Little Big World

It's not something I love to talk about with people, though I'm sure it could have easily been deciphered by the naked ear back then. I was unhappy (to say the least), positively homesick to the point of hopelessness and in an entirely distraught frame of mind during training. That's not to say that Pre-service Training life was awful, simply that I was too buried in a proverbial pile of poo to grasp the beauty of what was blossoming around me. In turn, because of how difficult the conception of my Mozambican life was, I found it too jarring to cope with my last visit to Maputo. I had partaken in a stakeholder's workshop last month and as was waiting for my return flight, standing over the tarmac watching the sun fall behind the horizon and my plane to arrive, I lost it. It was at that spot ten months ago that my haggard self initially stepped onto African soil and the memory of how terrified and unsure I truly was all came flooding back to me. That was last month. This month, I was back in Maputo again for PSN (Peer Support Network) training and, well, life has this uncanny ability to surprise me sometimes. Several days ago, I found myself walking from the hotel/conference center to the Peace Corps office, never having done it before. I was getting hit by the wind from the bay and a little sweaty from the walk up the hill. A cluster of high-rises clung to the cliffs up ahead and I could see them as I walked past the UNHCR complex and the German Embassy. I stopped, mid-stride, and probably confused bystanders. "Holy crap, I've come a long way." I was a tiny girl engulfed in a cement jungle, but for that brief treck ascending the ramp to Av. Julius Nyere from Avenida Marginal, I was a grown-up. I owned that quadrant of the capital if not for eternity than for at least the 20 minutes it took to arrive at Point B. But what I own for much longer is redemption for the anguish I had so heartily felt months and months ago. Whew, now that that's outta the way, let's chat a bit about recent happenings, shall we? As I mentioned earlier, I was chosen to be a PSN member, meaning I'm a go-to gal for fellow volunteers needing a shoulder to cry on or important life advice such as how to cook rice or what the protocol is for not giving away phone numbers to strangers. There's a great group of people doing it this year, now if only that damn fiber optic cable under the ocean would fix itself, calling will be a cinch. Speaking of the ocean, I live right by one, remember? Well, with that comes much unpredictability. Like whales. And sometimes they beach themselves next to resort hotels. Yes, last week Pemba had its very own behemoth wash up on shore, only to be greeted by what was described to me as a swarm of locals wanting a piece of it. I was not here to see it, but I believe it was already DOA. I was also told that not a single piece of bone remained while the blubber and meat were still being divided and parceled out. Whale bones have many magical and curative properties, so my guess is that the traditional medicine men snatched them up quickly. How crazy! A beached whale down the road from me! In other news, we in country are all so very excited for the new batch of trainees to come in October, as well as mark our one year anniversary of arrival here in the 'Bique. Also crazy, to think of having been here one whole year, huh?

If I Knew Then What I Know Now

I have no concept of time here. It seems like just yesterday that I arrived in Pemba, yet I’ve been here SEVEN months. Crazy, no é? I suppose that in those months since I’ve arrived I have gained one or two precious nuggets of wisdom, of which I hope to impart upon the next batch of trainees who are just receiving their invitation packets.
It was an early August day in 2009 when I came home from a long day of work and went to get the mail. Upon opening the front door, I saw a hefty blue package awaiting my arrival. I thought, “Could this be it?” Indeed, I tore it open and the first thing I laid eyes on was the word MOZAMBIQUE in bold. Ecstatic, I jumped up and down and proceeded to sing from the rooftops. Suddenly the lights went down, a top hat appeared on my head and a spotlight shone over my body. Friends, family, neighbors, passersby, Peace Corps staff members and neighborhood dogs paraded onto the stage as we harmoniously sang the opening tune “Africa, Here I Come (& I’m Perfectly Fine With It).”
Wait, my life isn’t a musical? Ah, yes, that’s right-I WAS A NERVOUS WRECK. I cried. I sobbed. I panicked. I overate. I underslept. And to top it off, perhaps my least favorite task in the world (aside from getting my oil changed) is PACKING. Getting stuff together simply for a weekend at home during college was hard enough, how would I even conceivably pack for two whole years in under 80lbs? Well, thankfully much of my packing list was composed from reading other blogs from PCVs that were already in country. I was able to maintain (for the most part) my sanity and, with the help of my mom, was able to zip up my suitcase.
And so, Moz 15 Trainees, congratulations! Parabens! Bemvindo a Moçambique! I am here to help you in your packing endeavors (among other things) and without further ado, I would like to present to you the “If I Knew Then What I Know Now” Packing List:
• Sewing kit. I picked up a $3 kit from a craft store and I have pulled it out more times than I can count, not only in training, but at site as well. You’ll never know what needs fixing, and think of all the lifelong friendships you’ll make just by being the girl/boy who fixes other trainee’s clothes! Also, definitely bring nylon thread, or quilting thread, as it is much more durable and you may need it to fix tents/mosquito nets.
• Dramamine. It’s just a nice thing to have for the plane ride over here or the innumerable chapa rides you’ll be taking over the next two years.
• Comfy (not necessarily fashionable) footwear. Let’s be honest, the shoes I wear here I would never wear at home, but my Chacos and my Tevas are lifesavers on impossibly rocky terrain. Bring shoes to work out in, go out in and chill out in.
• Pictures, pictures, pictures! Of your loved ones. You’ll want to tack them all over your walls and see people who love you everyday.
• Sticky tack or tape. To hang up the aforementioned photos.
• Journals. You may not be a journal-keeper at home, but here there are things that you’ll never know how to articulate and writing it down can be the best thing for you.
• Underwear (and bras). Bring a TON. Good quality ones that you like. Underwear is easy to find here…if you’re a size 2 or like granny panties. And if you are, well, more power to you.
• Tons of pens. I love blue clicky ones. You’re going to be taking a lot of notes during training, and in a place where a printer is hardly ever around, you’re going to be writing things out a lot. The pens here are awful, bring good ones and don’t let anyone borrow them because you’ll never see them again.
• Spiral notebooks. For anything and everything.
• World maps. For decorating your house, for showing your host siblings that you cannot drive to America, and for showing your colleagues that Europe is not on the California coastline.
• Deodorant and razors. Deodorant is spray-on or roll-on here. Razors are disposable. You decide.
• Books, books, books! You’re going to have a lot of downtime here, so whether you’re waiting for a meeting to start (3 hours late) or taking a 7-hour bus ride, books are lovely things. I wish I would have filled up my two year bag* with much, much more than I did, but I came with 3 books and was able to swap them with other trainees. And, another suggestion, bring books on subjects that you’re even slightly interested in, because like I said, there’s a lot of downtime here. Why not becoming well-versed in quantum physics or the lifecycle of a bumblebee?
• Addresses of everyone you know, along with envelopes.
• Electric thermometer. It’s just easier to take your temp than the normal mercury one given to us by PCMO. That way, when you have a fever, you’ll be one step closer to knowing if you have malaria.
• Clothes, clothes and more clothes. My favorite quote from another PCV’s blog last year was “Africa is where clothes come to die.” It’s unfortunately very, very true. There are no washing machines here. Your clothes will get holes from hand-washing as well as stretch out. And please, just forget about white. It’s not meant to be. Bring darker to medium dark clothes because unless you have exquisite clothes washing abilities (which Mozambicans acquire at birth) you’re not going to be able to get that mud stain out so it’s best just to hide it.
• Ziplock bags of all sizes. These you will use, trust me.
• Twine, rope. It can come in handy for clotheslines, jump rope, etc.
• Clothes hangars. You probably won’t have dresser drawers….or a dresser.
• iPod speakers. Sometimes listening to a Beyonce song 13 times in a row gets old, and you’ll want to drown out your neighbors with your own music.
• EARPLUGS. A must-have. The only days you’ll have to sleep in during training are Sundays, and how wonderful it would be if the chickens, goats, sound systems and neighbors didn’t start their days at sunrise.
• Diversions. Depending on who you are, this could include anything from knitting needles and yarn, beads and hemp, travel-size games to pass the time at training, movies, TV on DVD, podcasts, audiobooks, magazines, etc.
• Host family presents. Yikes. This is quite ambiguous. You don’t know if you’re going to have a house full of kids, one host mom, 5 teenage brothers, or anything yet. Use your imagination and be creative in what you can buy that you could share with all ages and many people. I brought American candy, a snow-globe of Cleveland (they LOVED this, oh and PS don’t put this in your carry-on bag…). Later on during training I bought some things from when I went on site-visit to give my family. The trick is to bring them something that is not from where they are.
• Hygiene/Makeup needs that you can’t live without. That deep pore-cleansing face wash, pomegranate/apple bodywash with soothing micro-beads, mocha brown eyeshadow, sensitive skin after shave lotion, yadda yadda yadda. You can either bring enough for two years or use bar soap and work on your integration by smelling like everyone else! ☺
• Bobby pins, bandanas, hair ties, headbands. Your hair is going to be crazy wild and frizzy. Bring whatever you can to tame it. Oh yeah, mousse or gel, too.
• Luggage locks. Go to Target and get the ones that are TSA approved and get like 5 or 6 of them. They can be used during the flight over here as well as trips into big cities (where pick pocketers are everywhere) and when combined with luggage, can serve as a sort of makeshift safe for valuables at site.
• Sunglasses. Duh. Oh, but don’t sit on them. You should probably bring more than one pair.
• Nail clippers and tweezers.
• Planner/Agenda. This is a nice way to show your colleagues that you are nice and organized when you arrive to their organization and have come to do organizational development.
• Backpack(s), Purses, Duffle bags. It’s nice to have a backpack for using during training, and a decent sized one to use for going on weekend trips. I’d say bring 2 or 3-it’s just nice to have some variety and options for whatever your plans are.
• Portuguese-English Dictionary. They gave us one in training, but still, it’s nice to have more than one. Also, bring a regular English dictionary. You just never know.
• Bughut! This is a tiny one-person tent type of thing that you can get from REI (online) that functions as a portable mosquito net. I lend mine to all the PCVs that come visit me so I don’t have to hang up a net for them.
• Lonely Planet Mozambique. This will be really helpful to you if you want to plan a weekend (or longer) getaway and want to know the best (and cheapest) places to go in Moz.
-Flash drives. With big capacity. I have 3, and I would have brought more.

*You may not know it yet, but the Peace Corps will ask you to pack two bags. One is the bag that you’ll use during training and the other will be placed in storage for those ten weeks and given to you when you get to site. Pack accordingly!

Ok, Moz 15ers, best of luck to you! That’s all I could come up with for now. If you need any more help or advice on packing, preparing, etc please email me. I am a health volunteer, so if you have any questions about that, feel free to ask as well. My email address is valeksara@gmail.com or you can find me on Facebook. Breath, hug your mom, savor your last local pizza and I’ll see you soon!

Oh, hey there. It's been awhile.

There's a nice little spot in the corner of my porch that I like sitting on and watch the world go by. Last night at dusk I saw a figure rounding the corner with water jugs in hand. Lagging shortly behind was a much smaller, tinier being, also with the jugs. "Sara, you're all alone here on your veranda, what are you doing?" said my neighbor's husband with little Mariama standing beside him. Oh, just thinking, I replied. When asked about what I simply said, "life." In reality I was actually thinking about what to write about for my next blog entry, though I could never satisfactorily explain what a "blog" is, let alone the internet itself. I've been teaching a lot of people here to use a computer, and it's much like teaching an elderly person how to double-click, or highlight a word-they've simply never been exposed to this sort of technology before. But they're learning and learning quickly. Anyways, aside from unintended ageism (I love you, Nona!), I guess what has been guiding my thoughts lately is a certain class I took my sophomore year of college about various Eastern philosophies and religions. The professor was perhaps one of the most pretentious people I'd ever met, and almost rightfully so-he could sit atop the desk for the 2 hour class and recite ancient texts verbatim as well as recall dates and names that would take me at least a quarter to learn how to pronounce. Buddhism, Sikhism, Taoism, the Upanishads, it was all there for absorbing. And absorb I did. But what most intrigued me was the manner in which this professor could take the basic raw ideas of these non-western concepts-karma, moksha, samsara- and dissect them, piecing them back together by forcing us to apply them to context of our own lives. "Raise your hand if you would rather be somewhere else right now, honestly," he said. We all did, save for the one or two students who are either truly enlightened or truly brown-nosing. One guy said he'd rather be back in Hong Kong. Another said drinking a beer with his buddies. One girl said with her boyfriend. I couldn't really come up with an answer that made me sound interesting (my real response was probably to be back in my dorm room knitting or something) so I was glad when he didn't ask. His point was, why can't we be happy where we are at this very moment in time? And I've been thinking a lot about that recently because here I am in this beautiful, stunning, interesting and foreign place and all I can do is think of what's happening in the States. The shrimp are giant and juicy here, but all I want is a sandwich from Melt. The neighbors are hospitable and jubilant, but all I want are the Dowlings/Mansells. The World Cup games are riot-worthy and frenetic, but all I want are the Browns. The hardest financial decision I must make is whether to spend my savings on a TV, a refrigerator or a trip to Dar es Salaam. I wonder if wanting to be elsewhere constantly is a part of human nature, or an aspect of American culture and always wanting more. What I do know, however, is that me wanting to be home is because it's HOME. And I just really, really miss you guys. <3

Pages

Irene is singing the World Cup song. "Ooo-oo-ooo-oh-oh! Ooo-whoa-oh-oh!" Mariama is giggling with sheer delight, probably at something she shouldn't be doing. This will only serve to provoke her mother, who is busy making breakfast and nursing the baby. The smell of burning charcoal fills my room and no matter how many hundreds of times I encounter it the scent always reminds me of camping. It's 7:17 AM on a Saturday and I just can't seem to sleep anymore. Three fellow volunteers are sprawled out on straw mats in the living room and I can't wait to finish this entry to go put on a pot of tea, not only to add some lemongrass to it (of which I just discovered it growing in my garden) but to help settle my stomach. I don't believe my GI system is too pleased with me right about now, no, not after two meals of restaurant food consisting of something other than rice and cucumber. Before this all began, I was laying in bed reading a borrowed book from my literary kindred spirit Margaret, down in Angoche. It's an astute social commentary on immigrant life in New York City, Nepali nationalism in northern India and the remnants of colonialist constructs. And I love it. Which brings me to what I would like to talk about: Books are my best friends here. There. I said it. Call me a nerd if you will, but in my world, where nothing seems to make sense and people always seem to want something from me, it's awesome to come home to characters and a storyline separate from my own. That being said, as much as I love to read here, I do take for granted my fully-stocked book shelf consisting of HIV/AIDS materials, Mozambique country statistics, popular fiction, Portuguese manuals and Africanists' perspectives on development. I say this because the majority of Mozambican households do not contain a single book. Maybe a newspaper (from the one news source, run by the government), or maybe a dirty water-logged children's book from the market (that may or may not be in Portuguese, purchased by a parent that may or may not know how to read). In a country where the average person lives off of $1 or less a day and the average book costs $6 or more, it's no wonder that the written word is an ever-elusive presence here. However, I'm writing to tell you that you can help bring knowledge and resources to children and students somewhere far away. With all of the jadedness I've expressed about just throwing First World money at a Third World problem, it may seem strange to you that I'm throwing out a website address. But it's directly connected to us, those of us in communities who both know and love the people. It's www.peacecorps.gov/donate, and while I do not have any project up and running yet, I encourage you to find one that you feel passionate about and help support a volunteer's efforts (preferably in Mozambique!). Thanks! :) ...and please let me know if you do donate.

Sea Foam Hysteria

Everyday the sea is different. Indeed it seems to have its own personality full of torment and joy much like myself. And I've never grown up next to an ocean before-I don't know why they do the things they do. Why is it that some afternoons the shore seems to stretch all the way out to the horizon when other days the waves crash all the way up to the beach restaurants? And what makes it the color of a navy cadet's uniform one day but the next it's as blue as the sky? Why do piles of pink jellyfish scatter the shore in December but not May? I find myself both confused and in awe of this massive being three minutes beyond my front door. My fascination, and later my regretful misunderstanding, reached a new height today as I could barely wait to come home from town, race to my favorite secluded spot and dive in. I like being in the water. It's quiet-there's no awful club music or 80s adult contemporary blasting in my ear. It's solitary-there's no one to make me a sales pitch on "authentic" whale bone bracelets and no one to ask me for my number. And if I get really far out, I can see almost the entire eastern side of the peninsula being illuminated by the late afternoon sun. But you see, this is where my intrigue and my ignorance clash in an awful array of private and hysterical mayhem. Do you know how quickly the tide comes in? Were you aware of the swiftness and force of which it can wash items away? Yeah, I didn't either, until, 100 yards from the coast, I watched in horror as my belongings said hello to a salty retirement in the Mozambique Channel. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!! PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE let my keys still be there!!!" I pleaded to the energies that govern that maybe in some glorious stroke of luck that my keys, my only set, would somehow be there when I eventually made it back to land. Promptly I began cursing my sedentary lifestyle and my non-Phelpsian ability to get myself to the scene of the crime to at least hunt my keys out of the pelting waves like a lunatic. Instead, I was forced into a real life scenario in which one cannot run in a dream, no matter how hard one may try. No keys. No second flip flop. And no capulana to cover up my swimming attire for the deflated walk home. Upon my return, much like usual in times of need, I headed straight for Fatima. I was quickly given capulana coverage and told that the landlord would return...sometime. I thought of how we would go about breaking down my door and how I would get the funds together to buy new locks. I thought of how out of shape I am. I thought of how I'd really like to change out of my wet swimsuit. I thought of how I might spend the night on the floor. And then I thought of dinner, and how I could not think of a better time to cook that care package specialty-mac and cheese-than today. (Iddi, the landlord did eventually show up with an extra set of keys [surprise!] and I am now resting comfortably on my bed, thinking twice about swimming tomorrow).

No Boys Allowed

She was like the incarnate of Nancy, Fairuza Balk's character in "The Craft." Her eyes were wild and her stare was almost fiendish. This diminutive being flew over to me from across the ceremony as if in a flash and grabbed onto my arm. Words both known and unfamiliar were being flung out her mouth like she was speaking Krio, the English/indigenous mix of Sierra Leone. But we weren't in Freetown and here in Nanhimbe I still didn't understand her. I wasn't sure if she was possessed by a colonial spirit or if she was drunk, but I felt that in the midst of all of this I was a member of a studio audience who'd been unwillingly selected to be embarassed publicly by the host. Don't expect me to be inside your television any primetime soon. I got invited by Fatima to an initiation ceremony for two girls who'd just reached womanhood. Some 200 ladies from all over the community showed up to celebrate their feminity and it was a beautiful event of proud solidarity-except for this spritely creature who'd pulled me out of my protective barrier of neighbor-friends to go dance. With the rythm of the drum circle and the chorus of voices it was impossible to sit still so I thought, "Yes. Let's dance and they'll surely get a kick out of the white girl attempting to shake her hips." I was guided hand in hand outside of the womens-only venue to dance in front of another band of musicians. I danced. And I swayed my hips and I shimmied, all the while reflecting on the phrase "dance like nobody's watching." But they were watching and they all seemed to be boys and men. Then I'd realized that this drunken baffoon of a woman had dragged me into the all-male portion of the ceremony and for all I knew I could be committing traditional sacriledge by being out there. If there's one thing I've learned while being here it's that making a fool of yourself is a given. If there's two things I've learned here its that and that we will never fully understand what's going on, ever. So it's best to be confused whilst in the comfort of the local women who brought you. Back into the Estrogen Tent I fled, hoping to at least make an ass of myself in front of my own gender. The rest of the ceremony went like a combination of a Fourth of July parade and a birthday party, with designated party-goers showering us with coins, matches, pins, cookies, candy and capulanas. The purpose of the ceremony takes place after all of the guests leave, however when the young girls' family elders teach them about what it means to be a woman. And I hope that they grow to realize that it is awe-some.

It Has Been Said, or "Happiness Is Not a Fish You Can Catch"...or is it?

"The meek shall inherit the earth," or so it has been said. "Meek" could have been meant to mean god-fearing, humble, simple or poor. It's anyone's guess, but I doubt that any worlds have been inherited yet by them. This blog entry is not about fresh pineapple at the market, or how blue the ocean was today or a torrential rainstorm. No, this entry is about a 42-year old grandmother named Anifa who sat on her dirt floor today showing me her empty kitchen. This is about Ana, a 56 year old Makuah woman who's spirits were high but her CD4 count was not. This is about 18 month old Juma, who playfully crawled on his grandmother while she lay in bed, unable to open her eyes from the side effects of powerful anti-retroviral treatment. This is about them because they have no other voice with which to tell their stories and it is about them because their stories need to be heard. Everyday I see a dozen NGO Range Rovers fly by, and I wonder what their results are here. Sustainability takes a long time, and that is why it's so much easier to beg for change. "If you give a man a fish, he'll eat for a day. If you teach a man to fish, he'll eat for a lifetime," or so it has been said. And this rings true and this rings loudly in my mind each day. But it has also been said, "easier said than done." Sayings and anecdotes abound in the Western Workd because many of us do not really *know* the poverty of the rest of the world and it helps us to cope by saying these things. But when are we going to actually get out in the water and teach that man to fish? Are we going to watch him cast out that line into the ocean while his limbs are barely strong enough to do so? And are we going to deny him a lunch to stave off his hunger until he catches his fish because giving him a piece of bread "is not sustainable?" This rhetoric of capacity-building and permaculture and sustainable living is beautiful and well-meaning, but there are more immediate issues to be dealt with, which brings me back to Anifa, Ana and Juma. They're hungry now and they can't wait-so what are we going to do?