"In the end, I want to be standing at the beginning with you." - Donna Lewis / Richard Marx
I've commenced my 50-day countdown which obviously means that I have very little time left in Mozambique and even less time left in Chicumbane. As a result, I am remarkably busy and exceptionally emotional. I'm pretty sure that my replacement Colleen thinks that I'm crazy. I tend to freak out at least once a day, especially when I glance at the calendar. Sometimes I have to stop and catch my breath, realizing that my time here is coming to a close and that soon I'll be leaving all the familiar faces and sights that surround me.
Having a replacement is kind of a strange thing but so far, everything's gone smoothly. Helping Colleen set up her house and get introduced around the community brought back memories of my first few weeks at site. The difference being, I didn't have anyone there with me to help figure things out.
However, there's pros and cons to both. There are so many things that cannot be taught, but must be learned. Well, she has plenty of time ahead of her. (The question is: Where has all my time gone?)
All in all, I'm glad I've been able to get to know her and support her as she begins her two years of PC service. I care so much about my work and my community and I want to set her up for success. Hopefully, our dual presence will give her a head start in the workplace and eliminate the need to "reinvent the wheel," so to speak.
Plus, it's kind of funny to see the differences in the ways we view things, such as showing up to work on time, or the presence of unwanted critters in the house. Last night, she discovered her first rat in the house! One poisoned tomato and two dead rat corpses later, I give her much credit for having passed this Peace Corps rite of passage.
As she says, "we are at two very different places in our service." (By the way, her blog is frecklesoffaith.blogspot.com if you want to follow the experience of a fresh new PCV in Chicumbane.)
This weekend, I traveled to Inhambane province for the annual Timbila Festival in Quissico. (Timbila = Mozambican musical instrument, essentially a wooden xylophone.) Approximately 20 other PCV's were present, and we ran an American cultural booth alongside a Japanese cultural booth run by the Japanese (JICA) volunteers. At our booth, we displayed Peace Corps posters and photos of PCV's working at their schools and organizations, sold jewelry made by REDES groups throughout the country, sold home-made jam and cashews produced by local CBO's, and made fruit smoothies tinged with the "miracle plant" moringa.
The JICA volunteers made delicious Japanese food, sold cool crafts like capulana wallets made out of recycled milk cartons, and taught various Japanese games and crafts like simple origami and noisemakers made out of toilet paper rolls, boxes, and soda caps, to groups of children throughout the day. Some of the female JICA volunteers even wore kimonos. Having been close friends with a Japanese volunteer in Chibuto, I've always respected the JICA program but seeing their volunteers in action this weekend, I was yet again impressed by how organized, friendly, and just all-around awesome the Japanese are. They really brought their A-game.
In the afternoon and then again later in the evening, both groups paused activities to do a trash pick-up around the city (a ton of people + no trash cans + hot day = LOTS of trash) and I was struck by what a strange and beautiful thing this was. American volunteers working side by side with Japanese volunteers in Mozambique, communicating in Portuguese no less, to trocar (exchange) aspects of their culture with Africans and with each other. It's amazing, really.
And isn't this kind of what Peace Corps is all about?
Monday, August 27, 2012
Thursday, August 16, 2012
The Adventures of Viv in Swaziland
I guess I had this idea that all of Africa is more or less like Moz, with the exception of a few countries. Boy, was I wrong
My friend Drew and I crossed the Namaacha border into the Kingdom of Swaziland, marveling when the Swazi lady who stamped our passports wished us a lovely day. (In Moz, customer service is non-existent. After two years, I'm pretty used to waiters rolling their eyes at me, shop owners and market ladies acting like they're doing me a favor by selling me something, oftentimes just being plain rude.)
Drew and I then found ourselves on a lovely paved road, in a cushy spacious mini-bus not crammed to the max with sweaty bodies. Even more amazing, was the driver following through on his promise that the chapa would leave right at 4pm, even though the car wasn't full. As we sped along on the wonderfully smooth road, surrounded by beautifully manicured fields of sugar cane, it felt like we were in a whole different world.
Night fell, and we arrived at our destination Ezulwini Valley, a city of glittering lights. Our backpackers lodge was 5k from a shopping mall replete with fancy stores, and even a movie theatre! (Wait, did we somehow teleport ourselves back to America?) We went to see The Dark Knight Rises, my first time at a movie theatre in two years. Drew gorged himself on popcorn and blue raspberry slushies, bought a velcro Avatar wallet and chocolate Rand coins, and otherwise used his credit card with reckless abandon. (You can just call me the babysitter.) We wandered the magical aisles of a Pick N Pay grocery store, and ate a lot of awesome food at the mall restaurants: pizza, chicken fingers, a smoked salmon sandwich. With all the amenities and choices, it really was like being home. We also toured a craft market and I stocked up on cool jewelry made out of beads, straw, and spun paper beads.
We realized we'd been in Moz too long when one night, after taking a cab ride to eat dinner at the mall, we asked the taxi driver to come back and pick us up at 9pm. He agreed, telling us to just borrow a security guard's phone to call him, and he'd be right there. As 9pm approached, Drew and I opted for dessert, absolutely convinced that the taxi driver would not even leave for the mall until he had received our call Around 9:45, we dialed his number from our waitress's phone. "I'm already here," he told us. Oops. We rush out and sure enough, he's been waiting for us promptly since 9. "I drove all over the mall looking for you guys!" He exclaimed. "Some other people wanted to hire me, but I said that I was waiting for some other mulungus" (Apparently, some words are universal in African languages- the one for "white person," for example.) Drew and I felt great shame for our taxi faux pas. Apparently, not all of Africa runs on Mozambican time. We made up for it, however, by leaving a generous American tip.
The next day, we went white water rafting, tubing, and rappelling- all of which were pretty fun. Although Kevin was convinced I would get eaten by a crocodile, we did not see a single one on the calm, shallow river. Drew and I got stuck on the sand bars plenty a time (it's dry season in Africa), and somehow ended up backwards on almost every rapid. Drew fell out of the raft once, but I didn't notice until the guide told me to look behind me (which might say wonders about our friendship... Just kidding.)
On our last day, Drew suggested we head back to Moz a day early, to get a head start on our full traveling day, but I wasn't ready to leave the luxuries of Swaz. We ended up compromising by staying in the city of Manzini, which is closer to the Moz border. The hotel we stayed at was called Moçambique Hotel (coincidence?), although you get an idea of how classy a place is when they have rates for "special room– 2 hours." We left bright and early in the morning, saying our goodbyes to Swaziland and returning to the disarray that is our Mozambique.
Throughout the trip, I thought a lot about Moz (a country I love despite its shortcomings, and feel lucky to have served in) in comparison to neighboring countries like Swaziland and South Africa. From a initial perspective, Mozambique is just way behind in terms of progress and development, despite the fact that there is so much outside money being poured in. Factors such as the protracted civil war that ended in 1992 and the flooding of Southern Moz in February 2000 play a significant part, but cannot account completely for the slow progress of the nation as a whole.
In Swaziland, there were so many positive billboards everywhere about corruption: "YOU can make a difference in stopping corruption!," "Corruption hurts all of us," etc., with whistle-blower hotline numbers. Corruption is so ubiquitous in Mozambique, but you see very little being done about it. One of my Mozambican friends has been looking for a job for some time. He heard of a job opening, interviewed, and when he went back to follow up this week, was told that he had to pay 2000 mets if he wanted his application approved. But there's a huge job shortage in Moz, what can he do?
The tourism industry in Moz has a lot of potential but the cost of development is so high that for example, the price of a hotel room in Maputo is phenomenal in comparison to what you can get in other big cities in neighboring countries like Capetown. Not to mention, the condition of the roads throughout Moz is... in need of improvement, to say the least.
But, of course, these observations and comparisons should be taken with a grain of salt. I don't claim to know much about the economic systems or political structures of Swaziland. I do know that the Kingdom of Swaziland is one of the worst affected by HIV/AIDS, and that the economic margin is pretty wide. The nice areas are really nice, but the rural areas can get very primitive. At least with Mozambique, what you see is what you get. Every 20 km or so, there's a Mozambican village next to the National Highway. In Swazi, I noticed a distinct lack of villages or traditional housing visible from the paved roads we were driving on, which is not to say that they don't exist... but just that they are hidden away from view.
I was a mere tourist in Swaziland, passing from big city to big city, soaking up comforts unavailable in Mozambique. In the end, though, I wouldn't trade my experiences in Moz for anything.
My friend Drew and I crossed the Namaacha border into the Kingdom of Swaziland, marveling when the Swazi lady who stamped our passports wished us a lovely day. (In Moz, customer service is non-existent. After two years, I'm pretty used to waiters rolling their eyes at me, shop owners and market ladies acting like they're doing me a favor by selling me something, oftentimes just being plain rude.)
Drew and I then found ourselves on a lovely paved road, in a cushy spacious mini-bus not crammed to the max with sweaty bodies. Even more amazing, was the driver following through on his promise that the chapa would leave right at 4pm, even though the car wasn't full. As we sped along on the wonderfully smooth road, surrounded by beautifully manicured fields of sugar cane, it felt like we were in a whole different world.
Night fell, and we arrived at our destination Ezulwini Valley, a city of glittering lights. Our backpackers lodge was 5k from a shopping mall replete with fancy stores, and even a movie theatre! (Wait, did we somehow teleport ourselves back to America?) We went to see The Dark Knight Rises, my first time at a movie theatre in two years. Drew gorged himself on popcorn and blue raspberry slushies, bought a velcro Avatar wallet and chocolate Rand coins, and otherwise used his credit card with reckless abandon. (You can just call me the babysitter.) We wandered the magical aisles of a Pick N Pay grocery store, and ate a lot of awesome food at the mall restaurants: pizza, chicken fingers, a smoked salmon sandwich. With all the amenities and choices, it really was like being home. We also toured a craft market and I stocked up on cool jewelry made out of beads, straw, and spun paper beads.
We realized we'd been in Moz too long when one night, after taking a cab ride to eat dinner at the mall, we asked the taxi driver to come back and pick us up at 9pm. He agreed, telling us to just borrow a security guard's phone to call him, and he'd be right there. As 9pm approached, Drew and I opted for dessert, absolutely convinced that the taxi driver would not even leave for the mall until he had received our call Around 9:45, we dialed his number from our waitress's phone. "I'm already here," he told us. Oops. We rush out and sure enough, he's been waiting for us promptly since 9. "I drove all over the mall looking for you guys!" He exclaimed. "Some other people wanted to hire me, but I said that I was waiting for some other mulungus" (Apparently, some words are universal in African languages- the one for "white person," for example.) Drew and I felt great shame for our taxi faux pas. Apparently, not all of Africa runs on Mozambican time. We made up for it, however, by leaving a generous American tip.
The next day, we went white water rafting, tubing, and rappelling- all of which were pretty fun. Although Kevin was convinced I would get eaten by a crocodile, we did not see a single one on the calm, shallow river. Drew and I got stuck on the sand bars plenty a time (it's dry season in Africa), and somehow ended up backwards on almost every rapid. Drew fell out of the raft once, but I didn't notice until the guide told me to look behind me (which might say wonders about our friendship... Just kidding.)
On our last day, Drew suggested we head back to Moz a day early, to get a head start on our full traveling day, but I wasn't ready to leave the luxuries of Swaz. We ended up compromising by staying in the city of Manzini, which is closer to the Moz border. The hotel we stayed at was called Moçambique Hotel (coincidence?), although you get an idea of how classy a place is when they have rates for "special room– 2 hours." We left bright and early in the morning, saying our goodbyes to Swaziland and returning to the disarray that is our Mozambique.
Throughout the trip, I thought a lot about Moz (a country I love despite its shortcomings, and feel lucky to have served in) in comparison to neighboring countries like Swaziland and South Africa. From a initial perspective, Mozambique is just way behind in terms of progress and development, despite the fact that there is so much outside money being poured in. Factors such as the protracted civil war that ended in 1992 and the flooding of Southern Moz in February 2000 play a significant part, but cannot account completely for the slow progress of the nation as a whole.
In Swaziland, there were so many positive billboards everywhere about corruption: "YOU can make a difference in stopping corruption!," "Corruption hurts all of us," etc., with whistle-blower hotline numbers. Corruption is so ubiquitous in Mozambique, but you see very little being done about it. One of my Mozambican friends has been looking for a job for some time. He heard of a job opening, interviewed, and when he went back to follow up this week, was told that he had to pay 2000 mets if he wanted his application approved. But there's a huge job shortage in Moz, what can he do?
The tourism industry in Moz has a lot of potential but the cost of development is so high that for example, the price of a hotel room in Maputo is phenomenal in comparison to what you can get in other big cities in neighboring countries like Capetown. Not to mention, the condition of the roads throughout Moz is... in need of improvement, to say the least.
But, of course, these observations and comparisons should be taken with a grain of salt. I don't claim to know much about the economic systems or political structures of Swaziland. I do know that the Kingdom of Swaziland is one of the worst affected by HIV/AIDS, and that the economic margin is pretty wide. The nice areas are really nice, but the rural areas can get very primitive. At least with Mozambique, what you see is what you get. Every 20 km or so, there's a Mozambican village next to the National Highway. In Swazi, I noticed a distinct lack of villages or traditional housing visible from the paved roads we were driving on, which is not to say that they don't exist... but just that they are hidden away from view.
I was a mere tourist in Swaziland, passing from big city to big city, soaking up comforts unavailable in Mozambique. In the end, though, I wouldn't trade my experiences in Moz for anything.
Monday, August 6, 2012
poop
As a Peace Corps volunteer, I talk a lot about my bodily functions. To an inordinate degree. To the point where, I'm not exactly sure what is and what isn't culturally acceptable... in any culture. I think I may need some help readjusting. Someone please write out a list of topics I can talk about with strangers, with acquaintances, and with friends, so that I don't alienate everybody I know. For everything else, I may just need to have a fellow health RPCV on speed dial for. When you've lived in Africa for two years, nothing is spared detailing in a casual "what's the weather like today" tone.
Anyway, all this just means you're in for a treat this blog post!
So I spent the weekend pooping my brains out. As I was sitting on my xixi bucket, I had some time to reflect. First of all, on what a saving grace that xixi bucket has been. While some of you may be horrified that in the evenings I pee in a bucket, I would cordially remind you that my latrine is located outside, in the dark, and I still have an unwieldy fear of big cockroaches. And in case of emergency, such as this past weekend, the xixi bucket is conveniently located next to my bed. The only downfall, is that a xixi bucket cannot dump itself. It must be emptied consistently. (And, in life, if you are blessed enough to find someone who loves you enough to do it for you, you hold on to that person forever and ever because that is the ultimate test of true love. I love you, Kev!)
Secondly, I was told, when I first arrived in Mozambique, "Don't worry. You WILL be sh*tting your pants sometime within your service." Well. Knock on wood, but that has yet to happen. And in that sense, I am incredibly luckily. I am aware of many a peer that has fallen victim to stated prophecy. We all know of PCV's who have had untimely emergencies on the side of the road, on the beach, you name it. I even heard of a PCV in another African country who, before departing for service held an "underwear party" in which guests were asked to bring gifts of underwear, as she had heard she would be going through many pairs.
In 22 months, I have only had to go on the antibiotic Ciprofloxacin twice, while I know of at least one volunteer that has graduated to the next class of antibiotics, because eventually Cipro stopped working for her.
On this note, I am also supremely lucky that I have meds like Cipro on hand. I can even give myself a malaria test, which I did when I developed a fever and stomach cramps on Friday night. Even if I did have malaria, I could immediately start treatment because I have Coartem on stock. As a PCV, I was sent to site with a black briefcase full of meds. I have endless pharmaceutical drugs and packets of Oral Rehydration Salts at home, just waiting for the possibility of diarrhea. All my bases are covered, for whatever health calamity may befall me during my service. The Peace Corps medical office has a 24-hour emergency line so I can always get a hold of someone. Needless to say, all of this is an immense luxury in a country with an existing shortage of doctors.
I will never have to go to a Mozambican hospital and wait for hours, just to see a nurse. In fact, even if I were to need medical attention in Chicumbane, I would likely be given priority just for being white. (And this is not considering the fact that I actually work at the hospital and incidentally, know all of the staff, giving me yet another advantage.) I will never have to worry about my child suffering from malnutrition, dirty water, or dying from malaria or diarrhea. These are, bluntly, third world problems.
I spent a weekend hanging out with my xixi bucket, and that's what it took to make me stop and realize how infinitely blessed I am. You see, the shadow proves the sunshine.
Who knew pooping could be so profound?
Anyway, all this just means you're in for a treat this blog post!
So I spent the weekend pooping my brains out. As I was sitting on my xixi bucket, I had some time to reflect. First of all, on what a saving grace that xixi bucket has been. While some of you may be horrified that in the evenings I pee in a bucket, I would cordially remind you that my latrine is located outside, in the dark, and I still have an unwieldy fear of big cockroaches. And in case of emergency, such as this past weekend, the xixi bucket is conveniently located next to my bed. The only downfall, is that a xixi bucket cannot dump itself. It must be emptied consistently. (And, in life, if you are blessed enough to find someone who loves you enough to do it for you, you hold on to that person forever and ever because that is the ultimate test of true love. I love you, Kev!)
Secondly, I was told, when I first arrived in Mozambique, "Don't worry. You WILL be sh*tting your pants sometime within your service." Well. Knock on wood, but that has yet to happen. And in that sense, I am incredibly luckily. I am aware of many a peer that has fallen victim to stated prophecy. We all know of PCV's who have had untimely emergencies on the side of the road, on the beach, you name it. I even heard of a PCV in another African country who, before departing for service held an "underwear party" in which guests were asked to bring gifts of underwear, as she had heard she would be going through many pairs.
In 22 months, I have only had to go on the antibiotic Ciprofloxacin twice, while I know of at least one volunteer that has graduated to the next class of antibiotics, because eventually Cipro stopped working for her.
On this note, I am also supremely lucky that I have meds like Cipro on hand. I can even give myself a malaria test, which I did when I developed a fever and stomach cramps on Friday night. Even if I did have malaria, I could immediately start treatment because I have Coartem on stock. As a PCV, I was sent to site with a black briefcase full of meds. I have endless pharmaceutical drugs and packets of Oral Rehydration Salts at home, just waiting for the possibility of diarrhea. All my bases are covered, for whatever health calamity may befall me during my service. The Peace Corps medical office has a 24-hour emergency line so I can always get a hold of someone. Needless to say, all of this is an immense luxury in a country with an existing shortage of doctors.
I will never have to go to a Mozambican hospital and wait for hours, just to see a nurse. In fact, even if I were to need medical attention in Chicumbane, I would likely be given priority just for being white. (And this is not considering the fact that I actually work at the hospital and incidentally, know all of the staff, giving me yet another advantage.) I will never have to worry about my child suffering from malnutrition, dirty water, or dying from malaria or diarrhea. These are, bluntly, third world problems.
I spent a weekend hanging out with my xixi bucket, and that's what it took to make me stop and realize how infinitely blessed I am. You see, the shadow proves the sunshine.
Who knew pooping could be so profound?
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