Last Friday, I may or may not have beat my students out the
door when the bell – marking the end of class and the start of the weekend –
rang. I felt like Bradley Cooper in The Hangover
– pocketing kids’ field trip money, bolting out of the classroom, and jumping
into a shiny, silver Mercedes convertible bound for Las Vegas. Except that I wasn’t going to Vegas. And I certainly
didn’t have a Mercedes. I had a four
hour, 120 kilometer ride in an overcrowded put-put chapa, practically duct
taped together, along the bumpy, potholed, 1.5 lane national highway, dodging
double decker semi-trucks and potholes alike. Still, this girl was ecstatic. It didn’t matter that I quickly sweat
through my clothes and basted in the sour communal body odor made rampant by
the humid, steamy, stickiness of thunderstorms. It didn’t matter that I was
holding onto an adorable, big-eyed, but slobbering baby that wasn’t mine
through most of the ride. It didn’t matter that I couldn’t move more than a
couple centimeters in any direction, that my feet might never regain sensation,
or that I was sitting more intimately with my random seat partner than I had
with anyone over the last few months
(awkwardddd!). None of that really
bothered me. Why? Because I had my eye on the horizon, and on my final
destination: Machanga!
Aaahhh, Machanga!
It’s really incredible how traveling only a few hours North
changes the scenery so drastically. Upon reaching Nova Mambone, the primary
way-point, my eyes were met by a lushness that Mapinhane simply could never
support (which makes sense considering that Machanga is a village that lies on the
edge of a large river delta). Once you
make it to Nova Mambone, Machanga is just a canoe-paddle away on the other side
of the Save River.
As the chapa whined down to a clanking halt upon our arrival
in Nova Mambone and we all unfolded ourselves and rubbed out the various kinks
in our muscles, I was met by one of my very good friends and classmates from
language training in Namaacha. In two bounds, Jesse, a 6’3’’ bearded gay man,
tackled me in a huge bear hug and seconds later we became obnoxious Americans,
talking and laughing in a velocity and pitch that is universally recognized and
unmistakably American. “OH MY GOD I MISSED YOU SO MUCH,” we yelled happily at
each other. “HOW ARE YOU?! TELL ME EVERYTHINGGG!” And so, only minutes later we found ourselves
with large bottles of Manica beer and frango
(bbq’ed chicken), catching up on all the details/stories related to how
we’re making Mozambique our new home.
A while later, as the sun was beginning to set, we sloshed
through shallow river water and hopped in a boat gently docked in the deep mud
of the Save River. The gentle breeze rustled the reeds and the sky was
splattered with bright swathes of iridescent clouds made especially vibrant by
the dying rays of light. It smelled distinctly, pungently like river – if you’re a rower, sailor, or paddler, you
know what I mean – that rich, paradoxical smell of decay and growth mixed with
the salty tides of the delta. And I was happy.
Having to use a canoe to get home? My inner-traveler, my core “self”
who’s laid largely dormant the past few months out of respect for the
three-month PCV out-of-province travel ban, began to stir. Now things were
starting to feel like an adventure! Were there crocs in the river? Hippos? Maybe not this
time around, but there’s nothing like being in a new place to make you feel alive
and see the abundance of possibilities! Oh the
joy of a place never traveled!
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| Waiting for our ride home... ;) |
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| Amaaaaaazing sky, right?? Even better in real life! |
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| Getting pushed across the Rio Save. I was bummed I couldn't put my rowing skills to the test ;) |
After crossing the Save River and slipping precariously with
each step on our way home past empty cattle pens, we finally stumbled onto
Jesse’s front porch, with “matope” (mud) caked up to our shins. Mac, Jesse’s housemate and one of my newer PCV
friends, arrived home minutes later after playing a game of soccer with the
other professors. Although I’d only hung
out with Mac once before when he came to visit Chris and Laurie in Mapinhane,
as a 6’3’’ blonde, athletic, tenacious do-gooder, let’s just say Mac is someone
who’s energy is contagious and overall hard to forget. I mean c’mon, when your
first in-depth conversation with someone happens to be discussing the
ins-and-outs of all your favorite subjects – human rights, refugees, social
justice, revolution, and Samantha Power – that’s an awesome brain explosion to
have with someone lol.
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| (Kudos to comedian Jenna Marbles for always helping me express myself better ;) |
In any case, at the beckoning of loud simultaneous tummy
grumbles, we set out to prepare ourselves a delicious dinner of sweet and sour
cabbage over rice and watch one of my favorite TV shows, Parks and Recreation.
I spent the rest of the night smiling too much and laughing too loudly at only
semi-funny jokes, but hey, who wouldn’t be completely thrilled to get a break from
sitting alone in a hut writing lesson plans by the light of a kerosene lamp… Mhmm! Exactly. The guys were mercifully forgiving of my effervescence.
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| Sunshine and morning chores next door. |
So, over the next few days that I stayed with Mac and Jesse, I got to enjoy a
mini-vacation of sorts, enjoying all the luxuries of electricity, good food,
and good company. I was the first one up each morning – a habit that I’ve not
only continued from the college rowing life, but have fully embraced here. As
such, I got to lounge on the front porch with the local dogs curled up at my
side, cup of tea in one hand and a random book off their shelf in the other,
just relaxing and watching the world wake up.
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| My newest canine friends. |
During the day, I walked to town with Jesse for groceries
and worked out with Mac, tackling the legendary butt-kicking Insanity regimen
(eff you Shawn T, lol!!). Aptly, we also then cooked some of the most buttery
pancakes I’ve ever had (thanks to Jesse) and felt no guilt whatsoever to
helping myself to a second serving. Also, a Canadian missionary named Gen came
over to hangout one day. Maybe it’s us being so far from home that makes us
more amiable to connecting with people. Maybe it’s the thrill of being able to
fully communicate in your native tongue and thus take extraordinary pleasure in
having the full weight of your words. Either way, much to Mac’s amazement, it took
maybe five minutes before the two of us were carrying on like old friends, even
proceeding to delve into “girl talk” (aka “boy talk”) and cut each other’s
hair. While Mac and Jesse were too kind
to roll their eyes at us, it would have been completely warranted.
Don’t get me wrong though, despite my weekend feeling distinctly
American, you are always an American in Mozambique. You smell it. You feel it.
You hear it. You’re reminded of it the minute you walk out your front door and
have an instantaneous posse of criancas shrieking happily "Oiiii, mulungu/munzungu!" I believe it would be impossible to in
any way to distance yourself from Mozambique, unless you were to lock yourself
in your hut or house for days and
watch nothing but American TV shows and eat “American” food and hangout with
only Americans… yet even then you’d have to eventually venture out of your
bubble, blinking and confused, into reality. I’m only constructing this picture
(because what exaggeration isn’t comic???) because of the actual boundaries I’ve witnessed white South African and European
expats construct between themselves and local Mozambicans here. It’s such a distinct divide that in
Vilanculos for example, the town I visit every Saturday for a milkshake and
internet, there are definitely only places expats go – places to eat or shop
that only expats can afford. Even on the beach, there’s an unspoken rule that a
certain part of the beach is for tourists, and while you can be Mozambican and
passing through, you’ll rarely find a local family lounging on the sandy
“touristy” part of the beach, but instead further down the beach where it’s rockier
and the surf is rougher. Frankly, self-segregation and exclusion of the "other" to maintain an unbalanced power dynamic - besides being obviously racist, classist, etc - is a lot more stressful. You could begin to dismantle an unjust system just by making friends with your neighbors. Imagine that?! If Peace Corps has taught me anything so far is that there's nothing more universal than the human experience. It doesn't matter who you are. You gotta look out for and take care of each other. It's a tough life for everyone here. So why not be allies? Racism hurts everyone. Everyone.
In any case, my original point was that it was a wonderful
luxury to indulge in my American-ness, but only because it was an exception to
the norm. If anything, while visiting Mac and Jesse, it was very clear just how
well those two have integrated into their community and how the benefits of integration has on a volunteers
effectiveness. Even though Mac and Jesse have different thresholds for just how
many community members they like welcoming into their home in a day, they still
maintain an open-door policy – literally.
OPEN DOOR. Like their door is just
open for anyone. Dogs. Kids. Students. Whoever, whenever can “licenca” for some
time with their PCVs. I was utterly
impressed.
And so, when Mac asked me Sunday afternoon if I wanted to go
hangout with his REDES (girls empowerment) group, of course I said, “HECK YES!”
The afternoon’s activity? Reading aloud
one-on-one to primary school kids. With a clearing of the throats and
colorfully illustrated books in hand, we were off adventuring with ocean
animals, learning about HIV/AIDS, and even accompanying a Timbila princess as
she saves her village from an evil spirit by playing her beautiful traditional music.
It was an absolute blast. I couldn’t stop smiling, and neither could the
kids. We ended the reading session with a circle clapping name game, and I may
or may not have given a few of the little girls piggy-back rides home.
Later that night, we walked into town to follow up on an
invite from one of Mac’s friends for a free dinner. As we sat around together
with some cervejas, gossiping in two languages, and viewing the heaps of steaming
coconut shrimp, goat stew, and bowls of every type of carb you can imagine
before us, it was one of those what I like to call, “world-citizen” moments,
where I see myself as a very happy speck connected to the whole world. The two
beers certainly made it easier ;)
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| Me, Jesse, and Mac enjoying a fun evening out together! |
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| Proof that I was in Machanga... even if it's just me acting silly in front of a discoteca we never actually went into haha ;) |
With bursting stomachs and full hearts, we walked home to the
distant rumbling of thunder and stumbled upon another wonderful surprise – a local traditional healing ceremony. We slipped in off to the side, popped a squat, and watched as twenty or more women
chanted, beat drums, and rattled gourds around a young woman. The young woman, wrapped in capulana was convulsing, her
whole body shaking with each beat. Each shake of her head brought a new bead of sweat to her brow. I was riveted, I was riveted until my lids began to droop at least and the the tired stooges made their way home.
Tuesday morning came too soon, and I bid my adeus and returned to Mapinhane that afternoon. Traveling to Machanga was a wonderful treat, and I look forward to visiting my neighbors again very soon (or, they of course, may decide to come visit The Hut). Either way, with the travel-ban lifted, you can be sure that more adventures are soon to come :)
