I want everyone to know how much what happened today means to me. First of all, let me say that the people at the post office here in XX are difficult to deal with at times because they can get pretty busy and because it takes FOREVER to get a care package then when it finally arrives you have to wait HOURS for customs to come to open your box and sign off on stuff. One time they told me they lost a care package of mine, just to find out that someone had placed it in the back waiting for me the whole time.
My parents recently EXPRESSED a care package to me with Thanksgiving supplies. Though it was supposed to arrive in less than a week, I was not expecting to get it until much later.
While I was home today I got a phone call from a strange number and when I answered the guy was talking really fast and told me he was from the government or something. He definitely did not say he was from the post office. I asked what he needed with me and he said a package of mine had arrived in the post office. I told him I would come to get it. He asked me when. I said today. He spoke urgently. He asked me how long it would take me to get to the post office. I said in 30 minutes. He said no, this is urgent, let me and my coworker come deliver it. I was like, seriously, your not kidding? You are going to personally deliver my care package? He said yes, this is very important. He told me to meet him outside in ten minutes.
When I got off the phone I started to wonder if that really just happened because of all the troubles we have all had with the post office in the past. Then, I wondered if it was really all just for the care package from my parents. Maybe it was something extremely important from America? Maybe the President wants to reward me for doing such a great job in Peace Corps Mozambique? As soon as I stopped thinking ridiculously the guy called again and with the same urgency, asked where I was. I was walking towards him and he told me which car was his. I soon met him and he got out of the car and said, finally! This package arrived for you from Maputo today and I came to personally deliver it! Then he handed me the package and I immediately noticed my dad's handwriting. SWEET! It was my Thanksgiving care package! I asked the guy if we needed to go to customs and he said no because that would take very long, and that I just needed to sign something.
I will never forget this day and now I know what the post office in Xai Xai is capable of!
November 16, 2010
The Awkward Supper
Yesterday I was sitting in my house with nothing to do so I called up one of my friends, his name is Nelly. He’s also a student of my neighbor and he’s a taxi driver so sometimes he’ll give me rides and we’ll go on car rides around the city. He’s a cool friend and a few times his family has invited me over for dinner. It had been a long time that I’d gone over there for dinner until yesterday. I don’t remember it being so awkward but this time I just felt so strange. So here’s this experience.
I called Nelly up yesterday to ask if he wanted to chill for a bit. He said yes so we decided to meet. I thought we were just gonna go on a walk but he showed up in his car. Then we headed to the city and drove around for awhile and I bought a few things and he was blaring that new Rihanna & Eminem song--btw,very catchy! Then we left the city and I asked him where we were going and he said his house just for a minute to get something. Awesome, this is going to take forever. There’s no such thing as going to someone’s house and only staying five minutes. And it was also the hour to eat dinner, so this was going to take awhile. Whatever, just roll with it. So we pulled up to his house and he asked if I was going to come inside to say hello to his family. At the moment I honestly just wanted to get home because I planned to hang out with one of my girl friends but I didn’t really have a choice so of course I had to go inside and say hello. Before we walked in I prepared myself for all the typical common Mozambican greetings like “you have disappeared where have you been” even if you may have seen this person yesterday, or “you are stronger now because you have gotten fatter” I’ve learned people say this depending on whether you look thinner or fatter in the outfit you happen to be wearing, and just other things.
So, I entered. For a moment I felt like how Beyonce must feel when she steps onto stage because as soon as I entered the front yard everyone got silent then was like oh, MALLORINA! Then Nelly’s sisters came up to me to give me beijinhos (kisses on the cheeks, casual greeting). I surveyed the scene. Not uncommon at all. They were all eating dinner- caccana and xima. Caccana is very very bitter green leafy vegetable used to make a traditional caril (sauce) to be topped over rice or xima. It’s definitely my least favorite Mozambican dish because it can be very bitter and sour depending on the person that makes it. The women and children were sitting on an esteira on the ground. An esteira is a straw mat and is the equivalent of a picnic blanket. The two men, Nelly’s father and brother, were sitting in chairs and a small table not far from the rest, also eating.
Nelly’s sister pulled up a chair for me to sit-not at the table but away from the table and next to those who were on the esteira. As soon as I sat down, Nelly disappeared. So I sit down and greeted his mom in Chengana, no one was expecting that so a few giggled- my local language ability has improved since the last time I’d came over to visit. Nelly’s mom doesn’t speak Portuguese, and people only choose to translate after I give them a baffled confused look which basically says I really have no idea what’s going on. Nelly’s mom told me her back was hurting and she needs to see a doctor. Many people here think that just because I’m a mulungu that works in a hospital means that I’m able to give medical counsel. So then I felt awkward because here I am able-bodied and sitting in a chair and she’s on the ground hunched over, and I felt awkward because all I could tell her was to go to the hospital the next day and to rest and drink lots of water.
Then Nelly’s sister asked me if I liked caccana. I said no. Completely ignoring what I just said she told me to go sit at the table with the men to go eat. She said I’d like her caccana. Fine, so I sat at the table with the men. I immediately felt awkward because once again, the rest of the women were on the ground and the men in chairs at a table. Nelly still had yet to reappear.
So there I was sitting at the table with his father and brother. His mom then looked up at me and asked in Chengana if I was cold. I didn’t understand so his sister translated after I gave her “the look”. Then I greeted the men and asked his dad how was South Africa and when did he return. Then his brother gave me the bowl to serve xima and then asked me if I wanted xima quente (hot). I said no. Then he was like xima QUENTE. As if I didn’t understand. I said NO, I can finish this xima right HERE. Can we please just get this over with, I thought. Then they handed me the caccana and I put just a little over my xima. Then nelly’s sister yelled from ten feet away, “Serve yourself more!” I’ll try this first, thank you. Then I started eating and felt especially strange because I was at the men’s table, Nelly was nowhere to be found, and then everyone was talking in Chengana. I don’t usually feel awkward when people are all speaking the local language around me, I did this time because I just wasn’t comfortable. I started eating and the caccana was really bitter, I could tell by looking at it before I ate it because it was dark green-maybe it hadn’t been boiled long enough and I don’t think she added coconut milk, which usually makes carils sweeter. I tried to finish it quickly and I finished it before I ran out of xima. Nelly’s sister yelled at one of the kids, “GIVE TIA MALLORINA more of the caril, right now!” That reaction was normal but I wouldn’t say that tone is always necessary for a simple request. Then I take the bowl of caccana from this shunned child who passed it to me. “Sorry, kid.” As I put just enough caril back on my plate to finish off the xima that I had I noticed that Nelly’s dad was drinking wine. He was the only one drinking wine. Without even asking, he just poured me a glass of wine and put it in front of me. Very nice of him, yes. I felt like it was a sign of respect to be offered the wine so I accepted it. Then I felt awkward because: Nelly still hadn’t returned, everyone else was sitting on the ground except for the men and I who were sitting in chairs at a table eating, I didn’t understand anything anybody was saying in Chengana, and though they were my friend’s family, it just still felt strange because they’re not people I see often. I accepted the glass of wine and then Nelly’s dad asked me how I’ve been and where have I been. I told him last week I had traveled to Namaacha. Then, still feeling awkward and ancy, I thought he asked me what I was doing there. I went on to tell him the new group of volunteers arrived for training and I went down there to help facilitate sessions. I guess you could say I was rambling. After I finished talking, Nelly’s brother said, “NO, he asked if it RAINED while you were there.” Really, I didn’t hear him say that. By this point Nelly finally came back from God knows where and then soon after returning he left again with one of the kids because he forgot something in the car. Ok, he won’t be gone long, I thought. He was gone for at least ten minutes- enough time to feel like an eternity while you’re really waiting on someone to return. Anyways, I answered his father and said no, it didn’t rain while I was in Namaacha. Easy answer…even though it rained at least 3 days while I was there. Should I say that? I thought…Negative. It’s time to go.
Nelly came back and sat in a chair but not at the table but over by the esteira. He finished eating and talking to everyone after about 20 minutes while I was sitting there with no food and nothing to do and just listening to them in Chengana. I didn’t even have my phone or my purse to distract me because someone took it inside for me. Nelly’s dad then asked to take my plate and I said sure and then I looked at my piece of gum I had put on the side of it-awkward, why did I do that? He looked at me then at the gum with this curious look as to what I was going do with it. I picked it up in my hand, unsure to throw it away or chew it. There’s no trash pile nearby, I don’t want to seem rude throwing gum in the yard, so I started to chew it again. After seeing that he handed the plate to someone to take inside. Then I gave Nelly “the look” and then told his family it was time for me to go and thank you very much for everything. After a few minutes of saying thank you and good bye, we left and so did all the awkward feelings.Whoo!
I called Nelly up yesterday to ask if he wanted to chill for a bit. He said yes so we decided to meet. I thought we were just gonna go on a walk but he showed up in his car. Then we headed to the city and drove around for awhile and I bought a few things and he was blaring that new Rihanna & Eminem song--btw,very catchy! Then we left the city and I asked him where we were going and he said his house just for a minute to get something. Awesome, this is going to take forever. There’s no such thing as going to someone’s house and only staying five minutes. And it was also the hour to eat dinner, so this was going to take awhile. Whatever, just roll with it. So we pulled up to his house and he asked if I was going to come inside to say hello to his family. At the moment I honestly just wanted to get home because I planned to hang out with one of my girl friends but I didn’t really have a choice so of course I had to go inside and say hello. Before we walked in I prepared myself for all the typical common Mozambican greetings like “you have disappeared where have you been” even if you may have seen this person yesterday, or “you are stronger now because you have gotten fatter” I’ve learned people say this depending on whether you look thinner or fatter in the outfit you happen to be wearing, and just other things.
So, I entered. For a moment I felt like how Beyonce must feel when she steps onto stage because as soon as I entered the front yard everyone got silent then was like oh, MALLORINA! Then Nelly’s sisters came up to me to give me beijinhos (kisses on the cheeks, casual greeting). I surveyed the scene. Not uncommon at all. They were all eating dinner- caccana and xima. Caccana is very very bitter green leafy vegetable used to make a traditional caril (sauce) to be topped over rice or xima. It’s definitely my least favorite Mozambican dish because it can be very bitter and sour depending on the person that makes it. The women and children were sitting on an esteira on the ground. An esteira is a straw mat and is the equivalent of a picnic blanket. The two men, Nelly’s father and brother, were sitting in chairs and a small table not far from the rest, also eating.
Nelly’s sister pulled up a chair for me to sit-not at the table but away from the table and next to those who were on the esteira. As soon as I sat down, Nelly disappeared. So I sit down and greeted his mom in Chengana, no one was expecting that so a few giggled- my local language ability has improved since the last time I’d came over to visit. Nelly’s mom doesn’t speak Portuguese, and people only choose to translate after I give them a baffled confused look which basically says I really have no idea what’s going on. Nelly’s mom told me her back was hurting and she needs to see a doctor. Many people here think that just because I’m a mulungu that works in a hospital means that I’m able to give medical counsel. So then I felt awkward because here I am able-bodied and sitting in a chair and she’s on the ground hunched over, and I felt awkward because all I could tell her was to go to the hospital the next day and to rest and drink lots of water.
Then Nelly’s sister asked me if I liked caccana. I said no. Completely ignoring what I just said she told me to go sit at the table with the men to go eat. She said I’d like her caccana. Fine, so I sat at the table with the men. I immediately felt awkward because once again, the rest of the women were on the ground and the men in chairs at a table. Nelly still had yet to reappear.
So there I was sitting at the table with his father and brother. His mom then looked up at me and asked in Chengana if I was cold. I didn’t understand so his sister translated after I gave her “the look”. Then I greeted the men and asked his dad how was South Africa and when did he return. Then his brother gave me the bowl to serve xima and then asked me if I wanted xima quente (hot). I said no. Then he was like xima QUENTE. As if I didn’t understand. I said NO, I can finish this xima right HERE. Can we please just get this over with, I thought. Then they handed me the caccana and I put just a little over my xima. Then nelly’s sister yelled from ten feet away, “Serve yourself more!” I’ll try this first, thank you. Then I started eating and felt especially strange because I was at the men’s table, Nelly was nowhere to be found, and then everyone was talking in Chengana. I don’t usually feel awkward when people are all speaking the local language around me, I did this time because I just wasn’t comfortable. I started eating and the caccana was really bitter, I could tell by looking at it before I ate it because it was dark green-maybe it hadn’t been boiled long enough and I don’t think she added coconut milk, which usually makes carils sweeter. I tried to finish it quickly and I finished it before I ran out of xima. Nelly’s sister yelled at one of the kids, “GIVE TIA MALLORINA more of the caril, right now!” That reaction was normal but I wouldn’t say that tone is always necessary for a simple request. Then I take the bowl of caccana from this shunned child who passed it to me. “Sorry, kid.” As I put just enough caril back on my plate to finish off the xima that I had I noticed that Nelly’s dad was drinking wine. He was the only one drinking wine. Without even asking, he just poured me a glass of wine and put it in front of me. Very nice of him, yes. I felt like it was a sign of respect to be offered the wine so I accepted it. Then I felt awkward because: Nelly still hadn’t returned, everyone else was sitting on the ground except for the men and I who were sitting in chairs at a table eating, I didn’t understand anything anybody was saying in Chengana, and though they were my friend’s family, it just still felt strange because they’re not people I see often. I accepted the glass of wine and then Nelly’s dad asked me how I’ve been and where have I been. I told him last week I had traveled to Namaacha. Then, still feeling awkward and ancy, I thought he asked me what I was doing there. I went on to tell him the new group of volunteers arrived for training and I went down there to help facilitate sessions. I guess you could say I was rambling. After I finished talking, Nelly’s brother said, “NO, he asked if it RAINED while you were there.” Really, I didn’t hear him say that. By this point Nelly finally came back from God knows where and then soon after returning he left again with one of the kids because he forgot something in the car. Ok, he won’t be gone long, I thought. He was gone for at least ten minutes- enough time to feel like an eternity while you’re really waiting on someone to return. Anyways, I answered his father and said no, it didn’t rain while I was in Namaacha. Easy answer…even though it rained at least 3 days while I was there. Should I say that? I thought…Negative. It’s time to go.
Nelly came back and sat in a chair but not at the table but over by the esteira. He finished eating and talking to everyone after about 20 minutes while I was sitting there with no food and nothing to do and just listening to them in Chengana. I didn’t even have my phone or my purse to distract me because someone took it inside for me. Nelly’s dad then asked to take my plate and I said sure and then I looked at my piece of gum I had put on the side of it-awkward, why did I do that? He looked at me then at the gum with this curious look as to what I was going do with it. I picked it up in my hand, unsure to throw it away or chew it. There’s no trash pile nearby, I don’t want to seem rude throwing gum in the yard, so I started to chew it again. After seeing that he handed the plate to someone to take inside. Then I gave Nelly “the look” and then told his family it was time for me to go and thank you very much for everything. After a few minutes of saying thank you and good bye, we left and so did all the awkward feelings.Whoo!
November 2, 2010
The day I ate pork...
Wow! It's November! Sorry I haven't posted anything lately. I don't have any excuses. Ok SO, where to begin..It's the end of the year and the PCVs from Moz 13 (the group of ppl that arrived a year before me) are getting ready to leave and return to the States. This past weekend I went with a few other volunteers to Chimoio-in central Mozambique- for a conference. There's this group called Future Business Leaders of Mozambique provided thru Peace Corps. It's a good opportunity. PCVs along with local counterparts get a group of people or a whole class and offer business courses. At the end of the course, participants prepare a business plan and submit it to be judged to receive funds to start their business. FBL is funded by PEPFAR. So, I went this past weekend to the "handover" meeting, in which the former Moz 13 leaders of FBL "handed-over" the responsibilities of the group to us Moz14ers (there's 5 of us managing it now). Chimoio is about 12 hours from Xai Xai and we traveled by bus.
Thursday morning Pete and I met in Xai Xai. Pete and I were supposed to meet at 7:20 am but of course I didn't leave my house until 7:30 because I was late due to writing a letter to my dear friend Brandy. So, at 7:30 I headed to the bus stop near my house. I hardly ever catch chapas that early in the morning. This chapa rolls up and it was FULL of people. I thought people were about to start getting out but no, the cobredor just opened the door. All I saw were butts of people sticking out the sliding door and he was like, go on, get in! At first I said ummm...I dont know, maybe I'll just wait for the next one, where am I going to fit?! Then he said, just get in! So, I got in. I had my over-the-shoulder purse and my back pack. I threw my purse in the lap of some kid sitting and told the cobredor to take my back pack. Then I was hovering over this kid, my chest and head above him as he was sitting down and I was also leaning to the side over this other kid and then the cobredor was directly behind me. Awkward, yes. So I'm standing there trying not to fall as we start moving, holding on to front seat passenger chair. It's a bumpy ride from my neighborhood to the paved road. There's hills and the road is uneven so it makes the car slant as your driving. Really not fun when your standing up/hovering/holding on. I will never complain about anything ever again in America. Not really sure what happened to my back pack, I couldn't see it during the ride. I was supposed to meet Pete at the market but I decided to get off a few blocks early because my legs and arms started to hurt from trying to hold on and corners of chairs poking me and I can only stand such small spaces surrounded by people for so long. So I got out and found my back pack in the lap of someone behind me..Hopefully all was still in it. If not, oh well..everything that mattered was in my purse. Exiting early worked out for the best because then Pete called and said he was close to where I was. So the chapa he was in pulled up next to me on the side of the road and then we headed off to Maxixe, Inhambane. The morning started out great. Pete had some bread and badgias, my fave. We picked up Erica outside of Xai Xai so we could all travel together.
Like every other chapa in the world, we stopped...alot. Every time we stopped people rushed up to the windows trying to sell bananas and oranges and what...shish-kabobs!!! Yeah, so this kid comes up to my window with meat on a stick. I asked him what it was, he said pork. I declined. The chapa went on and as I was jamming to my ipod I started thinking if I should try the stuff on a stick. I don't eat pork or red meat-long story- but during the chapa ride I decided that I'm going to ditch that decision and go ahead and allow myself to eat it next time I get the chance. It was a shish-kabob!
Eventually the chapa stops again. This other kid with meat on a stick just happens to be standing next to my window. It was meant to be and I could use some protein. I didn't ask him what kind of meat it was...I asked him how much. He said 10 MTS per shish-kabob. Pete wanted one, too. I asked him for two. During this transaction I was fumbling around for change- of course I couldn't find any when I needed it and I was expecting the driver to drive off mid-transaction. No worries, somebody shoved the change into my hand. Sweet, so I got 2 shish-kabobs. He had about 4, either light meat or dark meat. He tried to hand me 2 light meat shish-kabobs. I took one light meat and one with dark meat. I figured one was chicken the other was steak. Wishful thinking. I wanted the one I thought was steak, so I gave the light meat one to Pete. Once again, I didnt ask the kid what it was.
I bit into the meat on my stick and...well...I'm still not sure what it was. I hope it was pork. In my opinion, it was absolutely foul. I hated it. But, I ate it anyway because I wasted 10 MTS on it and I didn't have hardly any money left for anything until Inhambane. Pete said it may have been a different part of a cow that we're not used to eating. Whatever, it was gross. I pulled a chunk off the stick to get a better look. Then I thought it was an animal snout. Oh no, wait, that's just the hole from the stick. Whew. I don't know but I've heard about Mozambicans eating cats and rats (I've seen the rats...I'll have to have another post just about food...)It didn't help that the other day I had been talking to Emily and she was wondering if it was possible that she'd ever eaten dog and didn't know it-maybe it's been sold as street food? Anyway, Pete's shish-kabob was good. His "light meat" was basically animal fat filled with grease. It was good, at least it got the mystery meat taste out of my mouth. Note to self: no more meat from the street.
Thursday morning Pete and I met in Xai Xai. Pete and I were supposed to meet at 7:20 am but of course I didn't leave my house until 7:30 because I was late due to writing a letter to my dear friend Brandy. So, at 7:30 I headed to the bus stop near my house. I hardly ever catch chapas that early in the morning. This chapa rolls up and it was FULL of people. I thought people were about to start getting out but no, the cobredor just opened the door. All I saw were butts of people sticking out the sliding door and he was like, go on, get in! At first I said ummm...I dont know, maybe I'll just wait for the next one, where am I going to fit?! Then he said, just get in! So, I got in. I had my over-the-shoulder purse and my back pack. I threw my purse in the lap of some kid sitting and told the cobredor to take my back pack. Then I was hovering over this kid, my chest and head above him as he was sitting down and I was also leaning to the side over this other kid and then the cobredor was directly behind me. Awkward, yes. So I'm standing there trying not to fall as we start moving, holding on to front seat passenger chair. It's a bumpy ride from my neighborhood to the paved road. There's hills and the road is uneven so it makes the car slant as your driving. Really not fun when your standing up/hovering/holding on. I will never complain about anything ever again in America. Not really sure what happened to my back pack, I couldn't see it during the ride. I was supposed to meet Pete at the market but I decided to get off a few blocks early because my legs and arms started to hurt from trying to hold on and corners of chairs poking me and I can only stand such small spaces surrounded by people for so long. So I got out and found my back pack in the lap of someone behind me..Hopefully all was still in it. If not, oh well..everything that mattered was in my purse. Exiting early worked out for the best because then Pete called and said he was close to where I was. So the chapa he was in pulled up next to me on the side of the road and then we headed off to Maxixe, Inhambane. The morning started out great. Pete had some bread and badgias, my fave. We picked up Erica outside of Xai Xai so we could all travel together.
Like every other chapa in the world, we stopped...alot. Every time we stopped people rushed up to the windows trying to sell bananas and oranges and what...shish-kabobs!!! Yeah, so this kid comes up to my window with meat on a stick. I asked him what it was, he said pork. I declined. The chapa went on and as I was jamming to my ipod I started thinking if I should try the stuff on a stick. I don't eat pork or red meat-long story- but during the chapa ride I decided that I'm going to ditch that decision and go ahead and allow myself to eat it next time I get the chance. It was a shish-kabob!
Eventually the chapa stops again. This other kid with meat on a stick just happens to be standing next to my window. It was meant to be and I could use some protein. I didn't ask him what kind of meat it was...I asked him how much. He said 10 MTS per shish-kabob. Pete wanted one, too. I asked him for two. During this transaction I was fumbling around for change- of course I couldn't find any when I needed it and I was expecting the driver to drive off mid-transaction. No worries, somebody shoved the change into my hand. Sweet, so I got 2 shish-kabobs. He had about 4, either light meat or dark meat. He tried to hand me 2 light meat shish-kabobs. I took one light meat and one with dark meat. I figured one was chicken the other was steak. Wishful thinking. I wanted the one I thought was steak, so I gave the light meat one to Pete. Once again, I didnt ask the kid what it was.
I bit into the meat on my stick and...well...I'm still not sure what it was. I hope it was pork. In my opinion, it was absolutely foul. I hated it. But, I ate it anyway because I wasted 10 MTS on it and I didn't have hardly any money left for anything until Inhambane. Pete said it may have been a different part of a cow that we're not used to eating. Whatever, it was gross. I pulled a chunk off the stick to get a better look. Then I thought it was an animal snout. Oh no, wait, that's just the hole from the stick. Whew. I don't know but I've heard about Mozambicans eating cats and rats (I've seen the rats...I'll have to have another post just about food...)It didn't help that the other day I had been talking to Emily and she was wondering if it was possible that she'd ever eaten dog and didn't know it-maybe it's been sold as street food? Anyway, Pete's shish-kabob was good. His "light meat" was basically animal fat filled with grease. It was good, at least it got the mystery meat taste out of my mouth. Note to self: no more meat from the street.
September 20, 2010
Home Visits
As I’ve previously said, I am assigned to an organization called ICAP. ICAP provides HIV treatment and psychosocial support. To implement these services, there’s a group of HIV+ women at the hospitals known as activistas, that make home visits to those on HIV treatment, and give educational lectures twice a morning about one of many health topics, and they also facilitate a support group once a month. There is a counselor at the hospital specifically there to counsel people before taking an HIV test and also to educate patients who are starting or are already on HIV treatment. The counselors are provided by ICAP, who works as a partner with the Ministry of Health in Mozambique. The counselor at my hospital is known as my “counterpart”, a term that Peace Corps uses to describe a local national that you work with everyday to train them to build sustainability, not dependency. My counterpart is a counselor at the hospital where I work and her name is Madina.
We provide two types of home visits to maintain healthy treatment adherence. The first is called visits of support, where activistas go to patient’s houses and counsel them about any troubles or concerns the patient may be facing. They reiterate the importance of taking treatment correctly and maintaining a healthy lifestyle- practicing safe sex, eating a balanced diet, abstaining from alcohol/smoking/drugs, and coming to the hospital when needed.
The other type of home visit is practically a search for patients who haven’t been showing up for appointments, mostly to pick up HIV treatment. It’s really serious because this usually means that the patient has not taken their meds in a certain period of time, which is bad because when that happens, the person will develop resistance to HIV treatment, which would ultimately lead to death.
2 pairs of 2 activistas go into the community everyday to make home visits. I go with them at least 3-4 days a week. ICAP supplies us with home visit cards which have a list of information about the patient and we are to fill out the card after the visit about how the patient was. The cards also describe if the visit is a visit of support or search for the patient. So, sounds good, right? You may be thinking that doesn’t sound all that hard and maybe you wouldn’t mind helping out with that for 2 years. Well, let me tell you about the iceburg of complications under our surface of seemingly wonderful home visits.
First of all, there are SO many patients. One in 4 people is infected with HIV. Hundreds of people receive treatment at our hospital. Keep in mind that our hospital is not the only hospital in Xai Xai that provides HIV treatment. In our hospital, all patient information and appointment summaries are recorded in paper files. We don’t have a computer. I think a computer may solve some of the issues we face but I also see that it may create new problems as well.
While I was in the States in my last semester of college I was a social work intern with an organization that provides services for people living with HIV/AIDS. I would make home visits for our clients. Ohhhh how I now see how good I had it! Each client had an organized file on a computerized database and on paper as well. To go on home visits, the organization had a company car with working air condition and specific directions to the client’s house. What a wonderful system we have back home, absolutely wonderful.
Back to reality. Ok so home visits here can be difficult because of the topography of our area. Sand and hills make up Xai Xai. Sand, hills, and heat are three of my absolute favorite things in life. Especially walking through all 3 of them for hours at the same time, now that’s what I call fun. We walk very far distances to make home visits, too. My point is to say that physically, it’s not easy. “Neighborhoods” here aren’t organized like they are in the States. There are no organized streets that have names nor are there maps or directions of any sort. Everyone’s just kind of scattered about. There are points of reference, however. So, the heat, terrain, and lack of specific addresses are the main sources of our difficulties.
When we go on visits in search of patients, most of the time we don’t find the person we’re looking for. The most common reasons for not finding patients are mostly because: the patient has moved, the patient has traveled (many people migrate to find work or live with family members in times of need), the patient has died, or no one knows the patient because they gave the wrong address. Unfortunately, people often give us the wrong address, sometimes wrong name, when they open a file at the hospital. That alone is the cause of a few issues. People fear that confidentiality isn’t really legit and they think that people in the community will discover their status if people from the hospital keep coming to their house. Their fears of discrimination/stigma are pretty valid because confidentiality here isn’t like what it is to Americans. We’re working on improving that. My activistas used to go into the community and show the home visit cards (which have information that identifies the HIV+ patient) to people in the community to try to find who we’re looking for. They don’t do that anymore, thank goodness. Occasionally, we find patients that we’re looking for. Some reasons they give us for not coming to the hospital: they forgot the date, they are too sick to go, they don’t have transportation, they went to the hospital but the hospital didn’t attend them well, or they say they’re getting treatment from another hospital.
It's complicated but it's coming along.
We provide two types of home visits to maintain healthy treatment adherence. The first is called visits of support, where activistas go to patient’s houses and counsel them about any troubles or concerns the patient may be facing. They reiterate the importance of taking treatment correctly and maintaining a healthy lifestyle- practicing safe sex, eating a balanced diet, abstaining from alcohol/smoking/drugs, and coming to the hospital when needed.
The other type of home visit is practically a search for patients who haven’t been showing up for appointments, mostly to pick up HIV treatment. It’s really serious because this usually means that the patient has not taken their meds in a certain period of time, which is bad because when that happens, the person will develop resistance to HIV treatment, which would ultimately lead to death.
2 pairs of 2 activistas go into the community everyday to make home visits. I go with them at least 3-4 days a week. ICAP supplies us with home visit cards which have a list of information about the patient and we are to fill out the card after the visit about how the patient was. The cards also describe if the visit is a visit of support or search for the patient. So, sounds good, right? You may be thinking that doesn’t sound all that hard and maybe you wouldn’t mind helping out with that for 2 years. Well, let me tell you about the iceburg of complications under our surface of seemingly wonderful home visits.
First of all, there are SO many patients. One in 4 people is infected with HIV. Hundreds of people receive treatment at our hospital. Keep in mind that our hospital is not the only hospital in Xai Xai that provides HIV treatment. In our hospital, all patient information and appointment summaries are recorded in paper files. We don’t have a computer. I think a computer may solve some of the issues we face but I also see that it may create new problems as well.
While I was in the States in my last semester of college I was a social work intern with an organization that provides services for people living with HIV/AIDS. I would make home visits for our clients. Ohhhh how I now see how good I had it! Each client had an organized file on a computerized database and on paper as well. To go on home visits, the organization had a company car with working air condition and specific directions to the client’s house. What a wonderful system we have back home, absolutely wonderful.
Back to reality. Ok so home visits here can be difficult because of the topography of our area. Sand and hills make up Xai Xai. Sand, hills, and heat are three of my absolute favorite things in life. Especially walking through all 3 of them for hours at the same time, now that’s what I call fun. We walk very far distances to make home visits, too. My point is to say that physically, it’s not easy. “Neighborhoods” here aren’t organized like they are in the States. There are no organized streets that have names nor are there maps or directions of any sort. Everyone’s just kind of scattered about. There are points of reference, however. So, the heat, terrain, and lack of specific addresses are the main sources of our difficulties.
When we go on visits in search of patients, most of the time we don’t find the person we’re looking for. The most common reasons for not finding patients are mostly because: the patient has moved, the patient has traveled (many people migrate to find work or live with family members in times of need), the patient has died, or no one knows the patient because they gave the wrong address. Unfortunately, people often give us the wrong address, sometimes wrong name, when they open a file at the hospital. That alone is the cause of a few issues. People fear that confidentiality isn’t really legit and they think that people in the community will discover their status if people from the hospital keep coming to their house. Their fears of discrimination/stigma are pretty valid because confidentiality here isn’t like what it is to Americans. We’re working on improving that. My activistas used to go into the community and show the home visit cards (which have information that identifies the HIV+ patient) to people in the community to try to find who we’re looking for. They don’t do that anymore, thank goodness. Occasionally, we find patients that we’re looking for. Some reasons they give us for not coming to the hospital: they forgot the date, they are too sick to go, they don’t have transportation, they went to the hospital but the hospital didn’t attend them well, or they say they’re getting treatment from another hospital.
It's complicated but it's coming along.
September 15, 2010
To Ride a Chapa
The majority of people here use public transportation to get around. Everyone rides in chapas. A chapa is a van which is supposed to hold about 18 people but here they get stuffed with about 22-25 people. A Cobredor is a person that manages the chapa. He sits by the door of the van and hangs out the window and tells the driver to stop when people need to get on and off. Public transportation is not free. It’s 6.5 MTS from my house to the “city”, 10 MTS from the “city” of Xai Xai to Chicumbane (Emily’s site). 1 USD= 37 MTS. You can do the math and see how riding so many can easily add up. Each chapa ride is different and it is always an experience. So let me tell you about them.
First, you have to know where you’re going and you have to make sure you get on the right chapa that goes to your destination. There are several bus stops throughout the city. You stand waiting at one, and you may wait a long time. Chapas will pull up and cobredors are basically hanging out the window as they drive by and they hold up hand signs for different routes. For example, the hand signal to go to the beach is waving your right hand across your shoulders, as if you’re splashing yourself. If you just want to stay in town and need a ride from one side to the other, the signal is to point down to the ground. If you’re going out of town, the signal is to point up to the sky. When chapas approach the bus stop, they don’t actually come to a complete stop until they know someone at the bus stop is going to get on, which they know by hand signals or by calling out. If you don’t know the name of the bus stop you need to go to, you can just tell the cobredor when you get on and he’ll know when you need to get off. As soon as you enter the chapa, before you even sit down, the car takes off and you have to be careful to sit down. Even though time doesn’t really matter here, in the world of chapas, it does. The chapa world understands that time is money. They are always in a hurry and when you get on the chapa the cobredor usually says “chop, chop!”
In a chapa, there are 4 rows of seats that should each hold 4 people. Inside the chapa, the seats on the right hand side of the rows are connected. On the left hand side in each row, the seat folds up so that people can pass by and move in and out. People do not get up or move or exit the chapa to accommodate you when it is your turn to get out. You can carry almost anything in a chapa. Large sacks, babies tied to your back, and even chickens being held in plastic bags. I have figured out the best seats in a chapa. I’ve got it down to a science. I will explain my reasoning, too. Ok, here’s a visual layout of chapa seating:
Front Seat: __ - D 2 people can sit in front with the driver
Row 1/Door _ ___ row where people stand
Row 2/Door _ ___ close to door
Row 3 _ ___ close to door
Back row _____ no seats fold up in the back.
Each row has 4 seats, so from left to right, I number them 1-4.
__ Means seats are connected
_ means it’s a fold up seat
The cobredor generally sits in Row 1 on the left side.
The front seats are always the best but usually already occupied. I like sitting up front but don’t very often. Sometimes because that means I know I’m going to have to carry a conversation with the driver who tries to use the ride to just hit on me the whole time. Also, when sitting in the middle, the person to the left does not get out of the car to let you out for fear of losing their seat while the door’s open and people are getting on/off.
Row 1 is usually always full of cargo and is always the most crowded. People stand in this area (hunch over really, there’s not room to stand) or sit on top of others. It can be very painful leaning across others and having your legs digging into seats or boxes or whatever. It can also be awkward having to bend over and being so close to so many people. If you are on the right side of Row 1 you usually have to climb over a lot of stuff and people to get out. I avoid this as much as possible.
Row 2 Seat 3 is the best seat in my opinion. You don’t have to move to let other people out. In this seat, you only have to climb over one person who is in seat 2 in order to exit. The people in Row 1 who are standing or on the left side of the row have to move to let you out. So it’s a seat with a free move. Row 2 Seat 4 is also nice because it’s next to a window. But I only sit here if I know I’m getting off later and know that there will be less people by that destination, meaning I won’t have to climb over everyone to get off.
Row 3 is like row 2. Either seat 2 or 3 is best because in seat one you have to move and get up somehow to let people out and in seat 4 you have to climb over a pile of people to exit.
In the back row, seats 1 & 2 are best because all the people on the left side of the rows in front of you have to move or squish to the right side to let you out. In this row, I prefer seat 1 because it’s next to a window and it’s a straight way out, unlike seat 2 that still has to climb over seat 1. In this row, seats 3 & 4 are the absolute worst. Especially seat 4 because you have to climb over a whole row of people who don’t move to let you out and it’s the farthest distance from the door. This is a disadvantage especially if you have a lot of groceries and stuff to carry. I only sit in the back row on the right side if I know I’ll be on the chapa ‘til the last stop when everyone will be exiting anyway.
Once seated, you enjoy the ride until your stop. It’s usually pretty bumpy and most chapas drive in a hurry…so at least there’s lots of air circulation. The local language is mostly always spoken among the passengers during chapa rides. Unless you’re a mulungu like me or don’t speak that particular local language, then people will speak Portuguese to you. When chapas stop, it’s usually a halt. So hang on. When the chapa approaches where you need to get off, you say, “PARRAGEM!” If going to the market, you say, “Parragem mercado!” Parragem means bus stop. Then you hand the cobredor your money and go on your way.
Things to expect on a chapa: lack of personal space, which doesn’t exist here. When the chapa is stopped somewhere to load people up, people selling snacks outside will run up to the windows of the chapa holding up whatever they’re selling and saying how much it costs. If you want something, open the window, make eye contact, ask how much, give them the money and take the food. It’s a quick transaction, but be careful if you are doing this while the car is running and the driver’s in getting ready to leave. Because he will take off even if you didn’t pay the person for the food or if you paid but didn’t get the food. Breast feeding is also normal. You can expect to sit next to a woman with a baby tied around her in a kapulana while breast feeding. She will continue to breast feed while entering/exiting the chapa, or if she is one of the people in row 1 standing or leaning over someone. That is another reason I choose other rows instead of row 1. I would rather be sitting next to a breast feeding woman than have a breast feeding woman be leaning over me. It doesn’t bother me much anymore.
Chapas are by no means maintained by American standards. They are mostly pretty beat up and could use some tuning. A lot of them have problems with the door. Once, I was on a chapa and the cobredor opened the door and it fell off. It was being held onto the car by a small rope. Seriously! Sometimes the rows of seats are not secured onto the floor, which makes them rock back and forth during the ride. This is probably not considered safe but it is actually quite entertaining trying to hold on and all the bouncing and rocking never fails to make everyone say, “Watch out! Eeeehhh!! This road is BAD!”
Chapa routes generally have the same cobredors, including those to my neighborhood. They have also realized where I am usually going. When I’m waiting at the bus stop, without even asking some of the chapas to my neighborhood stop next to me, open the door and the cobredor hops out and says, “Come on, let’s go home!” Or when I’m at the bus stop at the market, it’s usually really crowded and the cobredors from my neighborhood will see me and approach me and tell me where the chapa to my house is.
And off we go!
First, you have to know where you’re going and you have to make sure you get on the right chapa that goes to your destination. There are several bus stops throughout the city. You stand waiting at one, and you may wait a long time. Chapas will pull up and cobredors are basically hanging out the window as they drive by and they hold up hand signs for different routes. For example, the hand signal to go to the beach is waving your right hand across your shoulders, as if you’re splashing yourself. If you just want to stay in town and need a ride from one side to the other, the signal is to point down to the ground. If you’re going out of town, the signal is to point up to the sky. When chapas approach the bus stop, they don’t actually come to a complete stop until they know someone at the bus stop is going to get on, which they know by hand signals or by calling out. If you don’t know the name of the bus stop you need to go to, you can just tell the cobredor when you get on and he’ll know when you need to get off. As soon as you enter the chapa, before you even sit down, the car takes off and you have to be careful to sit down. Even though time doesn’t really matter here, in the world of chapas, it does. The chapa world understands that time is money. They are always in a hurry and when you get on the chapa the cobredor usually says “chop, chop!”
In a chapa, there are 4 rows of seats that should each hold 4 people. Inside the chapa, the seats on the right hand side of the rows are connected. On the left hand side in each row, the seat folds up so that people can pass by and move in and out. People do not get up or move or exit the chapa to accommodate you when it is your turn to get out. You can carry almost anything in a chapa. Large sacks, babies tied to your back, and even chickens being held in plastic bags. I have figured out the best seats in a chapa. I’ve got it down to a science. I will explain my reasoning, too. Ok, here’s a visual layout of chapa seating:
Front Seat: __ - D 2 people can sit in front with the driver
Row 1/Door _ ___ row where people stand
Row 2/Door _ ___ close to door
Row 3 _ ___ close to door
Back row _____ no seats fold up in the back.
Each row has 4 seats, so from left to right, I number them 1-4.
__ Means seats are connected
_ means it’s a fold up seat
The cobredor generally sits in Row 1 on the left side.
The front seats are always the best but usually already occupied. I like sitting up front but don’t very often. Sometimes because that means I know I’m going to have to carry a conversation with the driver who tries to use the ride to just hit on me the whole time. Also, when sitting in the middle, the person to the left does not get out of the car to let you out for fear of losing their seat while the door’s open and people are getting on/off.
Row 1 is usually always full of cargo and is always the most crowded. People stand in this area (hunch over really, there’s not room to stand) or sit on top of others. It can be very painful leaning across others and having your legs digging into seats or boxes or whatever. It can also be awkward having to bend over and being so close to so many people. If you are on the right side of Row 1 you usually have to climb over a lot of stuff and people to get out. I avoid this as much as possible.
Row 2 Seat 3 is the best seat in my opinion. You don’t have to move to let other people out. In this seat, you only have to climb over one person who is in seat 2 in order to exit. The people in Row 1 who are standing or on the left side of the row have to move to let you out. So it’s a seat with a free move. Row 2 Seat 4 is also nice because it’s next to a window. But I only sit here if I know I’m getting off later and know that there will be less people by that destination, meaning I won’t have to climb over everyone to get off.
Row 3 is like row 2. Either seat 2 or 3 is best because in seat one you have to move and get up somehow to let people out and in seat 4 you have to climb over a pile of people to exit.
In the back row, seats 1 & 2 are best because all the people on the left side of the rows in front of you have to move or squish to the right side to let you out. In this row, I prefer seat 1 because it’s next to a window and it’s a straight way out, unlike seat 2 that still has to climb over seat 1. In this row, seats 3 & 4 are the absolute worst. Especially seat 4 because you have to climb over a whole row of people who don’t move to let you out and it’s the farthest distance from the door. This is a disadvantage especially if you have a lot of groceries and stuff to carry. I only sit in the back row on the right side if I know I’ll be on the chapa ‘til the last stop when everyone will be exiting anyway.
Once seated, you enjoy the ride until your stop. It’s usually pretty bumpy and most chapas drive in a hurry…so at least there’s lots of air circulation. The local language is mostly always spoken among the passengers during chapa rides. Unless you’re a mulungu like me or don’t speak that particular local language, then people will speak Portuguese to you. When chapas stop, it’s usually a halt. So hang on. When the chapa approaches where you need to get off, you say, “PARRAGEM!” If going to the market, you say, “Parragem mercado!” Parragem means bus stop. Then you hand the cobredor your money and go on your way.
Things to expect on a chapa: lack of personal space, which doesn’t exist here. When the chapa is stopped somewhere to load people up, people selling snacks outside will run up to the windows of the chapa holding up whatever they’re selling and saying how much it costs. If you want something, open the window, make eye contact, ask how much, give them the money and take the food. It’s a quick transaction, but be careful if you are doing this while the car is running and the driver’s in getting ready to leave. Because he will take off even if you didn’t pay the person for the food or if you paid but didn’t get the food. Breast feeding is also normal. You can expect to sit next to a woman with a baby tied around her in a kapulana while breast feeding. She will continue to breast feed while entering/exiting the chapa, or if she is one of the people in row 1 standing or leaning over someone. That is another reason I choose other rows instead of row 1. I would rather be sitting next to a breast feeding woman than have a breast feeding woman be leaning over me. It doesn’t bother me much anymore.
Chapas are by no means maintained by American standards. They are mostly pretty beat up and could use some tuning. A lot of them have problems with the door. Once, I was on a chapa and the cobredor opened the door and it fell off. It was being held onto the car by a small rope. Seriously! Sometimes the rows of seats are not secured onto the floor, which makes them rock back and forth during the ride. This is probably not considered safe but it is actually quite entertaining trying to hold on and all the bouncing and rocking never fails to make everyone say, “Watch out! Eeeehhh!! This road is BAD!”
Chapa routes generally have the same cobredors, including those to my neighborhood. They have also realized where I am usually going. When I’m waiting at the bus stop, without even asking some of the chapas to my neighborhood stop next to me, open the door and the cobredor hops out and says, “Come on, let’s go home!” Or when I’m at the bus stop at the market, it’s usually really crowded and the cobredors from my neighborhood will see me and approach me and tell me where the chapa to my house is.
And off we go!
September 14, 2010
Nuts!
In Mozambique, people walk around selling snacks in big buckets or in these woven baskets. When I say snacks, I mean like oranges, bread, peanuts, or cashews.
Peanuts are my new favorite snack. Ok so women walk around with these woven baskets full of peanuts. You can either buy an amount of peanuts worth 2, 5, or 10 Meticais. The 2 MT amount is a bottle cap. Just a few peanuts. The 5 MT amount is a really small cup and the 10 MT amount is about a handful. Emily and I have been buying peanuts by the 50's. Yes, we spend 50 MTS each time we buy peanuts. Every time we buy peanuts and say we want 50 MTS worth, the woman whose selling 'em gets really excited and looks at us like, really?! WOW! We say yeah, we're Americans and we like to buy things in bulk.
Apparently the word has gotten around Xai Xai that the 2 female mulungus REALLY like peanuts and buy a LOT when they do. I have realized this because people keep coming up to us and say, "you really like peanuts a lot, huh?" Why yesss I do I tell them. People who sell peanuts will now run up to me and Em when they see us and say, "It's here! Peanuts! I have peanuts here!" and we say oh sorry, we already bought some today. "OHHHHHH!! AMIGA, why?! I have peanuts why did you not buy from me?!" they say. We tell them "sorry, maybe next time.."
As I'm writing this blog entry I'm in an internet cafe with Em and I look up to the front desk and there's this lady with a basket full of peanuts. She didn't look like she was here to use the internet. She was selling those bad boys and when she saw me glance over she rushed over and she said, "Here it is, I have peanuts for you." We said "ohhh sorry we already bought it this morning." Then she told us we could try some of her peanuts, we declined. She asked us why did we not buy her peanuts? We said we already bought some this morning when we were hungry. "OHHHh", she said.
After that lady left the internet cafe I told Em maybe we should chill out with buying and eating so many peanuts. It's getting expensive and they're really filling. A few Mozambicans have recently been telling me that I've been gaining weight. I thank them (being far is a compliment) and tell them it's probably because I've been eating so many peanuts. They say, "Yes, it's those peanuts that are keeping you fat. You look good like this. Stay this way." I appreciate their compliments and brutal honesty, which tells me maybe I should move on to something like...apples.
Peanuts are my new favorite snack. Ok so women walk around with these woven baskets full of peanuts. You can either buy an amount of peanuts worth 2, 5, or 10 Meticais. The 2 MT amount is a bottle cap. Just a few peanuts. The 5 MT amount is a really small cup and the 10 MT amount is about a handful. Emily and I have been buying peanuts by the 50's. Yes, we spend 50 MTS each time we buy peanuts. Every time we buy peanuts and say we want 50 MTS worth, the woman whose selling 'em gets really excited and looks at us like, really?! WOW! We say yeah, we're Americans and we like to buy things in bulk.
Apparently the word has gotten around Xai Xai that the 2 female mulungus REALLY like peanuts and buy a LOT when they do. I have realized this because people keep coming up to us and say, "you really like peanuts a lot, huh?" Why yesss I do I tell them. People who sell peanuts will now run up to me and Em when they see us and say, "It's here! Peanuts! I have peanuts here!" and we say oh sorry, we already bought some today. "OHHHHHH!! AMIGA, why?! I have peanuts why did you not buy from me?!" they say. We tell them "sorry, maybe next time.."
As I'm writing this blog entry I'm in an internet cafe with Em and I look up to the front desk and there's this lady with a basket full of peanuts. She didn't look like she was here to use the internet. She was selling those bad boys and when she saw me glance over she rushed over and she said, "Here it is, I have peanuts for you." We said "ohhh sorry we already bought it this morning." Then she told us we could try some of her peanuts, we declined. She asked us why did we not buy her peanuts? We said we already bought some this morning when we were hungry. "OHHHh", she said.
After that lady left the internet cafe I told Em maybe we should chill out with buying and eating so many peanuts. It's getting expensive and they're really filling. A few Mozambicans have recently been telling me that I've been gaining weight. I thank them (being far is a compliment) and tell them it's probably because I've been eating so many peanuts. They say, "Yes, it's those peanuts that are keeping you fat. You look good like this. Stay this way." I appreciate their compliments and brutal honesty, which tells me maybe I should move on to something like...apples.
Pastilha de AMERICA
I recently got a care package from two of my wonderful girl friends, Sara & Samantha. It was full of goodies including some delicious gum. I haven't had gum in a really long time. They sent me this gum called "5", the "React" flavor. It's in this fancy black package with a pretty purplish-yellow design on the package. Even the gum sticks are wrapped in little black wrappers. It really is fancy.
My American gum has gotten a few reactions from Mozambicans. When I opened my care packages, one of my friends was with me. I made sure to not show any of the goodies because I was being greedy and didn't want to share any of those. But I did lend a stick of gum to my friend. He was taken back by how fancy it looked. He picked up the stick of gum and sized it up with his eyes. Pulled back a little bit of the wrapper and sniffed it. He did all of this with caution, as if he was waiting for the gum to come to life or something. I told him if he was going to treat my gum like that and not eat it, then to give it back to me so I could put it to use. So then he tore off a piece of the stick of gum and slowly raised it to his mouth, then looked at it again, then finally put it to its destination once I told him it was ok, it was just gum from America. Once at ease, he thought the gum was delicious. He then folded the wrapper shut and secured the gum then placed it in his pocket for later.
I was in line at the bank with Emily today. We were waiting and I reached into my bag for something and saw the pack of gum. I pulled it out and showed it to her. She said whoaaa where did you get that?! I said well, it's Stateside...I got in in a care package. Fancy, eh? She declined my offer but what I thought was humorous was the look on the young mozambican girl's face as she saw me whip out the pack of gum. She was looking at my pack of gum with great wonder and she was practically silently screaming for a stick of it. So I handed it to her and said, Here, do you want some gum from America? Her face lit up and she looked at me with the look like those women get on Oprah's show when she gives a bunch of stuff away. Yeah, this girl was really excited. She started laughing and smiling and turned to her friend in front of her and said "I have gum from AMERICA!!!" Em told her that she should share the gum with her friend. She just looked at us and kept smiling then looking at the gum cradled in her hands like it was fragile. Gum from AMERICA!!! She kept saying. She just kept laughing and laughing and we asked her what was so funny. Gum from AMERICA!!! I told her the gum was delicious and that she would like it. Instead of immediately indulging she carefully placed the stick of American gum into a pocket.
I'd like to send out a BIG thank you to Sara and Samantha for the care package! I miss you girls!
My American gum has gotten a few reactions from Mozambicans. When I opened my care packages, one of my friends was with me. I made sure to not show any of the goodies because I was being greedy and didn't want to share any of those. But I did lend a stick of gum to my friend. He was taken back by how fancy it looked. He picked up the stick of gum and sized it up with his eyes. Pulled back a little bit of the wrapper and sniffed it. He did all of this with caution, as if he was waiting for the gum to come to life or something. I told him if he was going to treat my gum like that and not eat it, then to give it back to me so I could put it to use. So then he tore off a piece of the stick of gum and slowly raised it to his mouth, then looked at it again, then finally put it to its destination once I told him it was ok, it was just gum from America. Once at ease, he thought the gum was delicious. He then folded the wrapper shut and secured the gum then placed it in his pocket for later.
I was in line at the bank with Emily today. We were waiting and I reached into my bag for something and saw the pack of gum. I pulled it out and showed it to her. She said whoaaa where did you get that?! I said well, it's Stateside...I got in in a care package. Fancy, eh? She declined my offer but what I thought was humorous was the look on the young mozambican girl's face as she saw me whip out the pack of gum. She was looking at my pack of gum with great wonder and she was practically silently screaming for a stick of it. So I handed it to her and said, Here, do you want some gum from America? Her face lit up and she looked at me with the look like those women get on Oprah's show when she gives a bunch of stuff away. Yeah, this girl was really excited. She started laughing and smiling and turned to her friend in front of her and said "I have gum from AMERICA!!!" Em told her that she should share the gum with her friend. She just looked at us and kept smiling then looking at the gum cradled in her hands like it was fragile. Gum from AMERICA!!! She kept saying. She just kept laughing and laughing and we asked her what was so funny. Gum from AMERICA!!! I told her the gum was delicious and that she would like it. Instead of immediately indulging she carefully placed the stick of American gum into a pocket.
I'd like to send out a BIG thank you to Sara and Samantha for the care package! I miss you girls!
September 9, 2010
To Take a Bath
In Africa, everyone takes bucket baths (unless you’re in the city and have running water). I’m used to it by now and it’s not that bad. The only bad thing is when it’s cold outside. So, I and the majority of everyone, have an outside area to bathe. It’s an enclosed area, like a little hut.
First, make sure you have water. Houses here do not have the luxury of running water. We have large containers where we store water. I’m lucky enough to have a water tap in my yard that I share with my host family here. This morning, I didn’t have enough water in my water container to bathe because I used the rest to wash dishes. I went to the tap with the bucket to carry more water to fill up the container to find out that the water wasn’t running at the time. An hour later, it was so I carried two buckets. So, always make sure you have enough water in storage for your daily chores. Take advantage of when water’s running in the tap (it usually is), it runs more than it’s turned off.
So, once you have water, fill up a bucket. If it’s cold outside, you have to heat up water and then mix it with cold water so as not to burn yourself. You get your bucket of water and take your shower supplies, which are stored in a small basket, along with a cup, your undies, and take ‘em to the casa de banho (bath room).
My basket of shower supplies consists of: body soap, soap to clean undies, razor, shampoo, conditioner, washcloth.
You go to the bath room wrapped in a kapulana cloth. Everybody does that. It’s much easier since you already have a bunch of stuff to carry and there’s not a lot of space to set stuff down in the bath room. So, to bathe you use the cup to scoop water from the bucket and pour over your body. Because you can only use a limited supply of water, I have to schedule when I’m going to shave and when I’m going to wash my hair. I can’t do both at the same time because each takes about half a bucket of water.
Use the body soap to wash your body and rinse with cup and water. Once clean, you have to clean your undies with the bar of soap for that so you put water and soap on them and then you have to scrub them by rubbing the sides together between your hands. You must do this EVERY time you bathe in order to wear clean underwear. Also, every time you bathe, you MUST wash your feet and sandals. (Oh yeah, you bathe in sandals, never walk outside bare foot here). When you wash your feet, you must scrub them by rubbing them against the stone ground and you should wash your toes and toe nails because they get really dirty and I’ve heard of bugs that will get in there and lay eggs in your feet and it’s really painful. And that’s how to bathe here.
First, make sure you have water. Houses here do not have the luxury of running water. We have large containers where we store water. I’m lucky enough to have a water tap in my yard that I share with my host family here. This morning, I didn’t have enough water in my water container to bathe because I used the rest to wash dishes. I went to the tap with the bucket to carry more water to fill up the container to find out that the water wasn’t running at the time. An hour later, it was so I carried two buckets. So, always make sure you have enough water in storage for your daily chores. Take advantage of when water’s running in the tap (it usually is), it runs more than it’s turned off.
So, once you have water, fill up a bucket. If it’s cold outside, you have to heat up water and then mix it with cold water so as not to burn yourself. You get your bucket of water and take your shower supplies, which are stored in a small basket, along with a cup, your undies, and take ‘em to the casa de banho (bath room).
My basket of shower supplies consists of: body soap, soap to clean undies, razor, shampoo, conditioner, washcloth.
You go to the bath room wrapped in a kapulana cloth. Everybody does that. It’s much easier since you already have a bunch of stuff to carry and there’s not a lot of space to set stuff down in the bath room. So, to bathe you use the cup to scoop water from the bucket and pour over your body. Because you can only use a limited supply of water, I have to schedule when I’m going to shave and when I’m going to wash my hair. I can’t do both at the same time because each takes about half a bucket of water.
Use the body soap to wash your body and rinse with cup and water. Once clean, you have to clean your undies with the bar of soap for that so you put water and soap on them and then you have to scrub them by rubbing the sides together between your hands. You must do this EVERY time you bathe in order to wear clean underwear. Also, every time you bathe, you MUST wash your feet and sandals. (Oh yeah, you bathe in sandals, never walk outside bare foot here). When you wash your feet, you must scrub them by rubbing them against the stone ground and you should wash your toes and toe nails because they get really dirty and I’ve heard of bugs that will get in there and lay eggs in your feet and it’s really painful. And that’s how to bathe here.
An African Winter
June-August is winter season here because Mozambique is in the southern hemisphere so the seasons are switched. It gets pretty cold here. And in the summer, it gets bloody hot. I think the cold weather is worse here because there are no heaters and when I wake up in the mornings when it’s cold its sooo hard to get out of bed. I also think that the tin roof magnifies any temperature. When it got really cold, I had to sleep in two pairs of pants, long sleeve shirt with a sweater, and two heavy blankets and I was still freezing. Oh, and what’s also a pain is having to bathe during winter because I have to bathe outside, and even if I use hot water, there’s no avoiding the cold because of the wind. It doesn’t get as cold here as it does where I’m from in Texas, but I still think it’s worse here. Mozambican winter is a small suffering. I shouldn’t complain, because my house is well built compared to other people’s houses. Some people’s walls have holes to the outside and some houses are only made of reeds. Mine’s made of reeds and cement. So I can only imagine how cold they may get during Mozambican winters.
Thankfully it’s already September and it’s starting to heat up around here. The mango trees have already started to bloom!
Thankfully it’s already September and it’s starting to heat up around here. The mango trees have already started to bloom!
What It's Like To Miss Your Parents
It’s an absolutely indescribable feeling to express how it feels missing the people that I love. I try not to think about how much I miss people back home. Instead, I tell myself that I’ll see them soon and I don’t think about how much time has passed. But, someone asked me to write about what is it like to miss your parents, so I’ll try to explain best I can and I’ll try to stay positive as I write this.
First, let me say that I am very fortunate because my dad had a chance to come visit me in April for ten days, and I will be going home in December to visit. This is going to be a lot harder to write about than I thought it was going to be.
I haven’t seen my mom in almost a year. My mom’s a wonderful piano player and singer and teaches personal lessons at home all my life. I hate to admit this, but at times I used to get annoyed waking up to my mom teaching or to her playing the piano because at the time I’d rather sleep in later. I’m embarrassed to admit that because now I realize how lucky I was to have woken up to the sound of my mom’s voice or to the sound of her wonderful talent of playing the piano or teaching someone else. How selfish of me. You know how when you haven’t seen someone in a long time and it’s kind of hard to remember them well? Like it’s hard to remember the sound of their voice and exactly what they look like? Well, I vividly remember my parents and things we used to do together. You may be thinking, “Of course you do Mal, they’re your parents!” When I think about my parents, it’s like they’re right here, as if they’re close.
Have you ever had the kind of dream where it seems so real you wake up and wonder if it really happened or not, then realize it was just a dream? It’s kind of like that when I think of people back home. If I allow myself, I can vividly remember people that I miss and moments that we shared. Even though I’m already awake, it’s like I’m in this trance thinking about certain moments and I have to kind of snap myself back to reality. I then recognize who and what it was I was thinking about and how I felt thinking about that and then I deal with it.
For example, my parents and I used to walk our dog, Kacy together. One night during my last month spent in the States my mom had to teach a little late so my Dad and I walked Kacy by ourselves. I remember that night perfectly. I remember how the heat and humidity felt and the look of the clear night sky and being able to see the stars. I remember exactly where we walked to around our neighborhood. I remember several small details like when Kacy laid down in the middle of our walk because she was hot and tired and I tried to pull her up but my dad let her rest a minute before telling her to get up. I remember everything my dad and I talked about during that walk. We were reflecting on everything up until that point. Growing up, my time during college, and why I decided to join Peace Corps. I remember how I felt hearing my dad be proud of me and worried for me at the same time. I promised him I would do everything to keep myself safe. I remember when we got home and my mom was talking to her student and they were waiting by the door for their parent to come pick them up. (I don’t remember which student it was…sorry). When my mom heard us come in she said, “Y’all back?” I kicked off my shoes then walked to the sink to wash my hands and my mom came in through the dining room and walked up and patted me on the back. “How was the WALK?! Did Kacy make it?!” She was so happy. My mom’s always so happy and her voice is always filled with joy. Then she walked to the back door to look at Kacy exhausted laying on the tile floor. I remember how glad I was to see her. Her voice and the air conditioning was a breath of fresh air after working up a sweat.
After that walk with my dad and coming home to my mom, in that moment I knew that I was going to one day miss that moment. In that moment I already missed that moment because I knew that I wouldn’t have many more of those moments for the next 27 months.
That’s what it’s like missing my parents and people that I love and care about- re-living moments and then becoming overcome with this deep longing, an aching yearning to be with or at least talk to that person. I got a bit emotional while thinking about that moment with my parents and trying to put it into words. It’s a potentially dangerous process, allowing one to re-live moments like that. Because you realize that everyone and everything you want in that moment you were thinking about- you can’t have in your reality. Then you start negatively viewing your reality. Like right now, if I allowed myself, I could negatively think about how I just went to use the latrine and how I miss closed indoor bathrooms and toilets and running water and sinks. I could negatively think about the fact that right now my torso is covered with itchy bug bites.
Thinking about people and home like that is dangerous. It’s ok to let yourself feel sad and feel the feeling of missing someone. What’s dangerous is dwelling on those feelings and becoming pessimistic about what’s actually around you because I think it can lead to depression. My first few months at site, I had a really hard time and it was difficult controlling thoughts and feelings of missing home.
So, how do I deal with it here? I have learned to cope and I have learned to change my way of thinking. I am very aware of my thoughts and feelings and when I notice that I am thinking or feeling something negative and unproductive, I squash it right then and there and re-direct myself.
I have two choices right now: I can continue to cry about how much I miss my mom and my dad and kick myself for ever having taken for granted simple moments we’ve had together. My other choice is to recognize that I have a new found appreciation for not just my parents but everyone in my life.
I cope here by engaging in self-talk, keeping a journal, talking to my close friends here Emily and Amanda, and listening to music. But, let me also say that I have decided my life will not be one long longing. Before I left the States, I was longing to join Peace Corps and thought about it a lot. In the beginning of my service here, I was longing to be back home. I can picture that when I go back home, I’ll be longing to be back here or be longing for the next step in my life. Not any more. I now strive to always appreciate the people that are currently around me and where. At each point in my life, I may miss someone, someplace, or some time. I believe it’s important to recognize that and set aside time to just feel those feelings and process why you feel that way and what it is you miss about that person or place or time and most importantly, realize why.
Point of the story: I miss you, mom & dad.
First, let me say that I am very fortunate because my dad had a chance to come visit me in April for ten days, and I will be going home in December to visit. This is going to be a lot harder to write about than I thought it was going to be.
I haven’t seen my mom in almost a year. My mom’s a wonderful piano player and singer and teaches personal lessons at home all my life. I hate to admit this, but at times I used to get annoyed waking up to my mom teaching or to her playing the piano because at the time I’d rather sleep in later. I’m embarrassed to admit that because now I realize how lucky I was to have woken up to the sound of my mom’s voice or to the sound of her wonderful talent of playing the piano or teaching someone else. How selfish of me. You know how when you haven’t seen someone in a long time and it’s kind of hard to remember them well? Like it’s hard to remember the sound of their voice and exactly what they look like? Well, I vividly remember my parents and things we used to do together. You may be thinking, “Of course you do Mal, they’re your parents!” When I think about my parents, it’s like they’re right here, as if they’re close.
Have you ever had the kind of dream where it seems so real you wake up and wonder if it really happened or not, then realize it was just a dream? It’s kind of like that when I think of people back home. If I allow myself, I can vividly remember people that I miss and moments that we shared. Even though I’m already awake, it’s like I’m in this trance thinking about certain moments and I have to kind of snap myself back to reality. I then recognize who and what it was I was thinking about and how I felt thinking about that and then I deal with it.
For example, my parents and I used to walk our dog, Kacy together. One night during my last month spent in the States my mom had to teach a little late so my Dad and I walked Kacy by ourselves. I remember that night perfectly. I remember how the heat and humidity felt and the look of the clear night sky and being able to see the stars. I remember exactly where we walked to around our neighborhood. I remember several small details like when Kacy laid down in the middle of our walk because she was hot and tired and I tried to pull her up but my dad let her rest a minute before telling her to get up. I remember everything my dad and I talked about during that walk. We were reflecting on everything up until that point. Growing up, my time during college, and why I decided to join Peace Corps. I remember how I felt hearing my dad be proud of me and worried for me at the same time. I promised him I would do everything to keep myself safe. I remember when we got home and my mom was talking to her student and they were waiting by the door for their parent to come pick them up. (I don’t remember which student it was…sorry). When my mom heard us come in she said, “Y’all back?” I kicked off my shoes then walked to the sink to wash my hands and my mom came in through the dining room and walked up and patted me on the back. “How was the WALK?! Did Kacy make it?!” She was so happy. My mom’s always so happy and her voice is always filled with joy. Then she walked to the back door to look at Kacy exhausted laying on the tile floor. I remember how glad I was to see her. Her voice and the air conditioning was a breath of fresh air after working up a sweat.
After that walk with my dad and coming home to my mom, in that moment I knew that I was going to one day miss that moment. In that moment I already missed that moment because I knew that I wouldn’t have many more of those moments for the next 27 months.
That’s what it’s like missing my parents and people that I love and care about- re-living moments and then becoming overcome with this deep longing, an aching yearning to be with or at least talk to that person. I got a bit emotional while thinking about that moment with my parents and trying to put it into words. It’s a potentially dangerous process, allowing one to re-live moments like that. Because you realize that everyone and everything you want in that moment you were thinking about- you can’t have in your reality. Then you start negatively viewing your reality. Like right now, if I allowed myself, I could negatively think about how I just went to use the latrine and how I miss closed indoor bathrooms and toilets and running water and sinks. I could negatively think about the fact that right now my torso is covered with itchy bug bites.
Thinking about people and home like that is dangerous. It’s ok to let yourself feel sad and feel the feeling of missing someone. What’s dangerous is dwelling on those feelings and becoming pessimistic about what’s actually around you because I think it can lead to depression. My first few months at site, I had a really hard time and it was difficult controlling thoughts and feelings of missing home.
So, how do I deal with it here? I have learned to cope and I have learned to change my way of thinking. I am very aware of my thoughts and feelings and when I notice that I am thinking or feeling something negative and unproductive, I squash it right then and there and re-direct myself.
I have two choices right now: I can continue to cry about how much I miss my mom and my dad and kick myself for ever having taken for granted simple moments we’ve had together. My other choice is to recognize that I have a new found appreciation for not just my parents but everyone in my life.
I cope here by engaging in self-talk, keeping a journal, talking to my close friends here Emily and Amanda, and listening to music. But, let me also say that I have decided my life will not be one long longing. Before I left the States, I was longing to join Peace Corps and thought about it a lot. In the beginning of my service here, I was longing to be back home. I can picture that when I go back home, I’ll be longing to be back here or be longing for the next step in my life. Not any more. I now strive to always appreciate the people that are currently around me and where. At each point in my life, I may miss someone, someplace, or some time. I believe it’s important to recognize that and set aside time to just feel those feelings and process why you feel that way and what it is you miss about that person or place or time and most importantly, realize why.
Point of the story: I miss you, mom & dad.
September 1, 2010
Plans
I wasn’t sure if I should share this but I’m just going to go ahead and share this because…I think about it every day and it’s important and it shows how much my Peace Corps service is affecting me.
I’m a woman with a plan. I’ve been thinking what I may want to do after Peace Corps: go straight back to school, get a job and then go back to school, or…extend my time of Peace Corps service. I am set to leave Mozambique in December 2011. I will only be 23. My only obligation is that I must go back to grad school by 2014 in order to still be eligible to receive my MSW degree in one year. You are probably thinking why in the world would I want to extend my service? I believe in the work I am doing. I love Africa. I love the experience I’m gaining. I may have the option to extend my service in another country. I could go somewhere that speaks another language…I could learn French! I’m sorry if this is a shocking disappointment to some people. You’re probably thinking how could I want to do that and be away from home for even longer? It would be the same if I were in the States. People get older, grow up, and see each other less. But distance somehow brings everyone closer together. Someone told me that I should come straight home after Peace Corps and “make a life for myself.” Maybe that person meant it’ll be time for me to go back home, get my masters, get a job, find someone to get married to. I feel pressured to go straight back to knock out all of those things. But is that really what I’m supposed to do? I’ve decided that I’m in no rush for any of those things. Of course this is all talk right now. I’m going to leave my options open, see what doors of opportunity arise, and see where the wind blows me. Right now it’s blowing me to go eat lunch with Emily…Have a nice day!
I’m a woman with a plan. I’ve been thinking what I may want to do after Peace Corps: go straight back to school, get a job and then go back to school, or…extend my time of Peace Corps service. I am set to leave Mozambique in December 2011. I will only be 23. My only obligation is that I must go back to grad school by 2014 in order to still be eligible to receive my MSW degree in one year. You are probably thinking why in the world would I want to extend my service? I believe in the work I am doing. I love Africa. I love the experience I’m gaining. I may have the option to extend my service in another country. I could go somewhere that speaks another language…I could learn French! I’m sorry if this is a shocking disappointment to some people. You’re probably thinking how could I want to do that and be away from home for even longer? It would be the same if I were in the States. People get older, grow up, and see each other less. But distance somehow brings everyone closer together. Someone told me that I should come straight home after Peace Corps and “make a life for myself.” Maybe that person meant it’ll be time for me to go back home, get my masters, get a job, find someone to get married to. I feel pressured to go straight back to knock out all of those things. But is that really what I’m supposed to do? I’ve decided that I’m in no rush for any of those things. Of course this is all talk right now. I’m going to leave my options open, see what doors of opportunity arise, and see where the wind blows me. Right now it’s blowing me to go eat lunch with Emily…Have a nice day!
Girl Talk #1
I have been confided in by a few of my Mozambican women friends. They shared with me their stories and feelings in confidence, so their names have been changed. Before reading this blog entry, I ask you to please read with an open mind. Be sensitive to the following, keeping in mind that nothing is really what it seems. I can imagine that after reading the following situation some may pass judgment on what they think may be an easy situation to solve. I’ll try my best to maintain neutrality in narrating these experiences.
I have a dear friend who I will call Isabel. She is like a Mozambican mother to me. She’s had Emily and me over for dinner with her and her family. She’s a bit older, in her late forties and her husband is almost fifty as well. (I understand late 40’s isn’t old, but for Mozambicans, it is, considering life expectancy here.) Anyway, she had moved away for a few months teaching in another district. I wasn’t sure she was coming back until she called me out of the blue one day. She sounded awful. She just said that she was back and that she was not doing well. She asked me to come over. Of course I agreed I was afraid she was really sick. So we scheduled for me to come the next day because it was late when we talked. I was on my way when she sent another text message that said “My dear daughter, I am not well. I am sick with sadness and a broken heart.” I responded and told her that I am with her, and that if she wanted me to I would come right that minute to be with her. Then she responded with the truth and said, “My husband got a 13-year-old girl pregnant. She had the baby and now they are living in my house.” I initially felt hurt, disgusted, angry, and sad for my friend’s situation. I told her if she needed to she could stay with me, that I would go and get her immediately if she needed to. She declined, said we’d see each other tomorrow.
The next day I went to her house. That was hard, especially because her husband was there watching TV when I arrived. It was hard being nice to him, treating him with respect, acting like I didn’t know he violated a child and at the same time sickened at the thought that he’s a school teacher. But I did and after a few minutes of awkward tension of being in the same room, Isabel took me outside, saying that I wanted to be in the sun and that I love being outdoors. That wasn’t a complete lie. We sat down and she began to tell me that the girl who he got pregnant was back in her grandparents’ house which was close by. Isabel said her brother-in-law, who lives with her and her husband, wouldn’t allow that girl to be in their house anymore. Supposedly he said that it was wrong for her to be in the house if she’s not his wife. She then told me the story of how this all began between her husband and the girl.
Isabel’s unable to have children. About ten years ago Isabel’s husband got very sick. He had some kind of blisters in his mouth, and a fever, and swollen lymph nodes. They thought he had HIV. So he took an HIV test. While awaiting the results, Isabel told her husband that if he in fact does not have HIV, then they owe a merciful life to God. They promised that if he in fact was not HIV+, they would be parent like figures to a child that needs parents. His test results came back negative, and he got better. One day he was in their yard and a young boy walked across the field in front of their house. At the time, their area was very rural. He called the boy over and asked where he lived. The boy said he lived not too far. He asked the boy who he lived with. “My grandma and siblings.” He asked where his parents were. “They both died.” Isabel’s husband informed her of the boy and that he doesn’t have parents. They then went to tell the boy that they are looking to care for children in need of a family in their community. They told him that he and his siblings are always welcome in their home. Anything they needed, they could have. Just ask. They met his other siblings. One was another young boy and a 4 year old girl. If only Isabel had known that in less than ten years from then, her husband would be fathering that 4-year old girl’s baby.
After that, Isabel took me to see the girl and the baby. The girl was tiny; she looked like a ten year old. Her baby was also tiny, premature. This girl had to drop out of school to care for this child. I then started talking to her about the importance of using a mosquito net, regularly getting tested for HIV, and that she must only exclusively breast feed her baby for the first six months. No water, no juice, no sodas, the baby only needs breast milk. The room we were sitting in was small, with a straw mat. I asked her where they all slept. She said right here in this room on this mat with this one mosquito net. I asked her if I could bring her another mosquito net because I have extras. I told her that it’s really important because I work in a hospital and people tell me about their babies dying because of malaria. She said yes, I could bring her a net. I then had her write down my number and told her if she ever needed anything, just call.
When we got back to Isabel’s house she told me other parts of this story. As we were talking her husband would periodically come outside to check on us because he was suspicious and guilty. Awkward! Anyway, she went on to tell me that about two years ago Isabel’s suspicions grew about her husband. She noticed that when she wasn’t home, the young girl would be leaving her house with things-gifts...and that before that her neighbors had told her that they had heard painful screams from inside her house where the young girl was. After her suspicions were somewhat credible, Isabel approached the young girl and told her straight up, “you cannot have this kind of relationship with my husband. If you are having sex with him in order for you to get things, that is not necessary. If you need anything, ask me and I will buy it for you.” Isabel felt like the sad conclusion to this story was the girl’s fault because she had previously told her this, and the girl continued to sleep with her husband. I tried to explain to Isabel that it wasn’t the girls fault, because she was a child and being taken advantage of. I told her that children learn what adults teach them. Her husband was a respected, father figure to that young girl, and he taught her that it’s ok to have sex with an adult in order to earn things in return. If you think about it, the whole thing is really complex and complicated.
I offered my home to Isabel and said she could come live with me. Of course, she declined. I asked her what she was going to do about her situation. She said she would like to go to the police and report her husband, but that she won’t because a woman should never betray her husband and that he won’t be punished in this life but God will punish him in the next. I told her that her husband betrayed her and a child that he promised to initially care for. She just said that she couldn’t report him because she feels that women here are not free. I told her that’s not true and that any individual is free and not bound by any society’s laws. We make our own destiny, I told her.
After much encouragement and support from Emily, I, and Isabel’s family, she broke free from the situation. Now she’s living in another city where she found a new job. Isabel’s cousin’s husband reported her husband to the police. We’re still waiting to see what happens with that. He’s still teaching in the secondary school.
I have a dear friend who I will call Isabel. She is like a Mozambican mother to me. She’s had Emily and me over for dinner with her and her family. She’s a bit older, in her late forties and her husband is almost fifty as well. (I understand late 40’s isn’t old, but for Mozambicans, it is, considering life expectancy here.) Anyway, she had moved away for a few months teaching in another district. I wasn’t sure she was coming back until she called me out of the blue one day. She sounded awful. She just said that she was back and that she was not doing well. She asked me to come over. Of course I agreed I was afraid she was really sick. So we scheduled for me to come the next day because it was late when we talked. I was on my way when she sent another text message that said “My dear daughter, I am not well. I am sick with sadness and a broken heart.” I responded and told her that I am with her, and that if she wanted me to I would come right that minute to be with her. Then she responded with the truth and said, “My husband got a 13-year-old girl pregnant. She had the baby and now they are living in my house.” I initially felt hurt, disgusted, angry, and sad for my friend’s situation. I told her if she needed to she could stay with me, that I would go and get her immediately if she needed to. She declined, said we’d see each other tomorrow.
The next day I went to her house. That was hard, especially because her husband was there watching TV when I arrived. It was hard being nice to him, treating him with respect, acting like I didn’t know he violated a child and at the same time sickened at the thought that he’s a school teacher. But I did and after a few minutes of awkward tension of being in the same room, Isabel took me outside, saying that I wanted to be in the sun and that I love being outdoors. That wasn’t a complete lie. We sat down and she began to tell me that the girl who he got pregnant was back in her grandparents’ house which was close by. Isabel said her brother-in-law, who lives with her and her husband, wouldn’t allow that girl to be in their house anymore. Supposedly he said that it was wrong for her to be in the house if she’s not his wife. She then told me the story of how this all began between her husband and the girl.
Isabel’s unable to have children. About ten years ago Isabel’s husband got very sick. He had some kind of blisters in his mouth, and a fever, and swollen lymph nodes. They thought he had HIV. So he took an HIV test. While awaiting the results, Isabel told her husband that if he in fact does not have HIV, then they owe a merciful life to God. They promised that if he in fact was not HIV+, they would be parent like figures to a child that needs parents. His test results came back negative, and he got better. One day he was in their yard and a young boy walked across the field in front of their house. At the time, their area was very rural. He called the boy over and asked where he lived. The boy said he lived not too far. He asked the boy who he lived with. “My grandma and siblings.” He asked where his parents were. “They both died.” Isabel’s husband informed her of the boy and that he doesn’t have parents. They then went to tell the boy that they are looking to care for children in need of a family in their community. They told him that he and his siblings are always welcome in their home. Anything they needed, they could have. Just ask. They met his other siblings. One was another young boy and a 4 year old girl. If only Isabel had known that in less than ten years from then, her husband would be fathering that 4-year old girl’s baby.
After that, Isabel took me to see the girl and the baby. The girl was tiny; she looked like a ten year old. Her baby was also tiny, premature. This girl had to drop out of school to care for this child. I then started talking to her about the importance of using a mosquito net, regularly getting tested for HIV, and that she must only exclusively breast feed her baby for the first six months. No water, no juice, no sodas, the baby only needs breast milk. The room we were sitting in was small, with a straw mat. I asked her where they all slept. She said right here in this room on this mat with this one mosquito net. I asked her if I could bring her another mosquito net because I have extras. I told her that it’s really important because I work in a hospital and people tell me about their babies dying because of malaria. She said yes, I could bring her a net. I then had her write down my number and told her if she ever needed anything, just call.
When we got back to Isabel’s house she told me other parts of this story. As we were talking her husband would periodically come outside to check on us because he was suspicious and guilty. Awkward! Anyway, she went on to tell me that about two years ago Isabel’s suspicions grew about her husband. She noticed that when she wasn’t home, the young girl would be leaving her house with things-gifts...and that before that her neighbors had told her that they had heard painful screams from inside her house where the young girl was. After her suspicions were somewhat credible, Isabel approached the young girl and told her straight up, “you cannot have this kind of relationship with my husband. If you are having sex with him in order for you to get things, that is not necessary. If you need anything, ask me and I will buy it for you.” Isabel felt like the sad conclusion to this story was the girl’s fault because she had previously told her this, and the girl continued to sleep with her husband. I tried to explain to Isabel that it wasn’t the girls fault, because she was a child and being taken advantage of. I told her that children learn what adults teach them. Her husband was a respected, father figure to that young girl, and he taught her that it’s ok to have sex with an adult in order to earn things in return. If you think about it, the whole thing is really complex and complicated.
I offered my home to Isabel and said she could come live with me. Of course, she declined. I asked her what she was going to do about her situation. She said she would like to go to the police and report her husband, but that she won’t because a woman should never betray her husband and that he won’t be punished in this life but God will punish him in the next. I told her that her husband betrayed her and a child that he promised to initially care for. She just said that she couldn’t report him because she feels that women here are not free. I told her that’s not true and that any individual is free and not bound by any society’s laws. We make our own destiny, I told her.
After much encouragement and support from Emily, I, and Isabel’s family, she broke free from the situation. Now she’s living in another city where she found a new job. Isabel’s cousin’s husband reported her husband to the police. We’re still waiting to see what happens with that. He’s still teaching in the secondary school.
Girl Talk #2
One day I was with one of my girl friends. She told me she had a secret to tell me but that I had to promise I wouldn’t tell anyone. Sure, as long as you didn’t commit a serious crime, I told her. She asked me what I think about love. I told her that I believe love is something special between two people that are really hard to describe, especially in a second language, but that love is something shared. She asked me if I’ve ever been in love. I said yes. She asked me if I am currently in a relationship. No, I told her. She asked me if I was still in love with whoever I was in love with. I said no. She asked me why. I explained to her that people freely enter romantic relationships by choice, because of how they feel about each other. They leave relationships the same way-by feelings changing and leaving if they want to. Just. Like. That.
She then went on to tell me that she has been married to her husband for about ten years and they have three young children together. She said she appreciates her husband because he’s the father of her children, the provider of their family. But, she said, she just can’t make herself love him. She went on to say that she had a boyfriend ten years ago before she met her husband, and she was passionately in love with him…and still is. She said they were dating but then one day they got in an argument and he moved to South Africa for a temporary job. She didn’t know the job was temporary. She thought she’d lost him forever. While he was gone, she felt pressure from her family to get married and her husband had approached her family saying he wanted to marry her. So, they got married because she was of age and following social/cultural norms.
Her boyfriend came back after she was married. He was hurt and so was she. She said they still talk and when they talk and see each other her mind goes crazy and she thinks about leaving her husband and children to be with him because he’s the love of her life. However, she said if she left her husband her children would stay in his house because she would be the one leaving…also that she’d be looked down upon by the rest of her community. Forever shunned. She asked me what an American would do in this situation. I told her that it would be different for each person; but that Americans have the right to divorce their spouse and they would not be frowned upon by society. She asked me what I thought she should do. I told her that she should think of her children first, put their needs before hers and that fidelity is very important, she should remain faithful to her husband. But I told her that whatever she chose to do, she should continue to be safe in all of her interactions.
She then went on to tell me that she has been married to her husband for about ten years and they have three young children together. She said she appreciates her husband because he’s the father of her children, the provider of their family. But, she said, she just can’t make herself love him. She went on to say that she had a boyfriend ten years ago before she met her husband, and she was passionately in love with him…and still is. She said they were dating but then one day they got in an argument and he moved to South Africa for a temporary job. She didn’t know the job was temporary. She thought she’d lost him forever. While he was gone, she felt pressure from her family to get married and her husband had approached her family saying he wanted to marry her. So, they got married because she was of age and following social/cultural norms.
Her boyfriend came back after she was married. He was hurt and so was she. She said they still talk and when they talk and see each other her mind goes crazy and she thinks about leaving her husband and children to be with him because he’s the love of her life. However, she said if she left her husband her children would stay in his house because she would be the one leaving…also that she’d be looked down upon by the rest of her community. Forever shunned. She asked me what an American would do in this situation. I told her that it would be different for each person; but that Americans have the right to divorce their spouse and they would not be frowned upon by society. She asked me what I thought she should do. I told her that she should think of her children first, put their needs before hers and that fidelity is very important, she should remain faithful to her husband. But I told her that whatever she chose to do, she should continue to be safe in all of her interactions.
Girl Talk #3
One of my coworkers who’s also my friend, Hortencia, struck up a convo with me one day while we were in the community making home visits. She asked me if an HIV+ woman had a baby, does that mean her baby will be HIV+ also? I told her it’s risky and definitely possible through the exchange of fluids inside the mom’s tummy and during child birth, but I told her it’s possible for an HIV+ woman to have an HIV- baby. I talked to her about being on treatment and monitoring one’s CD4 count and viral load…I told her if she had any more questions she should really ask a nurse and not to be shy to do so. And so my suspicions began that Hortencia may be pregnant.
On a different day…Hortencia told me that she has a boyfriend. He’s married and lives somewhere else but sometimes comes to Xai Xai…
Some days later…”Mallorina… I need your opinion about something.” I told her to continue. She continued to say that she doesn’t know if she should have a baby with her boyfriend. I said no. You already have four children and you are supporting them alone. Can you really feed one more mouth? She said here’s the deal, my boyfriend’s wife is already too old to have any more children. He only has 2 children with her. He thinks he needs to live up to his dad, who had 29 children with 5 different women. Keeping my cool, I asked her why does she want to have a child with him? I said, do you want to have a baby with him because 1.) You want another baby, 2.) Because he thinks he needs more children, 3.) Because you want him to help you financially? She said she wants to have another baby because she wants to have a baby with him. I don’t think my question sunk in. We asked our fellow Mozambican woman friend what she thought. She said she thinks Hortencia should just have ONE baby with him. Just ONE, she said. She asked me for my opinion. I told her that I don’t think she should make any more babies, and I asked her why can’t she find a man that’s not already married? She laughed. She said, well because I like my boyfriend. I told her there are plenty of available men in Mozambique that would be willing to have her. I asked her who would take care of the baby, and where would they live. She said she would in her house. I said exactly. Do you see that if you have a baby with this man, your life will become that much more difficult? I asked her how she would feel if she was married and her husband got another woman pregnant because she was already “too old”. She didn’t respond.
This conversation isn’t over with Hortencia. I will talk to her more about it again to try to challenge her thinking about the situation.
On a different day…Hortencia told me that she has a boyfriend. He’s married and lives somewhere else but sometimes comes to Xai Xai…
Some days later…”Mallorina… I need your opinion about something.” I told her to continue. She continued to say that she doesn’t know if she should have a baby with her boyfriend. I said no. You already have four children and you are supporting them alone. Can you really feed one more mouth? She said here’s the deal, my boyfriend’s wife is already too old to have any more children. He only has 2 children with her. He thinks he needs to live up to his dad, who had 29 children with 5 different women. Keeping my cool, I asked her why does she want to have a child with him? I said, do you want to have a baby with him because 1.) You want another baby, 2.) Because he thinks he needs more children, 3.) Because you want him to help you financially? She said she wants to have another baby because she wants to have a baby with him. I don’t think my question sunk in. We asked our fellow Mozambican woman friend what she thought. She said she thinks Hortencia should just have ONE baby with him. Just ONE, she said. She asked me for my opinion. I told her that I don’t think she should make any more babies, and I asked her why can’t she find a man that’s not already married? She laughed. She said, well because I like my boyfriend. I told her there are plenty of available men in Mozambique that would be willing to have her. I asked her who would take care of the baby, and where would they live. She said she would in her house. I said exactly. Do you see that if you have a baby with this man, your life will become that much more difficult? I asked her how she would feel if she was married and her husband got another woman pregnant because she was already “too old”. She didn’t respond.
This conversation isn’t over with Hortencia. I will talk to her more about it again to try to challenge her thinking about the situation.
August 20, 2010
To get a boleia...
Last month we had to go to Maxixe in Inhambane province for a project design and management workshop. We took counterparts, it’s basically to teach how to manage funds and start a business/project from the ground-up. I took one of my activistas because they want to start an income-generating project selling coal and firewood.
The trip was fun…especially on the way back. Emily and I got a boleia. Boleia is a ride. We decided to save money by paying for a chapa and instead try to get a ride. Eventually some south Africans came along with a huge truck and a huge boat on the back of it. They agreed to take us back to Xai Xai after they fixed a flat tire. There were some local kids waiting with us. One of them wasn’t being very nice to some of the children so em and I tried to tell him that that behavior is really rude and that it’s good to treat others with respect if you want to be respected. He had been yelling and hitting this little boy with no shoes and a jacket with holes in it. So we bought him an apple and he cheered up a little bit.
They finally fixed the tire and it was time to go and they asked us where we’d like to ride. Emily asked if we could hang out on the boat but they said no. So we got in the back of the truck. The ride back was fun. It was such a beautiful day. Emily and I were sitting back there with the sun shining, the wind blowing, people constantly waving at us, and we were listening to music on our ipods and eating a chocolate bar. That was a great day!
The trip was fun…especially on the way back. Emily and I got a boleia. Boleia is a ride. We decided to save money by paying for a chapa and instead try to get a ride. Eventually some south Africans came along with a huge truck and a huge boat on the back of it. They agreed to take us back to Xai Xai after they fixed a flat tire. There were some local kids waiting with us. One of them wasn’t being very nice to some of the children so em and I tried to tell him that that behavior is really rude and that it’s good to treat others with respect if you want to be respected. He had been yelling and hitting this little boy with no shoes and a jacket with holes in it. So we bought him an apple and he cheered up a little bit.
They finally fixed the tire and it was time to go and they asked us where we’d like to ride. Emily asked if we could hang out on the boat but they said no. So we got in the back of the truck. The ride back was fun. It was such a beautiful day. Emily and I were sitting back there with the sun shining, the wind blowing, people constantly waving at us, and we were listening to music on our ipods and eating a chocolate bar. That was a great day!
Bichinhos...more bugs!
I came home from the end of a weekend once to find that the inside of my house was absolutely infested with ants. They were grouped together stuck on the walls. It looked like they were making eggs. Not in my house! I’ve never used that much raid in one day. I’ve never seen so many dead ants in piles on the floor like that either. It was pretty gross. Then that happened again a few months later. I shouldn’t complain. They could have been cockroaches or rats.
The other day I made a sandwich. I was about to take a bite and noticed a small beetle was crawling out of my bread. I just picked it out and threw it on the floor and didn’t let that stop me.
One day my empregada made me feijoada-which is basically bean soup. It had been sitting on the stove for a few hours by the time I heated it up. After I heated it up I saw these black specks on the surface. At first I thought oh cool my empregada is finally learning to use my spices. Until I picked one up and saw that they were one of those annoying little flies that hang out in my kitchen. At least they were boiled.
The other day I made a sandwich. I was about to take a bite and noticed a small beetle was crawling out of my bread. I just picked it out and threw it on the floor and didn’t let that stop me.
One day my empregada made me feijoada-which is basically bean soup. It had been sitting on the stove for a few hours by the time I heated it up. After I heated it up I saw these black specks on the surface. At first I thought oh cool my empregada is finally learning to use my spices. Until I picked one up and saw that they were one of those annoying little flies that hang out in my kitchen. At least they were boiled.
To get a care package...
One Monday morning. Emily was soon leaving for world cup so I was trying to spend as much time with her as possible before she left. She’d been waiting a pretty long time for a care package and she wanted to get her package before she left moz. So, I decided to accompany her.
We got to the post office around 7:30 a.m. The box arrived. But we had to wait for some guys from customs to come to open the box and make sure there’s not anything like cocaine inside. As soon as we got there the post office ladies called them and they said they would be there “soon.”
So, Em and I sat our happy, patient selves in the park next to the post office. We were pretty hungry. One of the great things about Mozambique/Africa is that there’s no fast food restaurants like in the states but fast food comes directly to you. We were chillin on a bench and saw this kid from across the street that had a bucket that looked full of bread and bujias. Bujias are fried bean patties and they are delicious. So we whistled at the kid and he looked around like whose calling me? We whistled again and he looked at us like “what, these 2 mulungus want my street food?” heck yes we do. So he ran over and we got some of that. Ten minutes later this girl came up to us selling samussas. Samussas are like empanadas which are like fried triangles filled with meat or veggies. Her samussas were special because they were filled with fish. So we got some of those too. Some time later this lady came by with a bucket full of oranges that she was selling. Got some of those. By this time it’s about 11. Still no customs guys. Some kids later walked by with cookies. Yup, got some of those too. We then went out for lunch after asking the post office ladies to call the customs guys to come.
Mozambique has a mobile market. It’s just a matter of time before what you need/want walks past you. And time doesn’t really matter here so why not just wait for it, like waiting for the customs people to show up. We saw people selling all sorts of stuff walk by. Selling stuff like: pillows, jewelry, cell phone chargers, cell phones, plastic bags, kapulanas, dvds, music…you name it it probably came by. Even 2 other pcvs from a different district walked by!
Emily eventually got her box. After 8 hours of waiting. Patience is a virtue!
We got to the post office around 7:30 a.m. The box arrived. But we had to wait for some guys from customs to come to open the box and make sure there’s not anything like cocaine inside. As soon as we got there the post office ladies called them and they said they would be there “soon.”
So, Em and I sat our happy, patient selves in the park next to the post office. We were pretty hungry. One of the great things about Mozambique/Africa is that there’s no fast food restaurants like in the states but fast food comes directly to you. We were chillin on a bench and saw this kid from across the street that had a bucket that looked full of bread and bujias. Bujias are fried bean patties and they are delicious. So we whistled at the kid and he looked around like whose calling me? We whistled again and he looked at us like “what, these 2 mulungus want my street food?” heck yes we do. So he ran over and we got some of that. Ten minutes later this girl came up to us selling samussas. Samussas are like empanadas which are like fried triangles filled with meat or veggies. Her samussas were special because they were filled with fish. So we got some of those too. Some time later this lady came by with a bucket full of oranges that she was selling. Got some of those. By this time it’s about 11. Still no customs guys. Some kids later walked by with cookies. Yup, got some of those too. We then went out for lunch after asking the post office ladies to call the customs guys to come.
Mozambique has a mobile market. It’s just a matter of time before what you need/want walks past you. And time doesn’t really matter here so why not just wait for it, like waiting for the customs people to show up. We saw people selling all sorts of stuff walk by. Selling stuff like: pillows, jewelry, cell phone chargers, cell phones, plastic bags, kapulanas, dvds, music…you name it it probably came by. Even 2 other pcvs from a different district walked by!
Emily eventually got her box. After 8 hours of waiting. Patience is a virtue!
Customer Service
Last week pcv Jenna came into town because we had a meeting with ICAP. Our supervisor’s brazilian and I actually understood about 75% of what she was saying, as opposed to when I arrived and I really didn’t understand her at all. She’s really sweet, I wish I could understand her completely! Small accomplishments…my favorite thing about ICAP meetings is they always give us free notebooks. Free stuff is great! Never again will I walk around somewhere in the states and pass up anything that’s free. Thank you very much.
Later that evening Jenna, Emily, and I went to restaurante Limpopo for some pretty awesome Indian food. I’ve been there a few times and it seems every time I go there I’m always with different people. Anyway there's this older Indian guy that works there. He’s kind and speaks decent English and he’s always helpful in making suggestions on what to order. He asked Em what she likes. She said something I don’t remember. What’s memorable is what he said next. He asked me what kind of food I like. I said well, I really like spicy food. Like really really spicy. And then he casually said, “I am spicy.” OMG the 3 of us burst out laughing and Emily absolutely lost it and buried her head into her jacket she was laughing so hard. Then he started laughing. So we were all laughing. Whatever so we all finally ordered food then later when we were eating he randomly came up to us, grabbed Jenna’s hand and kneeled down. She was in mid-chew when this happened. And we just looked at him, waiting…Emily already started cracking up again. But I wish I’d taken a picture of jenna’s face when this happened. As she's eating and saying “what are you doing? WHAT are you doing?!” So he kneels down, takes jenna’s hand, and pauses. Then he asks smoothly, “can I get you another drink, my dear?” Jenna: “no. please just let me finish my food!” then he goes away. Then comes back and leans in close to me and says “I need to talk to you.” I said, “about what?” “well, in private” Sorry buddy, I don’t have private conversations with strangers. What’s up and by the way can we please get the check? Then he asked me for my number. Emily starts laughing again and says (out loud) "Mal, I’m sooo glad I don’t have this problem that you have!” I respectfully declined, saying that no sir, we can talk here whenever I may come, but everyone asks for my number and I can’t give my number to everyone…How about that check, PLEASE?!
Later that evening Jenna, Emily, and I went to restaurante Limpopo for some pretty awesome Indian food. I’ve been there a few times and it seems every time I go there I’m always with different people. Anyway there's this older Indian guy that works there. He’s kind and speaks decent English and he’s always helpful in making suggestions on what to order. He asked Em what she likes. She said something I don’t remember. What’s memorable is what he said next. He asked me what kind of food I like. I said well, I really like spicy food. Like really really spicy. And then he casually said, “I am spicy.” OMG the 3 of us burst out laughing and Emily absolutely lost it and buried her head into her jacket she was laughing so hard. Then he started laughing. So we were all laughing. Whatever so we all finally ordered food then later when we were eating he randomly came up to us, grabbed Jenna’s hand and kneeled down. She was in mid-chew when this happened. And we just looked at him, waiting…Emily already started cracking up again. But I wish I’d taken a picture of jenna’s face when this happened. As she's eating and saying “what are you doing? WHAT are you doing?!” So he kneels down, takes jenna’s hand, and pauses. Then he asks smoothly, “can I get you another drink, my dear?” Jenna: “no. please just let me finish my food!” then he goes away. Then comes back and leans in close to me and says “I need to talk to you.” I said, “about what?” “well, in private” Sorry buddy, I don’t have private conversations with strangers. What’s up and by the way can we please get the check? Then he asked me for my number. Emily starts laughing again and says (out loud) "Mal, I’m sooo glad I don’t have this problem that you have!” I respectfully declined, saying that no sir, we can talk here whenever I may come, but everyone asks for my number and I can’t give my number to everyone…How about that check, PLEASE?!
Sorry for the wait!
Several people have asked me through my parents why I haven't updated my blog. To tell the truth, I don't have an excuse. But, luckily for my deprived followers, I'm about to post a few. Do y'all really find this stuff interesting? That's one reason I don't post much anymore. Stuff is starting to seem normal and I don't think people back home will find it amusing or interesting.
So go grab a cold Dr. Pepper and some salty potato chips for your next fix of my blog...
So go grab a cold Dr. Pepper and some salty potato chips for your next fix of my blog...
March 21, 2010
Negotiations
Nothing sold outside of stores on the streets in Mozambique has a fixed price. Everything is negotiable, and being able to bargain with the vendor is a skill, one that Emily has taught me. Here's how I used to negotiate...
In Maputo one weekend, I come across a man whose selling purses made out of capulanas. I see one that I like and he jumps all over my interest and tells me the purse is 250 MTS. I tell him that's expensive and I want a discount. He then explains to me that no, actually, that's not expensive, then goes on to show me that there's layers of cloth which make the purse more durable, which will be good for me because I have alot of stuff, and says that he made it himself, and that it's beautiful, and mentions again that it's durable. After that little speech I almost felt bad for asking for a discount because wow, this guy had just convinced me that this purse is of great quality and why should I try to jip him of his talent and hard work? My response to him was pretty vague and he saw that I was giving in. Then Em swooped in and told me to think about it and we told him we'd be back if I decided to buy the purse.
Em: Mal, you really suck at negotiating prices.
Me: I know but 250 is still cheap and the purse was so nice and pretty and durable!
Em: No! You have to get the cheapest price! We're not tourists! Let me teach you how to negotiate. When you find something you like, don't show that you absolutely love it. They first give you a high price then you have to give them a super low price. Something ridiculously low. Like for that purse, you should have said you'd buy it for 100.
Me: 100 MTS for that purse! 1. there's no way he'd give into THAT price, and 2. I know it's worth more than that.
Em: That's the point. They tell you something high, then you tell him something ridiculously low, then you meet in the middle. Then if the price is still high, you just walk away and tell them that there's no way you'd pay that and that you don't really need it anyway. But, just be aware that they love to make you feel bad. Whenever you give them the first super low price that you want to pay, they're going to tell you that that's such an ugly price and that it's worth so much more, blah blah blah. Don't let them suck you in. When you finally get a low price that you'll agree to pay, then they really try to slap on the guilt trip to try to guilt you into paying more. They'll look like they're about to cry and look really upset about settling for such a price. But don't let that stop you from a deal, because we know that if they aren't still making a profit off of it, then they wouldn't sell it to you. Also, whenever you decide to hold the product just be aware that they won't take it back, trying to make you buy it. Just be prepared to set it on the ground or something. You can do it, Mal.
Ok so let's recap: 1.) Say a really low price after the first price. 2.) Don't show weakness for their story of why it's worth so much or show that you really want it. 3.) Start to walk away and tell them that you don't need it and you won't pay that high price. I got this.
After this little lesson of negotiating we headed to the wood market in Maputo which is open only on Saturdays. It's basically an area where a bunch of artists get all their art and figures and jewelry-souvenirs, really. The first thing I spotted was a bracelet made of sea shells that were painted different colors..super trendy, had to have it. Here's how that went...
I stayed neutral. The person selling it was a teenage boy. I asked him how much he told me 250. 250?! No way, kid. I walked away. He came after me with the bracelet as I was looking at more art and stuff. At first I ignored him and told him I didn't want it. Then he said 225. Then I looked at him and said I wouldn't pay that. He asked me how much I wanted to pay for it. 75 MTS, I said. He laughed and said that wasn't possible. Then he came down to 200. Then I told him 100. Then he said no he couldn't do that and that this bracelet was worth so much more because he made it himself and painted it and it's well made and beautiful. I then told him that I didn't have to have it, I'm not a tourist and that I live here and I could eventually find the same thing for cheaper. Then he put it in my hand and let me try it on. I took it off and tried to give it back and he wouldn't take it! I continued to tell him 100 MTS. He kept saying ohh sister that's such an ugly price. After a few minutes he told me he'd sell it to me for 150. I told him 100. Then he told me the lowest he could sell for it was 120. I then told him the most I'd pay for it was 110. He agreed. So I reached into my wallet to pay to see that I only had a 100 and a 20. I handed it to him and told him I needed change of 10 MTS. The look on his face was absolutely depressing because he knew I had what he was asking for. A few minutes later he brought me the change and the look on his face as he gave me the 10 MTS automatically made me feel horrible and I almost told him to just keep it until I heard Emily tell me to not give in, that 110 for the bracelet was reasonable. I went back for the purse a few days later and bought it for 180 MTS.
Negotiating's pretty fun!
In Maputo one weekend, I come across a man whose selling purses made out of capulanas. I see one that I like and he jumps all over my interest and tells me the purse is 250 MTS. I tell him that's expensive and I want a discount. He then explains to me that no, actually, that's not expensive, then goes on to show me that there's layers of cloth which make the purse more durable, which will be good for me because I have alot of stuff, and says that he made it himself, and that it's beautiful, and mentions again that it's durable. After that little speech I almost felt bad for asking for a discount because wow, this guy had just convinced me that this purse is of great quality and why should I try to jip him of his talent and hard work? My response to him was pretty vague and he saw that I was giving in. Then Em swooped in and told me to think about it and we told him we'd be back if I decided to buy the purse.
Em: Mal, you really suck at negotiating prices.
Me: I know but 250 is still cheap and the purse was so nice and pretty and durable!
Em: No! You have to get the cheapest price! We're not tourists! Let me teach you how to negotiate. When you find something you like, don't show that you absolutely love it. They first give you a high price then you have to give them a super low price. Something ridiculously low. Like for that purse, you should have said you'd buy it for 100.
Me: 100 MTS for that purse! 1. there's no way he'd give into THAT price, and 2. I know it's worth more than that.
Em: That's the point. They tell you something high, then you tell him something ridiculously low, then you meet in the middle. Then if the price is still high, you just walk away and tell them that there's no way you'd pay that and that you don't really need it anyway. But, just be aware that they love to make you feel bad. Whenever you give them the first super low price that you want to pay, they're going to tell you that that's such an ugly price and that it's worth so much more, blah blah blah. Don't let them suck you in. When you finally get a low price that you'll agree to pay, then they really try to slap on the guilt trip to try to guilt you into paying more. They'll look like they're about to cry and look really upset about settling for such a price. But don't let that stop you from a deal, because we know that if they aren't still making a profit off of it, then they wouldn't sell it to you. Also, whenever you decide to hold the product just be aware that they won't take it back, trying to make you buy it. Just be prepared to set it on the ground or something. You can do it, Mal.
Ok so let's recap: 1.) Say a really low price after the first price. 2.) Don't show weakness for their story of why it's worth so much or show that you really want it. 3.) Start to walk away and tell them that you don't need it and you won't pay that high price. I got this.
After this little lesson of negotiating we headed to the wood market in Maputo which is open only on Saturdays. It's basically an area where a bunch of artists get all their art and figures and jewelry-souvenirs, really. The first thing I spotted was a bracelet made of sea shells that were painted different colors..super trendy, had to have it. Here's how that went...
I stayed neutral. The person selling it was a teenage boy. I asked him how much he told me 250. 250?! No way, kid. I walked away. He came after me with the bracelet as I was looking at more art and stuff. At first I ignored him and told him I didn't want it. Then he said 225. Then I looked at him and said I wouldn't pay that. He asked me how much I wanted to pay for it. 75 MTS, I said. He laughed and said that wasn't possible. Then he came down to 200. Then I told him 100. Then he said no he couldn't do that and that this bracelet was worth so much more because he made it himself and painted it and it's well made and beautiful. I then told him that I didn't have to have it, I'm not a tourist and that I live here and I could eventually find the same thing for cheaper. Then he put it in my hand and let me try it on. I took it off and tried to give it back and he wouldn't take it! I continued to tell him 100 MTS. He kept saying ohh sister that's such an ugly price. After a few minutes he told me he'd sell it to me for 150. I told him 100. Then he told me the lowest he could sell for it was 120. I then told him the most I'd pay for it was 110. He agreed. So I reached into my wallet to pay to see that I only had a 100 and a 20. I handed it to him and told him I needed change of 10 MTS. The look on his face was absolutely depressing because he knew I had what he was asking for. A few minutes later he brought me the change and the look on his face as he gave me the 10 MTS automatically made me feel horrible and I almost told him to just keep it until I heard Emily tell me to not give in, that 110 for the bracelet was reasonable. I went back for the purse a few days later and bought it for 180 MTS.
Negotiating's pretty fun!
The kitchen counter adventure
A few weeks ago I finally was able to pick up my next piece of furniture from my carpenter: my kitchen counter. It's absolutely perfect and I love it! It's about six feet long and about a foot and a half wide. It's great because I had him build an extra counter/shelf underneath the top and the floor. Extra storage, always thinkin bout that! So, getting the counter to my house, or getting any furniture from my carpenter's house to my house, is always interesting, I've noticed. Since there's no home delivery, the thing to do to get the furniture to my house is to find someone outside of Limpopo market in Xai Xai and pay them 200 MTS to transport it for me. BUT, this time one of my friends who has a truck helped me out for free.
Roads. It's all sand and hills. Sandy hills. It can be difficult to drive in if the sand is loose and not packed- if you're not careful you could lose control...kind of like hydroplaning..but that's for water, is there a word for that for sand? Anyway, most of the roads have packed sand. So we finally get to the carpenter's house, get the counter loaded up and unfortunately my friend didn't have extra rope to fasten the counter to the bed of the truck. No worries, my friend had picked up two of his friends and so they and the carpenter hop into the bed of the truck and were holding onto the counter with their hands and sitting on the side of the bed. The site of this definitely made me worry- either them or the counter is surely going to fly off. But my friend was driving slow, taking it easy. We were just cruuuuising along until we come across the final road that connects his neighborhood to mine. We get to the entrance of this road to find a car ahead that is stuck in sand. There was about a ten foot pool of loose sand about two feet deep. Kids and men were trying to dig the car out. I thought well, surely we're going to go back and find another way because we're going to get stuck too and then we'll be here for hours.
We didn't go back and find another way. We tried to go around the car into the grass but saw that the left side of the truck was in the sand and was getting stuck. So we backed up. Tried again. Failed. My friend and the other guys hop out of our truck and start trying to get the other car out of the sand. They finally dug it out and pushed it back. We attempted again but this time my friend decided to try to go through the sand where the other car had attempted. Of course that didn't work and we got stuck, too. I was just chillin' in the front as about twenty children and six grown men were trying to push the truck out. My counter was still in the back, not strapped down. Everyone finally pushed the truck out of the sand to the beginning of the road where we started. Then the guys start talking in the local language and next thing I know the carpenter gets in the driver's seat next to me and doesn't say anything. The other guys don't get in the bed of the truck and don't remove my counter from it either. Then he reversed the truck a little bit then starts revving the engine. Then he just looks at me, hails Mary, and floors it. I look back and my counter is wobbling, surely going to fall, I thought. I wasn't really sure what exactly his plan was. I didn't think he was going to go full speed into the pool of sand. Ohhh but he was. As we were speeding up there were some kids in the road, looking shocked and amazed and curious as to what he was going to do. Oh God, I thought, move!! They all did.
As soon as we got to the loose sand we started to fish tail and lose some control but that didn't stop him. He was quick to turn the wheel the right way to avoid spinning. Next thing I know we kind of just glided over the top of the sand to the end of it. I looked back and my kitchen counter stayed not only in the bed of the truck, but upright!
When we got back on normal ground we stopped and he has this huge smile on his face and says to me, "You didn't know I could drive, did you?"
Roads. It's all sand and hills. Sandy hills. It can be difficult to drive in if the sand is loose and not packed- if you're not careful you could lose control...kind of like hydroplaning..but that's for water, is there a word for that for sand? Anyway, most of the roads have packed sand. So we finally get to the carpenter's house, get the counter loaded up and unfortunately my friend didn't have extra rope to fasten the counter to the bed of the truck. No worries, my friend had picked up two of his friends and so they and the carpenter hop into the bed of the truck and were holding onto the counter with their hands and sitting on the side of the bed. The site of this definitely made me worry- either them or the counter is surely going to fly off. But my friend was driving slow, taking it easy. We were just cruuuuising along until we come across the final road that connects his neighborhood to mine. We get to the entrance of this road to find a car ahead that is stuck in sand. There was about a ten foot pool of loose sand about two feet deep. Kids and men were trying to dig the car out. I thought well, surely we're going to go back and find another way because we're going to get stuck too and then we'll be here for hours.
We didn't go back and find another way. We tried to go around the car into the grass but saw that the left side of the truck was in the sand and was getting stuck. So we backed up. Tried again. Failed. My friend and the other guys hop out of our truck and start trying to get the other car out of the sand. They finally dug it out and pushed it back. We attempted again but this time my friend decided to try to go through the sand where the other car had attempted. Of course that didn't work and we got stuck, too. I was just chillin' in the front as about twenty children and six grown men were trying to push the truck out. My counter was still in the back, not strapped down. Everyone finally pushed the truck out of the sand to the beginning of the road where we started. Then the guys start talking in the local language and next thing I know the carpenter gets in the driver's seat next to me and doesn't say anything. The other guys don't get in the bed of the truck and don't remove my counter from it either. Then he reversed the truck a little bit then starts revving the engine. Then he just looks at me, hails Mary, and floors it. I look back and my counter is wobbling, surely going to fall, I thought. I wasn't really sure what exactly his plan was. I didn't think he was going to go full speed into the pool of sand. Ohhh but he was. As we were speeding up there were some kids in the road, looking shocked and amazed and curious as to what he was going to do. Oh God, I thought, move!! They all did.
As soon as we got to the loose sand we started to fish tail and lose some control but that didn't stop him. He was quick to turn the wheel the right way to avoid spinning. Next thing I know we kind of just glided over the top of the sand to the end of it. I looked back and my kitchen counter stayed not only in the bed of the truck, but upright!
When we got back on normal ground we stopped and he has this huge smile on his face and says to me, "You didn't know I could drive, did you?"
March 16, 2010
Don't let the bed bugs bite
Last night as I was laying in bed trying to fall asleep I felt like I was having small itches on my legs and feet. At first I tried to ignore it until I reminded myself nothing's ever really just nothing. So I grabbed my headlamp to see what the itch on my foot was all about, expecting to find nothing but another mosquitoe bite. I turned it on and shone it on my foot to find a really small bug that was sticking out of the top of my foot! I think it was trying to burrow itself...head first! So gross but whatever I killed it. Then I couldn't sleep for awhile after that so I decided to inspect the rest of my sheets and found some more of the same bug and also a few ants. I eventually fell asleep after getting rid of them. My sheets had just been washed so they were probably on them from when they were hanging to dry outside. I'll sleep tight for now on.
March 12, 2010
Xengana
Mulungu in Xengana means "foreigner". If anybody ever calls a mulungu a mulungu, it's not necessarily rude, more of a fact. At work, on home visits sometimes, the people we don't know who we visit will ask who is this mulungu? The activistas will say oh, this mulungu? She's our friend and she works with us. Xengana is obviously a barrier in my work here but I've come to appreciate and respect it. I think this is because Africa is currently developing and has numerous mulungu influences from several mulungu countries. So, I would say I like Xengana but I don't like it like I like chick flicks and ice cream. So, I'll say I respect it because being around people who are speaking Xengana makes the experience feel authentic...really African. Which is strangely neat to experience because it's good to know that even though there's so much mulungu history and current influences here, not everything truly African has been lost in the assimilation of foreigners.
I'm a huge Lost fan. I love the show and I can't wait to see the last season. Did Juliet really die? Anyway, sometimes being here makes me feel like I'm in a Lost episode. Mozambique was colonized by the Portuguese. Abandoned buildings have been left behind. The national language is Portuguese. The houses the Portuguese lived in are still here. They're really nice from all that I've seen. The ones that I've seen all have driveways and houses that are obviously very well constructed. They mostly all have running water, or a very nearby source. I have visited a few of my Moz friends who live in these former houses and it reminds me of the Lost episodes when the gang moves into the old Dharma Initiative compound years after they left. It's not strange-I mean they have made it their home here.
Even parts of Mozambican culture seem to have been adopted from mulungus. For example, Mozambicans love hot tea with sugar and drink it probably at least once or twice a day. Has that always been Mozambican culture? Even Xengana has certain words that have been taken from English. One of my coworkers told me this is because of the proximity of South Africa, and as people traveled to and from, took some of the words and made it their own as well. For example, the word bejinho (Portuguese) is kiss in English, and khiss in Xengana.
This past week I've been in Maputo and went on a day trip to South Africa. It's safe to say that Maputo is the most developed part of Moz. It's more modern-it has a mall, restaurants, clubs and hotels. Embassies and people from all over the world are here. I can't help but admit that whenever I'm in Mozambique, more so at site, and see another person who doesn't appear to be African I think that person must be a mulungu, too. I don't think it's bad to think that, to think to label someone like that because it's not a negative thought, just a fact.
I'm not saying that mulungus should leave Africa for the preservation of African culture. Time and actions change things. Colonization happened, and now Mozambique and other African countries are developing. And because they are developing, a result is assistance in different ways from many mulungus. Hopefully over time, Africa will become completely self-sufficient and won't need mulungu assistance. Different things from different cultures as a result of mulungus here have been adopted by Mozambicans and surely other Africans. These things that have been adopted by mulungu cultures have become what Mozambican/African culture is today.
South Africa has a large white population. They look like typical mulungus. It's a strange feeling and thought process to try to explain because they are in fact, not mulungus. South Africa is now their home. So maybe someday, as Africa becomes developed nobody will really be mulungus anymore. It's just an observation and feelings that are hard to put into words- based on the direct, forever effects due to the colonization of Mozambique and of Africa.
I'm a huge Lost fan. I love the show and I can't wait to see the last season. Did Juliet really die? Anyway, sometimes being here makes me feel like I'm in a Lost episode. Mozambique was colonized by the Portuguese. Abandoned buildings have been left behind. The national language is Portuguese. The houses the Portuguese lived in are still here. They're really nice from all that I've seen. The ones that I've seen all have driveways and houses that are obviously very well constructed. They mostly all have running water, or a very nearby source. I have visited a few of my Moz friends who live in these former houses and it reminds me of the Lost episodes when the gang moves into the old Dharma Initiative compound years after they left. It's not strange-I mean they have made it their home here.
Even parts of Mozambican culture seem to have been adopted from mulungus. For example, Mozambicans love hot tea with sugar and drink it probably at least once or twice a day. Has that always been Mozambican culture? Even Xengana has certain words that have been taken from English. One of my coworkers told me this is because of the proximity of South Africa, and as people traveled to and from, took some of the words and made it their own as well. For example, the word bejinho (Portuguese) is kiss in English, and khiss in Xengana.
This past week I've been in Maputo and went on a day trip to South Africa. It's safe to say that Maputo is the most developed part of Moz. It's more modern-it has a mall, restaurants, clubs and hotels. Embassies and people from all over the world are here. I can't help but admit that whenever I'm in Mozambique, more so at site, and see another person who doesn't appear to be African I think that person must be a mulungu, too. I don't think it's bad to think that, to think to label someone like that because it's not a negative thought, just a fact.
I'm not saying that mulungus should leave Africa for the preservation of African culture. Time and actions change things. Colonization happened, and now Mozambique and other African countries are developing. And because they are developing, a result is assistance in different ways from many mulungus. Hopefully over time, Africa will become completely self-sufficient and won't need mulungu assistance. Different things from different cultures as a result of mulungus here have been adopted by Mozambicans and surely other Africans. These things that have been adopted by mulungu cultures have become what Mozambican/African culture is today.
South Africa has a large white population. They look like typical mulungus. It's a strange feeling and thought process to try to explain because they are in fact, not mulungus. South Africa is now their home. So maybe someday, as Africa becomes developed nobody will really be mulungus anymore. It's just an observation and feelings that are hard to put into words- based on the direct, forever effects due to the colonization of Mozambique and of Africa.
March 9, 2010
Reality
Work.
There are over 20 activistas and not all of them have phones and not all speak Portuguese. Four different activistas work each day; 2 in the hospital and 2 in the community to make home visits. Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays, I go into the community with the 2 to make home visits. Wednesdays and Fridays I stay in the health center.
Home visits. Everything is spoken in Xengana. These are domestic visits to monitor treatment adherence for patients. Visits are also used as an opportunity to invite people to go to the hospital to take an HIV test. My last home visit I invited a girl who had a baby to take a test. She said she never had. I asked her why and she said she didn't know. We told her it was important because if she was positive she'd need to start treatment to not infect her baby. The next day I was in one of the nurse's offices and she came in and got a test done. We sat together waiting for her result, which was negative. That was a relief.
There are two palestras (educational lectures) given in the mornings. One at 7 a.m. and one at 9 a.m. to the pregnant mothers in the maternity ward area. They are given in Xengana. I still am not totally sure about everything that's being said. So how can I really improve them?
We have a monthly support group called Cha Positivo. It's the last Thursday of every month. Anybody can attend. We talk about a different topic each month. The activistas aren't really fully trained on facilitating this group. In January and February, my counterpart (coworker w/ ICAP) who is the aconselheira (like a counselor) facilitated the group and spoke generally about HIV/AIDS. It's also all spoken in Xengana. But, my counterpart will translate a summary of what's going at some point during the group. One thing I'm excited about is I'm able to choose some of the topics we discuss.
ICAP also provides funding to start another support group for HIV positive mothers/pregnant women and their children. This is supposed to be Wednesdays and Fridays. We're still waiting to actually form a group, so during our home visits we invite people to come to Cha Positivo and to this support group, which is still "under construction".
I see great potential working here in these different areas. One difficulty I've noticed is communication with the activistas. It's hard to get a hold of them or know whose going to work the next day. So, last week I told them we were going to start meeting every Friday afternoon to touch bases with what's going on with our progress in work. My first meeting with them was a success. I made a contact list with all their names, their phone numbers or number of a neighbor, and which neighborhood they live in. I'm still lacking a few, but I'll eventually run into them. I also used that time to explain to them that I still don't really know exactly what's being said in the palestras, and how can I help them with them if I don't understand them? I brought a notebook and I told them they were going to help me write down each palestra...an outline, really. In Portuguese. We were able to translate two out of seven before they got tired and we called it a day.
So, work here is improving and getting better. Slowly, but surely. Small, positive changes in anyway are significant and important.
There are over 20 activistas and not all of them have phones and not all speak Portuguese. Four different activistas work each day; 2 in the hospital and 2 in the community to make home visits. Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays, I go into the community with the 2 to make home visits. Wednesdays and Fridays I stay in the health center.
Home visits. Everything is spoken in Xengana. These are domestic visits to monitor treatment adherence for patients. Visits are also used as an opportunity to invite people to go to the hospital to take an HIV test. My last home visit I invited a girl who had a baby to take a test. She said she never had. I asked her why and she said she didn't know. We told her it was important because if she was positive she'd need to start treatment to not infect her baby. The next day I was in one of the nurse's offices and she came in and got a test done. We sat together waiting for her result, which was negative. That was a relief.
There are two palestras (educational lectures) given in the mornings. One at 7 a.m. and one at 9 a.m. to the pregnant mothers in the maternity ward area. They are given in Xengana. I still am not totally sure about everything that's being said. So how can I really improve them?
We have a monthly support group called Cha Positivo. It's the last Thursday of every month. Anybody can attend. We talk about a different topic each month. The activistas aren't really fully trained on facilitating this group. In January and February, my counterpart (coworker w/ ICAP) who is the aconselheira (like a counselor) facilitated the group and spoke generally about HIV/AIDS. It's also all spoken in Xengana. But, my counterpart will translate a summary of what's going at some point during the group. One thing I'm excited about is I'm able to choose some of the topics we discuss.
ICAP also provides funding to start another support group for HIV positive mothers/pregnant women and their children. This is supposed to be Wednesdays and Fridays. We're still waiting to actually form a group, so during our home visits we invite people to come to Cha Positivo and to this support group, which is still "under construction".
I see great potential working here in these different areas. One difficulty I've noticed is communication with the activistas. It's hard to get a hold of them or know whose going to work the next day. So, last week I told them we were going to start meeting every Friday afternoon to touch bases with what's going on with our progress in work. My first meeting with them was a success. I made a contact list with all their names, their phone numbers or number of a neighbor, and which neighborhood they live in. I'm still lacking a few, but I'll eventually run into them. I also used that time to explain to them that I still don't really know exactly what's being said in the palestras, and how can I help them with them if I don't understand them? I brought a notebook and I told them they were going to help me write down each palestra...an outline, really. In Portuguese. We were able to translate two out of seven before they got tired and we called it a day.
So, work here is improving and getting better. Slowly, but surely. Small, positive changes in anyway are significant and important.
March 3, 2010
Seasons
We get fruit according to its season here. Which is good because it makes you appreciate it more. Mango season was from November/December and ended in January. Mango season is fun because kids will climb up into the trees or throw what they can to get some down. Including Emily. She has a mango tree in her yard and I have a picture of her climbing to the top in order to get the very last mango. Once she got it and cut it open we came to find out that worms had gotten to it before she did. That didn't stop her. Ha. Em loves mangos so much she's trying to think of ways she can save the mangos that are destined to fall and rot because there's so many. She's already got some good ideas like making drinks and drying them.
Anyway there's different kinds of mango trees. The more abundant type from what I've noticed seems to be the kind that's super tall that grows smaller, yellower mangos that are stringier (made that a word) inside. I personally don't care for this kind. There's a bunch of this type of mango tree in my yard. The other type of mango tree from what I've noticed I think is the best. It's generally shorter and its mangos are much bigger and pink and aren't really stringy inside and they're super delicious! I'm not super crazy for mangos because they're messy and get in your teeth. But now I wish I could have one!
After mangos came pineapples. Pineapple season started in dec and it looks like its going to go until this month or April. I should ask my neighbors. I remember when I was in college I brought home a pineapple and my roommate Taylor asked me if I knew what to do with it. "either I figure out how to cut it up now or I figure it out when I go to Mozambique." I'm still not really sure there's a right way. Just cut it!
And this season...oranges and watermelons! More oranges though. I love oranges like Em loves mangos. For some reason they're mostly green here. But they're so good! Each little pulp is like a bullet full of juicy citrus flavor. I just can't get enough of them. I'm going to buy more today. Watermelon. I finally found the perfect one last week. A few weeks before I had bought one but it spoiled by the time I got home because it was in a bag and it was so hot that day. But last week I found one that was perfect on the inside and the lady at the market sold it to me for half the price. I finished it in 2 days. This week I bought another watermelon because it was cheap and my hopes were high. It ended up being white inside and not very sweet. Well now I know how to pick 'em!
Anyway there's different kinds of mango trees. The more abundant type from what I've noticed seems to be the kind that's super tall that grows smaller, yellower mangos that are stringier (made that a word) inside. I personally don't care for this kind. There's a bunch of this type of mango tree in my yard. The other type of mango tree from what I've noticed I think is the best. It's generally shorter and its mangos are much bigger and pink and aren't really stringy inside and they're super delicious! I'm not super crazy for mangos because they're messy and get in your teeth. But now I wish I could have one!
After mangos came pineapples. Pineapple season started in dec and it looks like its going to go until this month or April. I should ask my neighbors. I remember when I was in college I brought home a pineapple and my roommate Taylor asked me if I knew what to do with it. "either I figure out how to cut it up now or I figure it out when I go to Mozambique." I'm still not really sure there's a right way. Just cut it!
And this season...oranges and watermelons! More oranges though. I love oranges like Em loves mangos. For some reason they're mostly green here. But they're so good! Each little pulp is like a bullet full of juicy citrus flavor. I just can't get enough of them. I'm going to buy more today. Watermelon. I finally found the perfect one last week. A few weeks before I had bought one but it spoiled by the time I got home because it was in a bag and it was so hot that day. But last week I found one that was perfect on the inside and the lady at the market sold it to me for half the price. I finished it in 2 days. This week I bought another watermelon because it was cheap and my hopes were high. It ended up being white inside and not very sweet. Well now I know how to pick 'em!
February 19, 2010
February
Has been pretty busy. I'm starting to really like it here and I'm starting to make friends. I'm trying to study at least thirty minutes to an hour of Portuguese per day. I'm really eager to learn and speak really well. Vacation to Brazil someday? I think so! Work is getting better. A few weeks ago I had a meeting with ICAP to check up on how our work's coming along. We kind of re-defined my job and they said I can get off earlier because they understand that PCVs are supposed to be flexible to work in the whole community, not just for our assigned organization.
Yesterday my PC supervisor came for a visit. Just came to check on my house and see how I'm feeling about work. It went really well. I mentioned to her that I still don't know all of my neighbors really well. So later in the evening, my neighbor whose about my age told me that my supervisor told her it'd be nice if she could introduce me to some people. So, one after another, she had about 5 of our neighbors come over and we all sat outside under our tree and ate together as well. Also, yesterday my carpenter came by and I gave him a drawing of the kitchen counter I want him to make. Furnishing my house is really expensive, but it's really worth it. I was going to have him build a dresser since I was tired of living out of my suitcase since I got to Moz. But instead, in one corner of my room, I put four rows of nails on each wall and connected them with rope and I hang my clothes like that. It works pretty well and they're sturdy. There's no way my clothes from back home could fit on there though!
I'm running out of things to say I'm not sure what to write about. Any suggestions? It's getting late, gotta go get a chapa! Tchau!
Yesterday my PC supervisor came for a visit. Just came to check on my house and see how I'm feeling about work. It went really well. I mentioned to her that I still don't know all of my neighbors really well. So later in the evening, my neighbor whose about my age told me that my supervisor told her it'd be nice if she could introduce me to some people. So, one after another, she had about 5 of our neighbors come over and we all sat outside under our tree and ate together as well. Also, yesterday my carpenter came by and I gave him a drawing of the kitchen counter I want him to make. Furnishing my house is really expensive, but it's really worth it. I was going to have him build a dresser since I was tired of living out of my suitcase since I got to Moz. But instead, in one corner of my room, I put four rows of nails on each wall and connected them with rope and I hang my clothes like that. It works pretty well and they're sturdy. There's no way my clothes from back home could fit on there though!
I'm running out of things to say I'm not sure what to write about. Any suggestions? It's getting late, gotta go get a chapa! Tchau!
January 27, 2010
Home Visits
Yesterday I went to meet the director at the orphanage. That was an intimidating meeting, especially because of the language barrier, but I told her my portuguese is limited and she was super nice and spoke clearly and simply. I went the first time today and got a tour and met some people that worked there. Some of the kids got together and sang a song of welcome to me. It was so cute. I'm still not sure what I'll be doing there but I'm hoping I'll get a couple of good games of "Terra, Mar" in.
Today, my coworker, an activista, told me that they want to start a business called the Association of Women Activistas. They want to sell chickens and firewood. I'm going to look into writing a grant to help start it. There's also a PC Program called JOMA/REDES. It's where a PCV gets a group of adolescent girls/boys together to make stuff and build self-esteem. We'll see how that goes, I still don't know many adolescents but that particular activista said she'd help me out. No worries there.
Home visits here are soo difficult. The neighborhoods here don't have street names. Two activistas per day go together to make two home visits to clients who have tested HIV positive and still need to start treatment. So, what they do is they go out into the neighborhood and simply ask people where the person they're looking for lives. But, asking people is a process in its own. What we do is, we enter someone's house and say, "Licensa!" (Excuse me). Then they stop whatever they're doing and bring out chairs for their unknown guests. They all greet each other and then the activistas ask if they know the person we're looking for. They usually say no. Sometimes we get lucky and the person we were looking for happens to be the person's house we strolled into. But, the meeting is always taken as an opportunity to invite the person/family we're talking to to take an HIV test at the hospital. The process is long, especially in the heat. But it's nice to stop at people's houses because they let us sit in the shade.
Today, my coworker, an activista, told me that they want to start a business called the Association of Women Activistas. They want to sell chickens and firewood. I'm going to look into writing a grant to help start it. There's also a PC Program called JOMA/REDES. It's where a PCV gets a group of adolescent girls/boys together to make stuff and build self-esteem. We'll see how that goes, I still don't know many adolescents but that particular activista said she'd help me out. No worries there.
Home visits here are soo difficult. The neighborhoods here don't have street names. Two activistas per day go together to make two home visits to clients who have tested HIV positive and still need to start treatment. So, what they do is they go out into the neighborhood and simply ask people where the person they're looking for lives. But, asking people is a process in its own. What we do is, we enter someone's house and say, "Licensa!" (Excuse me). Then they stop whatever they're doing and bring out chairs for their unknown guests. They all greet each other and then the activistas ask if they know the person we're looking for. They usually say no. Sometimes we get lucky and the person we were looking for happens to be the person's house we strolled into. But, the meeting is always taken as an opportunity to invite the person/family we're talking to to take an HIV test at the hospital. The process is long, especially in the heat. But it's nice to stop at people's houses because they let us sit in the shade.
January 22, 2010
Random moments
The other day I was sitting with an activista and she was telling me that her husband speaks English because he works as a painter in South Africa. I asked her how many kids she had. She told me she has five kids, but four have died. I said, oh so you only have one? "No, I have five but I had four other children who died." I said oh when did the last one die? She said, "that child died last summer when she was four years old." I asked why they died. "They were sick. I want to tell you that this year, I'm going to stop HIV." Let's.
There's a market behind my house. I went to the market one day and poof! I ran into an activista. I think she's the oldest one because she's grandma-like. Anyway, she pretty much only speaks Chengana. So we ran into each other and we were both so excited to see each other. It was a strange moment because she was speaking in Chengana and I was speaking Portuguese. We both didn't know what the other was saying but I can say the excitement of the reunion was mutual.
My friend told me I finally got approval to work at the orphanage in my neighborhood. :)
I want to write more right now but I'm already late to meet a friend to share a Coca-Cola (what a treat) and then I think I might stop by the gas station to get some ice cream. It's Friday!
P.S. Thank you everyone for keeping in touch. Thank you for all the emails and everything else. Thank you to all my mom's piano students for making me birthday cards, I read them on my birthday! I plan on reserving a space on my wall to hang them! I'll take pictures. I love you and miss you all very very very much!
There's a market behind my house. I went to the market one day and poof! I ran into an activista. I think she's the oldest one because she's grandma-like. Anyway, she pretty much only speaks Chengana. So we ran into each other and we were both so excited to see each other. It was a strange moment because she was speaking in Chengana and I was speaking Portuguese. We both didn't know what the other was saying but I can say the excitement of the reunion was mutual.
My friend told me I finally got approval to work at the orphanage in my neighborhood. :)
I want to write more right now but I'm already late to meet a friend to share a Coca-Cola (what a treat) and then I think I might stop by the gas station to get some ice cream. It's Friday!
P.S. Thank you everyone for keeping in touch. Thank you for all the emails and everything else. Thank you to all my mom's piano students for making me birthday cards, I read them on my birthday! I plan on reserving a space on my wall to hang them! I'll take pictures. I love you and miss you all very very very much!
Unwanted attention or cultural exchange?
Not a day goes by where I don't get asked if I'm married, have a boyfriend, children, or if I would like to get married. I'm not writing this to make it seem like I'm getting harassed, but it is pretty much an everyday thing for me and it's made me become very assertive and direct in what I'm saying. After these situations I am able to say that I earn the respect of whoever started the conversation.
For example, my coworkers or whoever the person may be asking may say, "Mana Mallorina, where is your husband?" I say I don't have one. "Where is your boyfriend?" Don't have one either. I don't want one and I'm not looking for one. "That's not possible because you're pretty. You should marry a Mozambican so that you can stay here." I'll only be here for two years and I will return to America.
As I started my venture to come into the city to write this, I passed a group of young men. One of them said to me, "Heyyy white girl!" Excuse me, sir, you are rude and white girl is not my name. Call me Senhora. "Ohhh you speak good Port! I want to marry you." I don't want to marry you. Good bye. He then continued trying to talk to me, but at least he started to address me as "A Senhora..." which is a sign of respect when speaking.
Or sometimes I can make the situation pretty comical. A couple times men have asked me if I have a husband already, because they would like to marry me. I say, "Yes I do already have a husband. Three, actually." Oh, but do you have children? "Yes I have five children." Wow! Out of that stomach of yours? Then the conversation turns into us talking about where I'm from and why I'm here.
No feelings have ever been hurt. On the bright side: I'm being very assertive and direct in what I want and I'm not "beating around the bush."
For example, my coworkers or whoever the person may be asking may say, "Mana Mallorina, where is your husband?" I say I don't have one. "Where is your boyfriend?" Don't have one either. I don't want one and I'm not looking for one. "That's not possible because you're pretty. You should marry a Mozambican so that you can stay here." I'll only be here for two years and I will return to America.
As I started my venture to come into the city to write this, I passed a group of young men. One of them said to me, "Heyyy white girl!" Excuse me, sir, you are rude and white girl is not my name. Call me Senhora. "Ohhh you speak good Port! I want to marry you." I don't want to marry you. Good bye. He then continued trying to talk to me, but at least he started to address me as "A Senhora..." which is a sign of respect when speaking.
Or sometimes I can make the situation pretty comical. A couple times men have asked me if I have a husband already, because they would like to marry me. I say, "Yes I do already have a husband. Three, actually." Oh, but do you have children? "Yes I have five children." Wow! Out of that stomach of yours? Then the conversation turns into us talking about where I'm from and why I'm here.
No feelings have ever been hurt. On the bright side: I'm being very assertive and direct in what I want and I'm not "beating around the bush."
It's hotter than Africa
It's really hot here. REALLY HOT. The humidity and lack of AC doesn't help, either. Never again will I complain in the U.S. when it's hot and seems unavoidable. Even if the AC were broken, in the U.S. I could have access to ice and lots of it. Just the thought of all that ice is making me sweat. Two examples of how hot it is here:
Emily texted me one day and said something like this, "Mal! Today I opened my water filter to add more and found a festering lizard inside. Gross." We have geckos chillin' everywhere in our houses but the thought of it being in her water is pretty disgusting. Thankfully it was in the top part of the water filter where the iodine candles are and she didn't get sick. Em told me it probably got in there because it probably first crawled into the barrel where her water is stored in her house and as it was being scooped into the water filter...so went the lizard.
I finally turned 22 this week so I'm no longer the only PCV in Moz under the age of 22. Anyway, Emily made me a very impressive cake. It was actually one of the best cakes I've ever had. So the day after my birthday I was in a rush to go to work as usual because I like to get my 20 extra minutes of sleep everyday (I guess some things never change) and I left the cake on top of my table. Emily had stayed the night and had actually put a bowl over it. I got home from work later that day and noticed a looong trail of ants on my kitchen table, and even some on the bowl. I took the bowl off and saw the cake on the plate. There were ants on the plate and maybe only two actually on the cake. But, that didn't stop me. I didn't care. I still cut off a huge piece of goodness in all its chocolate glory. Not to mention, it tasted fresh out the oven because it was so warm from the heat of the room. Anyway I chowed down and didn't see many ants on my slice. After that I got really thirsty and noticed the pressure coming out my water filter was low. So, I opened it to see how much there was. Not much. I noticed a small clump of something floating around. It looked like mold. How did that seep through? I thought. Oh well. I stuck my finger in there to take it out. Got it. Oh but it was not mold! No, it was a cluster of ANTS! I then closely examined the march of ants on the table and noticed they were going to the water filter. And that, my friends, is a brief description of how hot it is here. Ants passed up an easily accessible vanilla cake with chocolate frosting which consisted of more sugar than the recipe called for in order to invade my water filter.
Again today, I opened my water filter to see how much water I had and noticed another small cluster of ants in there!
Emily texted me one day and said something like this, "Mal! Today I opened my water filter to add more and found a festering lizard inside. Gross." We have geckos chillin' everywhere in our houses but the thought of it being in her water is pretty disgusting. Thankfully it was in the top part of the water filter where the iodine candles are and she didn't get sick. Em told me it probably got in there because it probably first crawled into the barrel where her water is stored in her house and as it was being scooped into the water filter...so went the lizard.
I finally turned 22 this week so I'm no longer the only PCV in Moz under the age of 22. Anyway, Emily made me a very impressive cake. It was actually one of the best cakes I've ever had. So the day after my birthday I was in a rush to go to work as usual because I like to get my 20 extra minutes of sleep everyday (I guess some things never change) and I left the cake on top of my table. Emily had stayed the night and had actually put a bowl over it. I got home from work later that day and noticed a looong trail of ants on my kitchen table, and even some on the bowl. I took the bowl off and saw the cake on the plate. There were ants on the plate and maybe only two actually on the cake. But, that didn't stop me. I didn't care. I still cut off a huge piece of goodness in all its chocolate glory. Not to mention, it tasted fresh out the oven because it was so warm from the heat of the room. Anyway I chowed down and didn't see many ants on my slice. After that I got really thirsty and noticed the pressure coming out my water filter was low. So, I opened it to see how much there was. Not much. I noticed a small clump of something floating around. It looked like mold. How did that seep through? I thought. Oh well. I stuck my finger in there to take it out. Got it. Oh but it was not mold! No, it was a cluster of ANTS! I then closely examined the march of ants on the table and noticed they were going to the water filter. And that, my friends, is a brief description of how hot it is here. Ants passed up an easily accessible vanilla cake with chocolate frosting which consisted of more sugar than the recipe called for in order to invade my water filter.
Again today, I opened my water filter to see how much water I had and noticed another small cluster of ants in there!
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