A brief history of Viv's electronics in Mozambique:
Oct 2010: Viv foolishly arrives in Africa without a computer and immediately asks Kevin to send one
March 2011: Kevin brings an iBook laptop
Aug 2011: iBook hard drive dies
Oct 2011: Kev brings an external hard drive for the iBook / Viv inherits a brand new REDES program laptop
Jan 2012: On a crowded train, the REDES LCD screen is cracked, rendering laptop unusable
Feb 2012: Fortunately, REDES computer is able to be sent through the diplomatic pouch to be fixed in the U.S.
Meanwhile, Moz claims the life of the 2nd iBook hard drive. Cause of death? Overheating. Burn/ melt marks in the center. *
March 2012: Kev delivers fixed REDES computer and 3rd iBook drive to Germany. Viv loves Kev forever.
*Common occurrence in Mozambique. When a friend took her drive to be fixed in the States over the holidays, she was asked "Did you put this in the oven?"
I took a final trip to Chimundo to say goodbye to my good friend and old neighbor Yoko, the Japanese volunteer. She's leaving for home in 2 weeks, lucky duck. We killed one of the fat chickens from her coop (since I left in June, she's built a fancy chicken coop and sells eggs and chickens in the community, except she saves the really big ones for herself and guests) and ate a delicious dinner of grilled chicken, xima, and cacana (a bitter vegetable prepared with peanuts and coconut milk).
I was feeling a little dejected because I had yet to come across other familiar faces in Chimundo, until we crossed the threshold of Yoko's backyard and a group of children came running at me screaming "Mana Viviana! Mana Viviana!" (At this point, Yoko visibly cringed and walked away. Poor girl. I think the unruly children of Chibuto have permanently traumatized her, because she got a dog to keep the kids away and when I left practically begged me to take away all of the toys and art supplies in her house.) "Is that Mana Viviana?" I heard someone excitedly whisper and then I saw my two Art Club boys Vasco and Rostilho a few yards away, grinning from ear to ear. The moment I held out my arms, they came running, almost slow motion like the movies. The other kids joined, and suddenly I was being group hugged by a herd of dirty children, which made me happy but might be Yoko's worst nightmare.
Vasco didn't look very different but Rostilho looked like a gangster with his shirt partially unbuttoned and a big silver cross hanging around his neck. "Mana Viviana, we've made a lot of money off the fish!" Rostilho told me. I was confused, until he reminded me that I'd given them a game before I'd left- Players try to pick up fish using magnetized fishing poles while they rotate around on a battery-run wheel. "People play for money now, and I've won a lot!" Rostilho informed me proudly. So… Years from now, we'll be able to trace his gambling problem back to me.
Other than that, they were my same silly boys. I gave them a set of face paint markers and they came back later with their faces painted like Halloween ghouls, wielding a cell phone and asking me for my phone number. "Are you going to call me every day?" I teased, and they nodded solemnly. That night they sent me a text message: "Good night Mana Viviana" and the next morning "Hi Mana Viviana, how is it going? What did you dream of last night? Vasco. Rostilho." At which point they probably ran out of phone credit because I haven't heard from them since.
The next day I visited my old workplace, the escolinha, which seems to be doing very well. They are currently constructing a new classroom and all of the kids have nice plaid uniforms. I recognized only a handful of tm, but the few that I knew still recognized me and kept giggling "Mana Vivienne" while ducking shyly behind each other. Two little girls ran up to me singing "knees and toes, knees and toes!" remnants of "Head Shoulders Knees and Toes" that I taught while I was working there. I was impressed that they even remembered any at all. Those two learned their first English words from me. It's kind of a nice feeling.
Afterwards I stopped by the Chibuto market to say hellos/ goodbyes to people I used to know. My friend Lee, who owns the Chinese shop, was so excited to see me and have somebody to speak Mandarin with that he invited me to lunch at his house, where he made me a delicious meal of Chinese food: rice, stir fried onion and pork, stir fried ginger and shrimp, and a garlic and fish meatball soup. He piled all sorts of Chinese food goodies on me to take home: egg noodles, seaweed, and… Chinese garlic bulbs. "It's different than Mozambican garlic" he assured me, which I was dubious about until he started cooking. And yes, actually, Asian garlic is a bit stronger than African garlic, and smells a little differently. Who knew?
The way back to Chicumbane was less eventful than the way there (which included me getting stuck in the middle of nowhere while trying to take a shortcut, after my neighbor assured me that there were plenty of cars even on Sunday- there aren't- and waiting 2 hours on the side of the road to get a boleia. Kev suggested that if worse comes to worst, I could eat t little lizard that I found crawling around inside my bag. When I finally got in a car, the two men turned out to be super creeps who spent the entire time telling me that by not giving them my number, I was a selfish person and not here to help the people of Mozambique.
My electricity at home is steadily getting worse, shifting back to the same exact problem I had when I first moved in- no electricity between the hours of 7 and 9pm. (Except this time, I've got a gas stove not electric, so thank God for that.) After consulting with my pseudo-electrician friend, we came to the conclusion that there are just too many houses that leech off the electrical post attached to my house, and there isn't enough electricity to go around so I get the short end of the stick and sit in the dark while everyone else watches their nighttime soap operas. My friend will help me talk to the Xai Xai electricians about it when I get back from my travels. Until then, it's dinner by candlelight! Minus all romantic connotations.
Ah yes, Germany can't come fast enough.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Friday, February 17, 2012
Welcome to the Jungle
I was not initially thrilled to receive the third assignment of working at the Chicumbane hospital when I already have my hands full with CBO's CACHES and Tsembeka and secondary projects REDES and JUNTOS. I have a full plate and Peace Corps is asking me to take on another course. Okay then, bring it.
Working at the biggest health center in the Xai Xai district can be kind of overwhelming. There are a million new faces and names for me to learn. From the outside, the hospital looks like a simple arrangement of round cement huts with thatched roofs. It's not There's the pediatric ward (by the way, "ward" sounds fancy. Don't think fancy, think as I said, about identical huts), the maternity ward, the pharmacy, the TB ward, etc, etc. And everywhere, there are patients (mostly women, and a good majority with babies slung on their backs) waiting around outside.
You'd think that I'd be great at the integration process by now (remember: escolinha, Chibuto, CACHES, Tsembeka, Chicumbane) but I dread it. The awkward questions about who I am and what I do. "Should we call you Doctor Vivienne, or Nurse Vivienne, or…?" "Just call me Vivienn," I say, because I'm not qualified for a pretentious title. It's hard to explain because as a Community Health Promoter and a volunteer, I don't fit into any of the very specific health roles that can be found at the hospital. And I'm not here to give money. And I'm not Chinese. And I speak Portuguese. And I don't have a car. And I'm married, thank you very much.
The first day, I show up (15-20 minute walk to the hospital from my house) sweating profusely at the hospital director's door. He takes one look at me and laughs, ushering me into his nicely air conditioned office so that I can "refresh myself." He comes back with three hospital staff members: Patricia, in charge of the HIV/AIDS department, Luis, in charge of Community Health Interventions, and Ricardo, nurse and head of the GAAC program in Chicumbane. (GAAC is an interesting initiative in Mozambique, currently being pilot tested in Gaza province. HIV+ patients form small groups in the community of 6 or less, and every month they take turns going to the hospital to pick up meds for the group.) These are my new counterparts at the hospital.
My first day "on the job" I shadow Ricardo while he does consultations in his hut for a variety of sick people. Despite the small crowd of people waiting outside his door, he spends the first 20 minutes chatting with me about the challenges of his job. Mainly, the lack of resources. The photocopier has been out of toner for a few weeks so no one can make the necessary copies of forms. "Who's in charge of fixing the copy machine?" I ask. Ricardo sighs, and launches into an explanation of how in the past, the I-NGO's (in this case, EGPAF) were the ones who bought and donated materials. Now, I suspect in some crazy launch for more sustainability, the I-NGO's give money and the hospitals themselves are in charge of the annual budget. Which means that no one's buying more toner because someone probably spent money on something that the hospital didn't really need. (Ahem, air conditioning?) "Things were perfect when you guys were in charge of your own money," Ricardo says sadly. I have no idea what to say.
Eventually, patients are ushered in to the hut and Ricardo speaks with them in Changana or Portuguese. He has no problem having lengthy side conversations with me, though, which makes me feel bad but the patients don't say anything about it. They just sit and wait. They're obviously used to it. At some point, a man barges in to the hut to talk to Ricardo and, ignoring the patient sitting in the chair, apologizes to me for the interruption.
Other patients come in with their chest X-Rays rolled up inside another piece of paper, which Ricardo unrolls and holds up to the window. Very technical. He writes prescriptions out on pieces of scrap paper folded in half with carbon paper in between.
After the first couple of patients, Ricardo looks at me out of the corner of his eye. "Do you think you can fix all these problems we have?" He asks slyly. "No. Definitely not." is the truth and my response.
"What should we do about the AIDS situation?" I respond that if there were a simple answer to that question, Africa wouldn't be in the state that it's in.
A pretty young girl walks in for her consultation. Her blood tests show that she has malaria and HIV and now we've got to break the news to her.
She's in 10th grade and she's very informed about HIV, as shown by her answers to Ricardo's pop quiz about transmission of HIV. She's very quiet though, in the manner of most Mozambican children and women when spoken to.
"How many partners do you have?" Ricardo asks. "One," she says. "Who?" He asks (nosily, in my opinion). She gives his name (apparently, he is a friend of Ricardo's).
Ricardo: "Have you ever taken an HIV test before?"
Girl: "No."
Ricardo: "Would you be willing to take one?"
Girl: "Yes."
Ricardo: "Would you want to know the results, regardless of whether the news is good or bad?"
Girl: "Yes."
Ricardo: "What would you do if it came back positive?"
Girl: "I would start treatment."
Ricardo: "Would you tell your family and your partner?"
Girl: "Yes."
Ricardo: "Are you sure? You wouldn't go home and commit suicide or anything, would you?"
Girl: "No."
Ricardo: (Sighing heavily) "Can you read this piece of paper for me?" (slides over her test results, written in sloppy handwriting on a piece of scrap paper)
Girl: "I…can't read the handwriting."
Ricardo: "R-E-A-C-T-I-V-E. What does that spell?
Girl: "Reactive."
Ricardo: "Do you know what reactive means?"
Girl: "No."
Ricardo: "What does non-reactive mean?"
Girl: "I don't know."
Ricardo: "Okay….. It means that when someone takes a test for an illness, like malaria or HIV, they either come back with the results reactive or non-reactive. In your case, it looks like you came back positive for malaria and…HIV."
Girl: (no reaction) "Okay."
(Vivienne, with the sudden urge to hold the girl's hand, watches a white gecko stalk a spider across the cement walls of the hut.)
Ricardo: "So… here is your prescription. You can take this to other hospitals in Xai Xai as well. You don't have to come to this hospital if you don't want to."
Girl: "It's fine. I'll just come here."
Ricardo: "Are you sure? You're going to tell your partner, right?"
Girl: "Yes."
About 20 minutes after the girl leaves, her boyfriend pops in to the hut with her prescription of pills. He is… much older than she is. He asks Ricardo to repeat instructions on how to take them, and Ricardo explains. As the man turns to leave, Ricardo says, "Has she talked to you yet?" The guy shakes his head. "I don't think she'll tell me what's wrong." "Oh she will," Ricardo says mysteriously, "She promised she would. She has a lot to talk to you about."
For me, the whole experience was astounding, no less because when the girl found out she had HIV, she didn't physically react at all. Although she must have been freaking out inside, her expression didn't change. Whereas I'm sure that most American patients would immediately collapse in tears, or panic, or immediately call somebody up on the phone and break down. The Mozambican girl, a secondary school student!, got up and left with the same quiet dignity that she came in with. It really hit me then… the reality of HIV in Africa. Working at a hospital in Mozambique is going to bring me a number of new perspectives and experiences in the upcoming weeks.
Working at the biggest health center in the Xai Xai district can be kind of overwhelming. There are a million new faces and names for me to learn. From the outside, the hospital looks like a simple arrangement of round cement huts with thatched roofs. It's not There's the pediatric ward (by the way, "ward" sounds fancy. Don't think fancy, think as I said, about identical huts), the maternity ward, the pharmacy, the TB ward, etc, etc. And everywhere, there are patients (mostly women, and a good majority with babies slung on their backs) waiting around outside.
You'd think that I'd be great at the integration process by now (remember: escolinha, Chibuto, CACHES, Tsembeka, Chicumbane) but I dread it. The awkward questions about who I am and what I do. "Should we call you Doctor Vivienne, or Nurse Vivienne, or…?" "Just call me Vivienn," I say, because I'm not qualified for a pretentious title. It's hard to explain because as a Community Health Promoter and a volunteer, I don't fit into any of the very specific health roles that can be found at the hospital. And I'm not here to give money. And I'm not Chinese. And I speak Portuguese. And I don't have a car. And I'm married, thank you very much.
The first day, I show up (15-20 minute walk to the hospital from my house) sweating profusely at the hospital director's door. He takes one look at me and laughs, ushering me into his nicely air conditioned office so that I can "refresh myself." He comes back with three hospital staff members: Patricia, in charge of the HIV/AIDS department, Luis, in charge of Community Health Interventions, and Ricardo, nurse and head of the GAAC program in Chicumbane. (GAAC is an interesting initiative in Mozambique, currently being pilot tested in Gaza province. HIV+ patients form small groups in the community of 6 or less, and every month they take turns going to the hospital to pick up meds for the group.) These are my new counterparts at the hospital.
My first day "on the job" I shadow Ricardo while he does consultations in his hut for a variety of sick people. Despite the small crowd of people waiting outside his door, he spends the first 20 minutes chatting with me about the challenges of his job. Mainly, the lack of resources. The photocopier has been out of toner for a few weeks so no one can make the necessary copies of forms. "Who's in charge of fixing the copy machine?" I ask. Ricardo sighs, and launches into an explanation of how in the past, the I-NGO's (in this case, EGPAF) were the ones who bought and donated materials. Now, I suspect in some crazy launch for more sustainability, the I-NGO's give money and the hospitals themselves are in charge of the annual budget. Which means that no one's buying more toner because someone probably spent money on something that the hospital didn't really need. (Ahem, air conditioning?) "Things were perfect when you guys were in charge of your own money," Ricardo says sadly. I have no idea what to say.
Eventually, patients are ushered in to the hut and Ricardo speaks with them in Changana or Portuguese. He has no problem having lengthy side conversations with me, though, which makes me feel bad but the patients don't say anything about it. They just sit and wait. They're obviously used to it. At some point, a man barges in to the hut to talk to Ricardo and, ignoring the patient sitting in the chair, apologizes to me for the interruption.
Other patients come in with their chest X-Rays rolled up inside another piece of paper, which Ricardo unrolls and holds up to the window. Very technical. He writes prescriptions out on pieces of scrap paper folded in half with carbon paper in between.
After the first couple of patients, Ricardo looks at me out of the corner of his eye. "Do you think you can fix all these problems we have?" He asks slyly. "No. Definitely not." is the truth and my response.
"What should we do about the AIDS situation?" I respond that if there were a simple answer to that question, Africa wouldn't be in the state that it's in.
A pretty young girl walks in for her consultation. Her blood tests show that she has malaria and HIV and now we've got to break the news to her.
She's in 10th grade and she's very informed about HIV, as shown by her answers to Ricardo's pop quiz about transmission of HIV. She's very quiet though, in the manner of most Mozambican children and women when spoken to.
"How many partners do you have?" Ricardo asks. "One," she says. "Who?" He asks (nosily, in my opinion). She gives his name (apparently, he is a friend of Ricardo's).
Ricardo: "Have you ever taken an HIV test before?"
Girl: "No."
Ricardo: "Would you be willing to take one?"
Girl: "Yes."
Ricardo: "Would you want to know the results, regardless of whether the news is good or bad?"
Girl: "Yes."
Ricardo: "What would you do if it came back positive?"
Girl: "I would start treatment."
Ricardo: "Would you tell your family and your partner?"
Girl: "Yes."
Ricardo: "Are you sure? You wouldn't go home and commit suicide or anything, would you?"
Girl: "No."
Ricardo: (Sighing heavily) "Can you read this piece of paper for me?" (slides over her test results, written in sloppy handwriting on a piece of scrap paper)
Girl: "I…can't read the handwriting."
Ricardo: "R-E-A-C-T-I-V-E. What does that spell?
Girl: "Reactive."
Ricardo: "Do you know what reactive means?"
Girl: "No."
Ricardo: "What does non-reactive mean?"
Girl: "I don't know."
Ricardo: "Okay….. It means that when someone takes a test for an illness, like malaria or HIV, they either come back with the results reactive or non-reactive. In your case, it looks like you came back positive for malaria and…HIV."
Girl: (no reaction) "Okay."
(Vivienne, with the sudden urge to hold the girl's hand, watches a white gecko stalk a spider across the cement walls of the hut.)
Ricardo: "So… here is your prescription. You can take this to other hospitals in Xai Xai as well. You don't have to come to this hospital if you don't want to."
Girl: "It's fine. I'll just come here."
Ricardo: "Are you sure? You're going to tell your partner, right?"
Girl: "Yes."
About 20 minutes after the girl leaves, her boyfriend pops in to the hut with her prescription of pills. He is… much older than she is. He asks Ricardo to repeat instructions on how to take them, and Ricardo explains. As the man turns to leave, Ricardo says, "Has she talked to you yet?" The guy shakes his head. "I don't think she'll tell me what's wrong." "Oh she will," Ricardo says mysteriously, "She promised she would. She has a lot to talk to you about."
For me, the whole experience was astounding, no less because when the girl found out she had HIV, she didn't physically react at all. Although she must have been freaking out inside, her expression didn't change. Whereas I'm sure that most American patients would immediately collapse in tears, or panic, or immediately call somebody up on the phone and break down. The Mozambican girl, a secondary school student!, got up and left with the same quiet dignity that she came in with. It really hit me then… the reality of HIV in Africa. Working at a hospital in Mozambique is going to bring me a number of new perspectives and experiences in the upcoming weeks.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Lookin' ahead
In one month I'll be in Germany with Kevin and his family...
In four months I'll be turning 24...
In more or less eight months I'll be going home...
Plans upon return:
Get a haircut and pedicure immediately
Move back to San Diego (at least for a while)
Look for a job
Study for and take the Foreign Service Officer Test
Eat lots of food, including but not limited to smoked salmon, steak, and sushi
In the meantime:
Finish up trainings and projects at CACHES
Plan a trip up to north Moz
Defeat the rat that is determined to enter my house by breaking through the cement floor under my bed
Enjoy the final stretch of my Peace Corps service
In four months I'll be turning 24...
In more or less eight months I'll be going home...
Plans upon return:
Get a haircut and pedicure immediately
Move back to San Diego (at least for a while)
Look for a job
Study for and take the Foreign Service Officer Test
Eat lots of food, including but not limited to smoked salmon, steak, and sushi
In the meantime:
Finish up trainings and projects at CACHES
Plan a trip up to north Moz
Defeat the rat that is determined to enter my house by breaking through the cement floor under my bed
Enjoy the final stretch of my Peace Corps service
Friday, February 3, 2012
“My English is bad, but my life is good”
(Quote above attributed to one of my English theatre students)
My friend Meagan from Zambezia province came to visit me in Chicumbane for a few days after Midservice Conference (highlights of which, by the way, included all 62 of us Moz15-ers being together again for the first time since we left training, bumper cars in Maputo, Korean BBQ where Helen the legit Korean sweet-talked the restaurant owner into giving us free drinks, a mock burlesque show in honor of another PCV's birthday, a Superlative event in which I was voted Moz 15's "Most Likely to Reject You at a Bar," Thai food, pizza, and sangria with good friends). Being around so many people, after leading a solitary lifestyle for so long, was a bit exhausting and made me aware of some of the ways I have changed since being in Peace Corps. While others were fueled by the nightlife allures of drinking, dancing, and socializing, I yearned for my quiet town and my movie-before-bed-at-10pm routine.
Meagan lives in Quelimane, a big city in northern Mozambique, and it was interesting to discover just how different her Peace Corps experience has been from mine although we are both female health volunteers. She has hot running water at her house, so needless to say bucket bathing is not the norm for her. In Quelimane, she hangs out a lot with expats instead of Mozambicans, so she hears mainly English and Portuguese while I am constantly inundated with Changana. (She was completely bewildered when she got in a chapa with me. "What is this that they're speaking?" She asked.) Her organization has a private car so usually she doesn't even have to take public transportation, and the few times we had to get in super crowded chapas where people were crouched all over each other, she got a little upset. My site is a cattle town, and everywhere you go you find cows strolling around in packs, or sometimes even wandering around alone (and a few times, into my yard). Meagan's reaction: "I've never seen so many cows in my life!!" At her site, she has a guard while I just have my dogs to protect the house. I think she found it odd that I talk to them a lot, although she did agree that Magorducha my puppy is super cute. People pass through her site a lot, and her house has a constant stream of visitors but since I'm a smaller site and only a few hours from Maputo, I tend to be a rest stop only for friends passing through to the capitol city. I am not fazed by the presence of cockroaches, big or small, in my house, but I could tell that Meagan was disturbed, and I can guarantee she has never had to beat a rat to death. (Another PCV once told me that when it comes to bugs and critters that I'm "stronger than most," but I really think it comes with the territory. When you live in a part canico (reed) house and have a latrine in the back, it's inevitable, and if you want to survive for two years you just gotta do what you gotta do- right?)
One giant overlap between me and Meagan, however, is our work. We both work with youth- Meag is paired with a girls' education program much like REDES, and she does activities similar to the ones I do at CACHES. While she was here, we would go to CACHES in the evenings and she taught my kids hopscotch, hokey pokey, pass the orange, and other games and team building activities. One game in particular was a huge hit with both my coworkers and the children: two teams raced to successfully throw crumpled up pieces of paper into a box, which was supposed to get them used to throwing away trash properly. Meag deemed her team "Uva" (Grape) and my team "Manga" (Mango) and we all cheered and screamed for our teams while they competed. Of course, there was some definite cheating going on, but all in all things went really well and Meag and I had a lot of fun with the kids.
Another defining aspect of our experience in Mozambique for us, as women, has been sexual harassment. One day while we were walking around together in Xai Xai, we counted 15 times that men tried to hiss, holler, or otherwise attempt conversation with us. In Chicumbane, where the people are more or less used to my presence, we rarely got harassed but we definitely still got stared at. Meagan used to have a male sitemate (who has since left) and so she didn't really experience the sexual harassment until later on in her service. I've noticed too that when I'm with another male PCV or with Kevin, no one tries to talk to me; if anything, they'll greet the male instead.
After three days, Meagan left to go visit another PCV in Macia, but I suspect that she'll be back next week because she has some time to kill before going back to Maputo to take the GRE. In the meantime, I'm enjoying having quiet time and making conversation with my dogs :)
My friend Meagan from Zambezia province came to visit me in Chicumbane for a few days after Midservice Conference (highlights of which, by the way, included all 62 of us Moz15-ers being together again for the first time since we left training, bumper cars in Maputo, Korean BBQ where Helen the legit Korean sweet-talked the restaurant owner into giving us free drinks, a mock burlesque show in honor of another PCV's birthday, a Superlative event in which I was voted Moz 15's "Most Likely to Reject You at a Bar," Thai food, pizza, and sangria with good friends). Being around so many people, after leading a solitary lifestyle for so long, was a bit exhausting and made me aware of some of the ways I have changed since being in Peace Corps. While others were fueled by the nightlife allures of drinking, dancing, and socializing, I yearned for my quiet town and my movie-before-bed-at-10pm routine.
Meagan lives in Quelimane, a big city in northern Mozambique, and it was interesting to discover just how different her Peace Corps experience has been from mine although we are both female health volunteers. She has hot running water at her house, so needless to say bucket bathing is not the norm for her. In Quelimane, she hangs out a lot with expats instead of Mozambicans, so she hears mainly English and Portuguese while I am constantly inundated with Changana. (She was completely bewildered when she got in a chapa with me. "What is this that they're speaking?" She asked.) Her organization has a private car so usually she doesn't even have to take public transportation, and the few times we had to get in super crowded chapas where people were crouched all over each other, she got a little upset. My site is a cattle town, and everywhere you go you find cows strolling around in packs, or sometimes even wandering around alone (and a few times, into my yard). Meagan's reaction: "I've never seen so many cows in my life!!" At her site, she has a guard while I just have my dogs to protect the house. I think she found it odd that I talk to them a lot, although she did agree that Magorducha my puppy is super cute. People pass through her site a lot, and her house has a constant stream of visitors but since I'm a smaller site and only a few hours from Maputo, I tend to be a rest stop only for friends passing through to the capitol city. I am not fazed by the presence of cockroaches, big or small, in my house, but I could tell that Meagan was disturbed, and I can guarantee she has never had to beat a rat to death. (Another PCV once told me that when it comes to bugs and critters that I'm "stronger than most," but I really think it comes with the territory. When you live in a part canico (reed) house and have a latrine in the back, it's inevitable, and if you want to survive for two years you just gotta do what you gotta do- right?)
One giant overlap between me and Meagan, however, is our work. We both work with youth- Meag is paired with a girls' education program much like REDES, and she does activities similar to the ones I do at CACHES. While she was here, we would go to CACHES in the evenings and she taught my kids hopscotch, hokey pokey, pass the orange, and other games and team building activities. One game in particular was a huge hit with both my coworkers and the children: two teams raced to successfully throw crumpled up pieces of paper into a box, which was supposed to get them used to throwing away trash properly. Meag deemed her team "Uva" (Grape) and my team "Manga" (Mango) and we all cheered and screamed for our teams while they competed. Of course, there was some definite cheating going on, but all in all things went really well and Meag and I had a lot of fun with the kids.
Another defining aspect of our experience in Mozambique for us, as women, has been sexual harassment. One day while we were walking around together in Xai Xai, we counted 15 times that men tried to hiss, holler, or otherwise attempt conversation with us. In Chicumbane, where the people are more or less used to my presence, we rarely got harassed but we definitely still got stared at. Meagan used to have a male sitemate (who has since left) and so she didn't really experience the sexual harassment until later on in her service. I've noticed too that when I'm with another male PCV or with Kevin, no one tries to talk to me; if anything, they'll greet the male instead.
After three days, Meagan left to go visit another PCV in Macia, but I suspect that she'll be back next week because she has some time to kill before going back to Maputo to take the GRE. In the meantime, I'm enjoying having quiet time and making conversation with my dogs :)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
