Travel in Mozambique

I traveled, in total, 1200 miles over the past two weeks. Manjangue, to Chokwe, to Macia, to Xai xai to Vilanculos to Chimoio was the trip to In-Service training. I never thought 600 miles would have to be split into two days' travel (i.e. there is no conceivable way to make the trip in less time).

#spoiledbytheeaseoftravelintheUS

The experience has been typical of transportation in Mozambique. Chapas. Imagine an old, small bus with worn, poorly padded plastic-covered seats. Now imagine said bus in 80 degree weather with upwards of 20 people (mind you, the bus is designed to seat a maximum of 17 or 18 people- record number for me was 25. That was fun). Now imagine that crowded, hot bus traveling down a pothole ridden road, swerving, bumping bouncing and jerking for long periods of time. Welcome to the world of Mozambican public economy ground travel. They're cheap, granted (around 1 metical per mile traveled on average outside of big cities, sometimes more) but they take forever and are very uncomfortable. There are other forms of travel, sure. If you're on a main highway, or in a provincial capital, you can get on a machimbombo (big ol' bus). It's much more comfortable, affording the PCV-coined name maningue nice bus. These, however, can be expensive and very, dangerously fast. I've heard that they have a distastefully high tip-over rate. That could just be fofoca (gossip), though. You can also boleia (hitchhike), but that can be very tricky. With all the risks associated with climbing into a car with an unknown person/people and driving on a remote road, it's not uncommon to have a lead-foot driver driving at dangerous speeds or to be asked for a ridiculous amount of money for the favor. On top of all that, the driving culture here is very different from that in the States; few people seem to think that drinking alcohol while on the road inhibits driving abilities; an unfortunate fact that cost the lives of two PCVs last year. Also common is poor maintenance of vehicles, so break-downs are commonplace. Peace Corps has a policy of no travel at night as well as a prohibition on boleia-ing. No surprise. Doesn't mean it doesn't happen, though. Sometimes you have no choice. Difficulty of travel in this country is an unfortunate reality. Most of the time, everything goes smoothly and you arrive at your destination. Most of the time.
I thought it important to blog about transportation because everybody here is subject to it. Mozambican and foreigner alike must endure lengthy uncomfortable chapa rides*. The infrastructure here is growing and, I'm sure that as Mozambique develops, the transportation will improve, but for now, everyone has to settle for Chapas (unless you can afford to take a plane,train or bus, which the vast majority of Mozambicans cannot). The difficulty of transportation in Mozambique has far reaching effects impacting the economy, food distribution, healthcare, public safety and education among other things.
As a PCV, the hardest part for me is the difficulty associated with seeing friends and loved ones far away. The thought of traveling so far and for so long makes distance seem worlds from the physical distance in kilometers. Solidarity and camaraderie are an even match for the time and effort involved to travel to see friends. Definitely relevant is the recent sacrifice given by a group of 16 northern Moz 19ers that chapa'd an 800 mile, 30 hour excursion (not including the return trip) to visit close friends they hadn't seen in months. You know who you are, Norte Forte. Love you for making the trip. All of you. It was so good to see you. Especially you, Jamie! <3

*If you know a Mozambican and you live in the south, odds are he/ she has family or a house in Maputo. Most teachers I know have moved from the city to the 'matu' (wilderness-roughly translated) to work. Lots of people work during the week in a small town and travel home on the weekends to see their friends and family in the big city, be it Maputo, a provincial capital or modestly sized city. Heavy and frequent travel is ubiquitous among Mozambicans. A five hour chapa ride becomes small beans after a while

picture: a typical chapa.

Manjangue

Update: So, I suck at updating my blog in a timely fashion. Mostly because, since I can't use my computer, I need a wifi connection to upload stuff. Good luck finding one of those near my site (pfffft.)So I'm in Chimoio, Manica province (about 660 miles from my site) for out 'reconnect' or In-Service Training (IST) Conference. Doods have free wifi, of which I will gladly partake. So, this blog is one I wrote a while ago about my site which has fully recovered from the floods. Life has moved on from difficult times to normalcy, finally. Now, people are laughing about it. Seriously. It's not surprising how resilient the community is and it speaks volumes about Mozambique, the way everyone came together and helped one another. Solidarity was a lesson from the floods that was a boring and redundant one that left everyone in the desks yawning and falling asleep. Needless to say, they aced the test. So, anyway, here's my blog:

I realized that I've written about many things: floods, training, friends, family, trepidation preceeding my whole PC experience, but I haven't said very much at all about the biggest part of my life in Mozambique: My village and my job! For those that don't know, forgot, haven't read my blog before or didn't quite hear my garbled cell phone/ Skype utterance of a certain African toponym, I live in the village of Manjangue, Gaza (pronounced: mahn-jahng-gee).

If you travel to the Province of Gaza, there is nothing more attractive to tourists than "Praia do Xai-xai," the beach outside the provincial capital. There are other places to go, like Bilene and Chongoene, but the bulk of the well known Gaza places are on the beach. Going inland, there are modestly sized cities like Macia, Chokwe and Chibuto, but like in most of Mozambique, the majority of the towns in Gaza are smaller farming villages. My village is no different. Going around 17k Northwest from Chokwe is Manjangue (it's the chapa stop before Barragem and Chinhacanine; if you hit a fork in the road, you've gone 5k too far).
Picture a relatively flat lanscape full of verdure where Machambas (vegetable crops) and livestock are ubiquitous. Women and girls, working the fields, gathering water, cleaning the house or clothes, cooking and tending to other "Dona da Casa" duties (oftentimes with an infant securely capolana'd* to their chest or back). Crianças (small children) can be seen, usually in ragged, unkempt clothes, during the later afternoons and evenings terrorizing the streets, running around, playing with toys, sticks, bald tires, bicycle wheel rims or sundries they picked up from a trash pile. The only (mostly) paved road is the main one that interconnects the small agrarian communities and Chokwe. The rest are packed dirt and sand-unless it has rained, then it's maningue matope (really friggin' muddy).
It's become my home. I love it here. I have a job, a family, friends, a kitty, a pretty reliable supply of bread from the market (upon which I eat gobs of delicious peanut butter), electricity(!), and, normally, great cell phone service (important for communicating with other big parts of my life;) ).

I live within spitting distance of the school and cater-corner to one of the communal water spigots, where I always find three to seven women with children speaking in Changana about the mulungu** that is fetching water should find a student or a woman to get water for him.

This trimester, I taught 9th grade math (4 different turmas (classes)) and 8th grade English (just one turma). I have approximately 260 students and work in the classroom around 19 hours per week (not really- more like nineteen 45 minute classes- exactly 14.25 hours). Since I'm the only 9th grade Math teacher at my school, I get a good deal of freedom in my lesson planning, which is based on mainly the Mozambican ministry of education's programa de ensino (teaching program).
Saying that I have a new respect for all my high school (and middle school) teachers would be an understatement. With ten weeks or so of teaching under my belt, I have a small taste of what challenges educators face- the least of which is grading (the thing I though would be the most work). I hope I can live up to those to who I owe my education in some measure. Needless to say, my lack of experience being a handicap, the kids are further disadvantaged by a stark supply of resources. No textbooks, few printed materials, a small notebook, pens and pencils for personal use and nothing but a chalkboard in a dank, aluminum-paneled classroom with broken or missing windows. Students are assigned a turma, a cohort of around 40-60 of their peers, and a classroom in which they spend six 45 minute time slots (either in the morning or in the afternoon) as teachers rotate in and out of their salas (classrooms). The weather is often very severe; class can be difficult to sit through with 35 degree heat, heavy rain, or gusty winds blowing dust in everyone's faces. It's hard enough on a teacher to teach in such conditions, but, many times, with a lack of resources, time to study, and, personal expense (Chapas into and out of town, buying of tests, etc.) on top of a monotonous learning environment, it's no wonder that a 50% score on homework or tests is considered 'positive' or 'passing'. However, many students overcome these incredibly daunting circumstances and do learn! Around five of my math students received above 90% on their trimester exams- I have to brag :P.


*-A capolana is an indispensable piece of female Mozambican livery; pick any average street in any average town in Mozambique and you'll see five or six women wearing a capolana and lenço (bandana). They are large pieces of cloth, usually tied about the waist, serving like a long skirt. Vibrantly colored and varied in design, an American might call it a sarong, but its known uses far exceed that of a garment. Mothers use them to carry babies. Other uses include padding to stabilize and ease the weight of heavy objects carried upon one's head, to dry oneself after a banho (bath), secure loads to motor vehicles, wrap lunches, provide shade from the sun, to serve as a floor mat to sit on, so as to not dirty the capolana that you're already wearing... The list goes on. I use mine as a cat bed, sofa cover and dirty clothes hamper. Even have a couple of shirts made from the material. They also look pretty cool hanging up in the markets or on your wall as a decoration.

**-mulungu is a word in Changana that means "white person." Mozambique, being an (arguably) ethnically homogeneous place -I.e. most white people aren't from around here- the word is used liberally and without consequence. I don't like the word and, whenever I think the situation is appropriate, I politely discourage its use when in reference to myself. With my American schema, any word that serves to generalize a group of people demeans individuality and obscures an individual's good intentions. In my case, I feel that it negates my intention of trying to become part of the community, placing me in the same category as stereotypically branded arrogant bigoted white tourists with lots of money. It is a hamper to inclusion and gives me an antithetical image to that which I would much like to have to my Mozambican brothers and sisters. It is clear to all that see me that I'm not from around these parts, but words spoken in any language that reinforce prejudice, and bolster a 'them and us' attitude are something I think the world, Mozambique included, could use less of.

Sunset

Another sunset

My house! I have it on easy mode here. :P

My school!

The view from the back of my house. An abandoned palhota (hut).

My family here. Sansão, Olinda and family. Also pictured: Sasha the gato.

Some of my 8th graders working hard in their machamba.

Sunset again.

Miro took this picture. He's a dork.