The Wok and the Boy, Part 2

Once upon a time there was a boy and a wok. Almost every day the wok would get a visit from the boy. After taking the wok off the pan shelf, the boy would look the wok straight into the bottom and ask “wok, please make me some deliciously exquisite egg fried rice.” Every time the response was the same: “sure boy, I’ll just use some rice, random vegetables you have lying around, eggs, oil, and soy sauce.” And when the boy would put the first bite in his mouth, he would sigh, for it was deliciously exquisite. And the wok was happy.

But then one day the boy asked the wok “wok, please make me some deliciously exquisite egg fried rice” and the wok looked around, but there was no more soy sauce. The large bottle of Kikkoman Original that the boy had bought in Nampula during supervisors conference was empty, not a drop left. Sadly, the wok responded “I’m sorry boy, but there is no soy sauce. We could make some fried rice with Raja curry seasoning and piri piri instead?” “Ok” said the boy, but once he put that first bite in his mouth, he knew that it just wasn’t the same. At times, it may have been delicious, and at other times exquisite, but never once was it deliciously exquisite.

Once the wok was washed, the boy put it back on the pan shelf, and walked away saddened. The next time the boy wanted to make fried rice, he picked up the wok, only to look at it and be reminded of the utter disappointment that accompanied the soy-sauce-less fried rice. So he put it back on the pan self, and went in search of other pans.

Each time the boy came into the kitchen, each time the boy laid out vegetables, each time the boy made rice, each time the boy looked at the wok, the wok thought “this is it, I’ve been forgiven, he needs me.” But the wok was only met with the same disappointment that the boy felt. And the wok was sad.

2 months and 3 weeks passed with the wok being used, an incredibly long amount of time for a wok. Then boy came back from a fantastic first-time trip to Quelimane with Gamill Superior Dark soy sauce. The wok thought “Sure that isn’t Kikoman Original, but it must be enough.” After laying out the vegetables, and putting the rice on the stove to cook, the boy looked at the wok. And it may have been the quickest little glance that has ever glanced, but for the wok it was like waiting for eternity. “wok, please make me some deliciously exquisite egg fried rice” the boy asked.

“Sure boy, I’ll just use some rice, random vegetables you have lying around, eggs, oil, and soy sauce.” After happily going through its work, the wok carefully watched as the boy served himself and his friend Eric a bowl of fried rice. Looking on from afar, the wok saw the boy lift the first bite to his mouth, and then sigh, for it was deliciously exquisite. And the wok was happy.

Getting SPF for the CAE from VAST

Juvencio, my counterpart and fellow french teacher 

This past week I've been camping out at the beautiful Hotel Millenio for a Peace Corps conference called PDM (Project Development and Management). Throughout the week, we attended sessions on how to identify the needs in your community, select a project which satisfies those needs, delegate responsibilities, design objectives and measurements for the project, write a grant proposal, and identify organizations that would contribute funds towards the project. Though the goal of this conference is to teach volunteers and their counterparts how to choose, develop, and fund a secondary project, the more immediate benefits are what is really appreciated.

Nothing makes you feel more at home than checking into a hotel room which features the same minimalists architecture of any Holiday Inn in the states, walking down to the pool to go swimming, but after finding out its too cold going to take a 30 min hot shower, then stuffing yourself with self-served food from shinny chaffing dishes (yay Ken Rent for the vocab). Though it was the hope that I'd learn what I need to do to get my bigger projects off the ground that got me to the conference, it was the luxuries that kept me there. 

Conference room full of PCVs and counterparts

Since staying, I have learned a whole bunch of new acronyms that are used in the peace corps grant writing world. As many of you share my love of acronyms, I feel it only right to give you a taste:
APCD-Associate Peace Corps Director,
EMARTS-Especifico, Mensuravel, Antigel, Realistico, Temporal, Sensibilidade de Genero
r-the person who is responsible for the task
R-person who is responsible for the project
PEPDFAR- Presidents Emergency Plan for AIDS Relief
VAST-Volunteer Activates Support and Training
PCPP-Peace Corps Partnership Plan

As usual, many of the sessions were a little to theoretical to be interesting, so I spent my time playing ultimate tic-tack-to and coming up with acronyms:
CAE-Centro de Actividades Extracurricular
SPF-Secondary Project Funds
POPCORN-Popular Options People Choose Often Remain Neutral
SHOWER-Supporting HOt Water Encourages Recovery

Dancing the cancan with Ariel and Steph during a project visit at an orphanage

Letter to a Fellow PCV

Started writing this as an email to a fellow PCV who’s finishing his 2^nd year in Romania (Hey Marco), but then the internet cut out and I decide to turn it into a blog post:

Hey dude, sorry I haven't gotten to it sooner, but I imagine you know how it is. So, this is what Peace Corps is like. When I was getting ready to leave the US I had all the ideas and thoughts and expectations about what it would be like. How weird, strange, and different it would feel. But you know what? Today I forgot I was a PCV in Mozambique.

I didn't notice it until I was walking back from my sitemate’s house and snapped back into reality, but for a short time there I wasn't a PCV in Mozambique. I was just in Mozambique. After snapping back to reality, I was both excited and afraid. On one hand, it's great to finally be so fully immersed. After hearing so much about the importance of "cultural integration" and second goal activities, to finally not be worrying about it for a few hours was a relief. But, then the fear of losing myself came on, and the unknown territory that accompanies it.

What happens when I'm not sure if I'm a PCV in Mozambique? So much of my existence for the past 6 months, nay past 9 months, nay past 3 years, (when I first announced I wanted to become a PCV) was tied up in what a “Peace Corps Volunteer” symbolized. But today, I felt what it would be like to be without that cloak. Just like any other time you take off clothes, you feel at first naked and then liberated. Just in writing this note, I have gone from being scared of not knowing to who I am, to being excited about the opportunity to figure it out again.

Well here’s to the joy of discovery

Hope to hear from you soon,

Sam

Sitting Outside, Watching Clouds

7:45 – Wakeup, put on pants, and go to kitchen. Put water in kettle and press button, no light turns on. Shit, there’s no power

8:15 – Laptop screen goes dark, then computer goes into sleep mode, I probably should have charged it yesterday

8:20 – Try light switch, still no power

8:49 – Send text to Dylan “Do you have power?”

8:50 – Receive text from Dylan “Nope. Should be on in a few hours”

9:35 – Try light switch, still no power

9:36 – Try different light switch, just in case. Still no power

10:10 – Get tired of reading inside, move to hammock

10:15 – Get tired of reading outside, move back inside

10:55 – Go to visit Vena and family at their house, sit outside and watch clouds

11:00 – Sit outside and watch clouds

11:20 – Sit outside and watch clouds

11:40 – Sit outside and watch clouds

12:00 – Sit outside and watch clouds

12:10 – “Sam, when is your birthday?” “July 3^rd” “You should invite all of your pretty students to your party” “Umm, ok”

12:20 – Sit outside and watch clouds

12:40 – Sit outside and watch clouds

13:00 - Sit outside and watch clouds

13:15 – Lunch is ready. Cove and Xima. Yumm

14:10 - Lunch is done. Go home, check power. Still nothing

14:30 – Go to visit co-worker Freitas at his home, not there. He’s at his bar

14:40 – Find Freitas at his bar, drink warm beer with him and his friend

16:10 – Start talking to parents on cellphone. Good thing I charged it.

16:40 – End talking to parents, with plenty of battery to spare. Skillz

16:41 – Check both light switches, still nothing.

16:55 – Go outside to watch sunset, which is particularly beautiful. Take Picture

16:55 – Arrive at Dylan’s house, light charcoal stove for dinner.

17:20 – Add more charcoal

17:25 – See neighbor has lights on, run inside to check. Still nothing. Well aren’t they chique with their generator at all.

17:40 - Add more charcoal

18:00 - Add more charcoal

18:15 – Dinner’s ready. Egg fried rice and chocolate-covered-pancakecake. Double Yumm

18:22 – Hear noise from outside, go to investigate.

18:23 – Loud cheering from all the neighborhood children and booming Mozambiquean pop hits indicate one thing: power’s back on!

18:39 – Power’s back off

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This past week was the 6 months anniversary of when I actually started my Peace Corps service here in Alto Molocue. In commemoration of this milestone, I’ve used the wondrous powers of Picasa to make this collage of important people, places, moments, and things that have defined the first quarter of my service.

What's Your Favorite?

Recently I’ve been feeling that my French lessons have been lacking that little “pizzaz” that made them an authentic Samuel Bar lesson.

The reasons are numerous.

1.       Second Semester Slump
2.          Rigorous’ french curriculum given to us by the provincial ministry of education
3.         The now 2 weeks closer exams based off the curriculum given to us by the provincial ministry of education
4.         Secondary Projects Exhaustion
5.       Ran out of Nutela and coming down to the last box of mac-and-cheese

But the effect is the same; I have been more tired during lessons, which entertains the students less, which entertains me less, which makes me more tired for the next lesson, and so on. It’s been a depressing few days of classes, and distressingly the dread of having to go to teach has regularly preceded the past few days.

Then I asked for my students favorites as part of an activity about giving your opinion, and not only did the “pizzaz” come back, but I learned some interesting things about Mozambiquean 11^th grade day and night class students:

2 in 6 turmas (classrooms) had Chris Brown as their favorite singer

2 in 6 turmas had Porto as their favorite sports team

2 in 6 turmas had Chelsea as their favorite sports team

3 in 6 turmas had Filiosofia as their favorite subject in school, if not for French of course

3 in 6 turmas had Killer Bean as their favorite movie, which I’ve never heard of

5 in 6 turmas had arroz con feijao (rice with beans) as their favorite meal, which I’d agree, is pretty good

The next day I asked for their least favorites

1 in 6  turmas had Pornographic films as the worst type of movies

1 in 6  turmas had Rato (Rat) as the worst type of food

1 in 6  turmas had Cabanga (fermented maize flour liquor) as the worst drink

2 in 6  turmas had Cacana (bitter herb) as the worst type of food

3 in 6  turmas had Tentacao (cheap and shitty gin, equally usable for killing brain cells and degreasing engines) as the worst drink

3 in 6  turmas had Terror films as the worst type of movies

3 in 6  turmas had Dalmacio as the worst singer

5 in 6  turmas had Mambas as the worst sports team

Now I don’t know what that this means beyond me being a very poor pollster. But if you figure it out let me know. 

Potentially the Saddest Sight Ever

It is with a heavy heart that I have to announce the recent demise of one of my closest friends and dearest possessions: my jar of Nutela

Can you see the mix of sadness and disappointment on my face?

Naceu o Jornal Escolar de Alto Molocue

Starting my day with coffee and JEAM

One of the many books I read during my first few months at site was the Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin. In it, I learned the 13 virtues which he aimed to perfect within himself (Temperance, Silence, Order, Resolution, Frugality, Industry, Sincerity, Justice, Moderation, Cleanliness, Tranquility, Chastity, and Humility). I learned that even without going to college, he received a bachelor’s degree from Yale (honorary). I learned that he was one of the greatest inventors of his day (bifocals, wood burning stoves, oil lamps, public libraries, and of course electricity). And I also learned that a well edited, published, and distributed newspaper can become a valuable megaphone to a man who seeks to solve problems in his community.

Luckily, the volunteers over the 3 previous years in Alto Molocue, namely Kate Biling and Chris Boyer, had formed and maintained a school newspaper named “Chaves Para o Futuro”. This meant that much of the work to start a Peace Corps secondary project (finding a local counter-part, receiving authorization from the school, procuring students) had already been done. But due to an irregular publishing schedule, conflicts with school administrators, and the normal turn-over of most of the students, continuing with the same newspaper just didn’t make sense. I remembered that when I was a kid, the most exciting time to play with LEGOS was when you had just taken them out of the box and the possibilities of what they could become were endless. Even from a purely selfish perspective, let alone for the students, it is much more engaging to create something from scratch.

JEAM on the day it was formed

Now I have no formal education in journalism. But I did grow up in a home where a day could not begin until I’d read the most respected newspaper from the greatest city in the most powerful country in the world, namely the New York Times. Though at first I had to wear sunglasses to read its blindingly brilliant grey pages, reading it every day was how I prayed at the altar of journalistic excellence. Then, while my mom worked for the Glory of Reporting itself, I was able to visit the great temple in NYC and bear witness to the organized madness that is professional journalism. So with the pinnacle in mind, I spent many a night noting down how to organize, write, distribute, and pay for a school newspaper.

JEAM's Logo, isn't she beautiful?

With a head and notepad full of ideas, I began to figure out how things work at ESGAM (Escola Segundaria Geral de Alto Molocue) and put the word out that a newspaper was being started. After enlisting Freitas, a professor of geography and part time journalist for Radio Alto Molocue, we began posting fliers advertising a journalism club at the school and held our first set of meetings. Most of these encounters were centered around a key newspaper forming activity, like choosing a name for the paper, electing an editor in chief, designing the paper’s logo, printing journalist ID’s, giving a basic Journalism 101, and learning how to use my digital camera. Afterwards, we would spend the remaining time brainstorming ideas for articles and reviewing professional newspapers, either Mozambqiuean ones that I would bring back from my travels or the exemplary New York Times in the print.

At that point we set April 30^th as our publication date and started collecting articles. It was slow at first, with maybe 1 article being completed a week. But once the journalists had their super fancy publisher edited color printed laminated ID cards, the articles started to pour in. Soon enough, our publication date had arrived, but due to gross managerial oversight, I had neglected to leave enough time for editing. So instead, we went to print 8 days late (still a victory in my book) and put out 7 copies of our first edition, at a cost of 150 mets (roughly 5 dollars). Lacking other sources for funding, I paid for the publication of this edition myself. Though not all that expensive, it set a poor precedent. How sustainable is a newspaper that has to depend on the largess of poorly stipended volunteers for printing costs?

Professors looking over the teacher copy

During the printing process, which was a comedy of double sided printing errors, I found out that there were two papelarias in town, the one we were at and its competitor. Grabbing at this information as a route to solving the problem of funding, I went down the street with my chefe de jornal Jonas to the check out the other papelaria. After a quick conversation, this second papelaria quoted us 112 mets for the same job. I then informed them that just like me, many people in town did not know that they were cheaper than the other papelaria, and if they bought add space in our next edition, they would be able to get the word out. Leaving the dona da papelaria to think over this little proposal, we went back to the first papelaria to inform them that their competion was willing to do the same printing job for less, and our next edition would be printed there. Accomplishing the rare hat trick of three birds with one stone, Jonas and I had printed our first edition, potentially made our first sale, and planted the seeds for our first price war. Mua ha ha ha.

Students and Teachers reading the first edition

After getting the two 1 sided copies signed by the pedagogical director of the school, we got some glue and posted them on the moveable bulletin boards, ready for the next morning. We then placed a two-sided copy in the sala das professors, the secretaria da escolar, the administration, and the municipio. The next day, the boards were moved outside, and we could officially consider ourselves as the successful creators, writers, editors, publishers, and distributers of a school newspaper. Sure there were many spelng and grammarifictastically errors, which no lack of people enthusiastically pointed out, and perhaps the pictures could have used captions, but otherwise it turned out better than I could have ever dreamed. Megaphone in place, now what do I want to say?

He’s a what, he’s a what

He’s a newspaper man

And he gets his ideas from a newspaper stand

From his boots to his pens

To his comments and his reps

He knows that any little article will do

“Dancing Choose” - TV On the Radio