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!

"Tempo de fome," a time of hunger

It's a phrase on the tips of tongues, at the back of minds, and felt in the pit of stomachs.  The literal knawing of hunger and worry for families feeding their children, mothers and fathers exchanging daily despairingly glances between their withered crops and incessant clear blue skies – a deep bottomless cerulean blue that’s beautiful to the outsider, but cruel to those that face the emptiness day after day, month after month.  Sometimes, dark clouds hover low on the foggy mornings. And everyone knowingly, futility, hopes that with the grey comes rain.

Then, the school bell rings, you blink. And it’s gone.

I incredibly underestimated Mozambique’s “dry season” – the six month stretch between April and October referred to here as the “tempo de fome,” a time of hunger. I thought the worse thing to live through here would be the heat of the “wet” season – a heat with crippling humidity that leaves you in a puddle of your own sweat just by trudging to the market. But then we had water. Lots and lots of water. And that made the heat bearable in a way because you could drink when you were thirsty and bathe when you needed to cool down. Now, it’s finally refreshingly cool. Temperatures have dropped into the low 50s at night, high 80s max during the day. Perfect for a PacNW girl like me (even if it makes my outdoor baths often painfully chilly). But I literally cannot remember the last time it rained*, nor the last time I didn’t dread my daily water carrying duties that sometimes make me walk around for an hour trying to find a well that’s not dry or disgusting. And I have it easy. There are women that walk three miles from neighboring villages in the bush to visit our pumps in Mapinhane. After filling every bucket, basin, and bidão they can carry, they then walk the three miles back to their homes in the bush. Alongside their mothers and sisters, I’ve witnessed children as young as four or five undergo this water-scavenging ritual.  Tiny, muscular arms wrench buckets of water as big as their own bodies and balance them precariously on their heads. It’s at times like this, considering the sacrifices of my neighbors, that I can’t help but feel guilty when I feel tempted to wallow in mulungu self-pity about how “hard” my life feels some days or how “little time I have” because I always seem to be doing “survival” chores. Yeah. Right.  GET OVER IT KID. You’ll always be in the Posh Corps to everyone else here.

Of course, for a nation like Mozambique in which 70% of 22.4 million people live in rural areas well outside the reach of industrial agriculture and mass food production markets, accessible water sources are absolutely crucial to the success of small-scale agricultural farms that feed entire communities.  Yet, Mozambique also ranks third highest of all African countries to suffer from “recurrent climatic shocks” which disrupt small-scale food production. As such, the World Food Program reports that nearly 25% of the population in Mozambique suffers from “acute food insecurity” at some point each year due to weather-related hazards. The most food-insecure households, WFP continues, are located in the arid and flood-prone areas of the south and central respectively.

Well. Wouldn't you know it. My village of Mapinhane is located in the north of the southern province of Inhambane. Given its geographic location (smack dab in the WFPs zone), suddenly it comes as no surprise that extreme fluctuations between drought and torrential rains is a very problematic, troublesome, yet normal reality for my neighbors and community members here.  The seasonal drought happens every year. It’s turning all our corn brown. It’s causing my garden to remain barren. The soil has transformed from its usual moist, red softness into a sandy brown hardpan.  Lamenting to my colleagues this last week about how I sprouted only a single lonesome carrot out of my ENTIRE garden of tomatoes, peppers, carrots, lettuce, beets, and squash (not even kidding, just ONE CARROT), they erupted in laughter. Prof. Elodio at least attempted some sympathy offering a “que pena!” (what a pity!) in-between his own incessant giggling. Yet, despite offering my colleagues comic relief and posing more evidence that I make the WORST Mozambican woman EVER, my predicament of a failed garden reflects the greater predicament of Mozambicans at large. This time of the year is called “tempo de fome” for a reason.  And given any ignorance of it, if I was poor and couldn't buy vegetables, tangerines (and the rare banana) from the ladies at the market, I wouldn’t be eating. Plain and simple.  And what’s worse, I’d be one of already millions of hungry people competing for incredibly limited resources.

Humbling, right?

This issue of hunger and malnutrition has been brought into stark clarity for me recently also because I just found out that the Primary School with which I substitute taught for six weeks and continue to volunteer at is about to lose funding for their school meal program. Their sponsorship through Joint Aid Managament (JAM) places expiration dates on their funding programs and as such, Escola Primaria de Mapinhane will lose its ability to feed its 1,000 students during the school day as of August. As Joanna, an administrator, personal friend, and self-proclaimed “mother” of the school explained to me, she’s worried that with the loss of the school’s feeding program will come a simultaneous deterioration of class attendance and student performance. Perhaps I’m stating the obvious but when students are hungry the last thing they want or are able to do is concentrate and learn to the best of their abilities.  Indeed, oftentimes the school food program is the only main meal some students will eat all day. Thus, the current feeding program operates not only as a powerful incentive for students to come to school, but also provide an opportunity to provide nutritional supplements that they otherwise would not be getting.

Losing this ONE important resource could be potentially devastating to students’ foundational skills in math, science, and general literacy that’s imperative to Mapinhane’s criancas completing the primary years of their education. The odds are already against them. As JAM notes, only 40% of Mozambican children at-large even reach the fifth grade.

Once Joanna told me about the situation she’s facing, my ensuing questions (and desire for involvement) were endless.  First, how big a role does JAM play in supporting the current feeding program, and how much is the Primary School dependent on JAM funding or is able to support itself? If it is in any way self-supporting, is it working effectively?  Second, what can be done to postpone the support gap? What sources are available through grants or other aid programs to continue the program in place? Is there any way to find a temporary support structure to maintain the feeding program while a sustainable solution can be found?   And finally, what is the best sustainable solution???

To start attempting to answer to the first question, I had to do some digging into what JAM is really all about and understand its objectives and implementations of its development philosophy. As I quickly discovered, the Joint Aid Management (JAM) is a (moderate) faith-based NGO with the motto “helping Africans help themselves” and operates throughout South Africa, Mozambique, Angola, South Sudan, Rwanda, Ghana, and Nigeria. Despite having such geographic coverage of the African continent however, their approach to aid programming tends to concentrated on small-scale community development rather than approaching change through policy development. In Mozambique, JAM’s primary campaign revolves around the “Red Bowl” Program (which mass serves a “Fortified Blended Food” or “soja” to school students including Mapinhane!) throughout Gaza, Inhambane, Manica, and Sofala provinces. Moreover, JAM’s philosophy of “helping Africans help themselves” approaches the reduction of short-term hunger by promoting in addition the development of school gardens and low-cost feeding programs reaching approximately 321,131 school children in total.  On the surface, it seems that good, important work is being done. But, already what troubles me most is the autonomy question. It remains unclear despite JAM’s publications, just how frequently sponsored schools are able to transition off of JAM program funding and become self-sufficient.  Or conversely, how schools cope when funding is withdrawn, used up, or expires.  The dependency of schools on JAM would be an incredible detraction from the fulfillment of their motto to “help Africans help themselves”… and given this motto I’m quite surprised that JAM hasn’t actually evaluated their effectiveness in “graduating” schools from their nutrition programs.

Secondly, the question of finding funding to “fill-the-gap” caused by the expiration of JAM’s program in August is the next challenge. So far I've done some power-mapping to brainstorm local, national, and international organizations that are in a primary or secondary position to support small farming and nutrition initiatives, and thus potentially cover the continuation and further development of Mapinhane’s Primary School feeding program. I've already sent off an email to JAM attempting to get in contact with the regional coordinator for Mozambique but haven’t had any response yet. I’d like to at least try to receive an extension of JAM funding to give us more time to figure out a more long term solution.  USAID, the World Food Program, PEPFAR anti-HIV/AIDS funding, and grants from the Public Affairs Office at the U.S. Embassy are some of my primary thoughts. I have also discovered some local micro-credit loan offices in the neighboring town of Vilankulos, which while always looking closed, should also be approached for possible funding.

And finally, what’s the ultimate vision for a replacement program, without JAM support? Ideally I’d like to continue and eventually extend the trajectory of Joanna’s work. So far, the Primary School has the materials to prepare and serve meals – this includes basic things like pots, pans, and bowls.  No need to reinvent the wheel there. Moreover, Joanna told me that a small school garden does exist BUT the size and productivity of it is marginal. Therefore, I am excited about the thought of developing a school meal program that could implement the produce of an expanded school garden. Just think! Students would learn how to grow the very fruits and vegetables that could supplement their soja (and their own health!). Filling tummies, boosting school attendance and performance. 

The thought just lights me up. Capacity-building 101. I LOVE the idea.

But implementation… there’s the tricky part.

So here’s my new to-do list.

1. Locate/apply for funding to continue the current "soja" meals and buy more time to develop a more long-term sustainable program
2. Calculate the logistics of expanding the school farm – what type of crops to plant, the type of maintenance they would need, the access to water, the feasibility of low-maintenance irrigation...
3. Identify counterparts in addition to Joanna - organize a community council

Let the hard work begin!!! 

Character Sketches - A "who's who" at E.S. 25 de Junho

My Colleagues

I teach eighth grade at Escola Secundaria de 25 de Junho four mornings a week. There are 24 teachers at my school, four of them women, the rest men.  It's my colleagues who make my world at school go 'round. Introducing them to you has been long overdue and I hope that now you all will be able to become familiar with their lives and have a better understanding of Mozambicans that are really working to better their lives, care for their families, and develop their country. 

Professores (lf-rt) Maurelio, Sergio, Osvaldo, Etivaldo, Adercio, Hermenigilda, Gloria, Panga

Took a second picture to crack the stoic looks of my first shot. This is more how we are at work. Always brincar-ing :)

Adelino Panga – A quiet, sheepish Chemistry teacher, who has a huge and thus incredibly contagious grin (when I can get it out of him!) ;) While I don’t see Adelino every day because we teach different grades, when I do see him, he’s generally plugged into his headphones. Even when we proctored provincial exams last trimester, he was walking around the classroom, bopping his head, listening to music. Cracks me up!

Adercio – Tall, suave, describes himself as a "cavaliero" (or gentleman). Business skills teacher.  It’s a good thing I didn't write off Adercio on first impressions because now he’s really a good friend of mine. However, the first thing he exclaimed to me EVER, in front of everyone during a staff meeting was “Teeeacher! Why is your bata SO dirty!?” NOT the usual, “Hi how are you” “My name is…” “I’m a teacher of…”  NO. He chose to pick on the young, new American teacher in front of everyone. And then make fun of my Portuguese. In my humiliation, I fervently vowed to forever banish him to my sh*t list. However, as I’ve gotten to know Adercio, I understand now that that first encounter was very reflective of his personality – a harmless prankster and constant joker whose behavior can be likened to a boy pulling the pigtails of the girl in front of him just to have something to do. Random fact? Adercio wants to move to Spain to study. (Oh, and just for the record, my bata was NOT dirty thankyouverymuch!!)

Angelica – Short, plump, P.E./Health teacher. My closest neighbor and the mother of Junior (the 3 year old that makes frequent appearances on my Facebook). Angelica is wonderful - sensible, empathetic, kind, and works very hard to make a living for herself and her family. Considering the borrowing-lending culture here where often things never come back, I have given Angelica medicine, spotted her cash, helped her pay for food a few times, and she’s always paid me back or if she can’t pay me, given me something else in return. Not that I need to be repaid all the time, but the gesture is incredibly unique here in that she’s not out to take advantage of someone’s generosity.  As such, we've built up a very trusting friendship where for example she can hand me her credit card and pin # to withdraw money from the bank for her, and the next week she’ll bring me a pretty necklace or some yummy food from her hometown of Maxixe.  Plus, I benefit from an open door policy if I never need help, assistance, or companionship, she’s always right there. I’m very lucky to have Angelica as my friend and neighbor!!

Elsidio – Thin, goateed, middle-aged professor who teaches history. He loves talking politics, which tends to make every other professor in proximity fidget uncomfortably. While grading provincial exams last trimester, we got into a big debate about whether the United States should intervene militarily in other countries conflicts (ie, Libya). He was adamantly against the U.S. war in Iraq and essentially views the American government as a hawkish warmonger.

Overall, I really want to like Elsidio. He’s always very warm and teasing with me. I personally have no reason not to like him. BUT, there’s another side of his that I cannot stand. Prof. Elsidio regularly beats and verbally assaults his students at the first sign of misbehavior or problems. The first time, it took me completely by surprise. When he caught a student copying from his neighbor, Prof. Elsidio literally cornered a tenth grade boy taller and probably stronger than he was (yet who was still scared enough to try and run), and started kicking him, 1…2…3…4…5 times before shoving him back into his seat. I couldn’t believe it. Fellow students laughed at the incident. I on the other hand, not having really seen much violence in my life, I had an overwhelming urge to cry. The next time I encountered Prof. Elsidio, aka Dr. Jeykll/Mr. Hyde, he requested permission to enter my classroom and make an announcement. I stopped my lesson and acquiesced. As he was speaking to the class, he spotted a student sneaking peanuts into his mouth. Immediately, he charged over there and gave MY student in MY classroom, four back-and-forth slaps across the face, SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! and started barraging him with insults. I froze. Every fiber in my body wanted to run over there and step in-between Prof. Elsidio and my student (who somehow had molded his face into a zombie-blank, completely expressionless piece of clay), but I was rooted and a voice in the back of my mind (I’m not even kidding you) thought that Prof. Elsidio just might turn his beatings onto me if I undermined him in front of everyone. It was one of the suckiest most powerless feelings I've ever experienced. I couldn't shake the incident, and thought about it guiltily for days. Next time, I’m doing something. I don’t care, ANYTHING. Just not freezing up like last time.

The plus side is that in response to the beating incidences, I appealed to my students to take care of and stand up for each other. “Instead of laughing next time, empathize.” I told them. “How do you feel when that person getting hit is you?” Total silence. And because I refuse to beat my students, I've also forbidden them to beat each other (which is a surprisingly frequent occurrence as well) when I am in the classroom. Hey, you gotta break the chain of violence somewhere…

Elodio – Portuguese teacher, average height, young family man. Elodio cracks me up because he really thinks he’s hot stuff. He’s a wealthier than many of the new profs because he’s been teaching longer and can financially support his family four hours south in Maxixe. He apparently can also support a healthy obsession with everything that's cool and fashionable. Whether he’s toting around the newest Mozambican iPad, or bringing in some new gadget to blast music in our "sala dos professors" (Teachers’ Lounge) he’s the definition of too-cool-for-school. And to emphasize the point, he always wears really chique clothes, that frankly are probably suuuuuper uncomfortable. Hey, pain is the price for beauty I guess haha ;)

Ernesto – Mega cutie, young professor who teacher TICS (or Computers/Technology). Got to know him because we “controllar”-ed provincial exams together and because I complemented his awesome outfit of bright red pants, and green converse. I can’t help but be a little envious. (And I'll try to put up a photo!)

Etivaldo – Physics teacher, average height, GREAT soccer player. Prof. Etivaldo really is awesome. He's always making jokes, for example calling people "comrade" to comically resurrecting the old communist influence that died out with the civil war. He's not only a physics professor but was coaching the girls soccer team last trimester, so I expect to be around him alot more come next trimester when we try to revive team practices.

Gloria - Biology professor, hot-headed, single mom. Ohhh Gloria. How do I sum up not only this incredibly complex woman but all my mixed feelings about her. For one, she's my other neighbor and so whether I like her or not as a friend, I have to get along with her. And, most of the time, she's a really nice person - incredibly witty, funny, doesn't take no for an answer type of woman. BUT.  Dear lord, do not double-cross Gloria or get on her bad side. In the two primary experiences where I've accidentally gotten myself into the scope of community criticism, not only has she not stuck up, waited to hear me out, or spoken up for me, rather she's thrown me directly under the bus of public opinion. And so, unlike Prof. Angelica, I do not trust Gloria at all, yet have to respect her nonetheless as my colleague. It'll be an interesting time.

Hermenigilda- History professor, cute, petite, very fashionable, outspoken. Hermenigilda is a wonderful, smart, kind, young teacher who I've also asked to be my counterpart for the USAID Books for Africa program. She's badass. Why? Because last week she took on my school admin about the falta forgeries without hesitation, calling out plain and unabashedly the reality that certain professors have more privileges than others. BOOM. Get it girl.

Julião - English profesor, veryyyyy tall. He always looks at my chest or anywhere but at my face when he talks to me, lol! I think he's just really shy and awkward, but for the first few times I actually glanced a few times at myself to make sure nothing was, ummm... hanging out of my shirt or something. Nope. He just stares at my chest. Aight.  Loaned him "The Hunger Games" to practice his English. 

Kalenga - French professor from the Congo. Arrogant, often loud, but he likes me because I taught him how to use his iPad so we’re homies I guess :)

Lourenco – Older professor who rides a motorcycle to school. ‘nuff said.

Osvaldo - Biology professor. Tall, young, athletic. Always hits on me in English which usually ends badly haha! He says “thanks be to God” a lot because he doesn't know how to respond to things any other way. Comes over to my house for tutoring too, and I didn't take him seriously at first because I thought it was just another move to try and get with the new American prof. But, much to my surprise he kept coming after the first week and actually studied, so he won over my skepticism. Very nice guy, incredibly smart, good colleague all around.

Sergio - Art teacher, volleyball coach. Suuuuper tall, suuuuper skinny. Always seems to be around when I'm in crises, aka, helped me pull a goat out of my house once, and helped me negotiate a tricky situation in which a student arrived on my doorstep with her suitcases and demanded to live with me. Awkward. Sergio's the bestttt!!

Titos – Agrarian/Horticulture prof. The only professor in school who owns a car. Lives in Vilankulos and commutes every morning. I think he pedals a part-time job with Movitel, the cellphone company because he's always wearing orange things with "Movitel" stitched on, haha!

There you have it! The best and the brightest of Escola Secundaria de 25 de Junho!! Stay tuned! :)

Spinnin' Kaleidoscope.

Hey y'all, I'm gonna try something new this time around! Here’s some stream of conscious/unrefined excerpts from my journal from every day this past week. Mix 'n match between Sunday's comic relief, Monday's  dedication to an old teacher of my own, Tuesday's pig poo hunt, Wednesday's restless musings, and a brush with corruption and sexism on Thursday! And of course, Friday, I fought the law (aka 8th grade mobocracy) and won. Enjoy the crazy lack of filter and candidness. Dig in!

[SUNDAY]

 A day of anger and confusion (okay being a little dramatic here) that shall otherwise remain forgotten except for the meritable achievement of grading 300+ exams NONSTOP. 

WHO DOES THAT TO THEMSELVES?!? noob.

Creative artistic interpretation of Teacher Karina (me)

[MONDAY]

Passed back tests to all five Turmas. Was immediately begged for "recooperacao" or extra credit. I told my students I don't believe in extra credit, that they should study harder next time. There were a handful of kids that actually did really well!! So, I know the test was doable, and I'm a lenient-benefit-of-the-doubt grader anyways. I'd also like to believe tough love builds character. Thank you Mr. Driscoll for teaching me that invaluable life lesson (he failed my whole 10th grade Honors English class and put us in "grammar hell" until we worked our way out of it! Move over Dante, we've got another Inferno on our hands!! Hahahaha, ooooh where are all my fellow English majors when I need them!? ;) Someone's gotta laugh at my nerdy jokes!)

[TUESDAY]

My day off!!  Can't remember what I did today. Nothing? Naw. Maybe I sat and stared at my hut's awesome ceiling watching my gecko family eat bugs, and listened to This American Life. Probs. Ira Glass has a sexy brain. Oh, yeah, I shoveled some "poo do porku" and hung out with the neighbors under the big Baobob tree that I've been wanting to wander out to for a while. It’s taken me about two months of fofoca-ing (gossip) to figure out who could hook me up with “estrumo” without paying money. No way do I want to spend my precious meticais on…well… you know. Planted carrots and tomatoes. Peppers and lettuce will follow this weekend. It's 7:30. BEDTIME. MUWAH. Such a granny!

[WEDNESDAY]

I woke up this morning to discover a particularly asshole-ish mosquito had bitten the top of my boob (try scratching that in-front of 60 eighth graders! Man, I was trying out every "readjustment" strategy in the book! HAH!). Also, had to run the N-1 sim iPod - feel like that type of plod, plod, shuffle beat sets the bar pretty low for the rest of your day. But it'll only get better!

Or. Not.

In general, the restlessness came on hard and strong today. And while some monotony (although my life is hardly monotonous!) is a lovely indicator of a well-established routine and proof that my life here is "normal" having integrated well into the rhythm of my community, the reality of course is that I'm living in a small, fairly isolated village. And that reality can make even the most content and happy PCV start to feel itchin' to get out and see the rest of Mozambique sometimes. As such, I caught myself Googling random things like "How-far-is-it-to-walk-from-Mapinhane-to-Kilimanjaro" (585 hours, or 2,870 kilometers if you were curious). I'll even begrudgingly admit to searching for flights home for Christmas... a huge turn of events for a girl who a week ago was morally opposed to the use of parental dinerho for anything other than traveling Africa. So what changed?

I'm not homesick. I'm not unhappy. Quite the opposite really. Whenever I do travel away from site for weekenders I always look forward to going "home" to my little hut, hanging out with my neighbors, taking care of my garden. 

But I had a late-night convo with an awesome friend/fellow-PCV a couple weeks back about just what I was being so stubborn about in my refusal to go home. At the time I rambled on about wanting to prove to myself that I could do it, that I could sacrifice and go without all the things I deeply love for two full years to focus on the needs of other people. Then I'd truly understand what it means to serve selflessly right?

But then the "Africa-will-always-be-there" argument was posed... and I stumbled. I mean yeah, Africa WILL always be there. Mt. Kilimanjaro will always be climbable (although the glaciers won't be there in ten years womp womp, woooomp... oops, bad joke, too soon!?). People WILL always need help, care, education, or nurturing. That night, I shelved these original musings to the back of my mind and rolled over to sleep. Yet, after having this conversation keep popping up over the following week, I realized I probably didn't have a very good answer to my dilemma. Or rather, my answer was rooted simultaneously in pride and a rather philosophical value of self-deprivation. That it was better if I "toughed out" the two years for what it would teach me about myself than to appreciate the things that I already had - wonderfully wise and hip parents, loving, adventurous, supportive friends, a beautiful homestate...

(Lets just say there was a reason my parents had to pull the car over for me to vomit up my last breakfast on the way to the airport nine months ago... In a way it’s like I had convinced myself I wasn’t ever coming home again! At that moment, 27-months felt like an eternity!)

And knowing that my future career path will most likely take me across the globe and (again) far from the people I love, is it foolish to not take an opportunity to go home when an opportunity arises? Would there be regret later? 

And so, for the first time I'm looking at going home halfway through my service as a viable option. We shall see. I might change my mind again tomorrow.

[THURSDAY]

I walked out again on the hooligans of Turma A and this time didn't come back. Moreover, I gave them the school-appropriate equivalent of the middle finger by going straight to Dir. Adelaide and asking her to lecture their disrespectful you-know-whats. No wheedling the Dir. de Turma this time when all he'll do is just find some scapegoat kid to beat on a little to scare the others OR brush me off with the Portuguese equivalent of "boys will be boys" and do nothing. Going straight to the WOMAN in charge thankyouverymuch!!!

Moreover, I bypassed Turma A's appeals for forgiveness and went to teach Turma B instead (since surprise surprise they didn't have a Prof...). I love Turma B - they're great kids. And I told them so. They try, they participate, the listen. Turma A may be "smarter" in the sense that they do better on tests, but I would take any turma of kids who need more guidance but also who want to learn, over a turma of sycophants.

Also today, after finding out that I had missed yet another meeting because I was magically supposed to know about it without anyone telling me, I talked with the other three female profs, Hermenigilda, Gloria, and Angelica, and found out that they hadn't been told either... AGAIN. It seems like us ladies are regularly being unrepresented at these school meetings!! That makes me soooo mad! What's more, apparently there's been some discrepancy with recording our number of faltas (absences). Sounds like (from what I could make out of the angrily fired Portuguese amongst my colegas) some profs are gone all the time yet their faltas magically disappear while other pros (again, primarily the women) have faltas recorded that are incorrect/falliciously changed! There's suspicion that white-out was even used on numerous Livro do Ponto entries to change the attendence record AFTER the professoras had already signed to its veracity!!  Unbelievable.

Let me tell you, corruption sucks (obviously). But! When the perpetrators of corruption suddenly, explicitly wear the faces of your colleagues, especially the ones you like and trust to look out for you as not only your colleague but your friend, it sucks when their suspected of such discriminatory transgressions.

We'll see how this whole fiasco pans out. The ladies kept saying "vamos falar, vamos falar" ...but whether they actually are able or want to air their grievances... we'll see.

The thing that disturbed me about this whole incident too is where I fall in this equation. I am "woman enough" to be included in sexist discrimination at meetings (aka being viewed as unimportant or simply forgotten), but not "woman enough" to qualify for discrimination in pay, (ie through the suspected falsified falta scheme). Unlike my female colleagues, my faltas were correct and unchanged. Or rather, the one time I had a falta recorded incorrectly, I brought it up and it was immediately on-the-spot changed with all sorts of  chagrin and apologies. Yet, when Hermenigilda tried to do the same thing she was told she was "wrong" that she actually had "missed more days then she thought" or "recorded". And that was that. No one to appeal to. Nothing to do except choke it back and move on. It's infuriating.

My faltas mean nothing financially for me - it operates more as a self-check. But for everyone else, it's your salary that gets whittled away with each "absence." And salaries have to go a long way here to make ends meet. It affects if you can eat three-meals-a-day, how you live, and essentially your whole ability to be mobile! For Gloria and Angelica, mobility is key because they have families (including a 1 year old baby!) living four hours south of Mapinhane in other towns. They can only afford to home to see their kids and families once or twice a month. And if their wages are late (as they frequently are), then they're delayed from seeing their families even longer! It's cruel. Single moms like Gloria and Angelica are the sole providers for themselves, their children, and usually even their parents. So in other words, these forged faltas have a significant impact on not only their quality of life, but the lives they're responsible for caring for!

Yet, I am the one school admin bends over backwards for to please ad apologize?! That's so *ucked up in soooooo many ways.

Moreover, I've been asking myself all day, "what can I do about this?! Unlike my colegas, I get listened to when I make a fuss. Perhaps what overcomes my "womanness" is my whiteness. Plan and simple. Being a mulungu makes me exempt from certain rules and/or offers me more privilege, leniency, and status without reason. Would I have as much to lose if I did some movin' and shakin' with the admin for my female Mozambican colleagues? No. Worst-case-scenario is that I confront the right person in a way they can't save face from and then alienate myself from admin and my other colleagues who can't risk offering me comraderie. And I suppose that'd be pretty devastating.

Yet, isn't not doing anything just as bad if not worse?? It'd be like saying, "Well ladies, that's the way it is, you might as well get used to getting screwed over by the system (even by other women like me in the system who are trying to take care of ourselves!)

So, I can't do that. But then... what do I do?

It's also tough because my extra mulungu priviledge divides me from Hermenigilda, Gloria, and Angelica. Even though I'm a woman, I'm "upper-class" so to speak. The rules for mulungu ladies like me are different than for them. And because of that, I think they don't really see me as a part of their struggle.

During their angry back and forthing today, comparing notes and figuring out just what's been going down right under our noses, they didn't really include me in their convo. Hermenigilda tried a couple times, but for the most part I hovered awkwardly on the sidelines, offering my supportive grunts. I wanted to join in but knew as well as they did that I had been exempted from their mistreatment. Even though I identity more with them as women than with my whiteness or wealth, those two factors continue to interfere in deepening my relationships. It's so frustrating. Yet would I give up my privilege? Could I? How? And at what cost?

Thank god my hand is cramping up, I don't feel like scribbling out an answer to that question right now.

[FRIDAY]

New day, fresh eyes, fresh heart, a game plan, lets roll!

Today, I fought Turma A...and won lol *cue Western movie theme song*

I walked into class with a plan. Assigned seating. Class rules. No more "nice-happy-cute-brincar-ing-Teacher-Karina" anymore. It's business time. On my end that means I've got to have the ovaries for enforcement. And it was tough. They broke the no-talking-without-raising-hand rule? That minus one point from your test score. Talked again without raising your hand? Minus another point. Oops, now you "mishkalgi" student (thank you Arabic for popping into my brain randomly!) you are now failing my class when 30 seconds ago you were passing.

Had to mentally coach myself through those astonished looks of disbelief... those looks that crumble my resolve and make me want to take it all back. But no! They'll survive. They'll learn. Who knows they might even forget it all by next Monday and I'll have to go through another round of deductions.

But, seeing the glass as half full this enforcement thing is as good for me as it is for them. It takes gumption to make someone live through the consequences of their actions. I’m teaching and getting through to them more about life today, than perhaps any other week of the year.

And for the first time in months, I attained a wonderful, respectful, class learning environment. It was miraculous. And it brought back some of my fondness for my little smart-asses. I ironically find myself musing that after all, they are just kids.

Then, of course right when I thought I had smooth sailing, I walked into Turma B and found one of my favorite students Vavia bawling, tears rolling down her face. "Vania," I asked alarmed, "O que e que foi??!" Between sobs, burying her face in her arms on top of her desk so I could barely hear her, I made out, "caneta," "dinerho," and "roubar."

Apparently, someone had stolen not only Vavia's pen but 40 meticais out of her school bag. That's a lot of money for anyone here. "Who has Vavia's money?" I asked the class. "You can give it to me now, without any punishment."  *silence*  "Entao, I will go to speak with Sr. Directora immediately and she will deal with the situation." And with that, I swept out of the classroom and brought back the Pedagogical Director herself who let Vavia go through everyone's bags in front of her. The money wasn't found, but I can't say we didn't try.  Some days I really do wish I could wear a Wonder Woman outfit. Or carry around a lasso at the very least haha. BAM!! Restorative justice.

Taught at the Primary School again today. Then I stayed late and helped serve lunche... a mysterious cream-of-wheat-style mash of goodness that might serve for some kids as their only main meal. At least it's not Cheetos.

Oh! One last thing! I found out my grant application for USAIDs Books for Africa program was accepted!!!!!  That means I’ll be receiving 100 childrens books in Portuguese to start up a children's literacy program here in Mapinhane! AND if that sets some solid roots, maybe I can even get a library going before I leave! Obviously the hardest work is yet to come, but we’re one step closer to putting books at kids fingertips and social/economic mobility on the horizon. BRING IT ON.

Anyways, time for some Friday night craziness. Hot cocoa, a toasty warm blanket, and some Samantha Power by kerosene lamp. I’ll try not to set my highly flammable mosquito net on fire…

Life is truly good. 

Oh and here's some pictures of my primary schoolers. How can you not love them!