Written on December 19, 2011
Ahem. Hi, everyone.
So it’s been... almost three months since I last blogged?? Whoops. Please forgive my long silence. My excuses are as follows: I was studying for the GRE, which I took in November; I was traveling for almost three weeks around Thanksgiving; and Mabote hasn’t had electricity in two months, so it’s a rare occasion when I have a charged laptop. As I type this I’m keeping an eye on the battery meter and racing it to 7%, when my computer will beep and go dark.
So, beyond apologies and excuses… Merry Christmas! I hope you’re spending it surrounded by your loved ones and feasting on delicious food. Like last year, I will be hanging out at the beach in Vilankulo with some other volunteers. The house where we’re staying has beds/couch for six or seven, and there are nine of us staying there. So should be cozy, but fun!
The most interesting thing I can report on is my big – no, epic – trip north in November. First I spent two days traveling by chapa down to Maputo (the capital) for the GRE, and then I flew up to the northern provinces to spend Thanksgiving with friends who live up there in the wild west of Niassa province (bordering Malawi) and the final frontier of Cabo Delgado province (bordering Tanzania). It was the longest I’ve been away from Mabote since I arrived, and also the first time I’ve been north of Inhambane province (where I live), which is in southern Mozambique.
And man, that’s where they keep the beautiful landscapes! Sure, the beaches of Inhambane look like a Corona commercial and all, but the north has mountains! We took a twelve hour train ride through the most gorgeous scenery I’ve seen in Mozambique. The mountains are called inselbergs and they look prehistoric, like they should have dinosaurs roaming around in front of them. There are some photos in my new facebook album: The Great Northern Adventure (though they really don’t do the landscapes justice)
In addition to beautiful scenery, there are some other Thanksgiving shots, including me and a chicken I’m holding simultaneously freaking out. We killed and ate said chicken for Thanksgiving dinner and it was my job to do the killing, but I couldn’t bring myself do it in the end. I was afraid of a repeat of the time when I was four and my dad made me clean a fish at the lake and I cried my way through it. That sort of thing is slightly more embarrassing when you’re no longer four. I did, however, help pluck and clean it. I’m getting more Mozambican all the time.
Also while up north, my second* biggest Mozambique fear was realized: I had a gastro-intestinal emergency while on public transport. I’ll spare you the details, but I owe my friends Nathan and Jama a goat dinner for taking care of me. My consolation is that it happened so far from home, so I never have to see all those strangers again who witnessed my roadside vomiting and other things. I blame a dirty mango.
Anyway. I’ve been back in Mabote for just over two weeks now, and since I’ve been back things feel different. The trip was like a symbolic divider between Years 1 and 2 (also quite literal since the halfway point of my time in Mabote was right around Thanksgiving). Now that I’m solidly in Year 2, the idea of me leaving Mabote has suddenly gone from seeming theoretical and so far away that I might as well not think about it, to seeming tangible and real.
And that has made everything else clearer to me. Like the fact that what’s most important about this experience is the personal relationships I have with people and what we learn from each other. Not to downplay projects and productivity, but there’s nothing like the realization of, “Holy crap I only have eleven months left – which is only like three months American time – to ‘do’ something” to make you realize what’s realistic.
Confession: I secretly harbored hopes of doing Big Things in the Peace Corps. I thought I’d come in and be able to use the advantages and experiences I’ve had in my life to spot easy wins and take advantage of them. But there aren’t any easy wins here. There are a lot of things that need doing, but none of them are easy. I can only hope that during the next year I will be able to keep contributing in small ways, even as I continue to climb this steep learning curve and attempt to get below the surface of a culture that is still so foreign to me.
So in light of my newfound realization that people matter most, in the last couple of weeks I’ve been hanging out with neighbors more and making up more excuses to passear around town. Passear is an oft-used word in Mozambican Portuguese that there’s really no equivalent for in English. It means: to walk around aimlessly with the intent to see what’s going on and socialize. That’s probably not exactly what the dictionary says but that’s what people here mean when they say it.
And passear-ing is like the #1 Mozambican pastime. Or perhaps #2, behind conversar-ing. To conversar is to idly make conversation, which often means actually saying nothing at all for long periods of time. But just the act of sitting there and being together, idly talking – or sometimes not – is conversar-ing. Obviously I am at a distinct disadvantage in conversar-ing since most of the conversas here happen in Chitswa, but I can zone out like a champ when they’re all speaking Chitswa and then chime in and ask some inane question in Portuguese when there’s a lull. (I’m no good at small talk in English either, but at least now I have an excuse.)
Things have also been pretty dead at the association and around Mabote in general as Christmas and New Years (the “festas”) get closer, so it’s been as good a time as any to not attempt any productivity whatsoever and instead passear, conversar, and just generally let go and stop being so American. I also had a better verandah built on my house and have been spending hours at a time sitting out there reading or playing the guitar. And with no electricity at all I do more cooking during the day and go to bed at like 7:30 or 8:00. In short, I’m savoring the simple and embracing the slow. Like I said, I’m getting more Mozambican all the time.
One of the advantages of more conversar-ing and passear-ing is that you get the news and gossip sooner. The Saturday before last I was sitting in my yard with a few neighbors and heard that the son of one of my closest colleagues had died in a well-digging accident the day before. I was really shocked and sad to hear that so I called a friend of mine who’s a member of the association and within two hours, we were sitting at my colleague’s son’s house participating in the grieving ceremonies.
I’d been to several funerals before, but usually I don’t find out right away so I’ve only been to the later ceremonies when people have known for a few days. This first ceremony was very different from the quiet, rather boring, ceremonies I’d been to before. When I got there, all the men where on one side – some sitting in all of the available chairs – and all the women were on the other, sitting on the ground on mats, or many lying down with their heads and bodies completely covered with capulanas (multicolored wax fabric).
I sat down with the women and for about an hour and a half we just sat there in total silence. Then a woman entered the yard who was visibly distraught and crying and that set off all the other women into ceremonial crying – more like wailing. I sat there surrounded by the wailing and, even though I’d never even met my colleague’s son, I had to struggle not to start crying myself because it was so powerful. I had heard of ceremonial crying but for some reason had expected it to be more, well… ceremonial. But it felt very real and inconsolably sad. The woman who had started off the crying was lying right beside me on a mat and was thrashing around, wailing, as other women held her.
Afterward, my friend who had gone with me asked how it compared to funerals I was used to in the U.S. I tried to explain how a lot of times we try and keep our emotions in and are embarrassed to cry in front of other people, even at funerals. He just listened and tried to understand, but I couldn’t help thinking that their way is healthier: to just let loose and be supported by your family and friends.
Well. I didn’t mean to make this post a downer. It is my Christmas post after all. But being Christmas, I think the image of being surrounded by family and friends – even if it’s for support during a hard time – is an appropriate one.
My battery meter is now at 11% and falling so I better wrap it up.
For New Year’s, I will be heading down to the biggest New Year’s party in southern Moz in the beach town of Tofo (one of the Corona commercial beaches) and camping on the beach there for a few days with some friends. Rough life, I know… never feel too sorry for me out here “roughing it” in Africa. I’ve heard that some of those poor suckers doing Peace Corps in landlocked African countries call us “posh corps”. :)
Boas festas to you all!
Love,
Julie
*For the record, my first biggest Mozambique fear is that a camel spider will touch and/or bite me.
Ahem. Hi, everyone.
So it’s been... almost three months since I last blogged?? Whoops. Please forgive my long silence. My excuses are as follows: I was studying for the GRE, which I took in November; I was traveling for almost three weeks around Thanksgiving; and Mabote hasn’t had electricity in two months, so it’s a rare occasion when I have a charged laptop. As I type this I’m keeping an eye on the battery meter and racing it to 7%, when my computer will beep and go dark.
So, beyond apologies and excuses… Merry Christmas! I hope you’re spending it surrounded by your loved ones and feasting on delicious food. Like last year, I will be hanging out at the beach in Vilankulo with some other volunteers. The house where we’re staying has beds/couch for six or seven, and there are nine of us staying there. So should be cozy, but fun!
The most interesting thing I can report on is my big – no, epic – trip north in November. First I spent two days traveling by chapa down to Maputo (the capital) for the GRE, and then I flew up to the northern provinces to spend Thanksgiving with friends who live up there in the wild west of Niassa province (bordering Malawi) and the final frontier of Cabo Delgado province (bordering Tanzania). It was the longest I’ve been away from Mabote since I arrived, and also the first time I’ve been north of Inhambane province (where I live), which is in southern Mozambique.
And man, that’s where they keep the beautiful landscapes! Sure, the beaches of Inhambane look like a Corona commercial and all, but the north has mountains! We took a twelve hour train ride through the most gorgeous scenery I’ve seen in Mozambique. The mountains are called inselbergs and they look prehistoric, like they should have dinosaurs roaming around in front of them. There are some photos in my new facebook album: The Great Northern Adventure (though they really don’t do the landscapes justice)
In addition to beautiful scenery, there are some other Thanksgiving shots, including me and a chicken I’m holding simultaneously freaking out. We killed and ate said chicken for Thanksgiving dinner and it was my job to do the killing, but I couldn’t bring myself do it in the end. I was afraid of a repeat of the time when I was four and my dad made me clean a fish at the lake and I cried my way through it. That sort of thing is slightly more embarrassing when you’re no longer four. I did, however, help pluck and clean it. I’m getting more Mozambican all the time.
Also while up north, my second* biggest Mozambique fear was realized: I had a gastro-intestinal emergency while on public transport. I’ll spare you the details, but I owe my friends Nathan and Jama a goat dinner for taking care of me. My consolation is that it happened so far from home, so I never have to see all those strangers again who witnessed my roadside vomiting and other things. I blame a dirty mango.
Anyway. I’ve been back in Mabote for just over two weeks now, and since I’ve been back things feel different. The trip was like a symbolic divider between Years 1 and 2 (also quite literal since the halfway point of my time in Mabote was right around Thanksgiving). Now that I’m solidly in Year 2, the idea of me leaving Mabote has suddenly gone from seeming theoretical and so far away that I might as well not think about it, to seeming tangible and real.
And that has made everything else clearer to me. Like the fact that what’s most important about this experience is the personal relationships I have with people and what we learn from each other. Not to downplay projects and productivity, but there’s nothing like the realization of, “Holy crap I only have eleven months left – which is only like three months American time – to ‘do’ something” to make you realize what’s realistic.
Confession: I secretly harbored hopes of doing Big Things in the Peace Corps. I thought I’d come in and be able to use the advantages and experiences I’ve had in my life to spot easy wins and take advantage of them. But there aren’t any easy wins here. There are a lot of things that need doing, but none of them are easy. I can only hope that during the next year I will be able to keep contributing in small ways, even as I continue to climb this steep learning curve and attempt to get below the surface of a culture that is still so foreign to me.
So in light of my newfound realization that people matter most, in the last couple of weeks I’ve been hanging out with neighbors more and making up more excuses to passear around town. Passear is an oft-used word in Mozambican Portuguese that there’s really no equivalent for in English. It means: to walk around aimlessly with the intent to see what’s going on and socialize. That’s probably not exactly what the dictionary says but that’s what people here mean when they say it.
And passear-ing is like the #1 Mozambican pastime. Or perhaps #2, behind conversar-ing. To conversar is to idly make conversation, which often means actually saying nothing at all for long periods of time. But just the act of sitting there and being together, idly talking – or sometimes not – is conversar-ing. Obviously I am at a distinct disadvantage in conversar-ing since most of the conversas here happen in Chitswa, but I can zone out like a champ when they’re all speaking Chitswa and then chime in and ask some inane question in Portuguese when there’s a lull. (I’m no good at small talk in English either, but at least now I have an excuse.)
Things have also been pretty dead at the association and around Mabote in general as Christmas and New Years (the “festas”) get closer, so it’s been as good a time as any to not attempt any productivity whatsoever and instead passear, conversar, and just generally let go and stop being so American. I also had a better verandah built on my house and have been spending hours at a time sitting out there reading or playing the guitar. And with no electricity at all I do more cooking during the day and go to bed at like 7:30 or 8:00. In short, I’m savoring the simple and embracing the slow. Like I said, I’m getting more Mozambican all the time.
One of the advantages of more conversar-ing and passear-ing is that you get the news and gossip sooner. The Saturday before last I was sitting in my yard with a few neighbors and heard that the son of one of my closest colleagues had died in a well-digging accident the day before. I was really shocked and sad to hear that so I called a friend of mine who’s a member of the association and within two hours, we were sitting at my colleague’s son’s house participating in the grieving ceremonies.
I’d been to several funerals before, but usually I don’t find out right away so I’ve only been to the later ceremonies when people have known for a few days. This first ceremony was very different from the quiet, rather boring, ceremonies I’d been to before. When I got there, all the men where on one side – some sitting in all of the available chairs – and all the women were on the other, sitting on the ground on mats, or many lying down with their heads and bodies completely covered with capulanas (multicolored wax fabric).
I sat down with the women and for about an hour and a half we just sat there in total silence. Then a woman entered the yard who was visibly distraught and crying and that set off all the other women into ceremonial crying – more like wailing. I sat there surrounded by the wailing and, even though I’d never even met my colleague’s son, I had to struggle not to start crying myself because it was so powerful. I had heard of ceremonial crying but for some reason had expected it to be more, well… ceremonial. But it felt very real and inconsolably sad. The woman who had started off the crying was lying right beside me on a mat and was thrashing around, wailing, as other women held her.
Afterward, my friend who had gone with me asked how it compared to funerals I was used to in the U.S. I tried to explain how a lot of times we try and keep our emotions in and are embarrassed to cry in front of other people, even at funerals. He just listened and tried to understand, but I couldn’t help thinking that their way is healthier: to just let loose and be supported by your family and friends.
Well. I didn’t mean to make this post a downer. It is my Christmas post after all. But being Christmas, I think the image of being surrounded by family and friends – even if it’s for support during a hard time – is an appropriate one.
My battery meter is now at 11% and falling so I better wrap it up.
For New Year’s, I will be heading down to the biggest New Year’s party in southern Moz in the beach town of Tofo (one of the Corona commercial beaches) and camping on the beach there for a few days with some friends. Rough life, I know… never feel too sorry for me out here “roughing it” in Africa. I’ve heard that some of those poor suckers doing Peace Corps in landlocked African countries call us “posh corps”. :)
Boas festas to you all!
Love,
Julie
*For the record, my first biggest Mozambique fear is that a camel spider will touch and/or bite me.
hi julie, happy belated christmas and new years! it seems like you've beeen gone for so long, but its only been a year! so many adventures in a year. i hope you're making the best of it all. i still remember you packing up. and that minor speed bump with the app. you know, people do the passear things in the u.s. too, though probably not soo "actively". plenty of people in brooklyn put out lawn chairs and just hang out. not drinking, not eating, not dancing, just being and watching the street. its kind of nice.
ReplyDeleteanyway, miss you! hope you're well and safe!