One week left...

What day is it, and in what month?

This clock never seemed so alive

I can't keep up, and I can't back down

I've been losing so much time...

-- Lifehouse , “You and Me”

One more week left in Chicumbane and I can't even believe it, I don't even know where the past few weeks have gone.

I've been spending my time at home (doing Peace Corps close-out paperwork and reports, cleaning out my house, and dividing up my possessions), and at work (not exactly working, just hanging out with my coworkers.)

My mood changes by the hour, my mindset by the day. Little things will set me into tailspins of joy or fits of depression. Looking at the calendar throws me into a panic. Sometimes I don't know how I could possibly leave Mozambique. Other times I would love nothing more than to hightail it out of here asap.

Example:

Last week, I spent an afternoon cleaning out my room and tossing stacks of old paperwork into the trash pit. Because the day was warm, I decided to hold off on burning the trash (my new hobby, by the way) until the evening. A group of children soon came to my door begging to color but, as I reminded them for the millionth time, coloring days were only Saturday and Sunday and we were still in the middle of the week. I went back in the house, but happened to look out the window just in time to see the oldest of the kids retrieving a giant stack of paper from my trash pit. “Leave that!” I shouted, which startled the group of children and sent them sprinting out of the yard with my papers in hand. I threw on my flipflops and raced after them, only to find the entire street littered with my trash. It appeared to have rained Vivienne personal documents all over the sandy streets of Chicumbane: ATM receipts, shopping receipts, Peace Corps paperwork, basically everything I don't want the entire world to see. So I spent the next half an hour doing a one-woman trash pickup, fuming about the absurdity of having to throw away my trash TWICE. As I lit the trash pit on fire, all I kept thinking about was how much I wanted to be in America, with air conditioning, and a paper shredder.

Example:

Colleen's birthday was last week and we were both convinced that the jovens would try to give her a CACHES “baptism” - a ritual that involves being held down and having a big bucket of cold water poured over your head, and the reason that I've kept my birthday a secret for the past two years (although I fully anticipate receiving one at my goodbye party next Wednesday). Colleen and I spent the evening in a high state of paranoia, because it was clear the jovens were up to something, huddled in the corner whispering to each other. We kept reminding them that they needed to practice their English Theatre piece, which they assured us they would. Finally, three of the boys entered onto the stage but we immediately sensed something was off... It only took Colleen a few seconds before she leaned over and gasped, “I think that's supposed to be you! And that's me!” And indeed, the boys were dressed as us- fake Vivienne had on a short skirt and a bow tied around his head and fake Colleen was wearing a long skirt and had a shoulder bag slung around his arm, from which he kept taking out a water bottle and sipping. The jovens then reenacted Colleen's entire first day at CACHES, mimicking our mannerisms to a frighteningly accurate degree. Colleen's character kept looking around with wide eyes and murmuring, “Que interestante!” (How interesting!), and constantly asking, “O que disse?” (What did he say?- a gentle stab at her Portuguese comprehension skills). Fake Colleen kept leaning over to fake Vivienne (who, by the way, was sitting with legs crossed in a girly manner and kept hugging everyone and exclaiming, “I miss you!!”) to speak in fast garbled English.

The real Colleen and the real Vivienne, meanwhile, had tears rolling down their faces from laughing so hard. At the end the boys sang happy birthday and all of them busted out the “Colleen dance move,” something she had taught them a few weeks back and that they had obviously been practicing.

The entire presentation was of those things in which words could never do full justice. Colleen and I chuckled about it the entire way home, and the entire next day as well. I felt so much love for the jovens for thinking of such a unique and hilarious birthday gift. How could I ever go, knowing that I may never see their beautiful faces again? Sometimes I just want to hug them and never let go.

The roller coaster

It's hard to keep up the semblance of normality when I know I'll be leaving in just a few weeks. But the world keeps turning and all I can do is prepare myself for the changes ahead. People keep asking me what I'm going to do after Peace Corps but I don't even want to think that far. Leaving is the first step and I can only take things one at a time.

I look back on the past two years and I can almost map the roller coaster ride that has been my Peace Corps service.

There were the months I came this close to giving up and going home, there were the days I cried and cried out of frustration and loneliness, and wondered why I even came to Africa. There were the nights I tossed and turned, couldn't sleep for all the muddled thoughts running through my head and all the strange noises overhead. There were the times in which I felt unused, unneeded, unappreciated. There were the days I wanted to hit my head repeatedly against the wall for everything that is wrong with this country.

There, then, were the points in my service in which I picked myself up, grit my teeth, got back in the game. The moments I just had to laugh at myself for being the crazy mulungu, had to accept that I'm the community spectacle no matter what I do. The realization that those infinite small accomplishments are accomplishments just the same. There were definitely the times that I felt welcomed, felt accepted, felt loved, felt needed, and those moments in which the beauty of this country and the heart of its people took my breath away.

And these latter moments, despite sometimes being few and far between, are what have made my entire two years in Mozambique worthwhile.

I know other PCV's in my group who are burnt out, over it, ready to go home. And I'm glad I don't feel that way. It tells me that I haven't been in Mozambique too long, and that I will be look back with fondness on my experience. All of this is not to say that I'm not excited to go home. I haven't stepped on American soil in over two years and I might just step off the plane and kiss the ground out of sheer joy of returning to patria amada, terra minha.

I suppose you could sum it up with this line in a Lady Antebellum song: “She couldn't wait to get out but wasn't quite ready to leave.” I'm as ready as I  ever could be, to leave a place that has claimed a piece of my heart.

Missing

Things I will miss about Mozambique

• Speaking Portuguese
• My dogs Mel and Magorducha
• My theatre group jovens
• Mandaring children to do things for me
• Capulana clothing
• Beach trips whenever I want
• Having a flexible work schedule
• Free time
• The sound of rain on the tin roof
• Hitchhiking everywhere (boleias)
• Getting free veggies from my produce ladies (bacelas)
• Sleeping under a mosquito net and feeling like a princess
• Lighting the trash pit on fire
• Giving people the thumbs up whenever I pass
• Having an empregada to clean up after me

• Wearing flipflops everywhere
• My Peace Corps friends
• Fresh fruit (especially mangoes, papayas, pineapple, tangerines)
• Sitting outside in the shade when it's hot
• Greeting everybody I pass
• My host family in Namaacha
• Getting 9 hours of sleep every day
• Patio time
• Meio frango (Grilled ½ chicken on the bone)

Things I won't miss

• Sweating constantly
• Dirty feet
• SAND. EVERYWHERE.
• Chapas
• Sexual harassment
• Being called “China”
• People hissing at me
• Waiting....
• Work frustrations
• Xima (the food, not the dog)
• Camel spiders and big roaches
• Rodents scuttling overhead
• Lizard poop
• Being the only one at at meeting who doesn't understand Changana
• Being stared at
• People asking me for money
• Loud music coming from every house
• Bucket baths
• Volunteer Report Form (VRF)
• Faulty electricity
• Bank lines
• How there's only “one way” to do things
• Corruption
• Running out of phone credit 
  
• Mosquitoes

Without you

" I can't win, I can't reign
I will never win this game
Without you, without you
I am lost, I am vain
I will never be the same
Without you, without you"
David Guetta ft Usher, "Without You"

I spent most of my service trying to keep up this strict barrier between work and personal life. I never went out in the evenings, never gave any indication that I drink occasionally. I was very careful of presenting myself in a certain way in my community, 24/7.
But the past couple of months, things have been changing. I ran into my supervisor at the club in Zavala and we danced for a while. Afterwards, he said to me in admiration, "I've never seen that side of you before!" I guess I'm generally pretty serious at work.
The previous mantra was: Be responsible, be professional, stay focused. But now that I'm so close to the finish line, it's nice to be able to "let my hair down," so to speak. I don't worry about my reputation; I think the things I have accomplished and the relationships I have cultivated will speak for themselves. And, I know the ones I'm close with will continue to love me despite my flaws.
I've recently started hugging my theatre group jovens hello and goodbye. Having always been a super affectionate person, I am not sure how I went so long without hugging them. (Just another barrier that's melted in the past few months...) I suppose I see them less as students now, and more as friends. More and more, I realize that they will be the ones I miss the most in Chicumbane.
Last weekend, I had the opportunity to watch the jovens in action during a troca that we hosted with another dance/threatre group from Macia. Another PCV and I planned the budget and did the shopping for the food, but the activities were left completely up to my theatre group, Grupo Amizade They did an amazing job hosting debate, icebreakers and games such as musical chairs, a lesson on the rules of theatre. I was so proud of them.
Last week, I taught the group the lyrics to the song "Without You" by David Guetta and Usher. (Oftentimes, the jovens are familiar with American "Top 40" music but comprehend little of what they're actually singing.) Later, one of my jovens, the one I'm closest with, hugged me and told me he felt that I deserved those lyrics."I'm lost without you," He said, and it almost brought me to tears. I feel the same way about each of them. They've been such a huge part of my experience in Mozambique. I'm not just their volunteer; I'm their neighbor, their friend, their sister. Every time I leave Chicumbane, even for just a few days, I think of them constantly .
Leaving is going to be so much harder than I ever imagined.

The troca

"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?

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.

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?