Six months

I’m 6 months into this and I can barely believe it. Some days it feels like I’ve been here in Mozambique, in Africa, forever. I wake up to the crowing of roosters or neighbors blaring loud Mozambican reggaton-like music, I get shoved into a 30-person chapa that was meant to hold less than 20, goats and chickens cross my path even in the marketplace, that’s all normal. America seems like a dream… something about shiny cars speeding on paved highways and gleaming porcelain toilet bowls that flush themselves at the push of a button.
Other days, it seems like I just got here. I’m still a stranger; I always will be. The day after Kevin left, I went to the Chibuto market to buy groceries, and there I was hounded by calls of “Ching chang chong!” and “Chinesa! Japonesa!” until I almost lost it and confronted some unlucky Mozambican man. I decided it wouldn’t be worth it after all; my Portuguese falters when I’m upset and Mozambicans don’t understand sarcasm anyway. Yes, there are definitely days when 21 more months of this seems impossible and my mind whines to me, “Are we going hoooome yet?”
Six months in is a solid stretch of time though, a milestone if you will. So now I’d like to stop and reflect on my time here so far, keeping in mind the three bullet points of The Peace Corps Mission:
Helping the people of interested countries in meeting their need for trained men and women
Helping to promote a better understanding of Americans on the part of peoples served
Helping to promote a better understanding of other peoples on the part of Americans

Number One: Helping the people of interested countries in meeting their need for trained men and women.

In the past month, my interest in the escolinha began to wane immensely. Part of this was because Kevin was here and I would have chosen, hands down, to spend time with him rather than sing silly children’s songs with toddlers all morning. The other reason was because… well, all I really do at the escolinha IS sing silly children’s songs with toddlers all morning. Hardly edifying, all day every day. (Now, I’m not saying that working with children isn’t rewarding- it certainly is. Friday, for example, I gave my usual weekly English lesson, half expecting the kids to lose interest in two seconds. Some did, of course- Having gotten to know and observe them every day, I suspect a few of them have ADD or ADHD or other learning and behavioral disorders, none of which would ever be diagnosed here. “When I say ‘Good morning students,’” I said, referring to what I taught them in a previous lesson, “What do you say?” It was a stretch; I expected them to have completely forgotten. After a silence, one boy said very quietly, “Good morning teacher.” … Except they always pronounce it as “Goo Mawning Teacha” which I find slightly comical. So there. Someone’s learning! I then taught them to greet one another (“Hello! Goodbye!”), and “Jump!” which they loved.)
Back to the point. As much as I love the escolinha kids, I didn’t expect to come all the way to Africa to play with children all day. During my first few months at site, I completed an organizational analysis that I meant to present to the escolinha before the Reconnect Conference (April 11-15 in Maputo). As time has progressed, and the escolinha has experienced some drastic changes in management, I have become discouraged from doing so. Irma Monica and her all-business attitude are doing some really good things for the escolinha and I respect her a lot, but to be honest I don’t think either of us really know what to do with each other. Irma Catarina, the previous escolinha director who has now been transferred, was the one who requested a Peace Corps volunteer. In my short time with her, she was very open to my questions and my presence. Irma Daulisa, my counterpart, was so excited to have me there but then she also was recently transferred.
I work now on a day-to-day basis with a woman named Angelica and the escolinha cook Amiselia (sp?). Irma Monica supervises all activities with a critical eye but is often busy with other things, making her not the most approachable person. The only time she asks anything of me, is when she wants something typed and printed. I find my place at the escolinha floating somewhere in the middle of the hierarchy: Irma Monica sees me as another employee that answers to her (but doesn’t scold me like the others), and Angelica and Amiselia work alongside me but treat me with a formal respect.
I am not integral to my organization’s daily functions, which is GOOD, but it also makes me wonder if they really need me. One success I have met, is getting roll call to be implemented in the daily schedule. For a while, I was the only one doing it and the days I was absent were obvious because on the sheet those days would be completely blank. Now, about 75% of the time, someone else takes care of it when I’m gone. It’s a small success, but hey. Small steps. Behavioral change is hard; you can’t just waltz into a country and expect everyone to drop their methods to accommodate what you think is right.
I am a health volunteer but I feel I have done very little measurable work in the health arena. The reason I was placed at this organization is because it supports Orphans and Vulnerable Children. I’ve taught the escolinha children a hand-washing song, which they are a fan of and we sing every morning. I’ve done a hand-washing activity using glitter, with the neighborhood kids. I’d still like to eventually partner with the Chibuto hospital to do some health palestras (classes) or such, but that takes a whole lot of initiative and I have on my hands a whole lot of laziness. The rest of the week after Kevin left, I locked myself in the house and watched episode after episode of “The Office” and read a book a day.
I’ve heard it said that it’s common for health volunteers to become quickly disillusioned or unmotivated. Unlike education volunteers, our work is often unstructured and depends heavily on the type of organization we are paired with. Beyond that, we are supposed to work within the community, promoting health and whatnot. But it’s not that easy. This is where community integration plays a big role. I guess this leads to…

Number Two: Helping to promote a better understanding of Americans on the part of peoples served

My first day in Chibuto, I left the house ready to conquer the community. I met a handful of people, spent time with them, conversed with them and ended the day glowing with optimism and a sense of accomplishment. Now, looking back on the past months, I see that I burned out of that rather quickly.
Sure, people know who I am. I’m one of only four mulungus (white people) in the community. I can’t walk from my house to Erica/Alycia’s house two streets over without at least a few people greeting me. “Boa tarde, Mana Vivienne!” (Good afternoon!) Even so, I haven’t managed to make any close friends in Mozambique. Er, I mean, I haven’t managed to make any close Mozambican friends. I sure do hang out with the other mulungus a lot. (One of the neighborhood kids asked me one day, “Mana Vivienne, why do you only like to play with the white people?”)
I see that as one of the definite weaknesses of my time spent here so far. It’s easier to hang out with those you are similar to. I am bound to Erica and Alycia because they are also American, also Peace Corps volunteers, and also speak English. I gravitate towards Yoko because although our only common language is Portuguese, we are both volunteers, both Asian, and both love learning languages. (By the way, learning Changana has been a flop. We successfully had two or three classes with Professor Raymundo over the course of four or five weeks- class getting canceled constantly- and then he stopped showing up altogether. Rather typical, actually. We haven’t figured out a game plan since.)
It just seems easier to hang out in the comfort zone. Erica and Alycia, both education volunteers, both Science professors, both blonde and laid back, spend all their free time together. They’re best friends and I envy them that. But as a health volunteer living alone, it’s hard to be exclusive AND not get lonely.
Well… but then there’s the constant heat. Then there’s the fact that I’m crabby and tired after work. Then sometimes I’m not feeling well. Then there are the mosquitoes in the evening. Excuses keep me inside more often than not. (Wait, don’t judge me. You REALLY don’t know how hot it gets here. And the electricity has been going out every single night for about a week.)
The month that Kevin was here, I practically ran home from work to be with him. I would scurry past the neighbors, hoping they wouldn’t see me because then they’d try to engage me in conversation. “Mana Vivienne,” the women would all say slyly, grinning like schoolgirls. “How’s your husband?” “Good!” I’d call back over my shoulder without breaking pace. “We’re good!”
At the end of the month the neighbors began to chide me, “You don’t come around to visit anymore!” I shrugged apologetically and told them I would. But then there was the heat, and then Kevin’s departure and then my depression at his absence, etc, etc. I don’t know when I would have made the time to go visit any of my neighbors had a group of them not called me over insistently yesterday as I was walking home from work.
“You don’t like to leave your house,” One woman observed. “Mana Vivienne, did you cry the day your husband left?” “Your husband is so strong,” Another woman said. “He likes to work. And to clean. He helps out a lot, doesn’t he?” I agreed proudly. “Who is going to wash clothes and dishes and sweep the house now that he’s gone?” I was a bit offended at that one. “Well, I am… Like I always have. I’ll be fine.”
It wasn’t until about the fourth casual reference to my helpful husband that I began to suspect they were either completely impressed by the fact that he does housework at all (unlike your typical Mozambican man) or else they were hinting that I was a bad housewife. It probably didn’t help, Kevin later mused on the phone, that whenever we did laundry, I would do the scrubbing inside the veranda while he would walk outside to hang up the wet clothes. The neighbors probably thought he was a clothes washing ninja master. I explained that in America, it’s not just women that do housework and men that go to work and bring home the bacon. Men cook and clean too… the good ones, that is.
Later on, another neighbor came up and greeted me in Changana. I responded hesitantly, uncomfortable with my extremely limited knowledge. All the women began nagging me to learn Changana. “Have Mana Yoko teach you,” they suggested. “Mana Yoko doesn’t know that much,” I responded, a little bit miffed. “Well, she knows how to say Good morning and greet people at least.” “I know how to do that too,” I said. They were all interested then. “Oh yeah? How do you say good morning?” they challenged me. “Li xile.” I replied and they all grinned at each other like Chesire cats. “Good afternoon.” “Ilhnikane.” (This is the hardeset one to pronounce) They broke out into hoots and cheers, even more so when I correctly translated Good night as “Le pelile.” So there I was, getting laughed at by a group of Mozambican women but it gave me a warm, fuzzy feeling inside. This is where I’m supposed to be, getting to know these women and letting them get to know me.
One of the women came by later to say hi, and she admired my little garden. “What are you planting?” she asked, and I pointed out the tomato and okra, but I’m pretty sure Mozambicans don’t know basil, parsley, and watermelon. I promised her I would make some American food with my harvest and bring it over to her to try. I think I’m going to make some brownies next week to bring over to all the neighbors. It’ll be the start of my renewed effort to get to know the community I live in.
(On a side note, I have spent a lot of time with my little Art Club. If anything, I have met some success with Goal number two, by hanging out and talking to these kids.)

Number Three: Helping to promote a better understanding of other peoples on the part of Americans.

I’d say, of all three Peace Corps Mission points, I’ve done this the best. I blog and post pictures regularly (you lucky dogs, you! ;P) and it’s nice to have a reason to write. Some days, (especially after I’ve just finished a good book) I think to myself that during these two years in Mozambique, I should write a novel. I certainly have the time. Just… not the topic. Blogging will have to do. One day, though, look for a published book by me; it’s one of my lifetime goals.
Not only have I conveyed some of my experiences in print via blog and facebook, I’ve convinced another American, Kevin, to come see this country for himself. I’m willing to bet good money that he never would have stepped foot in Mozambique, and maybe not even in Africa, had it not been for me. True, he would have followed me anywhere, but still.
While he was here, he was constantly asking questions about the things he observed. “Why do they do this?” “What is that?” “How do they…?” To the point I’d snap, “How should I know?” He stayed a full month and saw more than just the touristy aspect of Mozambique; he actually lived here with me, in my little bairro of Chimundo. Now that’s worth more than a thousand words. Or a hundred thousand. Or more.
I am hoping to convince my dad and my sister to come visit me this Christmas. Aside from that, my calendar’s free and my guest room is set up. Doesn’t anyone else want to come see Mozambique??

My updated wish list:
More pesto and sauce mixes
Caramel sauce
Dog flea drops
Dog treats
Ground coffee
Worcestershire sauce