The meat of PST

Hitting the German Bakery after Model School

Wearing our bata de professor- our uniforms for when we teach.

Jamie S., Kevin, Andrea and I at the Cascadas.

                If you know me, then you know that I like academic environments. I like the structure, academic culture, the learning, the challenge, the social interaction and the whole dynamic that goes with it. PST was similar to college, except that we were in friggin' Africa! We had a relatively rigorous schedule where we’d start around 7:30 in the morning and end around 4:00-5:00 in the afternoon every day. First, in the mornings we would go to language class (my favorite), which was held at one of my fellow trainee’s houses- we'd rotate class location to another classmate's house on a weekly basis. The lessons were “facilitated” by our LCFs (language culture facilitators) and ran about two hours long. I always looked forward, whether my  language class group knew it or not, to aulas de lingua because it would mean that I would get to hang out with Eurico & Meque (LCFs) Anneke, Jackie, Rafael, Anna D. (because there are 4 Annas in Moz 19), and Heather. I would count my language class my second favorite part of the day; hanging out with my language class homies, practicing verb conjugations, doing stupid, silly skits, drawing weird figures on white boards, riding in chapas (I haven’t written about chapas, but I will… believe me), laughing, joking, debating in Portuguese and eating bolachas (crackers- either called “Maria” or “Agua e Sal”) with sumo (juice boxes) during our lanche*(snack break). After lingua we’d then go to “tech classes,” which were meant to help prepare us for our jobs in schools in Mozambique as well as inform us about various aspects of our PCV duties. Most weeks, a MOZ 15er or 17er PCV (PCVs that had arrived 1 to 1¾ years before us) would be hosting our classes alongside another “tech” LCF (ours was Noemia- she was awesome!), so we’d get a real PCV perspective on the lessons. After tech, we would go to language class again for other two-or-so hours and, afterwards, we’d be done for the day.
Once a week (usually in the middle of the week) we’d have “HUB Days” in which all 68 of us would get together to spend all day in a big auditorium at the IFP. We’d receive lectures about history, medical information, culture, safety/security, Peace Corps resources that were available to us, as well as team-building activities that were run by other PCVs. My favorite part of these sessions was being together with the rest of the 68. During normal days we were isolated to our discipline groups (Math/Physics, Biology/Chemistry, and English/Teacher Training) and didn’t get to visit with the others. HUB days and normal days would end regularly around the same time, but after our PCT duties were completed, we would often hang out after class.

Xavi's bar scene.

 My favorite part of the day (I mentioned my second favorite earlier) was the time my friends and I spent together after classes. We had enough time before curfew to go to O Bar de Xavier or Xavi’s for a couple beers and chamosas. I’m not much of a drinker but I loved spending time with people. There were drinking games involving verb conjugation in Portuguese, nerdy conversations and drunken mishaps a plenty to fofoca (gossip) about. Even better than Xavi’s was the time I spent in Bairo Fronteira, where the Bio people lived. We’d sometimes go to the Centro Social en masse and hang out, or to study, ‘till it got dark. Other times, we would gather,where the Bio people had their tech classes, and watch movies on a portable projector that one of the trainees had brought. There I really got to know Casey, Stephen, Ella, Amanda and Jamie S. (‘cause there are 2 Jamies in Moz 19), my besties in PST. Between hiking10km out of town to some small cascadas (waterfalls) and hanging around people's houses on the weekends, we all became very close. I'm leaving out a GREAT amount of detail regarding some or all of these amazing people with respect to how they have impacted my life, but I'll go ahead and parlay that for another blog... maybe. ;)

Hiking to the Cascadas.

In hindsight, the most valuable things I received from PST, aside from language and culture training, were the friendships that I made. My friends were the savory ground beef in the juicy cheeseburger that was PST; the whole thing wouldn’t have been nearly as satisfying and damn near pointless without them, if you take my meaning (I like cheeseburgers…). It was the hardest thing I had to do, since saying goodbye to my family and friends in the US, when I said my despedido (fairwell) to my friends at the end of PST as they went to their sites. I remember being so afraid of being in Mozambique without a support system; I didn’t want to be alone, and being thousands of miles away from everyone I had a relationship with, my fear was well founded. The friends that I met in PST assuaged every such fear, built my confidence, encouraged me and imbued me with conviction to do as much as I can as a teacher here and so much more. They truly enriched my life (you know who you are, you MOZ 19ers) and I count them among those that have brought me to where I am in my life today. Sometimes, you don’t know how much of an impact a person (or group of people) will have on your when you first meet them. When I met MOZ 19 in Philadelphia, I had no idea the role they’d play in my life as a PCV. I kick myself for not taking more picture at staging…:P 

Halloween Party!

  *-Yes, we had the old kindergarten snack time while training to become grass-roots development workers in a 3^rd world country. It didn’t matter that we were 20-60 years old, had at some point led independent lives prior to being in Mozambique or that we held (at least) a bachelor’s degree; our host mothers still packed each one of us a snacky snack every day we’d go to school and there wasn’t a goddamn thing we could do about it. xD My favorite was the “Medly of Fruits” juicebox and the Agua e sal crackers. Did I mention that I love snack time and my host mommy! :P

Our BA LCFs

Cascadas!

A minha familia hospedeira (My host family)

My host family's house

Salvador and Jaquen helping themselves to my stuff.

My host sisters Olinda and Samaria

Jaquen and Salvador being dorks.

Mamá, Papá and Salvador

I lived with a family of Mozambiquians with which I came to be good friends. When I arrived in Namaacha, we were led to the basketball court at the IFP where all the host mothers were singing, in a chorus, a song in Changana the melody was striking, haunting and beautiful at the same time- it’s the same kind of thing you’d hear at a Mozambiquian lobolo or wedding. We were then set loose to find our host families that were holding up pieces of paper with our names on them. I can’t forget the look of dismay on the other trainees’ faces (mine prolly included, lol); I think reality had set in, just then that we had made our first step into the next 2 years of our lives. My host father (Manuel Mumguambe ~ Papá*) was there to meet me. He greeted me “meu filho” (my son- the title that I maintain to this day when my host family calls).  I climbed into a car- which my papá drove- and we rode down the bumpy street (first to pick up some live chickens from in back of the catholic church) to my bairo (neighborhood) called Villa Pouca which can be described as “lᆔ in relation to  the other bairos. We got out of the car, unpacked my luggage, brought out some plastic lawn chairs and set them up under a tree. I showed my new family the pictures I had brought with me, showing them aspects of my life in the US. They looked at the snowmobiling pictures for a long time. I was then given a flash Portuguese vocabulary lesson and introduced to my siblings and Mamá*: the oldest daughter, Nelia (21), the middle sister, Olinda (19), and her son Jaquen (3), the youngest daughter, Samaria (14), the youngest brother, Salvador (7) and the oldest brother, Fanicio (19). Nelia was around sporadically when Mamá and Papá were away to house sit.  Olinda, who still gives me the typical Mozambiquian “hello, how are you? Oh, good! Bye now!” phone call, liked to cook food and always smiled when I said that it was delicious. Samaria liked late night dancing to the music that the next door barraca blasted almost 24/7. Salvador liked going into my room (sometimes without my permission) and picking up foreign oddities, like my headlamp, guitar and the stuffed wizard that a friend made for me. Jaquen liked to call me “malliquilão”, a three-year-old’s interpretation of mano nicolão*. My host family was instrumental in my PST mostly because they taught me about how things are done in Mozambique. They taught me by example about culture, common practices and gave me strategies for how to survive here (communication in Portuguese, cooking, cleaning, bathing, social conventions, etc.). I felt like a child when I was in Namaacha- cared for and looked after more than a 25-year-old should be, but, being as I was their 4^th PCT, they gave me enough space and leniency to fumble around lighting the carvão(charcoal) to cook, and washing clothes by hand; it just goes to show the prodigious example of Mozambiquian hospitality. My host family still calls me periodically to check up to see how I like my new site. I can’t wait to visit Namaacha once again to visit them.

My host siblings

 *-side note on familial titles in Mozambique: the words Papá, Mamá, mano/a, irmã(o) are used as indicators of status in family as well as titles used within the community meaning “dad”, “mom”, “oldest brother/sister” and “brother/sister” respectively. If I see an older woman in the street and wanted to say hi, I could say “ bom dia, mamá” which is different from the US, in which “mother” or “mom” is reserved for one’s own mommy. This threw me off for the longest time; I faltered to call another man my “father” and cringed when he called me his “son” but I eventually got over it.The sense of community here is incredible- neighborhoods aren’t a series of houses as much as they are a network of buildings in which one family lives. There’s never a fofoca (gossip) that no one knows about and there’s never a lack of someone to confide in here. People go out of their way to make you feel welcome and loved.                                                                                   

†-lá- literally, a demonstrative meaning (over there) but frequently used with emphasis on the vowel to convey the fact that a place is far away or, in this case, very remote~ PCVs here in Mozambique use this term A LOT. This is probably my favorite expression in Mozambiquian Portuguese, because in order to explain where something is, it suffices to point in the general direction and say “lá”. :P

Playing catch-up

As I write this, I’ve been in my site for two weeks. Been in Mozambique for around 3 months now.Gonna try to make the next few entries like those movies in which you know the ending, but the plots are revealed slowly as storyline progresses. *ahem* First, I wanna say that I’ve not had access to the internet from PST’s beginning, so it’s with most sincere regret and apology that I say that I haven’t been able to update this blog for the longest freaking time. I’ve had so much to say, so much time to write (and even have written some) but without a way to post here, and a faulty iPad that erased my entire journal *rageface*, it’s been tough to faithfully record my life on “paper”. This is my attempt at making up for lost time. Where to begin? PST? Yeah.

 

Panorama of the paisaje from the Math Hub

Bairo Fronteira (Biology/Science Neighborhood)

Bairo Vila Pouca (Math/Physics Neighborhood)

A well in Bairo Vila Pouca

Chiquey house in Bairo Fronteira

A entrada de namaacha

Blue skies on the way to class.

Namaacha is a town almost right on the border with Swaziland in the west of Maputo province in the south of the country. It was, for the most part pretty temperate, compared to the rest of Mozambique when it wasn’t soaked in rain. The word “matope” (mud) was recited sporadically almost every rainy day by PCT and Mozambiquian alike; it’s indispensable when talking about the Namaacha experience. Sticky, clingy mud that cakes on your shoes, and dirties your pants from the mid-shin and down. Now, I miss the slippery muck… It was a welcome presence in the stead of heat that occurs everywhere else. Namaacha is located inland, a little higher in elevation than Maputo atop beautiful green hills (they were so green because September-December is within the rainy season there). There is a teacher-training institute, or IFP (Instituto de Formação de Professores da Namaacha), where we met during HUB days (I’ll explain what they are later), several primary schools and one secondary school. The people of Namaacha are very used to groups of foreigners because they not only have Peace Corps groups there for training, but there are also PCVs and JICA (Japanese International Cooperation Agency) workers in the town. It’s a pretty simple town with a sizable population. There’s one main paved road which stretches throughout town upon which lies the IFP, hotel/ casino, secondary school, market, gas station and chapa terminal (you’ll hear about chapas. Oh, you’ll hear about chapas). I can’t put into words how beautiful the scenery is and how serene I felt in the mornings when I would go to classes as well as the peace  I felt when I was making my way home from Bairo Fronteira at night, walking under the brightest stars I’ve ever seen. It wasn't what I thought Africa would be like. I tried to come here with an "empty glass," i.e. without expectations, but I was always with the notion that Africa was a big desert and a bunch of poverty. The big blue sky, rain, wind, thunder storms and variety of houses, people, languages, socio-economic classes, technology, lack of technology, sense of community and cultures slapped my preconceived image of Africa in the face. And that was only the beginning! Namaacha is what I would call "fake Africa" because it was our transition phase into PCV life, and I was always surrounded by Americans. It was also a great learning experience. I'll definitely say that I'm so happy that they picked Namaacha as a training ground for PCV life; my retrospective thought regarding Namaacha, that I can remember from the other day as I was riding in a chapa back to my site from Chokwe, was thus: "I'm glad I did this."

Typhoid shots and scary stories 9/28/12

It was a really busy day today! We had our safety and security orientation and medical information briefing (during which, we got our Peace Corps first aid kit). We also ordered our cell phones (the one I bought will be able to access the internet!)  We also got our malaria prophylactics, as well as the second round of shots (Typhoid, preceded yesterday by tetanus and Meningitis vaccines). My left arm feels like it was punched twelve times by Mike Tyson. The safety and security orientation made everybody a little bit nervous. A special agent from the State Department let us know how much danger there is of foreigners being targeted. Theft, pickpocketing, assault, car accidents, abduction… the list goes on. A little fear is healthy, but they made it seem like we couldn´t trust anyone! Can´t say she overdid it though. We´re in a new country, new culture and I should adopt a new mindset while here. I guess being a little more cautious with my belongings, staying inside after dark and traveling in groups are just some more changes to make. I don´t know if it has quite hit me yet that I´m spending two and a quarter years of my life here. I`ll bet that tomorrow it will. What´s happening tomorrow?  We move to a small town west of Maputo tomorrow called Namaacha. We´ll leave early tomorrow morning and have lunch with them as a group. There will be nine people in my host family. (yeah, nine freakin´people!) The third year volunteer, Scooter, explained that there will be cousins, uncles, aunts and other relatives drifting in and out consistently. I kept expressing how much I can´t wait to be able to speak Portuguese. I hope to be able to communicate with and integrate quickly into the family.

Plane ride. 9/26/12

9/26/12

Today I met the other 55 future peace corps volunteers. Spent 7 hours in a room with people in the same boat as me. Everyone is incredibly friendly, supportive, and knows exactly how it feels to make a commitment to the Peace Corps. There are several ukulele players- a fact that makes me miss Kelly (my tenor). Maurine, the Staging Coordinator met me in the hallway as I was heading down to the bus and explained that it was one of the best things in her job to meet the new Peace Corps Volunteers. I feel so much more comfortable knowing these amazing people will accompany me to Mozambique. We'll all be faced with the same challenges and support each other through all of them.

I made some last minute phone calls to try saying "see yah" to the most important people to me- a sad but necessary thing to do. It's currently (while I write this) roughly half way through the 14 hour flight; we're just getting ready to pass over Namibia and so far I've watched three movies (Prometheus, Brave and The Descendants) and read a good portion of my book. Anyway, the waiting and thinking back upon the phone calls made me realize that I'm on my own; from here on out I'll make my own successes and failures. I have told myself, and will continue to tell myself, that this whole program will be made simple (if you have a difficult math problem, you make it less difficult -more doable- by examining the components and making it simple); despite all the steps in between, I was selected to be an American math teacher in Mozambique, and to that end I'll strive to succeed as much as possible. It's overwhelming thinking about what to do next or how to do "this" or whether "that" task will be too hard, so I write this to remind myself to take everything in stride and focus on the big picture. My job isn't just to teach math; it's to be an example of an American for peoples of other countries as well as to tell other Americans what other peoples of other countries are like. To me, this is an exciting, edifying and worth-while opportunity. Although my family and friends are always in the back of my mind, I've turned my face forward and am ready to leave the US behind for now. 

Philly: (full) day 2 9/23/12

I expanded my vocabulary last night when I met a fellow future PCV,  Veronica and her friend Uriel: Wawa-(n) [wah-wah]-establishment with freakin' delicious 24/7 convenience store chain meatball subs. We went downtown Philly and had some beers, and exchanged our thoughts about he next two years of our lives. We got to talkig about the Peace Corps. It's no surprise that both Veronic and I echoed each other's hopes, concerns, incredulity of our imminent trip and our excitement. She told me about blogs that she'd read in which a PCB teacher walked into her first day of class to see 400 faces staring back at her. We discussed another example of a volunteer that had left a year early out of frustration with administrative corruption and student cheating problems.
I wonder what will be written here. No doubt they'll reflect difficulties and pleasures alike. I wonder about the words that'll describe the experiences. What kinds of experiences will I write about? What awaits me in Africa? I'll see in a couple days!

No turning back now. 9/22/12

I've been ready to go for months in a sense, but then again, It's harder than ever to leave everyone behind. I don't think I've skimped on gushing to people about how I'll miss them. Being across the country cements the feelings of finality. I'm so happy to be where I'm at both physically and mentally. The support from everybody (e-v-e-r-y-b-o-d-y) humbles me and gives me all my motivation. I've even received support from people that I least expected! For example, I boarded my flight and the 66 year old salesman sitting to my left (I had the window seat- YUSSS!!) started a conversation. I explained that I was on my way to my Peace Corps Pre-service training. After talking a bit, the man offered to buy me a breakfast on the airplane to thank me for my service; I declined quickly, expressing profusely my gratitude, because of the fact that I have not done anything yet deserving of such kindness. The flight attendant overheard the man speaking of "service" and explained  that soldiers eat for free- she had mistakenly thought that I was with the military. I told her that I wasn't a soldier but the man added that I was with the Peace Corps. The flight attendant gave me a complementary package of Beef Jerky and an oatmeal cookie saying that the two services are similar. I can't say that I think that the military and the Peace Corps are too terribly similar, but I think that I can agree that they're both in the business of executing actions in the name of the United States. I'm incredibly motivated to represent my country.
 I'm reminded by a conversation I had with my father about how incredibly lucky I am to be an American; I'm about to see iniquity and disparity that I've not yet seen in my life. As sad as I am to leave- as hard as it is to leave everyone I love behind, I think that my feeling sorry for myself will be small potatoes when I land in Mozambique. I have the luxury of going to another country to build a future for myself and become enriched by another culture. I'm going to gain so much more than I can give (possibly the understatement of the year).
Finally, to be completely repetitive, I am so thankful to everyone that has given me a pat on the back. My parents, my sister, and my close friends gave me all I need to do this. How could I let all them down??? I'm finally doing it! I'm going to teach math in Mozambique!