t help it but I’m a thrasher. I wake up and I’m wrapped up tighter in my sheets than a Jimmie Dean sausage link. At one point, I physically pushed my sister’s face with my hand. I don’t really remember why. It’s not like I didn’t give a warning. I had even submitted a verbal disclaimer that I could not be held accountable for my actions when I was sleeping. As a result, she spent two nights sleeping on the floor until finally she resorted to a medicated form of sleep rather than risk a stiff back in the morning.
When we weren’t sleeping, we were constantly walking or waiting in lines. Walking is something that is difficult to accomplish when you have child strollers and children wearing backpack monkey leashes in every direction. There were these fancy little monkey shaped backpacks for children and the leash was cleverly disguised as the monkey’s tail. It was chaos at its closest definition. Don’t get me wrong. Kids are cool and all but not wild monkey leash children. As my sister pointed out when she saw a leashed child “that kid’s going to closeline us all if he takes off running.” I wonder if there is hope for an off-leash theme park. Because at DisneyWorld, I half-expected parents to pull out packages of string cheese and bite off bits to throw to their children when they behaved themselves and sat. Or maybe a squeaky toy shaped like a rolled up newspaper.
I got to see a few temper tantrums. I’m always severely disappointed in the tactics employed by children in order to get what they want. In my opinion, lying on the ground, kicking your feet and screaming so loud your skin turns the shade of a red M&M is not the most effective mode of communication. A little girl did that as I was waiting in line for my flight to Africa. Everyone looked at her with alarm and moved as close to the front of the line as possible, as if that would guarantee them not being seated next to the little banshee.
One of the best rides I went on was the new ride at Animal Kingdom, Expedition Everest. The roller coaster includes going backward and downhill in the dark and of all things, a yeti. The attention to detail was impressive, with a hiker’s lodge and a yeti museum to glance at while we wound through the ropes. When you were done with the ride, like all other rides, everyone was funneled out through the gift shop to stock up on souvenirs to be sold at next summer’s garage sale. One of their most prominent souvenirs was a stuffed yeti. It was basically a round white fur ball with feet and eyes. I was not impressed. The yeti appeared too genial. It could at least be growling or be gnawing on a dead deer carcass. The sweet, furry yeti would be like making the Loch Ness monster a character in Finding Nemo. It’s just a distortion of stories that originally, at their best, gave a reason for the production of the nightlight.
My sister and I split up from my parents each day because it just seemed easier to decide where to go when there were only two people chiming in on the decisions. Also, when together my parents tend to choose the presentations, rather than attractions, such as the American Adventure. That title is full of deception because I fell asleep faster than I do in church. I dozed off just as the soldiers were talking about how there was no food at Valley Forge. I fell asleep during the Lights, Motors, Action stunt show that involved live high-speed car chases and explosions. I fell asleep at the Country Bear Jamboree. They don’t deserve the name “Jamboree” because it was possibly the most boring bunch of bears I’ve ever laid my eyes on. Now if they had Cirque du Soleil bears, I definitely would have stayed awake.
While my sister and I wandered separate from our parents during the day, we sat down to a family meal every night. One night, we went out to eat at a place called The Brown Derby, based on the restaurant frequented by Hollywood stars during the golden years of cinema in Los Angeles. A little girl was sitting with her family at a table nearby and had a friendly, neighborhood yeti in her possession. Throughout dinner, she made the yeti dance and sway, occasionally sharing it with her siblings, but only under direct supervision. Before dinner came, I made a trip to the bathroom and the little girl and her siblings were in there too. Probably hopped up on cotton candy and lollipops shaped like Mickey Mouse’s head, the girls were singing to each other, each taking a turn with classic Disney tunes. One of the girls had the best lyric, belting out in her best Little Orphan Annie voice “when you wish upon a yeti!” The rest of the song was hummed but I found myself nodding to the beat while reaching for the soap dispenser.
Later on, after dinner, the singer/owner of the stuffed animal left the table with one of her sisters, leaving another little girl behind with the yeti and direct orders.
Raising her finger and wagging it in the air, she spoke to the younger sister.
“No touchies!”
The little sister stared at the yeti on the table in front of her, her face lingering inches away from his jovial grin. She nodded briefly in response but kept her gaze fixed on the yeti, like a dog staring at a snausage just out of its reach.
DisneyWorld was, overall, one of the top places I’ve ever been to people watch. There are foreigners, senior citizens in line for high-speed roller coasters, line gophers (a technical term we heard used by Disney workers for people who cut in line), overwhelming moms, and straight-up crazies. We even got to chat about what it’s like to work at Disney with a former Snow White while watching the Pixar Block Party Parade. She told us about how the characters, like Snow White, Cinderella and Jasmine, all need to have a reason ready why they need to leave when they have lines of people. For example, maybe Snow White needs to go bail Dopey out of jail for a drug possession charge. Also, Disney characters with heads are never allowed to remove them in the park. Apparently, Minnie Mouse once got pushed into a pond and was drowning, so she took off her head and she was fired as a result. Now it’s these types of things that should be on a backlot tour, not movie props from Lassie. It also would make for some excellent reality television. If you like that kind of thing.
Now, it’s back to reality. I survived the 17-hour flight from New York to Johannesburg, managing to be productive by watching three in-flight movies (Hancock, Mamma Mia and Baba Mama, in case you are curious), reading and cat-napping. It helps that I always pass out during take-off (another example of my mad sleeping skills), probably snoring with my mouth wide open. Maybe it’s the altitude change. I really can’t explain this superpower. It has a mind of its own. I had a couple of good seatmates who respected my personal bubble: a South African college student who discussed with me her love of the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History in Washington and an American guy heading to Senegal to study the effect of American hip-hop on music in Africa. He is going to teach kids how to break-dance and rap. Now that would be something to see.
I am back inMozambique now. We just had our mid-service conference and oodles of standard mid-service medical check-ups this last week. And later today, it’s back to Nampula for this gal. I had a great time at home during the holidays and I know it helped refuel me for my second year of work. I will miss everyone at home just like last year but word on the street is that the second year flies by even faster than the first one did.
It was interesting having to share a hotel room with my family, now that both my sister and I are in our mid-twenties. One thing is for certain and that is that nothing has changed. Except maybe the size of the bed. Whenever I had been forced to share the bed with my sister as a child, it had always seemed bigger. We would always fight over someone crossing the center line of the bed and I think I may have actually bitten her at one point. Since we’ve become adults, the bed seems to have shrunk to the size of an ill-fitting suit. We battled each other at night, as in the past, kicking and one of us hogging all the blankets. I can’t help it but I’m a thrasher. I wake up and I’m wrapped up tighter in my sheets than a Jimmie Dean sausage link. At one point, I physically pushed my sister’s face with my hand. I don’t really remember why. It’s not like I didn’t give a warning. I had even submitted a verbal disclaimer that I could not be held accountable for my actions when I was sleeping. As a result, she spent two nights sleeping on the floor until finally she resorted to a medicated form of sleep rather than risk a stiff back in the morning.
When we weren’t sleeping, we were constantly walking or waiting in lines. Walking is something that is difficult to accomplish when you have child strollers and children wearing backpack monkey leashes in every direction. There were these fancy little monkey shaped backpacks for children and the leash was cleverly disguised as the monkey’s tail. It was chaos at its closest definition. Don’t get me wrong. Kids are cool and all but not wild monkey leash children. As my sister pointed out when she saw a leashed child “that kid’s going to closeline us all if he takes off running.” I wonder if there is hope for an off-leash theme park. Because at DisneyWorld, I half-expected parents to pull out packages of string cheese and bite off bits to throw to their children when they behaved themselves and sat. Or maybe a squeaky toy shaped like a rolled up newspaper.
I got to see a few temper tantrums. I’m always severely disappointed in the tactics employed by children in order to get what they want. In my opinion, lying on the ground, kicking your feet and screaming so loud your skin turns the shade of a red M&M is not the most effective mode of communication. A little girl did that as I was waiting in line for my flight to Africa. Everyone looked at her with alarm and moved as close to the front of the line as possible, as if that would guarantee them not being seated next to the little banshee.
One of the best rides I went on was the new ride at Animal Kingdom, Expedition Everest. The roller coaster includes going backward and downhill in the dark and of all things, a yeti. The attention to detail was impressive, with a hiker’s lodge and a yeti museum to glance at while we wound through the ropes. When you were done with the ride, like all other rides, everyone was funneled out through the gift shop to stock up on souvenirs to be sold at next summer’s garage sale. One of their most prominent souvenirs was a stuffed yeti. It was basically a round white fur ball with feet and eyes. I was not impressed. The yeti appeared too genial. It could at least be growling or be gnawing on a dead deer carcass. The sweet, furry yeti would be like making the Loch Ness monster a character in Finding Nemo. It’s just a distortion of stories that originally, at their best, gave a reason for the production of the nightlight.
My sister and I split up from my parents each day because it just seemed easier to decide where to go when there were only two people chiming in on the decisions. Also, when together my parents tend to choose the presentations, rather than attractions, such as the American Adventure. That title is full of deception because I fell asleep faster than I do in church. I dozed off just as the soldiers were talking about how there was no food at Valley Forge. I fell asleep during the Lights, Motors, Action stunt show that involved live high-speed car chases and explosions. I fell asleep at the Country Bear Jamboree. They don’t deserve the name “Jamboree” because it was possibly the most boring bunch of bears I’ve ever laid my eyes on. Now if they had Cirque du Soleil bears, I definitely would have stayed awake.
While my sister and I wandered separate from our parents during the day, we sat down to a family meal every night. One night, we went out to eat at a place called The Brown Derby, based on the restaurant frequented by Hollywood stars during the golden years of cinema in Los Angeles. A little girl was sitting with her family at a table nearby and had a friendly, neighborhood yeti in her possession. Throughout dinner, she made the yeti dance and sway, occasionally sharing it with her siblings, but only under direct supervision. Before dinner came, I made a trip to the bathroom and the little girl and her siblings were in there too. Probably hopped up on cotton candy and lollipops shaped like Mickey Mouse’s head, the girls were singing to each other, each taking a turn with classic Disney tunes. One of the girls had the best lyric, belting out in her best Little Orphan Annie voice “when you wish upon a yeti!” The rest of the song was hummed but I found myself nodding to the beat while reaching for the soap dispenser.
Later on, after dinner, the singer/owner of the stuffed animal left the table with one of her sisters, leaving another little girl behind with the yeti and direct orders.
Raising her finger and wagging it in the air, she spoke to the younger sister.
“No touchies!”
The little sister stared at the yeti on the table in front of her, her face lingering inches away from his jovial grin. She nodded briefly in response but kept her gaze fixed on the yeti, like a dog staring at a snausage just out of its reach.
DisneyWorld was, overall, one of the top places I’ve ever been to people watch. There are foreigners, senior citizens in line for high-speed roller coasters, line gophers (a technical term we heard used by Disney workers for people who cut in line), overwhelming moms, and straight-up crazies. We even got to chat about what it’s like to work at Disney with a former Snow White while watching the Pixar Block Party Parade. She told us about how the characters, like Snow White, Cinderella and Jasmine, all need to have a reason ready why they need to leave when they have lines of people. For example, maybe Snow White needs to go bail Dopey out of jail for a drug possession charge. Also, Disney characters with heads are never allowed to remove them in the park. Apparently, Minnie Mouse once got pushed into a pond and was drowning, so she took off her head and she was fired as a result. Now it’s these types of things that should be on a backlot tour, not movie props from Lassie. It also would make for some excellent reality television. If you like that kind of thing.
Now, it’s back to reality. I survived the 17-hour flight from New York to Johannesburg, managing to be productive by watching three in-flight movies (Hancock, Mamma Mia and Baba Mama, in case you are curious), reading and cat-napping. It helps that I always pass out during take-off (another example of my mad sleeping skills), probably snoring with my mouth wide open. Maybe it’s the altitude change. I really can’t explain this superpower. It has a mind of its own. I had a couple of good seatmates who respected my personal bubble: a South African college student who discussed with me her love of the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History in Washington and an American guy heading to Senegal to study the effect of American hip-hop on music in Africa. He is going to teach kids how to break-dance and rap. Now that would be something to see.
I am back inMozambique now. We just had our mid-service conference and oodles of standard mid-service medical check-ups this last week. And later today, it’s back to Nampula for this gal. I had a great time at home during the holidays and I know it helped refuel me for my second year of work. I will miss everyone at home just like last year but word on the street is that the second year flies by even faster than the first one did.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Back in the USA
So I'm back in Eau Claire, Wisconsin, until January 8th. The first day was a bit of a shock to the system. It took a while to get off of Mozambican time and I hadn't managed to catch a wink of sleep on the 18 hour flight. As soon as I reached South Africa and everyone was speaking English, it felt like an alternate universe. People would say something and I would still be thinking of how I would respond in Portuguese. Hopefully I don't lose that in a month and a half. JFK was a good place to transition to American life. I bought myself a peppermint mocha chiller in the airport and thought to myself "welcome to America" while watching children with light-up tennis shoes and business men on cell phones. Only one word can sum it up - weird. I knew I was home though when I couldn't feel my face walking outside into the airport parking garage and I didn't have to sit above a herd of chickens on the drive to Wisconsin.
I had good news before I left Mozambique. I got my library grant proposal passed. This means that when I get back to Monapo in the middle of January, I need to start getting the secondary school library ready for renovation. We will be getting new bookshelves, desks, chairs, books, maps, a bulletin board, a filing cabinet, an HIV/AIDS mural and other security-enhancing features. Hopefully we can set the library up so that it's easier to research topics and have more space for the materials. Right now they have textbooks but not a lot more than that. I'm pretty excited to get that project started. It will be a lot of work but it'll be great to provide students with more resources and a better environment to study in.
I'm pretty excited about next year's projects and have been looking into getting material while I'm here in the U.S. I got a self-defense book to teach to my REDES girls - which is sure to produce quality stories in the future. I think they'll really be into it though and who knows when they'll need it. I am also going to try to get soccer balls, art supplies and just use the internet til my fingertips are sore.
Besides doing a bit of work though, it's amazing to be home for Christmas with friends and family. Both a lot and a few things change in one year. People look different, new buildings and businesses have sprouted in the city, a new president has been elected, new musicians and movies are all the rage. I still don't know what this Twilight and Robert Pattinson deal is all about. I love listening to the Christmas music, decorating the tree, putting up the lights and wrapping gifts. I really missed those things last year and realized how much I took the holidays for granted before. But this year, it's "A Lynum Christmas, Double Time." We are going on a family trip to DisneyWorld (I know) in January. We haven't taken a family trip for about eight or nine years so it should be interesting to see how the four of us coexist in a hotel room - which I'm thinking might be far more entertaining than anything Walt Disney could have thrown at a person. I just want to go on the Pirates of the Carribean ride. The trip promises to be anything but dull - especially since my sister gained my agreement to the trip by promising to tackle the Disney character of my choice.
I had good news before I left Mozambique. I got my library grant proposal passed. This means that when I get back to Monapo in the middle of January, I need to start getting the secondary school library ready for renovation. We will be getting new bookshelves, desks, chairs, books, maps, a bulletin board, a filing cabinet, an HIV/AIDS mural and other security-enhancing features. Hopefully we can set the library up so that it's easier to research topics and have more space for the materials. Right now they have textbooks but not a lot more than that. I'm pretty excited to get that project started. It will be a lot of work but it'll be great to provide students with more resources and a better environment to study in.
I'm pretty excited about next year's projects and have been looking into getting material while I'm here in the U.S. I got a self-defense book to teach to my REDES girls - which is sure to produce quality stories in the future. I think they'll really be into it though and who knows when they'll need it. I am also going to try to get soccer balls, art supplies and just use the internet til my fingertips are sore.
Besides doing a bit of work though, it's amazing to be home for Christmas with friends and family. Both a lot and a few things change in one year. People look different, new buildings and businesses have sprouted in the city, a new president has been elected, new musicians and movies are all the rage. I still don't know what this Twilight and Robert Pattinson deal is all about. I love listening to the Christmas music, decorating the tree, putting up the lights and wrapping gifts. I really missed those things last year and realized how much I took the holidays for granted before. But this year, it's "A Lynum Christmas, Double Time." We are going on a family trip to DisneyWorld (I know) in January. We haven't taken a family trip for about eight or nine years so it should be interesting to see how the four of us coexist in a hotel room - which I'm thinking might be far more entertaining than anything Walt Disney could have thrown at a person. I just want to go on the Pirates of the Carribean ride. The trip promises to be anything but dull - especially since my sister gained my agreement to the trip by promising to tackle the Disney character of my choice.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Hand-saw, meet blisters. Blisters, meet hand-saw.
Now that school is done, I can focus my attention on an important secondary project: building a doghouse. It’s not going to be too stunning but anything is better than stuffing the dog like a sausage into its casing when it’s time for him to go in his kennel. I never realized how hard a hand-saw is to use. It’s a workout in itself trying to saw through the board. Sometimes, I feel like it might just be easier to use my teeth or jump on the board to try to break it in half. It definitely makes me respect all the woodworking machinery my dad uses. At 5:30 this morning, I had never wanted a planer and electric saw more in my life (a blister away from putting it on my christmas list, in fact). It’s not that an electric saw doesn’t exist here in the community. It would just be really heavy to carry the wood to the carpenter and not to mention, I would get about a million comments and laughs from staring people. Besides, there’s the glory of saying I did the job myself. Or I might end up in complete, embarrassed denial.
My bigger, more important secondary project is working on and updating the REDES curriculum manual. REDES is the girls’ group I work with. Right now, the manual is good. It has information about HIV/AIDS, the human body and puberty, rights, nutrition and hygiene, job opportunities, etc. Like I said, it’s good but the problem is that the activities aren’t that concrete. The girls have rarely been learning any new skills but are expected to discuss what they think about issues. Don’t get me wrong; them talking about important issues facing women is paramount but it would be good to give them skills that they can carry with them the rest of their lives while holding the discussion.
So here’s my vision. There will be four topic areas for REDES groups across Mozambique to choose from. The ones I’ve come up with so far are 1) Culture, Arts, and Sports, 2) Volunteerism and Community Action, 3) Career Preparation and Technology, and 4) Income and Agricultural Production. Each group will pick one of these categories to focus on and do activities from the manual that go along that line. For example, in Volunteerism and Community Action, the girls will become active through literacy programs, garbage collection, a big sisters’ club, etc. In Career Preparation and Technology, geared more towards older members, the girls learn how to write a resume, how to open a bank account, the etiquette of professionalism, computer skills and typing, etc. Income and Agricultural Production, the girls learn how to start and maintain a machamba (large garden/crops), create quality goods to sell and how to budget their money. Culture, Arts, and Sports is exactly what it sounds like. The girls sing, dance, paint murals, hold soccer and basketball tournaments or leagues, stage theater performances about women’s issues, among other things. We are having a meeting in Maputo before I head home and this is on the agenda so hopefully we can come up with concrete ideas of topic areas then. Until then, I’m just throwing ideas around.
The problem with working on the manual is that it requires a lot of internet research, something I’m not capable of here. So when I’m back in the states in less than a month for Christmas break (*pumping my fist in the air*), that’s what I’ll be doing on my parents’ internet while watching Conan O’Brian at night. Hopefully, we will get help from an NGO or two in the structure of the manual and ideas for projects and activities. There is also the matter of translating the manual to Portuguese – no small task. But right now the manual only exists in Portuguese and I remember when I first got to site and my Portuguese was still at the same level as a toddler – so, needless to say, it will be nice to have in both languages.
I still can’t believe I go home to the U.S. in four weeks. It will be a culture shock. Friends of mine who have already gone back for weddings or family events said that it’s a shock the first day and then it’s back to normal again. It will be weird to have so many options. You want peanut butter? Okay, there’s a sale on it, aisle five. You want to watch the news in English? No problem, every channel is in English and your parents have upgraded to 20 channels since you’ve left. You want to take a shower? Go ahead there, buddy. You get two choices – hot OR cold! Honestly though, since I haven’t lived with that stuff for over a year now, I don’t feel a desperate longing for them. You start to feel kind of detached from it. Sure, you enjoy it when you have it but you can do without. You put butter between your bread. You listen to your iPod instead of watch TV (since I don’t have a TV). You stop heating water for your bucket bath and just deal with the cold shock to the system every day.
Sometimes I imagine what my students would think if they saw the United States. I constantly hear “if I go to America, I will never come back to Mozambique.” It's sad when they say that because besides the poverty, disease and lack of job opportunities here, this country is remarkably beautiful in so many ways. People here live in the most difficult of circumstances and yet they have a smile on their face every day. They are the ones who really know how to live. Not us. They aren’t tied to their electronic knick-knacks or credit cards. They are tied to their families and their culture. Children wake up at 5:00 in the morning to walk with their big brothers or sisters to go cart water. Everyone sings loudly, not caring what they sound like, and everyone dances like no one’s watching. Men sit around drinking maheu (this nonalcoholic drink – I don’t even know how to describe the taste), playing a game similar to Mancala in the market, just for the sake of enjoying each others’ company. Little children cling to the brilliantly colored capulanas their mothers are wearing and yell “da-da!” to acknowledge passers-by. Women pound cassava or peanuts outside their homes by the light of a candle, their family or neighbors sitting with them to chat. That sense of community is beautiful and something I feel privileged to have seen first-hand.
My bigger, more important secondary project is working on and updating the REDES curriculum manual. REDES is the girls’ group I work with. Right now, the manual is good. It has information about HIV/AIDS, the human body and puberty, rights, nutrition and hygiene, job opportunities, etc. Like I said, it’s good but the problem is that the activities aren’t that concrete. The girls have rarely been learning any new skills but are expected to discuss what they think about issues. Don’t get me wrong; them talking about important issues facing women is paramount but it would be good to give them skills that they can carry with them the rest of their lives while holding the discussion.
So here’s my vision. There will be four topic areas for REDES groups across Mozambique to choose from. The ones I’ve come up with so far are 1) Culture, Arts, and Sports, 2) Volunteerism and Community Action, 3) Career Preparation and Technology, and 4) Income and Agricultural Production. Each group will pick one of these categories to focus on and do activities from the manual that go along that line. For example, in Volunteerism and Community Action, the girls will become active through literacy programs, garbage collection, a big sisters’ club, etc. In Career Preparation and Technology, geared more towards older members, the girls learn how to write a resume, how to open a bank account, the etiquette of professionalism, computer skills and typing, etc. Income and Agricultural Production, the girls learn how to start and maintain a machamba (large garden/crops), create quality goods to sell and how to budget their money. Culture, Arts, and Sports is exactly what it sounds like. The girls sing, dance, paint murals, hold soccer and basketball tournaments or leagues, stage theater performances about women’s issues, among other things. We are having a meeting in Maputo before I head home and this is on the agenda so hopefully we can come up with concrete ideas of topic areas then. Until then, I’m just throwing ideas around.
The problem with working on the manual is that it requires a lot of internet research, something I’m not capable of here. So when I’m back in the states in less than a month for Christmas break (*pumping my fist in the air*), that’s what I’ll be doing on my parents’ internet while watching Conan O’Brian at night. Hopefully, we will get help from an NGO or two in the structure of the manual and ideas for projects and activities. There is also the matter of translating the manual to Portuguese – no small task. But right now the manual only exists in Portuguese and I remember when I first got to site and my Portuguese was still at the same level as a toddler – so, needless to say, it will be nice to have in both languages.
I still can’t believe I go home to the U.S. in four weeks. It will be a culture shock. Friends of mine who have already gone back for weddings or family events said that it’s a shock the first day and then it’s back to normal again. It will be weird to have so many options. You want peanut butter? Okay, there’s a sale on it, aisle five. You want to watch the news in English? No problem, every channel is in English and your parents have upgraded to 20 channels since you’ve left. You want to take a shower? Go ahead there, buddy. You get two choices – hot OR cold! Honestly though, since I haven’t lived with that stuff for over a year now, I don’t feel a desperate longing for them. You start to feel kind of detached from it. Sure, you enjoy it when you have it but you can do without. You put butter between your bread. You listen to your iPod instead of watch TV (since I don’t have a TV). You stop heating water for your bucket bath and just deal with the cold shock to the system every day.
Sometimes I imagine what my students would think if they saw the United States. I constantly hear “if I go to America, I will never come back to Mozambique.” It's sad when they say that because besides the poverty, disease and lack of job opportunities here, this country is remarkably beautiful in so many ways. People here live in the most difficult of circumstances and yet they have a smile on their face every day. They are the ones who really know how to live. Not us. They aren’t tied to their electronic knick-knacks or credit cards. They are tied to their families and their culture. Children wake up at 5:00 in the morning to walk with their big brothers or sisters to go cart water. Everyone sings loudly, not caring what they sound like, and everyone dances like no one’s watching. Men sit around drinking maheu (this nonalcoholic drink – I don’t even know how to describe the taste), playing a game similar to Mancala in the market, just for the sake of enjoying each others’ company. Little children cling to the brilliantly colored capulanas their mothers are wearing and yell “da-da!” to acknowledge passers-by. Women pound cassava or peanuts outside their homes by the light of a candle, their family or neighbors sitting with them to chat. That sense of community is beautiful and something I feel privileged to have seen first-hand.
Friday, October 3, 2008
No more teachers, no more books...wait a second
School is done! I just have tests next week and then hand back the tests and I'm home-free for the year for the most part. I played a game with my students. It was just basic trivia of geography and English practice and I divided them into groups - stole the idea from my roommate. I made them each come up with names for their groups and they were quite creative. Superman. Batman. Underwear. Akon. G-Unit. Rice. Eggs. And my own personal creation for a team that couldn't think of one - I don't know. The game was going very well despite the kids not knowing basic facts - like what is the capital of South Africa or successfully managing to name the 10 provinces of Mozambique. It got out of hand a few times. They were supposed to write down the answers in their groups and then run up to me to hand them over to read. The winners would get candy. It became an all-out scrap. One boy got his shirt ripped. When they all ran up to hand me the sheets, they'd thrust them in my face and literally take my hand and place their papers in it. Imagine having 15 students surrounding you, pushing each other. I feared for my life. And laughed a lot. So when it got too out of hand with some classes, I did what any sane teacher would do. I erased all their names off the board, wrote myself as the winner and took a piece of candy, ripped it open and popped it in my mouth, declaring it to be delicious and savory. And then I left.
I was walking to visit friends today and a man was walking behind me. I said my usual 'bom dia' and kept walking at my speedy American pace. Well, he took that as a sign to continue the conversation. He asked what I knew in Macua and I told him I knew how to say 'I'm not your wife.' So what does the intelligent young man say? 'You don't want to marry a Mozambican?' I told him that I don't want to marry anyone right now. So he said 'I would really like to see the United States.' Haha! Smooth. So he was basically saying marrying an American was only for traveling and living in the United States. Be still, my heart.
I let a girl take a test this morning because she missed it. She showed me the evidence of hospital receipts and then I let her take a seat and do the test. Well, she couldn't think of some of the words and asked me for help. I told her she just needed to translate them. I went back in the house and was standing at the kitchen window to see a couple of seventh-grade girls smuggling in an english book for her to look up the words! Obviously, I went out and confiscated it. Seriously? I gave another girl a falta vermelha for sassing me in class. I told her she had a bad attitude. When I told her to leave, she just moved to another spot, thinking I wouldn't remember her. I told her 'I wasn't born yesterday and I'm not stupid. But you are if you think I don't know who you are.' So she got up and left...at a painstaking swagger, laughing and chatting with her friends on the way out. She even gave me the grand finale of a sarcastic sneer walking out. I got the last sarcastic sneer though when I borrowed a red pen to write down her number. That's the worst discipline you can give a student. She deserved it for being disrespectful but I doubt she really cares. I can guarantee you that she wouldn't behave that way for a Mozambican teacher.
But...I have now been in Mozambique for one year! Holla! It's been a lesson thus far and I'm sure I'll just keep learning new things - good and bad - for the next 14 months.
Hope all's well with everyone! Enjoy the apple orchards and fall weather! It's getting hotter here. I am starting to sit in one place now. In front of my fan.
I was walking to visit friends today and a man was walking behind me. I said my usual 'bom dia' and kept walking at my speedy American pace. Well, he took that as a sign to continue the conversation. He asked what I knew in Macua and I told him I knew how to say 'I'm not your wife.' So what does the intelligent young man say? 'You don't want to marry a Mozambican?' I told him that I don't want to marry anyone right now. So he said 'I would really like to see the United States.' Haha! Smooth. So he was basically saying marrying an American was only for traveling and living in the United States. Be still, my heart.
I let a girl take a test this morning because she missed it. She showed me the evidence of hospital receipts and then I let her take a seat and do the test. Well, she couldn't think of some of the words and asked me for help. I told her she just needed to translate them. I went back in the house and was standing at the kitchen window to see a couple of seventh-grade girls smuggling in an english book for her to look up the words! Obviously, I went out and confiscated it. Seriously? I gave another girl a falta vermelha for sassing me in class. I told her she had a bad attitude. When I told her to leave, she just moved to another spot, thinking I wouldn't remember her. I told her 'I wasn't born yesterday and I'm not stupid. But you are if you think I don't know who you are.' So she got up and left...at a painstaking swagger, laughing and chatting with her friends on the way out. She even gave me the grand finale of a sarcastic sneer walking out. I got the last sarcastic sneer though when I borrowed a red pen to write down her number. That's the worst discipline you can give a student. She deserved it for being disrespectful but I doubt she really cares. I can guarantee you that she wouldn't behave that way for a Mozambican teacher.
But...I have now been in Mozambique for one year! Holla! It's been a lesson thus far and I'm sure I'll just keep learning new things - good and bad - for the next 14 months.
Hope all's well with everyone! Enjoy the apple orchards and fall weather! It's getting hotter here. I am starting to sit in one place now. In front of my fan.
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