Send Me On My Way

I took a somewhat spontaneous trip to Namaacha this week to visit my host family and to meet the new training group MOZ 16. The last time I was there, in March, everything was beautifully lush and green. This time around, with the onset of winter, everything looked dead and gnarled and brown, to the point that I almost didn’t recognize some of the streets I was walking on.

The moment I stepped out of the chapa I was greeted with a chilly wind that threw dust in my eyes as I hiked the lonely road to my family’s house. No one was there to greet me except for my host sister Lilita; everyone else was at work or school. I sat in the living room and watched Brazilian soap operas (Brazilian Portuguese is significantly different than Mozambican Portuguese, by the way. My head started to hurt from so much concentration) until Tiffanie, the current trainee living there, came home for lunch. I’d talked to her several times over the phone so it was great to finally meet her face to face.

I met a number of other trainees during the day and shamelessly promoted Xima’s puppies. (Did I mention that she is pregnant? I am the mother of a pregnant teenager- Where did I go wrong??) My favorite dressmaker completed two dresses and a pair of shorts in just a matter of hours, and I stocked up on no less than seven capulanas from the market before heading back to site.

The trip home was decent, which is saying a lot because usually traveling in Moz is a huge pain in the ass. On the way from Chicumbane to Maputo, I had one of those “Oh my God I’m going to die in a chapa” moments that has, since my arrival in October, become increasingly rare. I’ve accepted that seatbelts are almost unheard of, and that almost every driver on the road is a reckless one. This time, however, the chapa driver was too impatient to sit in Maputo traffic, so he decided to cross the concrete divider and suddenly we were facing two lines of oncoming traffic. Several cars, including a police vehicle, swerved into the second lane to avoid us. I still haven’t quite figured out what the police do around here, or if there are such things as traffic laws. Anyway, the concrete divider didn’t break for some time, so our chapa kept swimming upstream and although everyone in the chapa seemed alert, I’m pretty sure I was the only one with my hand over my mouth trying not to scream.

I arrived at the Junta, the giant chapa stop out of Maputo, after snagging a boleia out of Namaacha, and boarded a XaiXai chapa. Three hours later, we were still waiting for the car to fill up so we could go. Unfortunately, when it comes to chapa-ing, 24 people in a minibus is the absolute minimum. While I sat in the front seat and waved away vendors coming to my window, selling everything from toothbrushes, to jewelry, to potato chips, to sneakers and capulanas, I considered asking for my money back from the cobrador so that I could get on another chapa. I have never seen this done, even when everyone on the chapa is visibly frustrated. I wondered if batting my eyelashes and asking nicely would do the trick, but also considered the probability that since I’d already handed over the money, the only way I’d get it back would be to pry it from the cobrador’s cold, dead hands.

The day following my return to Chicumbane was a rainy one, so I decided not to go to work. (Don’t you wish your schedule were quite so flexible?) I stayed inside and watched movies all day, accompanied by XimaXima who, as I’ve discovered, is terrified of getting wet. When I let her out, she climbed on top of a plastic chair, whining, and wouldn’t come down.

Recently, I suspected the presence of a rat in my house and asked my empregada to help me move around the furniture in the kitchen. Sure enough, something gray and furry dashed into the living room when we moved aside my cupboards. Armed with a rake and a giant stick, we pursued the rat but it disappeared under the fridge… where, I’m pretty sure, it found a safe haven by crawling up into the wires and motor. Disgusting.

I bought some rat poison at the market and sprinkled it over a slice of tomato (which, my guard assured me, would lure the rat out like fish for a cat) that I then slid under the fridge. The very next day, I almost stepped on a rat corpse in my kitchen. Success! Another dead rat was later found next to the fridge. Hopefully that takes care of the problem, but I’ve continued to leave out another poisoned tomato slice on my kitchen counter just in case.

Cooking in the evening is still a feat, due to the dimming of electricity. Sometimes I wonder if it would be faster to heat water if I held the pot over a candle...

The electricians came one evening (after failing to show up on the scheduled day) to change my credit machine but didn’t transfer my credit like they had promised me. So, this month, I not only had to pay for a new fuse, I needed to pay for electricity twice (3x my monthly budget for electricity).

It’s so frustrating how some things work around here. The cultural power distance is vast- I can’t just call up the chefe of electricity to complain about how I just got robbed of all my prepaid electricity credit. To reach him (and I have no doubt it’s a “him”), I’d have to go to the XaiXai office, talk to the next higher up, who would then talk to their boss, who might then bring it to the chefe… Unlike America, not just anyone can talk to anybody. You have to go through the proper channels and, in my opinion, it becomes too much of a hassle than it’s worth. Maybe that’s why they continue to get away with this crap.

---

Thanks so much for your continued letters and packages! They really brighten up my day. The latest package I received included maple syrup, which I did not delay in using for French toast!

My updated wish list:

- Coloring books

- Simple watercolor set(s)

- Daily planner

- Dog flea meds

- Dog treats

- Scented candles

Next week... More details on my work in Chicumbane and current projects, July conferences, and hosting a MOZ16 site visit! Stay tuned!

Five Nights of Candlelight

PART I: An enlightening conversation

The Characters:
PCV
Empregada

Setting:
PCV’s house, Chicumbane

PCV: How many kilos of meat did you buy for the dogs?

Empregada: Just one. That’s all they had. I’ll have to go back tomorrow, but I need more money for transport

PCV: So… It’s costing me more to send you to buy dog food than to actually buy the dog food. Okay, fine. Can I have my change back? It should be 175 mts.

Empregada: Yeah, except I used three mets.

PCV: … Fine. Anyway, the past couple nights, the energy’s been going out right as it gets dark.

Empregada: It must be a problem with one of the wires. This whole block doesn’t have electricity. The electricity people probably don’t know.

PCV: So should I call somebody about this?

Empregada: (shrugs) It happens.

PART II: A day trip to the market

The characters:
PCV
Xai Xai market vendors

PCV: How much does this sweatshirt cost?

Vendor 1: 500 mets.

PCV: Okay. Thanks. I’m just looking.

Vendor 1: I’ll give you a discount.

PCV: It’s okay. I don’t really like the design.

Vendor 1: Why not?

PCV: I just… don’t?

Vendor 2: Come look at sweatshirts over here at my stall!

PCV: Aren’t these sweatshirts for men?

Vendor 2: No, you can wear them too. 600 mets.

PCV: I’m good. Thanks though.

Vendor 3: (grabs PCV’s arm) Hey white person! Do you see this sweatshirt I have? Do you see? Do you see?

PCV: Yeah. I see.

Vendor 3: Buy it!

PCV: (shakes arm free) No, I don’t like it.

Vendor 3: (laughing) She doesn’t like it!

(mocking, in a high pitched voice as PCV walks away) I don’t like it! I don’t like it!

PCV: (turns around) Why should I buy something that I don’t even like?

Vendor 3: You don’t like anything!

15 minutes later…

(PCV walking back with a different purchased sweatshirt in hand)

Vendor 1: You bought this but you didn’t buy my sweatshirt! They’re the same!

PCV: No, not really.

Vendor 1: What’s the difference?

PCV: Design? Price?

Vendor 1: Look, I’ll give you a good price. 400 mets. Buy it.

PCV: Seriously? I don’t need two sweatshirts.

Vendor 1: So you’re not going to buy anything from me?

PCV: Nope, not this time.

PART III: Demanding answers

The characters:
PCV
Electricity chefe

Setting: In an office in front of the electricity towers, which are behind a barbed wire fence manned by a guard. A man sits at a desk in a room barren save for a wall of switches and dials. He is reading a newspaper.

PCV: Good afternoon. My house hasn’t had electricity in about two days. Can you send someone to fix this?

Chefe: Where do you live?

PCV: Neighborhood one.

Chefe: Where in neighborhood one?

PCV: …

Chefe: Where is your house located?

PCV: In the middle of the neighborhood. I don’t know how to describe it.

Chefe: What are your neighbors’ names?

PCV: I’m not…sure which neighbors you are referring to. I don’t know their full names.

Chefe: (sighing patiently) Then how are we supposed to find your house?

PCV: … (Thinking: Maybe a home address system would work?)

Chefe: Well, I don’t deal with that problem anyway. Here, I’ll give you a number to call.

PARTI IV: Charcoal Stove

The characters:
PCV
Old man selling bread

Setting: Chicumbane market stall, where the old man sits on his chair smoking a cigarette, colorful capulanas hanging up behind him and two big bags of bread at his feet.

PCV: Hi, sir.

Old Man: There you are! You haven’t come by in days! How are you, my daughter?

PCV: (sighing) A little irritated. The power’s been out at my house for two days now.

Old Man: (clucking sympathetically) At my house too.

PCV: Why am I paying for electricity when I can’t even use it when I need it? I have an electric stove. I can’t even cook today!

Old Man: You must learn to cook with charcoal!

PCV: (groan)

Old Man: I will teach you.

PCV: Thanks. I’ll give you a call if it comes to that. How much is bread today?

Old Man: 7 mets.

PCV: Oops, I don’t think I have small change.

Old Man: That’s okay. Just take it and come by to pay for it tomorrow.

PCV: Thank you.

PART VI: Four Nights of Watching Candles Burn

Characters:
PCV
Next door neighbor

Setting: PCV’s house

(Darkness. Phone ringing.)

Man’s voice: Hello.

PVC: Um, hello. This is the fourth night in a row my electricity has gone out right as it gets dark. Can you tell me what’s going on?

Man’s voice: Where do you live?

PCV: Bairro 1, Chicumbane.

Man’s voice: (bored tone) We’re working on it.

---

Neighbor: What’s up with our energy?

PCV: I know! It went out on me tonight as I was cooking.

Neighbor: Me too! It’s dark in my kitchen. I can’t see anything.

PCV: I have an electric stove so I can’t even cook, and I’m starving.

Neighbor: We’re going to have to start eating our sweatshirts and capulanas if this keeps up. I sent my daughter to go buy some bread, but she came back empty-handed. Everyone at the market’s already gone home. (sigh) I can’t let her go hungry. I’ll have to cook in the dark, with firewood.

PCV: So strange, isn’t it? We always have electricity during the day… But once it hits 5 or 6pm, it goes out.

Neighbor: Yeah, and all our neighbors still have electricity.

---

(Darkness. Phone ringing.)

Man’s voice: Hello.

PCV: Hi, I called a couple hours ago. Is someone working on this problem? Because I’m still sitting in the dark.

Man: Yeah, the electricity guys are currently working in XaiXai. They’ll be there soon.

PCV: Are you sure? I would really like to get this problem resolved tonight.

Man: Oh, you want it resolved tonight?

PCV: … (Thinking: No, I’ve been calling multiple times every night because I’d like you to fix my electricity next month.) Yeah. Tonight would be great.

Man: Yeah, they’ll be there soon.

---

Neighbor: Hello! I brought you some rice and veggies! It’s not much but…

PCV: THANK YOU SO MUCH! I haven’t had a hot meal in days!

Neighbor: No problem.

PCV: The power doesn’t look like it’s going to come back on anytime soon. I’ll probably just go to sleep after this.

Neighbor: Might as well.

PART V:

On the fifth night without electricity, I have to go to a nearby neighbor’s house to ask them to finish boiling my spaghetti. (It's apparent they still have electricity because they are still blasting extremely loud music.) Something strange happens in the 30 minutes that the spaghetti sits in lukewarm water, because the two handfuls of dry spaghetti I cook produces only a small lump of thin noodles. I think my noodles dissolved, as has my patience with this situation.

At this point, the electricity operator is no longer picking up my phone calls.

PART VI: On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Electricity!

My guard Senhor Moniz, who reminds me of a chatty old grandfather, comes by at 8am to accompany me to the electricity office (once again). The same man I talked with at the beginning of the week jovially asks me if I have problems with my electricity again. Again? I haven’t stopped having problems. He says regretfully, they have already tried to resolve the problem. I’ll have to go to the main XaiXai office.

Sr. Moniz and I jump on a chapa to XaiXai. We explain the problem (for the past five nights, the electricity has gone out right at dusk and stays off until around 10pm or later) to the chefe, who asks where exactly I live in Chicumbane. The problem of explaining my house once again arises, except that this time, the people we’re explaining to aren’t from Chicumbane and have no idea who “Suzanna Mati” or “Salvador Malate,” my closest neighbors, are. Sr Moniz does all the talking and, when it’s apparent the electricity guys don’t understand his directions, the three grown men in suits are forced to pick up sticks and draw maps in the sand.

“Okay,” The electricity guys say. “We understand now. We’ll be there soon.” “Soon as in when?” I ask, because after repeated reassurances of “Yes, someone’s working on your problem” over the phone, I’m a bit wary of Mozambican time estimates. We arrange to meet at the pontinha (bridge) in half an hour to go to Chicumbane together. I finish my errands with Sr Moniz and wait for an hour and a half at the pontinha before the electricians arrive in their car.

“Your machine is broken,” They report after doing a quick examination of my fuse box and credit machine. “How is it broken?” I ask. “It’s still deducting money from me, even though I never have electricity.” (I’m grateful for Sr. Moniz’s presence, to defuse my frustration and my rude comments.) “One of your fuses is out too. You’ll have to buy a new one at the market and find someone to put it in for you. We’ll have to change your machine too but since today is Friday… You’ll either have only 5 kilowatts on the new machine for the whole weekend, or we’ll have to come back next week to change it.”

“Can’t you transfer my electricity credit to the new machine?”

“No.”

“So… I just paid 200 mets of credit last week for nothing. Or I have to live with this problem for a month until I finish all my credit.”

I’m about to cry, and the electricians look uncomfortable. Sr Moniz steps in. “She had to go to the neighbor’s house to cook dinner last night,” He says as if this explains everything.

“Oh. Electric stove?” One guy asks.

“Yup.”

The electricity guys go outside for a quick meeting and come back beaming, with a new fuse in hand. “We had this in the car. This will make sure your power doesn’t irregularly go off.”

The other guy is doing something with the supposedly broken credit machine. “I’m going to give you a freebie…” He sighs, almost reluctant. “Since I don’t work Monday or Tuesday, I’ll have to come back Wednesday to change our your machine. In the meantime, I’m setting this one so that it doesn’t deduct your credit.” So I go from no electricity to free/consistent electricity… Until Wednesday at least. I’m suddenly happier than I have been in…hmm… five days.

It’s now 6:30pm. I’m at half wattage, my lights are dim, and it’s taken me 30 minutes to unsuccessfully make popcorn (I’m pretty sure I’m just warming the unpopped kernels) but HEY! Life’s good!

A Million Points of Light

Woo! It’s been a busy week. What’s that? The relentlessly bored Peace Corps volunteer now has two organizations and more than enough on her plate?

Chicumbane is great! (Aside from the fact that my house is perpetually in the shade and, well into Mozambican winter, I’m freezing my butt off. I wear socks to bed!) I currently have sweatpants on and a fuzzy blanket wrapped around my shoulders. Dinner was Chinese corn chowder, which brought back good childhood memories and thoughts of my mother.

I’ve been going to both orgs every day, one in the morning and one in the afternoon… But some days I find myself waiting around for nothing, and other days I feel like I need to be in two places at once. It’s only the first week, so I keep reminding myself to just sit and breathe, although I’m itching to DO something. The question, though, is not “What do I even do?” but rather, “Where do I even start?”

I suppose you’re interested in what it is I’m working with, now that I’m not babysitting toddlers on a daily basis. Here is a brief summary of both orgs:

CACHES

The organization that Peace Corps felt would be a perfect fit for me. Roughly translated, CACHES stands for Child Artists Fighting Against HIV/AIDS. Here… Art, theatre, and musical expression meet sexual health and HIV/AIDS education! Goals include: promote creativity; encourage healthy choices and behaviors; give children a structured environment to play and learn (after school). They meet every day of the week, in the afternoons around 3-4pm and, unfortunately, right before it gets dark and I have to scurry home. A relatively new organization, actually started by a previous Peace Corps volunteer. Currently has about 50 children, ages 4-14.

TSEMBEKA

A Christian home-based care organization funded by EGPAF (Elizabeth Glasier Pediatric Foundation). The organization consists of 100 volunteer activists who do home visits to the HIV+ population, in seven neighborhoods of Chicumbane. The org works with the local hospital, and does weekly support groups and mini-classes in the community. Also partners with Habitat for Humanity.

Currently, a group of Habitat volunteers are here to build houses for OVC’s and vulnerable families. I had a chance to meet them and was surprised to see that they were all white, middle-aged women! Turns out, they are part of a group called “Women for Hope,” comprised of women from the United States, England, Germany, Ukraine, Canada, and South Africa, who are united in their desire to actively “make a difference,” beyond just donating money to an anonymous face. I accompanied them on several home visits and had a chance to see houses already built by Habitat and meet some of the families impacted by Habitat’s work in the community. Along the way, we “mulungos” (white people) attracted quite a crowd of giggling Mozambican children who adored being in the spotlight of all the whirling cameras.

Aside from work, I’ve been working on community integration: greeting neighbors on the way to work, shooting the breeze with coworkers, attending community functions, chatting with the old man I buy bread from, etc. The previous volunteer didn’t particularly like children, which means that I don’t constantly have little faces at the front door, and my trash remains untouched. It actually gets a little lonely. I’ve asked the next door neighbor’s 6-year-old daughter Tania to bring her friends over sometimes to draw, because I miss my Art Club.

By the time I had left Chibuto, I was more or less recognized even in the city. But here, I start all over again with the “Hey China!” from men who have yet to figure out I’m not interested, in responding or otherwise. Last weekend when I was coming home from XaiXai, the guy next to me on the chapa was “discreetly” trying to take a photo of me with his camera phone, holding it up suspiciously in the air as his friend peered at the screen to make sure I was, indeed, in the photo. Like I’ve never used a camera phone before. I swatted it out of the air, tempted to toss it out the open chapa window. (And, because I was the one sitting next to it, the chapa window was indeed open, letting in the lovely cool breeze and drawing disapproving glares from the rest of the chapa patrons.)

The dogs attempt to follow me to work every day, twice a day. I yell at them to go home, but they just wait until I’m out of sight and then come trotting behind me, grinning, once I think I’ve successfully escaped. However, they’ve learned to maintain a smart distance to avoid getting smacked. I may need to start locking them up in the house, before they figure out where I work and become frequent visitors. But lucky, lucky puppies… Since dried fish comes from Chibuto and is so expensive in XaiXai, I have now switched to using fat and leftover meat from the butcher’s. How do they repay me? Of course, by trying to chew up the thick foam pads I’ve given them to use as beds. Silly mutts.

Home Sweet Home

It feels like I’ve been here in Chicumbane forever, but in a good way.

Moving was a stressful ordeal, as always. Ilidio showed up at 10am with a Peace Corps truck, which we piled up precariously high with everything I own in Mozambique. It was quite an intense game of Tetris to fit everything in the bed of the truck, but we managed to get everything in one trip. On the way to Chicumbane, we had to stop several times to check on everything in the back. At one point, I saw something flapping around in the side mirror and, alarmed, I demanded a halt on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. Turns out, it was a roll of toilet paper that had come undone and was waving cheerfully in the breeze. We continued on our way, but not until I had removed the ridiculous streamers.

When we arrived at my house, my landlady and my empregada were there waiting for me, as well as a few of my colleagues from new organization CACHES who helped take everything out of the car. There was no time to rest, however, because immediately after, Ilidio and I went to the CACHES office with the coworkers, where we all had a little meeting. Then, a quick lunch with Ilidio at a nearby barraca (we were starving, and had been snacking on my Snickers bars on the drive to Chicumbane), and a meeting with my other org Tsembeka. (I will talk about my new orgs in a later blog post, once I get a general idea of what they do and what I will be doing.)

During both meetings with my organizations, Ilidio stressed the point that I am, well, ME. I’m not the previous volunteer Emily, or the volunteer before her (Meghan?)… I am a Peace Corps volunteer as well, but I am my own person with my own strengths and my own personality. I really appreciated this emphasis because I’m nervous about expectations placed on me. Whereas I was the first health volunteer in Chimundo, and had to “blaze my own path through the wilderness,” here in Chicumbane I’m living in someone else’s shadow. Kind of like how in the movie “The Devil Wears Prada,” the main character Andrea is still constantly called “Emily,” her predecessor, until she proves her worth. Even the predecessor’s name is the same!

When I tell other volunteers about moving to Chicumbane, their immediate reaction is, “Oh, Emily’s site?” Or when Ilidio and I got to Chibuto and had to meet someone in the community, our reference point was “Emily’s house.” I spent most of the first night in Chicumbane de-Emily-fying the house, not because I have anything against her (she’s actually been a great help through our email contact) but because well, it’s my house now, my space, my site, and my work.

The dogs are adjusting quite well to the move. (No more fence to keep them confined!) At first, they were a little freaked out and looked ready to bolt from the yard when I let them out of the crate… But once they discovered the grass next to the house, they were sold. Watching them weakly meander around sniffing the ground immediately after exiting the crate, was actually pretty amusing. They had both gotten sick during the ride (probably the bumpy unpaved route to get to the house from the main road) and were both soggy and disoriented, foaming slightly at the mouth. Mel had a dangling pendulum of drool hanging from her mouth, which reminded me of her first (and only other) car ride in her life, the day she arrived at my house as a sad little puppy with drool dripping off her chin then as well. The first night in Chicumbane, while I stayed up unpacking and organizing, both puppies fell fast asleep on the towels I laid out in my room and actually snored.

The craziness of moving lay not in the packing up (I defeated procrastination in college, and now actually begin things almost absurdly in advance), or in the actual moving (although that was not a walk in the park), but in the UNpacking of everything. The extensive bits and pieces that filled up my old house (easily two or three times as large as this house) in conjunction with the furniture and miscellaneous Emily belongings already here, made everything hectic. I felt as if my life had become one of those memory card games, where you flip over a card and think you know where the matching one is but of course, it’s not that one. However, once everything was squared away and look! I can actually see the floor again!, I was surprised at how easily I adjusted to my new home. This small, three room cement and canico house, which shares a yard with another family, actually fits my mental picture of “the Peace Corps experience” better than the last.

Of course, it’s also taken me a while to get oriented in my neighborhood. When Yoko came by to visit briefly on her way to Maputo, I had to ask the neighbor girl to walk me to the chapa stop to meet her. On the way back, I noticed a trail of orange peels on the ground leading from the market to the little street my house is on. Once Yoko left and I was forced to navigate the route again, I pulled a move from Hansel and Gretel and followed the orange peels all the way home. J

You Say Hello, and I Say Goodbye

The realization that Chibuto will soon no longer be my home, makes everything take on a new color. On my way to the city, I walked halfway out to the main road before deciding to turn back to get my camera. As I strolled by again, I snapped pictures of a boy weaving a straw mat, and of a teacher having class outside (not because the weather was so nice, but because many schools don't have enough classrooms and/or desks and/or chairs).
In Chibuto, I stopped by my Chinese friend Lee's shop, and broke the news to him that I'll be moving soon. He was really sad about it. Of all the people I've met here, Lee is one of the best. He came from mainland China with his wife a number of years ago, but she got pregnant and went back home. He says he's going back too, when he has enough money, but it won't be for at least a few more years. I don't think he's ever met his son.
His Portuguese isn't very good so he has a hard time communicating with even his store help. I talk to him in Mandarin and I think for him it's a huge relief to have someone to speak his native tongue with. I only see him once a week, when I go to Chibuto to do shopping, but whenever I buy anything, he always gives me a discount. (If it's something small, he'll often give it to me for free.) He'll bring me things from his house that can't be found in Mozambique like chopsticks, Chinese noodles, dried clams… Just one foreigner helping out another.
I think he's lonely. I gave him a puppy a few months ago but unfortunately, it ran away. When I told him about moving to Chicumabane, he said, "I won't have any friends here anymore." I promised to come back to visit, and said that we could always meet up in XaiXai for a beer or something.
Before continuing my errands, I asked to take a picture of him in his store to remember everything by. Afterwards, he pulled out his phone and asked to take a picture of me. His empregados, who all know me, all started pulling out their phones and taking pictures of me too and suddenly I had no idea who was taking pictures of who. A brief and awkward photoshoot ensued, one that must have confused the customers entering the store.

I finally was able to tell my Art Club kids that I was moving, as well. They hadn't been by in a few weeks, as they've been busy gathering straw to bring back and weave mats with. (I don't think that they've even been attending school because of this family project.)
When I told them about Chicumbane, they asked me, "So what are you going to give us when you leave?" which kind of offended me. I told them that they should be the ones giving me a present because I always give them stuff, and they just laughed. I went back into my house shaking my head at the "ungrateful brats" but twenty minutes later, they were back again at my fence with folded up pieces of paper in their hands. As I opened them up, both boys hid their faces in their hands, embarrassed. They had both written me (on lined paper ripped out of a school notebook, and in terrible cursive) a short card/letter that stated sentiments along the lines of: "Mana Vivienne, don't forget me I really like you and have a lot of fun with you. I will be really sad when you leave. Have a good trip." One of the pieces of paper had a heart and arrow, and the other a scrawny person (that is meant to be either me or him, I'm not sure) surrounded by accidentally phallic looking trees and flowers. I couldn't help but laugh. I just love these kids. I wouldn't give them an A for creativity, but I'd definitely give them an A for heart And maybe I'll even give them a few toys when I leave.

It's hard to express what a great friend I've found in Yoko, the Japanese volunteer. (I am close with Erica and Alycia too but it's a little different, because they've always had each other.) Interestingly enough, JICA volunteers are mostly male (completely contrary to Peace Corps) so Yoko doesn't have very many girl friends in Mozambique.
We cook for each other a few times a week- pork is her specialty and desserts are mine. (I gave her a copy of the Peace Corps Moz cookbook, and suggested she translate it into Japanese to submit as a JICA resource- I'm surprised they don't anything like that, because it's been so useful during my service.)
We are working on creating a little garden for her, where we will transplant all of my blossoming tomato, okra, and watermelon plants. That way, at least someone I know will be able to reap the benefits of my hard work.

Wish me luck! I'm moving tomorrow.

The Best & The Worst

June 1 was a national holiday- Dia da Criança (Children’s Day). To celebrate, we had a party at the escolinha. I didn’t have to help cook, but I did have to entertain the children for 7- 8 hours while the others did. I also blew up about 50 balloons (where is a balloon pump when you need one!?) that Irma Monica strung up for decoration, but by the time we actually started the party only about five remained, having all been destroyed by the heavy wind.
When it finally came time to eat, we all sat down to a grand feast of grilled chicken, goat, noodles, cassava root, potato salad, vegetable salad, French fries, and cabbage salad. At least there’s one day a year I am rewarded for being an unpaid babysitter.

June 2 was my 23rd birthday, but I spent most of the morning on a chapa going to Maputo for the REDES planning conference. (And, sadly, I got the buttcrack seat, the terribly uncomfortable spot between the bench and the fold-up seat. Also- Mozambicans would rather breathe in stale, recycled body odor chapa air the entire time, than open up a window to let in fresh air. But that’s another story.)
I got lost on my way to the hotel but eventually made it, albeit in a bad mood. This was immediately rectified by the presence of my friend Jordan, a volunteer from the north who happened to be in Maputo for medical reasons, and who I ended up sharing a room with for the weekend. We went out to lunch and got delicious Thai food and passionfruit ice cream, and then went shopping at the craft market, which ultimately made my birthday a fun one. I was also fortunate enough to pick up a package at the Peace Corps office, and thus was able to get my birthday presents in a timely manner.
(In the package, among other things, was a box of See’s Candy truffles. I ate one the night of my birthday but was surprised to discover the next afternoon that actually two were missing from the box. The choco thief had placed the ruffled paper of the stolen chocolate on top of the one I had eaten, to make it appear as if only one was gone- except for the giant gap among the truffles. When I brought the box downstairs and told the owner of the hotel, she promptly called over the two maids and made me explain the situation again. Both maids immediately began denying the deed, saying they had no idea where the chocolate even was, that they don’t even eat chocolate, that chocolate can be found at the market so why would they need to eat mine? I just shrugged and went back upstairs to take a shower, during which the two maids barged in again to confront me and found only Jordan. “Did YOU find anything missing? “If we ate her chocolate why didn’t we eat THESE then?” They asked, picking up her crackers. I found the whole situation rather amusing, but made sure to hide my valuables at the bottom of my bag for the remainder of my stay.)
Jordan and I actually went shopping several more times over the weekend, as she loves spending money as much as I do. (BUT, most of the stuff I bought were gifts for people back home.) The second time we were at the craft fair, two men who had unsuccessfully tried to sell a batik (cloth painting) to me the previous time waved me over as we were leaving to offer me a small yellow batik (not the same one) as a birthday present. I was so surprised that they’d even remembered me from several days prior, but it made me very happy because most of the time all the vendors are trying to rip me off because they think I’m another tourist.
The REDES conference took up actually very little time, and was more of a small group conversation than anything. (That’s why we had so much free time.) We had to go over the preliminary schedule for the National Conference in August and make some changes. I am trying to get more involved with REDES, although I don’t have a group yet (because of the moving situation). I’m also looking into taking over the National Financial Coordinator position for the upcoming year, but that’s only in the preliminary stages.
Overall, one of the best weekends I’ve had in a long time.

THE WORST CHAPA RIDE EVER
I headed home on Sunday (June 5) on a chapa/bus that took FOREVER to get me home. The trip should have been four hours but took over six, because the car wouldn’t start (and had to be pushed a few times) and then looped through XaiXai before arriving in Chibuto.
As I got on the bus, an obnoxious man leaned in through the window and yelled “CHINA! CHIIIINA!” To which I responded, “I’m not China. Go away.” Apparently, that wasn’t blunt enough for him because he continued his annoying litany, until I lost my temper and began yelling back at him “MOZAMBIIIIQUE, shut up” and trying to push him out of the window so I could close it. All the while, no one was doing a thing to help me, even though almost every person on the bus was a woman. Couldn’t they see that I was being harassed and that I needed some help getting rid of this guy? They could’ve told him off in Changana to leave me alone (which obviously I didn’t know how to do, and Portuguese wasn’t cutting it). But the man refused to budge, and he kept hollering, “CHINA, I want to be your lover! CHIIIINAAAA” and no one would raise a finger to help me.
Meanwhile, I was still trying to get situated in my cramped little seat (another flimsy fold-down chair) with my duffle bag, my purse, and my large box. The ladies to my right and my left both had two children each, none of whom had seats. So the only room they had to stand in was what was meant to be my leg room, and I was forced to put everything on my lap. I accidentally pushed a little girl with my duffle bag and the mom leaned over to tell me “Watch out, there are children here.” And I snapped at her, “WHAT exactly do you want me to do.” Immediately following this whole ordeal, the man behind me leaned over his seat and began talking to me/hitting on me. Even after I said that I was married, he kept asking where I lived and suggesting that he come over sometime to “visit” me. I put my head down and tried to sleep but he would continue to try to instigate conversation until I finally said to him, “I am MARRIED. I have a HUSBAND. He lives at my house WITH ME. Do you get it?” At this point he backed off for a bit (he resumed later), but I just didn’t understand why any of this was happening in the first place, considering I had just made a huge scene about one man making lewd comments at me. Does anger not come off the same way here? I feel like I made it very clear to everyone on the chapa from the moment I got onboard, that I was not in a good mood and I did not want to tolerate anyone’s bullshit.
I’d like to think I’ve cultivated a “tougher skin” since being here in Moz, especially when it comes to racism and sexual harassment. I’ve come a long way, and it’s not easy. But obviously, I’m only human and there’s a limit to things I can tolerate. This chapa ride was probably the worst I’ve experienced thus far, because it was a culmination of all the things that piss me off. I spent a great, relaxing with my friends but I felt like all of it was instantly nullified by one chapa ride.
I finally got home in the dark, (with a broken sandal, no less) after I managed to step on a tree branch WITH HUGE THORNS. One of them (of course) lodge about an inch into my foot and I sat on the side of the road cursing and crying as I pried it out. What a terrible, terrible day.

Moving day is fast approaching (one week!), and Irma Monica still has not received official notification from Peace Corps that I’m leaving, although I broke the news to her a few days ago. I’m not sure how they expected me to continue putting on a front of normality the EXIT door is already open in front of me. I have high hopes for my move to Chicumbane, because God knows I need a change in my life right now.