Mocambique, nossa terra gloriosa

Hiding away from the heat of the day, looking for (productive) ways to occupy myself without having to leave the blessings of the tireless fan, I began looking over the numerous reading materials supplied by Peace Corps. These books and manuals, which create two stacked towers on the floor of my bookshelf-less living room, contain many professional resources, topics including: HIV/AIDs, general community health activities, Peace Corps policies, working with youth, maximizing gardening potential, nutrition, how to deal with cheating in the classroom, etc, etc.
With the aim of going from general to specific, I first picked up a book called 'Culture Matters: The Peace Corps Cross-Cultural Workbook.' And while a book like this may sound vague, generic, and cliche (which in many ways it is, as predicted) it has caused me to think (more deeply, anyway) about the differences and similarities between Mozambican and American cultures and to analyze (as any Sociology major is apt to do) the reasons behind certain traditions and behaviors that I, as an American living in Mozambique, am unfamiliar or unaccustomed to. What follows is a brief (and incomplete) pondering of some observations I've made during my time here, things I hope you find as new and interesting as I do.

They call me 'menina,' an affectionate term meaning 'little girl.' While it doesn't bother me like it does some other female volunteers I know, I certainly don't feel like a little girl. How can I be a menina when I've been on my own since I was 17, graduated, now living alone in a new country for two years, having left friends, family, and a boyfriend, all who love me? I am certainly not a little girl, in American sense. I am (rawr!) a strong, independent woman!
But to Mozambicans (women especially), I am their menina. Someone young, needing a lot of help (why, she can't even cut vegetables correctly! Haha! You mean you don't know how to light a charcoal stove? No, don't cut a mango that way, it must be this way!), and...because I am presumably solteira (single), an assumption made because I am, after all, living alone in a big 3br house far from my native land. You're going to get married and stay in Mozambique, they're fond of predicting. Actually, a good number of them probably think that's the real reason I'm here, volunteer work is just a lame excuse.
It all changes when I tell them Im already married. (Here, anything short of marriage is not taken seriously, especially by the younger generations. Oh, you have a boyfriend? You are still available then! You can have more than one 'amigo.' In fact, you will need one because you will be separated from your husband for so long.) - Do you see the link between cultural attitudes towards multiple concurrent sexual partners and HIV/AIDs prevalence?
So I tell them Im married. 'Oh! We thought you were a menina.' There it is, the difference. You graduate to 'mulher' (woman) status only through marriage. Actually, not quite. The inevitable follow up question: 'Do you have kids?' Erm, no. 'Why not?' There's plenty of time later to have them. 'Not that much time.'
Keep in mind, life expectancy is much shorter here. Deaths is not an anomaly: malaria, tuberculosis, car accidents, crocodile attacks (ive actually heard of that one a number of times), etc. Time is of the essence. Tomorrow is not guaranteed.
And here also is another difference: internal versus external locus of control. Our culture believes very strongly that we can and do control our own happiness and allotment in life. If we are unhappy, it is our fault, we should do something to change it. Here, things happen because they happen, there is no one to blame. Someone will tell you a family member died in the same tone they'd comment on the weather. My cousin passed away. It's been raining a lot today.
My friend Jess's landlady said her husband died during the civil war. 'I'm sorry,'Jess said. 'Dont say that,' the woman replied. 'It happens.'
That's not to say that Mozambicans treat death with indifference. Far from it. When someone dies, the whole family gets together, all 30 or so of them, from South Africa, all parts of Mozambique. The neighbors prepare food so the family can eat after the lengthy vigil. So, then, death is treated like birth, a normal part of the life cycle.
In America, a baby's birth is celebrated to an enormous extent with baby showers, relatives visiting and oohing and ahhing, parenting classes. Oh, how Africans would laugh if they knew.

In America, success is measured largely by professional, monetary, physical accomplishments. In Africa, success is having and being with family. The neighbor girl snorts at me incredulously when I say I only want two kids, and she tells me she wants 10. Won't that be expensive, raising 10 kids? I ask right away (see that American mindset at work?). No, she says, but offers no explanation. Where is her logical forward thinking, is what im wondering, but who am I to judge? American culture revolves around the nuclear family- mom, dad, kids (only a couple), one house.
Other cultures (like Mozambique) are set up differently, with aunts, uncles, grandparents, extended family all living under the same roof or within close proximity. The house of my sister, or of my father, I would all refer to as 'my house.' In Chibuto, something like 80% of households are composed of extended family members.

Being in Mozambique means also that I need to re-evaluate my ideas of 'progress.' Things take infinitely longer to get done, a source of frustration for me. I like setting goals. I like making lists. What I like more than making lists, is crossing things off my lists. That is how I roll. That, is what I consider progress.
Here, and for the next two years, progress is sitting under the shade of mango trees with my Mozambican neighbors while they exchange girly gossip in Changana and braid each other's hair (people oriented society). In my head, im thinking about all the other things I could be doing (product of a task oriented society) and reminding myself that this is not a waste of time, I am showing the community that I care and that I want to be there.
I have to make a conscious effort to go through the necessary greetings and shoot-the-breeze bs ('How are you? It's so hot today! -insert weather discussion here- ') before jumping to the point (ie. 'Your kid is stealing avocados / lemons / mangoes off my tree.'). While Americans value directness, it could be perceived as rudeness.
I stopped by the neighbor's today to drop off rent money. 'Can you give this to your brother (landlord) please?' I asked. She took it and said, 'And here I thought you were coming to help me cook my Xima.'

Something that doesn't exist here, strict deadlines. Only lax deadlines. A wise word from a previous PCV: 'It will get better and it will get done.' I have two years to cultivate patience.
Time (as we know it, determined by a clock) is a relatively new concept.
For example, my counterpart and I were planning to go to the market together the next day. 'What time and where do you want to meet?' I asked. She responded, 'I'll be waiting for you at the market.' 'What time?' I insisted. 'In the morning.' It took several more times to coax an actual hour from her. Remarkable, I thought. Turns out, remarkably common. 'Mozambique time' is a term affectionately used among PCVs to describe this phenomena. A neighborhood meeting set to start at 8, means that not a single person shows up until at least 9, and those are the early birds. Everyone is running on Mozambican time. Drives me crazy. Im not always the most punctual person, but I've seen Mozambicans take it to a whole new level.
The differences in concept of time boils down to this: American society is monochronic, that is people bend to the quantifiable, exhaustive demands of time and tasks are completed subsequentially. Meanwhile, Mozambique (and much of Africa I suspect) is polychronic, which means time is variable and a tool of the people. Contrary to our belief that there are never enough hours in a day, these cultures assume that more time is always available to accomplish things, and people often start one thing without finishing another.
This affects even the way people stand (or don't stand) in line! At starbucks, for instance, everyone stands neatly in line, one after the other, and waits their turn to order. Lines are uncommon here, usually just a cluster of people standing around the counter at the post office, the store, the immigration office. Thus, the pushy people are served first. Several times I have been offended by people who hustle their way to the front without any regard to the semblance of a line everyone else is standing in. No one ever says anything.
The only places I've observed an orderly line are: the bank (line for ATM enforced by the guard), and actual grocery stores with check out counters (usually big chains like ShopRite or PEP). Even then, Mozambicans seem uncomfortable, forming messy zigzag lines and 'tailgating,' standing as close to the next person as physically possible and continuously pushing forward, presumably guarding from anybody trying to cut in. Last time, the man standing behind me kept pushing his grocery basket into my legs even when the line wasn't moving, to try to get me to move forward because I had respectfully left a foot of space in between me and the girl in front of me.

I find it interesting that Mozambicans tend to be very generous. Food, although possibly scarce, is offered generously. If you happen to stop by someone's house while they are having a meal, you will very likely to be invited to join. 'Vamos tomar cha!' the neighbor girl says to me cheerfully (let's have tea/breakfast!) but I always politely decline because I see she has 3 other mouths to feed and not a lot of food. I personally am very selfish with my food. Produce does not keep for very long, so im constantly going to the city, but to buy little. I cook in moderate proportions, enough for one meal and maybe some leftover to minimize the hassle of cooking multiple times in one day. Neighbors sometimes hint that they would like to try some american food, but I just chuckle politely and say, 'One day.' Maybe one day I'll feel like sharing.
The culture of 'estou a pedir' (I'm asking you for...) is a little hard to get used to. People will just ASK for stuff. Random strangers, neighbors, people you just met. Estou a pedir water from your water bottle. Estou a pedir 5 meticais. Estou a pedir candy. Estou a pedir your skirt. No? Well how about your shirt?
And while I almost always say no, (uh, not giving you my hair for your weave, sorry) I know that it is indeed part of the culture to give things. I heard another PCV say he once saw a man pedir another man's pants, and the guy just took them off and handed them over.
The problem is, I am certainly the target of more pedirs than the average Mozambican, solely because I am a foreigner and perceived to have money.
Two ladies selling fish at the market asked for my water. I said no, I was walking a ways, I needed it. They dismissed my concerns: 'oh, you can just buy another one. Here. Here's a cup, give me water.' I didn't appreciate their pushiness, but they weren't being rude, per se.
Hitch- hiking, while considered potentially dangerous in the States, is a frequent method of transport. (Peace Corps approves it as a relatively safe way to travel.) Few people own cars, so those who do will oftentimes just pull over for those waiting on the side of the road. (The sign for hitch-hiking is to extend an arm straight out and shake the wrist up and down while pointing) Granted, some drivers are poorly trained and exhibit risky behavior (such as, one time the driver who picked us up on the way to Maputo had a phone in each hand that he was constantly talking in to, at one point holding up both to his ears and steering with his elbows). But then again, the same criticisms can be made of chapa drivers, and at least in private cars you're not crammed in like sardines and at least you can use a seatbelt. Definitely the way to go.

As I've mentioned before, Mozambican concept of geography is limited. I constantly hear 'hey China' or 'Japan!' when im walking through the market, usually accompanied by hissing which I consider rude but is just the common way to get somebody's attention. Unfortunately, I associate this noise with creepy men who want to talk to me, and thus never respond.
Anyway, Asia therefore seems to be composed of two countries only, and America is this white person's land where problems don't exist, especially financial ones. 'Everything is easier in America' someone said to me once. How do you even begin to respond to that?
Just this week, my friend Jess and I were talking to a group of Mozambicans. When we introduced ourselves as Americans, a man said, 'She is American. You have the face of a Chinese or Japanese. Your parents are from Japan or China.' Just to blow his mind, I told him that they're from America too. He said no, we may live in America but we are not American, just as Obama is Kenyan and not American because his parent(s?) are from Kenya. It was a losing battle.
Sometimes these perspectives are so narrow, they leave no room for doubt and as it usually turns out, these situations tend to come from left field, leaving us shocked and defensive instead of rational and patient. I barely met the guy, I wasn't going to spend an hour breaking things down for him. Besides, he wouldn't listen anyways. Better to save my breath for someone who I plan to cultivate a friendship with, someone who will not just listen but hear what im saying.

Mozambicans are terrified of dogs and snakes, but dont bat an eyelash at roaches, spiders, or scorpions. Dogs here are mainly kept for security reasons, but not loved or nurtured. Children think that the way to play with puppies is to hit and provoke them and then run away. They do not make the connection between this type of behavior and the dogs' aggression.
During my stay in Namaacha I tried several times to pet the neighbors' dogs and cats but could never get close to them.
The criancas (children) are fascinated by Erica/alycia's dogs, knowing they are harmless. They often try to call them the way they hear us do, whistle the same way Alycia does or say 'Come on let's go' like Im always saying. The dogs, for the most part, couldn't care less about these kids.
Speaking of kids, they've either gotten used to me as the NEW foreigner, or they find me exceptionally boring, because they rarely come around anymore. (Probably both.) It helps that my house, which I've officially moved in to, is not surrounded by crianca central. It's more of a trek to come pester me and besides, I have metal grates on my doors.
Jessica, the Moz15 volunteer in Chibuto, came over yesterday and we sat outside on the veranda, read, drank coffee, and enjoyed the rain. Closest thing I'll get to a coffee shop for a few years. Its so quiet out when it rains. Everyone just hangs out inside. It better stop soon though, I need to do my laundry :)