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 23rd
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.
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| Sunrise, July 14, 2013 |
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| Birthday lunch onboard the dhow! Next up, snorkeling and exploring the islands!! |
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| My new friends, Maria (Sweden) and Liz (USA)! |
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| Heading home by sundown! |
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The next morning I played hookie from school and we went on a 50k horseride to the Red Dunes!
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| 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.
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| 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!
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