Bonding with my Inner Joy-Monster

I’m plugged into some Rodrigo y Gabriela right now, and lovin’ the rattle and burn of their sassy beats. BUT I am sharing the only room with electricity with the other teachers at the moment, so despite “stomping” my toes and air-banging my face, that’s about as loud as my jammin’ will get to anyone else. If you've never listened to them before, STOP EVERYTHING and have a listen. These guys helped me survive the dark winter months and conversely sunny spring days spent writing my senior thesis. How can you resist anything that makes you want to dance?

This sweeping generalization of course includes happy dances. You know the type. The dance that you do when you think you’re alone, with no one watching and you want to celebrate in a way that would be otherwise publicly inappropriate (mostly because people would realize things about you that are a little too revealing of the vanity - otherwise lying dormant - that erupts when you just happen to think that your life is awesome and there can’t be anyone with a more awesome life than you in the entire world… I fondly refer to this alter ego as my inner joy-monster). The happy dance is exclusive to sober, ecstatic moments when literally the happiness and joy at the awesomeness of life inside you bubbles up and comes out as spastic-jumping-fist-pumping-YES-YES-YES!! that one might call dance moves or just… well… the happy dance! (And no, I’m not posting a video haha but if you’re a visual learner you can find my absolute fav example here).

Anyways, if you didn't pick up on it, life is feelin’ pretty dang good these days. I've found myself with the urge to happy dance in my hut, during quiet moments planning lessons in our teachers sala, walking back from the market with a huge back of fresh green peppers, or when I’m carrying 20lbs of water home on my head and effectively swagger my booty along like a Mozambican woman for the glee of the neighbor ladies... BUT WHY?!

First off, after my nearly three week trip north, I was THRILLED to get back to my lil’ hut in Mapinhane. It’s funny but Mapinhane really is my home now. I want to be there. I feel safe there. I feel welcome there. I have Mozambican friends and neighbors that I care and think about and they care and think about me. It’s gotten to the point, where I've already started sort of dreading the day I have to go back to America. This is, of course, RIDICULOUS. I've just got a special, somewhat neurotic, deep rooted hatred of goodbyes. I mean, c’mon, I’m not even halfway through service yet!

But, to put a positive spin on things as usual, it DOES show an interesting shift of identity, of a feeling of belonging.


Part 1: The (next) Mental Shift (of many more to come…)

This shift didn't come on its own. Like all things in life, things change with a conscious (or subconscious) assertion or decision to push the status quo out of line. And so looking back at the last few weeks that have felt transformational, I know it’s because I came to a realization about how I want to better my life here.

During the weeks I traveled around northern Mozambique, seeing fellow PCV sites and meeting PCV counterparts and community members, I thought a lot about how the experiences of my colleagues compared to my own thus far.  And I use “compare” very loosely here. Every Mozambican PCV site is different.  But, I realized that my colleagues who had close relationships with people in their communities were exponentially happier than those drifting in and out between worlds – the Mozambican vs. PCV world. Because, see, as volunteers we exist in limbo. We often begin to feel like we “belong” in Mozambique but are constantly reminded of our “outsider” status. This is especially because the horrors of colonialism weren’t really that long ago and its easy for Mozambicans to see snap judge us as just another “mulungo.” We may live just as our colleagues and other locals do, BUT we are also always fighting preconceived notions about who we are and who we are thought to be – in my case a white, rich, female, American, with a green card stamped on my ring finger. It’s easy to feel suspicious, distrustful, or worry about being taken advantage of because it can feel sometimes like people are unabashed about being friends with you because they want something, whether its money, clothes, food, medicine, shampoo… ANYTHING.

Anything is up for grabs anyways in Mozambique, no matter who you are. In a culture that emphasizes communal living, it’s completely socially acceptable for strangers to “estou a pedir” or ask for any thing or skill you possess. Every possession is negotiable. This is so incredibly different from the United States where everything has a set price, and possessions are very clearly owned. So of course, when people DO take occasional advantage of you (as can happen because opportunists exist EVERYWHERE in the world), then it affirms your suspicions and justifies the wall you build with Mozambicans to avoid future frustration. There was the guy who ran off with 800 meticais without finishing my kitchen door. There’s the colleague who always asks me consistently for money and medicine. There’s my counterpart who I just found out used Peace Corps money to buy a microwave (definitely a no-no!!!). There’s the neighbor that asks for clothes off my laundry line. There are the twenty students that come to my hut every day asking for water without offering to go to the pump to get me more. There’s the other students who steal the colored chalk that my mom’s sends me to spice up their own lessons! So, over time, those little things start adding up to make me feel like I’m getting mooched on by the whole village.

The thing is, when the needs become too much for high-energy PCVs to handle, we have a haven, an outlet – and that my friends is the beautiful phenomena of venting/crying over beer with other misunderstood PCVs.  Hey, we’ve alllllllll been “that person” at some point. ;) Integration is HARD.

The problem is, even if a break helps you push your personal "reset" button, the minute you get back to site, you realize that you've only avoided a problem rather than working toward resolution. And being a social and people-loving human being, I worry A LOT about my relationships with people and my community’s perception of who I am. If a conflict I've had with someone remains unresolved, I can’t stop thinking about it because of the consequences it could have with other relationships I want and need with other people at work and in the village. After all, it IS a village! Everyone knows EVERYONE. Often times these conflicts originate from miscommunications... literally, when I haven’t understood someone’s Portuguese or they haven’t understood mine.  That type of awkwardness is easily resolved if you’re willing somewhat embarrassedly to ask someone to rehash an entire conversation with you or ask for clarification. But, it’s not always that straightforward.

During this trip, I realized I was worrying a lot – pretty much ALL the time – and working through each possibility for miscommunication (verbal and body language) with each interaction I was having. The psychological weight/energy I spent doing this was unbelievable. My brain had become a computer to calculate the odds of each scenario as it played out and then re-evaluated afterwards to see if I had faulted.  Think Super Bowl instant replays – in my BRAIN – to navigate social etiquette in a country with incredibly different cultural norms. After living in Mapinhane for nine months, people generally expect me to have figured everything out already. Because this is very obviously not the case, this expectation caused (and still causes) me to avoid situations that I am clueless about or with people I don't already know well. A primary example?? Negotiating mix-gendered friendships in a Mozambican cultural context. Even simple things as being invited by my male colleagues to hangout, drink, and watch movies, I time after time deflected and flat-out rejected all propositions. This may seem rude on my part, but considering that I get slathered with compliments, flirting, and come-ons daily at work from all of them, I was seriously suspicious about intent.  Sure, I “trusted” my colleagues to look out for me, but I was also of the mentality of avoiding all problems before they even became problems. I think you can see where this is going. I’m not an uptight person, but I was so afraid of sending the wrong message or misunderstanding intent that I stiff armed every male colleague that tried to get to know me outside work. I was – how do they call it? – “keeping it professional.”

The tragic part of this is that, as I've realized now, this very uncharacteristic obsessive apprehension and conservatism has not only drained my overall energy level because I was avoiding people that I liked, but it's also needlessly caused me to miss out on a lot of the fun I could have been having. So while I have wonderful friendships with my neighbor lady friends and fellow female professors, I’m pretty sure every GUY at school besides Chefe Samuel thought I was THE MOST BORING PERSON ON EARTH. Can’t say I blame them.

And so, back to my decision. The turning point came when I got back from traveling and started the third trimester of the year. I realized that because I really do love my life in Mapinhane, it was time to stop being overly cautious and building walls/drawing lines with people. That phase is done. My point was made. It’s time to evolve. I realized I don’t want to leave Mozambique with “half” friendships, knowing the people I work with everyday only superficially. No way.

So, the Friday of that same week, I approached Adercio and Ernesto at the market and announced that I thought we should hangout the next evening. They thought I was joking. No seriously. I nearly got stood up the next night haha (*insert cricket chirps*).  To make a long story short, I hung out that night with Adercio, Etivaldo, and Chefe Samuel in town until 2am. AND we had SUPER FUN. They discovered that I, as an America woman, have A LOT of opinions. That’s no surprise to y’all back home (haha!), but my male Mozambican colleagues were THRILLED. They wanted to know my ideas about everything, and we thus shared some good heart-to-heart talks about life, politics, love, the future… the usual conversations incoming freshman at college stay up till 3am hashing and rehashing, enthralled by the new horizon of ideas and possibilities. We definitely felt a similar giddiness that night, bonding over Manicas, bad baraca music, and the exchange of world views.

And sure, clearly being an American (esp. woman) in Mozambique is STILL super awkward sometimes. But I’ve decided, WHO CARES. The end.  ;)

Chefe Samuel, Adercio, me and Etivaldo :)

Chefe Samuel is the best!!! He really looks out for me :)

Etivaldo tried to teach me how to open a beer with another beer. Obviously there are some parts of my life education that are still lacking lol ;)

Cheers y'all!!

Part 2: Secondary Projects - The trickle becomes a flood!

In addition to this dismantling of mental blockades and my general fear of social suicide, a lot of my projects have finally started to yield some progress and results! So, of course that’s good news! Community development is what I’m here for after all, not just cultural exchange!

“Levanta nossas meninas” – Girls Sports Bra Campaign

Perhaps my favorite project thus far is my “Levanta nossas meninas” or “Raise our girls” sports bra campaign. Teaming up with Lisa Ballou and the Kitsap Tri Babes, we organized a sports bra donation drive to support the Mapinhane girls basketball team that I’m coaching. I went to Vilankulos yesterday to check the post-office and found this HUGE box waiting for me, with 20lbs of sports bras inside!!!!

That's some MEGA BOUNCE-PROTECTION in there!!! :D 

There's enough bras in that box to cover at least two or three girls teams, so I'm trying to reorganize our local girls soccer teams as well to make sure the bras all have good homes to go to. 

For those pondering the sustainability question, I've been trying to brainstorm ways of making this sports bra drive more than a one-time thing. This first round of donations is incredibly impressive because it will jump start girls athletics in my host-community. However, what happens when the donated bras wear out? Or, what if even more girls want to get involved in playing sports? This needs a long-term strategy. I want to make this bra "drive" a bra "campaign"! At the moment, I'm thinking about trying to find a few local modistas, or tailors, and presenting sports bras production as a means of growing their businesses locally. If we had a local supplier, not only would it help local women-led business but would give our female athletes in the area an easily accessible resource. I don't know how feasible it is to find the right type of fabric needed for a supportive sports bra, but I do know that good elastic is available, so that's a start. I figure every option is worth looking into!

Centro de Leitura – Literacy Center (aka, the USAID Community Library project)

After attending the Early Grade Reading Assessment (EGRA) training in Nampula last month, all 19 PCVS and our 19 Mozambican counterparts left feeling revved up and excited about the implementation of a sweeping literacy initiative throughout Mozambique. Implementing this initiative and undergoing the necessary training wasn’t without problems of course.

To sum it up briefly, I feel we encountered as PCVs a textbook case of a big governmental organization throwing money and resources to jumpstart a campaign but then failing to maintain open lines of communication with local sources on the ground to make sure the original ideas/intent were realistic and implementable. Everything we were told to do during the conference – from the standard research methodology of evaluating baseline literacy rates to strategies regarding volunteer retention – had us relying on resources that weren’t obtainable or sustainable in our communities. Essentially, USAID had expectations for PCVs in our ground-breaking partnership, yet they didn’t bother taking the time to talk to us volunteers to negotiate realistic logistics about our roles in implementing their research and making the literacy program the most efficient and effective as possible. This lack of clarity led to such skepticism-lined PCV questions as, “Excuse me USAID, I live six hours by chapa from the nearest city, and you want me to not only pay for transport but to also pay for 100 ten page research questionnaires that are 5-10 meticais a page? That’s 1000 pages, costing between 5000-10,000 meticais (more than our monthly salary of 7,000 meticais, just for surveys)…how exactly are you expecting us to do that USAID?”  

So yes. Least to say PCVs and Mozambican counterparts alike felt incredibly frustrated by the lack of leadership overall during a conference in which we were supposed to learn the game plan for an exciting, cutting-edge USAID-Peace Corps partnership. Peace Corps staff seemed to be figuring things out on the fly and USAID seemed to be completely disinterested and disconnected from the very pilot program it espoused months before (especially because USAID only sent a representative the first day, and he didn’t even present USAID’s objectives for the EGRA program…). That left us PCVs feeling incredibly disappointed and floundering somewhat with the lack of direction.

But then things turned around. Us PCVs held a self-intervention and decided to take ownership in this program, and no longer worry about USAID rules or procedures. If USAID couldn’t show up to answer our questions, we would just run the show our way with the excellent help of our co-partner Livro Aberto (who’s representative was not only there the WHOLE conference, but was knowledgeable, helpful, and proved to be an incredibly dynamic mediator). Because of our collective decision and awesome teamwork, we pulled this looming disaster around, stripped away the frustration, and made the last day and a half the most productive, positive, and energizing conference days of the entire WEEK.

As such, we’re all jumping right into our community library projects and literacy programs at our sites with few complications.

My big personal recent progress was when I approached the Director of the Mapinhane Primary School and proposed the formation of the library and tutoring program on the Primary School grounds. Sr. Director Miguel was on board within the first five minutes, and we discussed, negotiated, and floated ideas and corresponding logistical plans for the next 40 minutes (all in Portuguese I might add! Wouldn’t have believed you if you told me I’d be doing that even 3 months ago!!!).  He invited me to start working on the library this week! More updates soon to come!!

A first peek at the room we're going to transform into the community library!!! SO EXCITING.

Programa de Alimentacão – Escola Primaria (Primary School Feeding Program)

So, as always there's some good news and some bad news. The good news? JAM's feeding program termination date for the Primary School has been extended to November. The bad news? Our director just went on his month-long vacation and is refusing to deal with any of this or schedule any meeting with JAM until he gets back in October. That means we'll have less than a month to talk about transition logistics, which is frankly just not enough time to do anything. So that's frustrating. But as much as I wish I could just freakin' call up JAM myself, that'd be a very American thing to do. I gotta play by Mozambican rules. Given the strong "chefe" complexes and adherence/reverence of titles and authority, it would be considered considerably rude, and out of line for me to go around the school director and take charge (what Americans would conversely call "showing initiative"). So. Instead of burning a mega bridge, I have to sit on my hands and wait. Thankfully I have lots of other things to keep me occupied!!

To wrap it all up…

I've been doing some serious bonding with my inner-joy monster ;)

"Como vai seu lado?" / "How goes your side?"

There’s a casual greeting exchange between people in my village that I’ve fallen in love with recently. It goes something like this:

Person A: Ola! Como esta?
Person B: Estou bem, mas nao sei sobre seu lado.
Person A: Estamos bem, obrigada.

There are two things that strike me as immediately interesting. For one, Person B says they’re well but in the same breath acknowledges that “nao sei seu lado” or, that they “don’t know your side.” To me, this insinuates that while the well-being and happiness of Person A is not entirely contingent on the response of Person B, they do have the thoughtfulness and courteousness to suggest that it might. And two, Person A responds to this allowance with a humble, “We are fine, thanks.” It’s with this subtle selection of the pronoun “we,” even when referring only to oneself, that suggests the speaker is also conscious of the collective. With the use of "we," the individual refuses to disassociate themselves from the social groupings of family, ancestry, community, or other social ties.  It strikes me how language is truly a vessel for cultural values. Perhaps it’s obvious, but how we discuss, debate, and even introduce our ideas, let alone how we address and acknowledge each other reflects an intimate intertwining of the value we place on both our relationships and our individuality (and perhaps the tension between both?).

So, all philosophical ramblings notwithstanding, how goes my (or should I say "our") side?

First off, the seasonal transformation I’ve witnessed in Mozambique the last few weeks has been rapid and unceasing. The sun is once again beating me out of bed in the mornings, and the ever inching weight of humidity has me stripping off my warm layers and kicking off my bedsheets at night. A part of me is thrilled with the change – I’m in love with the extra-long days of summer, coupled by the big thunderstorms and the vibrant, green of renewal that hurts your eyes after the dusty, dry winter. However, the other 98% of me is absolutely horrified at the thought of another six months of constant sweat, smelly feet, neurotic bathing, using sunscreen as body lotion, and the general loss of all ability to be outdoors between noon and sundown.  Let’s just say that I may be using the nearby “praia do Vilankulos” as a weekend escape hatch from my sweltering Hut with increasing frequency the next few months.

But for now, we are in the interim, a blessed purgatory. Life is incredibly good J

Actually, I just got back from a nearly three-week vacation away from site – the first few days I was in Vilankulos to celebrate my birthday, and then after a quick two days at site to submit grades, I went North!

Birthday Celebracoes! 

Because my birthday fell at the end of the last week of exams, all my Mozambican colleagues at school and my fellow PCV teacher friends were both a) completely broke AND b) buried under stacks of ungraded work.  Thus, I totally understood when no one could find the time or money to organize a small birthday get together.  Yet, still, the idea of sitting alone in my hut on my birthday was making me teeter precariously on the brink of self-pity - clearly a quite unflattering state of mind - until I had an idea!

Back in November I was given the number of a woman named Mandy who ran a horse stable and gave guided beach rides in Vilankulos. While I don’t wear my love of horses on my sleeve (in resistance to falling victim to any “crazy-horse-girl” stereotype and knowing full well that I am one), my obsession runs very deep. And so, in a “what-the-hell-I’m-taking-myself-out-this-weekend-YOU-GO-GIRL” moment, I decided to catch the next chapa to Vil, check myself into my favorite hostel, and call Mandy up. Instantly, the warm Zimbabwean-English voice on the other end of the line assuaged my restlessness, and by the end of the five minute phone call, Mandy had invited me on a snorkeling trip to Benguerra Island, a beach ride to the red sand dunes, and lodging for the weekend... ALL FOR FREE. The best part is, I didn't even tell Mandy it was my birthday – she’s just an incredibly generous woman who loves PCVs.  And so, for not having any plans until the very eve of my birthday, the start of my 23^rd year began with a wonderful stroke of not only amazing luck and generosity, but lots of adventure!  When I got off the phone, my mega fist-pump-happy-dance definitely woke up a cute guy in a nearby hammock. He laughed though. And then bought me a drink ;)

In any case, sometimes pictures really do better justice to an experience so I'll let them finish the story. A phenomenal weekend ensued, complete with AMAZING food (fresh crab curry anyone?), snorkeling (in which we saw octopi and dolphins!!), sailing, horseback riding, and making some very enjoyable new friends. 

Sunrise, July 14, 2013

Birthday lunch onboard the dhow! Next up, snorkeling and exploring the islands!!

My new friends, Maria (Sweden) and Liz (USA)! 

Heading home by sundown!

The next morning I played hookie from school and we went on a 50k horseride to the Red Dunes!

View from the top of the dunes! Couldn't be happier!! 

My tour north!

After a quick two days home wrapping up grades, I then took off again – this time for Northern Mozambique!! After an overnight in Maputo and a flight in business class (its kinda a long story) to Nampula, my bestie Cheyanne and I wandered through Angoche and Ilha de Mocambique over the next ten days before our Peace Corps Conference in Nampula.  

"The North" as referenced by PCVs refers to the provinces of Nampula, Zambezia, and Niassa, and Cabo Delgado. Considering that Mozambique is an incredibly large country, our two hour flight from Maputo to Nampula was a godsend that saved us from the two to three day bus trip (thru a PCV banned area) that Cheyanne and I would have had to undergo. Instead, we hopped on a plane, skipped along the coastline, and landed in the dry and semi-mountainous province of Nampula. First stop, Angoche!

Angoche is perhaps one of the nicest PCV sites in the whole country. It's really got it all! Imagine the salty air coaxing you out of bed every morning to find out your door the thick foliage of mangrove forests, salt flats, beautiful running trails, friendly and diverse locals (love me peacefully coexisting Christians and Muslims to contradict the stereotype), phenomenal food, and some historic architectural intrigue that remains after the departure of the Portuguese. Anneke and Mafe, our fellow PCV 19ers have the delightful luck of living in this wonderful oasis.

We spent a lovely five days wandering around the town with Anneke and her mom Barbara, going to the market, eating local delectables like Apas (which were fried tortillas with a fried egg, mayo, and ketchup inside, a delicious way to get a heart attack… or really just the closest thing to a Big Mac I can get here haha!), hanging out on Anneke’s apartment balcony reading, visiting the local modista (or tailor) to have some cute new caplana dresses made, and catching a canoe ride to the edge of the outer peninsula to visit the beach. All in all, besides a brief bought of food-poisoning that doubled as a malaria “scare,” it was an incredibly serene, peaceful place to start our trip. And Cheyanne, much to her surprise, found me a tolerable traveling companion. ;)

Next, we went to Ilha de Moçambique. This place, like all places that get hyped, up was really lovely… but it definitely was a place that I could only stay for a few days without getting restless (I mean, it’s an island, so I’m not sure what else I was expecting lol). But in any case, Ilha de Mocambique is famous for offering one thing – a premiere spot to teleport back in time and experience Mozambique’s colonial days. Everything about it – from its nostalgic Portuguese architecture, winding narrow European alleyways, the huge fortress and Governor’s mansion, along with the delicately painted fragments of Chinese pottery that wash up on shore with the tide (after being dumped by the Portuguese when they abandoned the island) – are all testaments to the time when Mozambique was one of the prime trading portals of the “East”.

It seems a little spooky for the identity of a whole island to continue to revolve around a time which was the embodiment of human cruelty. Ilha draws tourists interested in history and food, both of which are incredibly powerful reminders of what used to be. Ilha was occupied and used as a slave trade post for centuries. And now, the island itself, of a mere 0.6 miles from end to end, remains divided as it was decades ago into “stick town” and “stone town.” The names are pretty self-explanatory. Stick town is where the poorest of Ilha-ians live. Stone town, or the remnant, often crumbling old Portuguese homes, is where the wealthier Ilha-ians live. Many times while exploring the island, waves of simultaneous enchantment and revulsion would wash over me. The weight of history is heavier than many others in this place, mostly because Ilha de Mocambique is a place where you simply cannot forget the past. You're stuck in it. 

Classic colonial Portuguese archetecture with some original anchors from the trader ships.

The old Portuguese Governor's mansion coupled with the Catholic church. We got a tour of the place... quite ritzy, no surprise there.

An important Portuguese colonial dude. Probs the guy who lived in the mansion. (obviously I'm blanking on all the historical information I learned at the museum...)

The BEAUTIFUL walkway out to the pier.

A view of the fortress from the pier.

Exploring the fortress with Cheyanne :)

The Portuguese had an incredible military defense on the Island. Lots of other countries, including the Dutch, tried to take over the fort to no avail.

The bridge going back to mainland Mozambique.

I left Ilha on an early Sunday morning in the back of a truck driven by 6 Catholic missionaries.  It was one of those mornings of crisp-crystal-blue sharpness that cut through sleepy reveries better than any steaming cup of coffee.  As we motored down the bridge back to the mainland, my hair already transforming into a frizzy lion’s mane, I watched Ilha fade behind me into the golden rays of rising sunshine. Ilha is an island that fed the jaws of slavery yet  conversely protected people from the civil war. It is a place of Christians and Muslims. Of Portuguese and Mozambicans. It is a place where incredible differences and suffering has existed and yet everyone lives peacefully together within a square mile or less of each other. Ilha is microcosm of the entire country. And, while the "smallness" of it made me ready to leave, I wouldn't have missed its teachings for the world.

Back home, the final stretch!

After Ilha I went to a week long conference in Nampula. I couldn't wait to get back to Mapinhane, and now that I'm here we just started our third trimester of the year. I’m going to go out on a limb and introduce a Human Rights unit to 300 Mozambican eighth graders. It could be incredibly dynamic or it could fail miserably. Even though my shell has been toughened sufficiently the last few months, human rights  is something I hold near and dear to my heart… SO WATCH OUT eighth graders. It’s going to get intense! We’re gonna talk about discrimination, violence, the philosophy of non-violence and maybe even bring in some Dr. Martin Luther King.

Hey, I gotta pump myself up for the next three months somehow!! Wish me luck!