Granola

Life goes on, even after you're whisked away from the love of your life and dumped back into sandy, arid third world country It's taken about a week and numerous Glee episodes to get back in gear, although with the stifling heat and upcoming holidays, not much is going on anywhere anyway in terms of work. Only now do I understand what people meant when they warned me that work comes to a grinding halt over the summer months.
Children are out of school until January, which means every day gaggles of children appear at my front door and ask to color. I throw coloring book pages at them and they entertain themselves for a while on my shaded front veranda while I sit inside and read in front of the fan. The only problems arise when I'm trying to nap and they're making a lot of noise, or all the kids show up at different times and keep making me get up from my comfy wicker chair. Sometimes, they'll finish quickly and demand something else to color, but I usually deny them round two because it only encourages them to rush.
The Mozambican education process has drilled in them such that it's all about the product, not the process. I'll give a bright 8-year old girl a simple maze book and once she discovers the answers in the back, she'll keep flipping back and copying the solution until I literally have to ask for the book back so I can cut out the answer pages. The sentence I probably hear the most from children in Mozambique (other than "estou a pedir..." : I'm asking for... ) is "Nao estou a conseguir": I'm not succeeding or, in essence, "I can't do it." I hear this after every time I present them with a new activity that requires critical thinking. Obviously, Mozambican kids don't get read books like "The Little Engine That Could." Instead, adults tend to condescendingly remind children that they don't know anything. One time, while tutoring young Rosthilo in Chibuto, a neighbor (an old woman) came up, smacked him on the head, and told me not to waste my time because "this kid's stupid. Doesn't know anything." She then proceeded to ridicule him for not doing multiplication correctly, and gave him the answer for the problem When I checked it, it was wrong. So apparently adults don't know anything either.
The bane of every Peace Corps Education volunteer in Moz is... cheating. A friend of mine once made 15 different versions of his test just to prevent it from occurring. And yet, it still went on; students still copied answers straight off of their neighbor with a different test. How unintuitive can you get? What's worse, students don't understand that it's wrong to cheat. They only care about the product, which is the grade, and not the process of learning. The education system in Moz is set up so that simple skills that should be the foundation of further learning, such as simple multiplication, are rushed through, leaving little to build on in advanced stages.
Ah, despite the tediousness of being a Health volunteer, I still would not trade anything to be an Education volunteer. I will take my free time and flexible schedule, thank you very much. In my boredom, I read, sew, bathe Magorducha the puppy, play with Mazambane the kitten (two new additions to my family), write, nap, cook, and play computer games. Tough life.
Today, I decided to make some granola since I recently went to Xai Xai and picked up a box of oatmeal and Kev brought me dried berries. All starts off well. I melt the butter, sugar, and honey together in a pan, pour it over the oatmeal, yada yada. Finally it comes time to put in the dried berries and oh look! Here's a bag of unfinished almonds that have been sitting around forever, I'll put those in too. As I dump the contents of the bag into my granola, it takes me a second to notice that one of the almonds is moving. My eyes focus in on a cockroach- the same size, shape, and color of an almond. I yelp and fling it out of the pan with a fork and immediately spot another one twitching in the hot granola pan. That one goes flying out too. They're still alive and scuttle off probably to invade more of my beloved food stash, but I'm too busy examining my granola for more intruders to care. Ruined. Ruined. Ruined. But wait.. this is Africa. I weigh my options, which are: throwing out the whole pan, or keeping the cockroach tainted granola and possibly crunching into another one. I meditate the cost of butter and oatmeal. I think about the lonely yogurt in the fridge. I shrug, and take a big bite of granola.