'You've got the keys, now shut up and drive.' -Rihanna
After 1 1/2 months of sitting around and doing essentially nothing, the sisters are back from their conference in Maputo, the escolhina is starting up again on Feb 1, and there is no shortage of things that need to be done.
Aside from my personal projects, which currently include raising and potty training two puppies (and a kitten to come in the next few weeks), learning Changana, designing a poster-size map of Mozambique on the living room wall, setting up my house (the never ending project), starting a garden in the backyard, and building a fence, (in March, painting the house, and teaching that boyfriend Portuguese) I now have an onslaught of professional projects: a stack of binders of organizational documents to sort, analyze, and probably revise, a small 5 computer room to set up, computer and English lessons to plan, preschool activities to come up with, an escolhina program to create. Eh pa! Where to
begin?
As I continue my analysis of the escolhina, I see a lot of opportunities but I also see a LOT of hurdles. For one thing, I am now one of a total of only five people who continuously work at the escolhina. There's Catarina and Daulisa, two catholic Irmas (sisters) who live in Chibuto, Angelica the cook who also lives in the city, and Orpa from Chimundo who might not be working this year due to her school schedule. Oh, and me- the overwhelmed Peace Corps volunteer who lives closest to the escolhina and will probably have to be there earliest to greet the kids when they arrive at 7.
A handful of people work on and off for the escolhina, but the big problem is funding, and the escolhina's inability to offer a competitive wage to hire and keep trained workers. Additional problems include lack of funds to continue work on its several unfinished classrooms, as well as limited capacity. Last year over 40 children wanted to attend, but some had to be turned away.
As this is a pre school/ day care for Orphans and Vulnerable Children (OVC's), many of the children's parents are unable to pay the tuition (300 mts, around $9, a month). Worse, the parents are offered a chance to work off their debt by contributing some labor for the escolhina (ie. Cleaning the classroom and children play space) but the parents don't show up. They just don't care. And when this happens, it is the child who suffers if he/she can no longer attend. So we still accept these kids, a heavy financial burden for the escolhina.
Income generation projects (raising livestock such as chickens, goats, and pigs, growing produce on the escolhina's own farm, starting an after school program, opening a computer center) have been met with very limited success. I guess that's why I'm here.
They're hoping I can write grants for them, but that is only a temporary solution to a large sustainability problem. I don't know yet what I can do for them, in the long term. In the meantime, I'm preparing to start giving community English and computer lessons and teaching the Irmas as well, so they can continue once I'm gone.
It's not the easiest task. Irma Daulisa is a bit of a character, a big woman with glasses who likes to push around her three false bottom teeth and fall asleep in the middle of conversations, at times bossy and pushy, technologically challenged...
She sees my ipod on the speaker stand. 'Is that your phone?'
'It's an ipod. It plays music.'
'Oh, a radio.'
'Not quite. You put music on it from a computer.'
'Where's the computer?'
'Well, I don't have it here but I already put the music from the computer on the ipod. It acts like a storage device.'
'So you record the music from a cassette tape?'
'Hmm...No.'
'Then how?'
She is temporarily in charge of the escolhina while Irma Catarina is on vacation, so she's pretty much my boss for now. (I use boss as a loose term, the escolhina doesn't have a strict hierarchy). I'm trying to get her to do the daily schedule for the kids and the roster, BEFORE the kids arrive for school on the first.
'How do we know who is attending this year if they're not here yet?' She asks when I ask her when we're going to sit down and make a list of kids. 'Then what's the point of registering?' I ask. It's a conversation that gets us nowhere; we don't see eye to eye. In the meantime, she's putting out radio announcements for the escolhina, and we don't have a clue how many kids we already have.
Aside from my work related frustrations (and there are many), things are going well. I have cut back my city shopping trips to once a week now that I have all the basics. My house actually feels very much like home, especially with two puppies waiting for me. They both still can't be trusted not to fazer xixi in the house, so when I'm gone I close them up in a corner of the kitchen, with boxes. Sometimes I leave them outside (they have food, water, and shelter in the outside veranda area) but this is kind of tricky because I then have to escape without them seeing me, or else they'll follow me to wherever i'm going. Erica and Alycia's dogs come by my house a couple of times a day to visit, and it's even harder to a sneak away when they're around because well, puppies are easily distracted and even outrun... Big dogs are not. Several times I have slipped out the front door and made it a few yards thinking I'm home clear when out of nowhere two big dogs come bounding towards me, ears flapping, tails wagging as if to say, 'Uh, you forgot to invite us!' They're usually trailed by one or two eager puppies who have been alerted of my absence. I roll my eyes, stop, tell them to go home, but to no avail. I have to turn around and go back, where I either stand in the veranda until they get bored and distracted by other things and then make a run for it, or I once again try the other door. It's a bit hilarious actually, how I have to escape from my own house every day.
Mel, the newest addition, is doing well. She cried the first couple of times I shut her in the corner but now that's her safe spot. When the other dogs are ganging up on her, which happens a lot (Xima is no longer the smallest, so she is now more than happy to become a tormenter), Mel cries and runs and curls up in her box (which, I'm always telling her, is going to fall apart if she keeps chewing and tearing it up when she's bored). She's still a little homebody, afraid to wander alone too far from the safety of the house, but she's starting to go for walks with me- it took about half an hour the first time I led her away from the house, she kept running all the way back every time a noise frightened her, or another person walked past. My little scrawny scaredy cat.
Xima is a little explorer; she knows the area (having been shuffled around from house to house) so she goes off to play for several hours at a time, and always returns covered in little green seeds from the weeds. She's also grown a little bit of a belly, from eating first at my house and then heading to Erica/alycia's for seconds. (I was right to name her after the food that she loves, and always gets all over her nose) She'll eat and eat until she gets tired from standing, then she'll lay down on the ground with her face still buried in the plate. Oh, my family. I refer to them as my 'daughters', which makes Mozambicans laugh and shake their heads.
For puppies, they're not too much work. I get up once in the middle of the night to let them out (approx every 5 hours) but they're good about coming back. I get up at 5 just to open the doors and feed them (I love you fridge) and then I go pass out again.
I don't know why but I've been sleeping a lot (well, I always have, but an unusual amount even for me), on average 10 hours a night. It might be because of the interruptions in my sleep now (and I tend to stay up for a bit to use internet on my phone in the middle of the night, because that's when the network is unclogged). Physically, I feel fine though. I've been eating well- aside from my usual source of protein, eggs, I stocked up on some cans of tuna and this week I bought a chicken and Irma Daulisa killed it for me (I'm still not there yet). I never realized how small chickens actually are, well organic chickens I guess. I ended up giving most of it to the dogs (innards, head, neck, butt, feet, bones) which they loved. The rest I cooked and fried and enjoyed. I'll be thrilled again for grocery stores though, and easy access to pre packaged meat!!
I've also somehow ended up with about ten types of fruit, gifts from neighbors, Irma Daulisa, and kids. I have pineapple (did I mention mango season is just about over and given way to pineapple season? Yum!), mangoes, passion fruit, guava, watermelon (here, yellow with a million red seeds, and tastes like cucumber), papaya (good for the digestive system), lemons (that look like limes, I'm really not sure which), bananas, apples (on a good day, only 5mts each!!), and a grape-like fruit called a jambalaya (ps. Would die for some jambalaya right now, the food not the fruit). So then I've been getting creative- pineapple juice (from boiling the rinds), mango salsa, tropical fruit salad, and jam! Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches have never tasted so good.
The government of Mozambique has recently declared a red alert due to flooding in south and central regions, but I feel very safe and dry here in Chimundo. Another volunteer in Gaza woke up this week to knee high water in her house, and had to pack everything and evacuate her site. She is currently staying with another volunteer, and doesn't know if and when she can go back. My bairro in Chimundo, on the other hand, Setenta Casas (70 houses) was built for victims of the flood in 2000, and is located on top of a hill. Unless it rains nonstop in February, and it might, being the 'month of floods' here in Moz, I should be okay. I've noticed a distinct rise in the number of mosquitoes though, due to rain (boo) and I've had to be more vigilant about putting on bug spray. The buzzing outside my net gets ridiculous sometimes, and im always paranoid it's in the net with me, but these things are just slight annoyances and minor inconveniences and I'll take them over flood any day. I've heard that some of the owners of the houses here, many of whom moved back to their lands after the prior flood and now rent out their house here, are preparing for flood and moving back to Chimundo and displacing their tenants. Thank God for contracts, hmm?
Anyway, I feel super safe here (knock on wood) and I'm pretty happy. It's nice to have Erica and Alycia so close by, as well as Yoko the Japanese volunteer. I went over to E/A's tonight and we watched Robin Hood Men In Tights which was just what I needed. Haven't received any mail since getting to site (except for one Christmas card), in case you're wondering. Please keep sending! They'll show up any day, probably all at once.
Time for me to catch some zzz's- it's 3am. Night!
Friday, January 28, 2011
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
rain and honey
You know, I imagined this differently. I imagined diving headfirst into the glorious lake of African culture and community... Sure, the temperature's a little hard to get used to but before you know it I'm swimming laps with the colorful inhabitants, becoming one of them...
I never imagined that, after splashing around a bit I'd back hugging the shore, more of a cranky wet cat than a graceful cultural mermaid.
After all the stiff tediousness and technicality of training, I hoped to be able to hit the ground running, never expecting to get deposited at site like a flailing upside down turtle.
My professional accomplishments thus far into my service: I've read two health books and interviewed one neighbor about her daily schedule...(In other words, none)
My personal accomplishments: I've set up most of my house, read five fiction books, bought a fridge, and otherwise gone pretty broke.
For some reason, I have a hard time budgeting in meticais... Probably because everything seems so cheap but then adds up. And, as I've complained about before, Peace Corps does not give me more money for opening up a brand new site (hence the abandoned flailing turtle metaphor). I've reached into my own funds (hellooo international transaction fees) to buy two (hefty) things I will need over the course of two years- a fridge, and a bookcase. The bookcase is in the process of being made; the carpenter said it'll be ready next week which means I should expect it sometime in March. I asked for the most simple bookcase possible made out of the cheapest wood and it's still costing me $100 (I'm talking US dollars for your sake, dearest blog readers). But at least the six stacks of books and manuals currently on the floor will have a home away from the cockroaches. (Who knew cockroaches could be such intellectual creatures? They like to live inside the spiral bindings of my health manuals- ironic, no?)
The fridge, I decided long ago, is a must. Health and sanity at the cost of $450 is well worth it, although presently slightly depressing to think about. (My poor little bank account...) Yogurt, cold water, leftovers, produce that doesn't go bad in two days, all very necessary.
Hopefully, my spending slows down in the next couple of months as I finish the last of my house purchases. Unfortunately, unexpected expenses keep arising. For example, re- installing electricity in front of and behind my house because the bulbs are there but the lines were cut. For example, buying a new kitchen plug extension after the last one exploded during a power surge. For example, buying a new full length mirror after the last one fell off the wall and shattered into a million pieces (that the grown neighbor women later went digging through the trash pit for, to keep the big pieces). And, for example, constant Peace Corps reimbursements. Buy a bed frame, a table and two chairs, get a fence made, get a bike, get a language teacher, we'll reimburse you a few weeks after you send us your receipt. It's all very bewildering to me why they think I have so much money to front, even temporarily.
So anyway. Point is- progress is slow. I have to do things in stages, month by month, to make sure I also can afford well, FOOD. Table and chairs I have to buy next month with my living allowance. Bed frame, done and reimbursed last month. Bike is a no go, too much sand here. But I am getting a language teacher, I've decided. I met a Portuguese professor in the neighborhood, Raymundo, who can also teach Changana, the local language. Yoko (the japanese volunteer) and I both want to learn so we have set up a tutoring schedule with Raymundo who, failed to show up on time the first day (as Mozambicans are apt to do). I spent the session at Yoko's house, trying to learn what she already knows, because she's had an 8 month head start. Learning with someone else will give me more motivation than one on one tutoring, I think.
This week schools start back up again. It's kind of a mess really, with parents all trying to register their kids on the last day (when they've had months to do it), teachers having meetings that don't start until at least 2 hours after they're supposed to (sucks for education volunteers like Erica and Alycia), teaching schedules not even made until the day school starts! Sometimes, im glad im health; my schedule is more lax (too lax right now, to the point of non existence) and more community based. Well, ideally.
Back to the wet cat. The kids don't come around much, they find me boring because I just sit in the house all day and read. The men I rarely talk to because I'm suspicious that they'll turn out to be creeps (I'm usually right). The older generations only speak Changana. The preteen and teenage girls are really bratty- they like to say stuff to me in Changana, and when I ignore them they call my name over and over and over. There actually aren't that many girls my age around, I'm not sure why. The ones I've met aren't necessarily the people I'd choose to be friends with... They look me up and down with a shrewd eye, insist that I have a lot of money, and ask me for things.
Community integration is thus stalled by several factors: local language barrier, interchangeable heavy rain or intense heat, lack of open target population, my laziness...
I think that, were I to live with another Peace Corps volunteer, I would never leave the house. Mozambicans sit outside a lot while cooking, washing clothes, washing plates, eating... I haven't gotten into the habit of that yet. If I did I think it would make me more accessible, but I currently only have one chair (working on it) and that means no seat to offer my visitors when they stop by.
I have a friend who owns a shop in Xai Xai, who has offered to let me borrow a table with four chairs, for all two years I am here. (yay no spending money!)
Another unexpected free gift I've been given this week, has been a puppy. I asked for a boy but got a girl, so I hope that when (not if; there really is no spaying or neutering available here) I end up with more puppies the new Peace Corps volunteers will be arriving for me to pawn them off to...
So yes. The new puppy's name is Mel, which means honey. She's rather placid and flea bitten- I immediately gave her a bath which she gave no protest to, and I peeled a handful of fleas and ticks off her. She has some bald spots where I assume she scratched at nonstop.
Along with this pretty new girl, comes good ol Xima, the puppy I attempted to semi adopt before but who has never found my house interesting enough to stay at... Until now.
I have also been promised a kitten this week (male, please please please) by a friend of the person who gave me Mel. That's... All of a sudden a lot of mouths to feed. I am now mama viv, mother of three, or zookeeper viv, whatever you want to call me.
I do have one little problem though. I asked my Changana speaking empregada to go buy me flour (to mix with fish) for the animals and she came back with chicken feed. Now I don't know what to do. Oh, and the fish that Erica bought for me yesterday and didn't have room in her mini fridge for, came to me loaded with maggots. Now I have frozen fish slash frozen maggots in my freezer, extra protein for my new children.
I never imagined that, after splashing around a bit I'd back hugging the shore, more of a cranky wet cat than a graceful cultural mermaid.
After all the stiff tediousness and technicality of training, I hoped to be able to hit the ground running, never expecting to get deposited at site like a flailing upside down turtle.
My professional accomplishments thus far into my service: I've read two health books and interviewed one neighbor about her daily schedule...(In other words, none)
My personal accomplishments: I've set up most of my house, read five fiction books, bought a fridge, and otherwise gone pretty broke.
For some reason, I have a hard time budgeting in meticais... Probably because everything seems so cheap but then adds up. And, as I've complained about before, Peace Corps does not give me more money for opening up a brand new site (hence the abandoned flailing turtle metaphor). I've reached into my own funds (hellooo international transaction fees) to buy two (hefty) things I will need over the course of two years- a fridge, and a bookcase. The bookcase is in the process of being made; the carpenter said it'll be ready next week which means I should expect it sometime in March. I asked for the most simple bookcase possible made out of the cheapest wood and it's still costing me $100 (I'm talking US dollars for your sake, dearest blog readers). But at least the six stacks of books and manuals currently on the floor will have a home away from the cockroaches. (Who knew cockroaches could be such intellectual creatures? They like to live inside the spiral bindings of my health manuals- ironic, no?)
The fridge, I decided long ago, is a must. Health and sanity at the cost of $450 is well worth it, although presently slightly depressing to think about. (My poor little bank account...) Yogurt, cold water, leftovers, produce that doesn't go bad in two days, all very necessary.
Hopefully, my spending slows down in the next couple of months as I finish the last of my house purchases. Unfortunately, unexpected expenses keep arising. For example, re- installing electricity in front of and behind my house because the bulbs are there but the lines were cut. For example, buying a new kitchen plug extension after the last one exploded during a power surge. For example, buying a new full length mirror after the last one fell off the wall and shattered into a million pieces (that the grown neighbor women later went digging through the trash pit for, to keep the big pieces). And, for example, constant Peace Corps reimbursements. Buy a bed frame, a table and two chairs, get a fence made, get a bike, get a language teacher, we'll reimburse you a few weeks after you send us your receipt. It's all very bewildering to me why they think I have so much money to front, even temporarily.
So anyway. Point is- progress is slow. I have to do things in stages, month by month, to make sure I also can afford well, FOOD. Table and chairs I have to buy next month with my living allowance. Bed frame, done and reimbursed last month. Bike is a no go, too much sand here. But I am getting a language teacher, I've decided. I met a Portuguese professor in the neighborhood, Raymundo, who can also teach Changana, the local language. Yoko (the japanese volunteer) and I both want to learn so we have set up a tutoring schedule with Raymundo who, failed to show up on time the first day (as Mozambicans are apt to do). I spent the session at Yoko's house, trying to learn what she already knows, because she's had an 8 month head start. Learning with someone else will give me more motivation than one on one tutoring, I think.
This week schools start back up again. It's kind of a mess really, with parents all trying to register their kids on the last day (when they've had months to do it), teachers having meetings that don't start until at least 2 hours after they're supposed to (sucks for education volunteers like Erica and Alycia), teaching schedules not even made until the day school starts! Sometimes, im glad im health; my schedule is more lax (too lax right now, to the point of non existence) and more community based. Well, ideally.
Back to the wet cat. The kids don't come around much, they find me boring because I just sit in the house all day and read. The men I rarely talk to because I'm suspicious that they'll turn out to be creeps (I'm usually right). The older generations only speak Changana. The preteen and teenage girls are really bratty- they like to say stuff to me in Changana, and when I ignore them they call my name over and over and over. There actually aren't that many girls my age around, I'm not sure why. The ones I've met aren't necessarily the people I'd choose to be friends with... They look me up and down with a shrewd eye, insist that I have a lot of money, and ask me for things.
Community integration is thus stalled by several factors: local language barrier, interchangeable heavy rain or intense heat, lack of open target population, my laziness...
I think that, were I to live with another Peace Corps volunteer, I would never leave the house. Mozambicans sit outside a lot while cooking, washing clothes, washing plates, eating... I haven't gotten into the habit of that yet. If I did I think it would make me more accessible, but I currently only have one chair (working on it) and that means no seat to offer my visitors when they stop by.
I have a friend who owns a shop in Xai Xai, who has offered to let me borrow a table with four chairs, for all two years I am here. (yay no spending money!)
Another unexpected free gift I've been given this week, has been a puppy. I asked for a boy but got a girl, so I hope that when (not if; there really is no spaying or neutering available here) I end up with more puppies the new Peace Corps volunteers will be arriving for me to pawn them off to...
So yes. The new puppy's name is Mel, which means honey. She's rather placid and flea bitten- I immediately gave her a bath which she gave no protest to, and I peeled a handful of fleas and ticks off her. She has some bald spots where I assume she scratched at nonstop.
Along with this pretty new girl, comes good ol Xima, the puppy I attempted to semi adopt before but who has never found my house interesting enough to stay at... Until now.
I have also been promised a kitten this week (male, please please please) by a friend of the person who gave me Mel. That's... All of a sudden a lot of mouths to feed. I am now mama viv, mother of three, or zookeeper viv, whatever you want to call me.
I do have one little problem though. I asked my Changana speaking empregada to go buy me flour (to mix with fish) for the animals and she came back with chicken feed. Now I don't know what to do. Oh, and the fish that Erica bought for me yesterday and didn't have room in her mini fridge for, came to me loaded with maggots. Now I have frozen fish slash frozen maggots in my freezer, extra protein for my new children.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
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 :)
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 :)
Sunday, January 2, 2011
New Years and black magic
Fourth week at site finds me in relatively low spirits. Im still in a state of transition, moving from Erica/ Alycia's house to my own, but the process is taking considerably longer than I anticipated. My empregada failed to show up this week to carry my water, and the bed frame I was promised would be ready to deliver by Thursday has been continuously delayed. I feel personally that I have tried to expedite forward motion, making necessary phone calls and going to the city frequently (each time a trip that takes up most of the day), but that circumstances beyond my control ('Oh, we are not selling what you're looking for this week. Next week.') or the lack of motivation of others ('I just started making your bed frame yesterday, but of course it will be ready by today! Absolutely today.' [bold faced lie]) keeps me from getting anything done. The lack of progress disheartens and frustrates me to no end, the constant sense of having nothing to yet having things that need doing.
One of my saving graces has been the friendship of the Japanese volunteer Yoko who lives next door to Erica/alycia. She is part of JICA (essentially Japanese Peace Corps) and has already been here 9 months.
On New Years, she and Jess (the Moz15 volunteer in Chibuto) came over to my house to cook dinner, making it the first time I cooked at my house, the first time I had visitors, and the first night I spent at my own house. A big night :) The bedframe's failure to arrive meant that I had to lower the mosquito net to the floor to cover the mattress on the ground. Every time I crawl in, I feel like im inside my own little fort. It's not bad, at least this space is my own.
Anyway, for dinner we made stir fry with carrots, okra, eggplant, onion, and pumpkin, and also spaghetti with a garlic tomato sauce. Just as we were finishing up cooking on the electric stove, the electricity went out (putting a thankful cease to the neighbors' competing loud music) and we ate outside and drank a bottle of champagne while looking up at the stars. It was actually a very nice way to ring in 2011.
Yesterday Yoko and I attended a neighborhood meeting, which was held under the shade of a cashew tree. In the middle of the meeting (held completely in Changana) a cashew fruit fell from the tree and clocked me on the back, startling and surprisingly painful. If you've never seen a cashew fruit, it's pretty ugly. The precious cashew nut is encased in a hard gray shell that sprouts like a wart from the top of a red/pink fruit resembling a small soft apple.
After the meeting Yoko and I requested a quick translation of the meeting, and we were explained the following: A man from another city had just moved in to a house on our street a few days ago, and it was discovered that he had been doing bad things in the other city. He was a 'feiteceiro,' a malicious wizard who had been harming others by putting crocodiles in the community's water source. So, the police had come looking for him yesterday and he was supposedly on the run. But the purpose of the meeting was to unite against this evil man and drive him away from the community, if he ever returns.
Well, as Yoko and I ate dinner that evening, there came a knock at the door, the neighbor girl coming to tell us it's time to go. Go where? Go to the feiteceiro's house because he has returned.
A crowd had already formed in the central meeting place, a lot of anxiety in the air, people blowing whistles. We watched from a distance, on Yoko's front porch. But... Nothing happened. People started trickling home. We finally went to ask what was going on, and they told us the man himself had come to the meeting and they had told him to leave the city and not come back.
This morning, all is right in the world again. Everyone milling about as usual, women carrying 25L jugs of water effortlessly on their heads.
All I can say is, African communities have a strange and independent sense of justice. They will do a similar thing with a thief or criminal in the community, ban together and beat him up.
Another exciting incident earlier in the week: I almost burned down Erica/alycia's kitchen when the capulana curtains met the gas stove. Luckily, a Peace Corps staff member had just arrived to deliver something to me and he swiftly put out the fire by shutting off and disconnecting the gas stove (duh, and why didn't I think of that?) Where's my firefighter boyfriend when I need him?
Now I need to get the charred window screens replaced, just another thing on my to-do and to-buy lists. This, my friends, is why I have an electric stove. I am far too accident prone for gas.
Aside from that, not much else going on. Keep hoping it will rain so I can have water at my house, but it's been such a tease. Five minutes of rain will barely get the bottom of your bucket wet.
Im headed to the city today to run a bunch of errands and hopefully shake the carpenter down for that damn bed frame and table.
I hope you all had a wonderful new years!
One of my saving graces has been the friendship of the Japanese volunteer Yoko who lives next door to Erica/alycia. She is part of JICA (essentially Japanese Peace Corps) and has already been here 9 months.
On New Years, she and Jess (the Moz15 volunteer in Chibuto) came over to my house to cook dinner, making it the first time I cooked at my house, the first time I had visitors, and the first night I spent at my own house. A big night :) The bedframe's failure to arrive meant that I had to lower the mosquito net to the floor to cover the mattress on the ground. Every time I crawl in, I feel like im inside my own little fort. It's not bad, at least this space is my own.
Anyway, for dinner we made stir fry with carrots, okra, eggplant, onion, and pumpkin, and also spaghetti with a garlic tomato sauce. Just as we were finishing up cooking on the electric stove, the electricity went out (putting a thankful cease to the neighbors' competing loud music) and we ate outside and drank a bottle of champagne while looking up at the stars. It was actually a very nice way to ring in 2011.
Yesterday Yoko and I attended a neighborhood meeting, which was held under the shade of a cashew tree. In the middle of the meeting (held completely in Changana) a cashew fruit fell from the tree and clocked me on the back, startling and surprisingly painful. If you've never seen a cashew fruit, it's pretty ugly. The precious cashew nut is encased in a hard gray shell that sprouts like a wart from the top of a red/pink fruit resembling a small soft apple.
After the meeting Yoko and I requested a quick translation of the meeting, and we were explained the following: A man from another city had just moved in to a house on our street a few days ago, and it was discovered that he had been doing bad things in the other city. He was a 'feiteceiro,' a malicious wizard who had been harming others by putting crocodiles in the community's water source. So, the police had come looking for him yesterday and he was supposedly on the run. But the purpose of the meeting was to unite against this evil man and drive him away from the community, if he ever returns.
Well, as Yoko and I ate dinner that evening, there came a knock at the door, the neighbor girl coming to tell us it's time to go. Go where? Go to the feiteceiro's house because he has returned.
A crowd had already formed in the central meeting place, a lot of anxiety in the air, people blowing whistles. We watched from a distance, on Yoko's front porch. But... Nothing happened. People started trickling home. We finally went to ask what was going on, and they told us the man himself had come to the meeting and they had told him to leave the city and not come back.
This morning, all is right in the world again. Everyone milling about as usual, women carrying 25L jugs of water effortlessly on their heads.
All I can say is, African communities have a strange and independent sense of justice. They will do a similar thing with a thief or criminal in the community, ban together and beat him up.
Another exciting incident earlier in the week: I almost burned down Erica/alycia's kitchen when the capulana curtains met the gas stove. Luckily, a Peace Corps staff member had just arrived to deliver something to me and he swiftly put out the fire by shutting off and disconnecting the gas stove (duh, and why didn't I think of that?) Where's my firefighter boyfriend when I need him?
Now I need to get the charred window screens replaced, just another thing on my to-do and to-buy lists. This, my friends, is why I have an electric stove. I am far too accident prone for gas.
Aside from that, not much else going on. Keep hoping it will rain so I can have water at my house, but it's been such a tease. Five minutes of rain will barely get the bottom of your bucket wet.
Im headed to the city today to run a bunch of errands and hopefully shake the carpenter down for that damn bed frame and table.
I hope you all had a wonderful new years!
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