My eyelids feel so heavy. Droooooop. Drooop. No!! Okay, I’ll rally for this - this first post of my first few days as a Peace Corps Trainee. I’m sitting here in the lounge of Hotel Cardoso - perhaps the most luxurious setup in all of Maputo except for the Presidents mansion a few blogs down - charging my laptop and massaging my vaccinated deltoids to the jams of Kenny G (of all things to make it here through globalization, whyyyy that?!?). The warm wood and rich marble threaten to cradle me in an epic faceplank.
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| Flying into Johannesburg (aka, Joburg) |
In any case, I’m just wrapping up my second day here in Moz, exhausted, sweaty, and content. After flying to Philly for a blitzkrieg afternoon of orientation, me and 55 of my newest friends hopped on a bus at 0200 EST to NYC and flew out of JFK to Johannesburg – a 15 hour trek that was rewarded by at least another two hours of travel before we reached our final destination – Maputo! From the time we left the door of our hotel in Philly to our arrival at the hotel in Maputo, we’d been traveling for approximately 28 hours.
Dropping through the brownish haze of the muggy spring day (yes, it’s spring here, brought to you by the southern hemisphere, ha!), our first glance of Moz was one of scraggly brown hills rolling into the capital’s towering skyscrapers and down toward the choppy surf of the Indian Ocean. Shanty towns with tin roofs and palm trees juxtaposition the assortment of various palacial homes some distance away - a division that not only made the wealth gap here visibly apparent, but also provided a discreet warning to any do-gooder Peace Corps volunteer interested in “changing the world” in their two years of service... there is indeed much work to be done. I can only hope that as volunteers we do no harm.
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| Flying into Maputo! |
After disembarking the plane and each collecting our two 50lbs bags, we made our way through customs and into the hands of our PC Mozambique handlers. Chucking our bags into the back of a truck and barred trailer, we all piled into the jeeps and rolled out, our motorcade sweeping into the depths of Maputo traffic. “Umm, where are the road lines…?” I heard one PCV comment. “And uhh, we’re driving on the left??” These were the first of many interjections uttered with incredulous half-laughs, followed by winces every time it seemed that our driver took aim directly at the pedestrians walking or crossing the sidewalkless road. Like I love to tell people, if you ever find yourself in a place such as Maputo, or Harare, or anywhere without a maintained infrastructure, there’s one main rule to surviving the city as a pedestrian: walk with old women! They
always know how to get across, whether its timing her entrance and maneuvers through traffic, or publicly shaming cars that don’t slow down and thus bending whole lanes to her will. At street crossing, grandmas reign.
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| Getting picked up in Maputo by the PC Jeep! |
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| The life possessions of 55 people for the next two years... |
So, as I was crossing my finders and mentally sending all the “near-misses” in Maputo guardian grannies, I was also working to absorb all the sights and sounds of this new city that I will learn to call one of my home-bases over the next two years. I have to admit, I didn’t think downtown Maputo was that beautiful. But, it was rich with purpose. Street vendors, taxi drivers, scrappy children, and business men in suits side-by-side in the daily ritual of commuting. In a moment, my thoughts flashed back to Harare, to Amman and Cairo, to Belgrade and Sarajevo – all places I remember being vivid, energetic,
alive. “Ahhhh! How I’ve missed this rhythm!” I thought smiling to myself, suddenly remembering that this seeming “chaos” only appears so disorderly to me, the outsider. To everyone else, this is the rhythm of living in Maputo. And it will soon hopefully become a part of mine.
The evolution from outsider to insider status will begin tomorrow and will continue over the next few months in my PCV training program. After hours and hours of meetings regarding safety and security policies along with other logistical information, my Peace Corps group, Moz 19, is off to our training village called Namaacha (pron. “na-maa-sha”). Namaacha is about a 90-minute drive from Maputo, and is located on Mozambique’s border with Swaziland. Perhaps the biggest, most exciting event occurring tomorrow will be our placement with our host families. I have recently discovered information about who my host-parents and siblings are, however, I will save those stories for next time :) I will say though that I cannot wait to give them their host family gifts!!
Alrighty, time to turn in for tonight. But I’ll post more as soon as I have more adventures to relate! Until then, take care, lead good lives, and I’ll talk to you all very soon.
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| Livin' the Peace Corps lifel haha. Don't worry, they're just buttering us up so we'll take on some really tough tasks! |
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| View from the back patio. Look at that beach! |
After disembarking the plane and each collecting our two 50lbs bags, we made our way through customs and into the hands of our PC Mozambique handlers. Chucking our bags into the back of a truck and barred trailer, we all piled into the jeeps and rolled out, our motorcade sweeping into the depths of Maputo traffic. “Umm, where are the road lines…?” I heard one PCV comment. “And uhh, we’re driving on the left??” These were the first of many interjections uttered with incredulous half-laughs, followed by winces every time it seemed that our driver took aim directly at the pedestrians walking or crossing the sidewalkless road. Like I love to tell people, if you ever find yourself in a place such as Maputo, or Harare, or anywhere without a maintained infrastructure, there’s one main rule to surviving the city as a pedestrian: walk with old women! They always know how to get across, whether its timing her entrance and maneuvers through traffic, or publicly shaming cars that don’t slow down and thus bending whole lanes to her will. At street crossing, grandmas reign.
