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.