Dia do Agradecimentos 2012

So I know that normally thanksgiving is the 3rd Thursday in November  But who chose that? The man probably. As a rebel nonconformist, I cannot accept this and am instead fighting the power. I, Samuel Harris Bar, am declaring today, the 4th Tuesday in November as my personal day to give thanks. My first amazing year in the Peace Corps has given me plenty to be thankful for, so here it goes. Viva a revolucao!

-Cold water
-Ice cream

It's much easier when they're drunk

-Frozen turkeys
-Refrigeration, in general
-Clever hand turkeys
-Incorrect stereotypes about Africa
-Trustworthy and loyal friends
-Loving family that misses me
-Movitel fiber optic, and how it can make distant friends and family feel closer
-How easy hammocks are to make
-Finding a perfect pair of new jeans while searching through bales of clothes in the market
-Temperature regulated ovens
-Being kept busy
-Gutters for collecting rain water
-Coco, despite the stressful moments
-Woks and Soy Sauce
-Capuala hoodies (yes, they exist!!)

-Never having to call PCMO or go to the ER of the HDAM for a ME
-Acronyms

Chiure thanksgivings 2012

-Low expectations, high hopes
-Refrigeration again, its just that good
-Having one’s achievements recognized, even if only by a couple people

-Dancing to flag a car down for a boleia (ride)

Last step of our boleia dance

-Seeing the sun set into the rolling hills of Zambezia from my front porch
-Students who are excited to learn
-The Broly Trinity
-Being able to look behind you and see how far   you've come
-Being able to look forward and have an idea of where you want to go


Phew, that was a mouthful. Good thing I didn't try to do this on the "official" thanksgiving. My bloated stomach wouldn't have been able to handle it. I hope everyone had a wonderful thanksgiving full of food, friends, and family. See you all in the states in 2 weeks!

Back to the Namachaa

One year later and where am I? Back in the Namaacha for training.

Me and the host family

Though most of the activities were the same, my point of view was sooo different. I still ate meals with my host family, went to mind numbing tech sessions with the other trainees, practiced Portuguese with the language trainers, and spent a ton of time celebrating every day of training with my friends Manica, 2M, Preta, and Capitan Morgan. But where last time I was a scared little newbie portugeseless trainnee, this time a grissled and chiseled bearded veteran volunteer.

Just like during my PST (pre service training), each the 10 weeks has 2-3 of the current volunteers visit to share their experience. Though many volunteers apply, a couple months ago I was surprised to find out that I was one of a handful of 17ers selected to attend training. Like all of the visitors, I taught model lessons, explained what I do at site, and helped out the trainees with their Portuguese. But I had the great luck to also be there for site placement, aka when they find out where they'll be spending the next 2 years of their life.



Non-formal education with trainees

Arriving Sunday with my fellow training volunteer Amanda Moore, I went straight to a family dinner at my old homestay house. Mama Laura, Cecylia, and Lina were happy to introduce me to the newest member of the family, Mimosa the cat. Not only was the food as good as I remember it, but sitting at the table with my Mozambican family felt like being home again. Since I had left, Mama had built a whole knew room on the house which she was especially proud of, my sister Cecylia had gotten a job at the German bakery, and Lina had graduated 9th grade. Of course, I brought them the standard mozambican gift of a capulana, and they all approved of my fashion choices.

Monday and Tuesday I attended teacher and Portuguese training sessions, which all went well, though I think the math and science trainees were disappointed to get a French lesson. Wednesday brought hub day, and the all important site placement.

19ers seeing their site placements

After surrounding the giant map of Mozambique, the Moz 19ers, 12 of which are transfers from the recently closed Peace Corps Cape Verde, were handed their site placement envelopes. After an agonizing pause where they read the cover letter from country director Carl, we counted down from 3 and they ripped open their packets. Of the 68, 32 are headed to the north, 6 to Zambezia, and 1 to Alto Molocue. I'm very excited to get to know my new site mate, Eric Wilburn, over the next year. It'll be great to have another volunteer in Alto and even better to have another at my school. Afterwards, everyone went out for celebratory drinks, and I got to answer a ton of questions about the various sites and site mates for the 19ers. Much to their credit, almost none of the trainees were unhappy with their placement and I didn't hear anyone complain about being far from friends, amenities, or beaches.

The Newest residents of Zambrozia

Thursday and Friday held more tech and language sessions, meals with the family, and bar outings. Saturday I left with a bunch of trainees in a Peace Corps car to Maputo for my Sunday morning flight back to Namupla. Unfortunately, the LAM pilots decided to go on strike, which is why I'm in the Peace Corps office in Maputo right now righting this post. All in all a great week at training, and I can't wait till this newest group of volunteers swear in in a couple weeks.



Snow Men Jokes

Jennea and Victor with their personal
Alto Molocue tour guide

So it's been almost a month since my last post, mostly because of an insane amount of travel and a seemingly unending stream of visitors. First, I had a several day trip to to Quelimane with the exclusive purpose of coming back with a fridge (great success!!). After enjoying my cold water and home made pickles for a few days, I then embarked on a 4 days of overland travel to Xai Xai for the 2 day Science Fair handover meeting, then 3 days of  travel back. After maybe 24 hours of relaxation at home, Steph from nearby Nawela arrived in preparation for our Moz 19 site visitors. Once they had arrived, I endeavored to show my 2 visitors everything Alto Molocue has to offer in 3 days. Needless to say, I haven't had much time for blog posts.

But do you know what I have I had time for? Starring off into the distance blankly, eating greasy travel food, getting sexually aroused by memories of air travel and high speed trains, and making up bilingual snow-men jokes.

Yay cold everything!!!!

Predictably, a snow-man joke is a joke involving snow men, women or babies. Some of them are lame (what is a snow-man's favorite breakfast cereal? frosted flakes), some are clever (what did one snow-man say to the other snow-man? smells like carrots), and some are sexual (what is the difference between snow men and snow women? snow-balls). But in my opinion the best ones take advantage of similarly sounding words in different languages. In my case, Portuguese:

• What is a snow man's favorite desert? Gelo
• How often do snow people brush their teeth? Neve
• How much do you pay a snow-hooker? Nothing, they're frio

If you think of any others, Portuguese or otherwise, please let me know. I promise to laugh out loud embarrassingly once I read them.

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On a side note, I've been getting alot of thumbs up and back pats since the election. Politics aside, it's great for American's living abroad when our nation continues to elect diverse and dynamic presidents.

Presidential Debates

One of the nice things about living outside the US, and mostly disconnected from the internet, is that I’m well insulated from the presidential election season madness. 4 years ago, I was fully invested in the campaign, talking non-stop about the most recent campaign gaffs or poll numbers, and if I was there now I’d be just as annoying. Instead, it’s been more like watching the Tour de France, missing most of the details but finding out about and game changing scandals. Since getting on the internet involves so much effort, most of my campaign knowledge comes from other, better connected people: my parents, sister, friends in the states, fellow PC volunteers, and even neighbors and co-workers. No matter what the piece of news, it comes through with all the biases and experiences of the person doing the telling. This has made for some interesting comparisons.

After the most recent presidential debate, I heard about it first from my parents. Of course, they started with the standard but always meaningless ruling on the debate’s victor, in this case Romney.  This turned into a commentary ranging from lamenting at Obama’s poor performance to ridiculing positions that Romney seemed to have taken. For me, it was a nice surprise to hear that he finally decided to own up to his record as a governor. Having gone the whole campaign hiding from what I think is his best asset; it was nice to see that governing experience finally won out over party politics. Finally, we talked about when the next debate would be and our hopes for a better showing by Obama.

This little political conversation finally motivated me to fill in, photograph, and email in my overseas ballot the next day. A couple days later, my completed ballot was still on my desk when Juvencio came over to work on a new Scout’s grant proposal. Seeing it, he commented on how there were so many candidates running, 10 in NJ, and how politics in the US are so different. He was most puzzled by how presidential debates work. Why would Obama participate? His party was already in power. Wouldn’t going face to face just help his opponent? Is he not afraid that a televised debate would turn into a physical fight? After laughing at the image of presidential candidates fighting each other on Jerry Springer, I realized that he meant an all out civil war and was silent for a little bit. Once i regained my composer, I explained that that though the Democrats are in power, the US has a well-tuned non-violent political anger machine. Any screw-up or error made by anyone in the public eye, president or candidate, is shouted from so many channels that the best way to calm people down is to have a moderated debate. Still holding firm that it would never happen in Mozambique, we got back to work and finished the grant proposal.

So for as much stress as the presidential election season madness creates, I’d rather have a maniacal, crazed, divisive, all-consuming $2 billion dollar a year argument than not at all. 

1 Moring, 4 Projects

JUNTOS Troca. Taking this photo was the
only time I had to watch the sessions

For the past month I’ve been running at 110% managing my 4 ongoing secondary projects: English Theater, Jornal Escolar de Alto Molócuè, Escuteiros, and Science fair. Between the Escuteiros initiation ceremony, national science fair competition in Chimoio (which both of the Zambezia representatives won first place in), a JUNTOS journalism troca de experienca (experience exchange) in Gurue, and next weekend’s English Theater competition in Mocuba, it’s been a little overwhelming. Luckily, I’ve been able to finagle my schedule so that no two projects conflict with each other, but this also means that I haven’t had a free weekend in a month, and don’t expect to till the end of the school year (October 26^th!!).

English Theater performing at morning concentration

 Yet this overwhelmingly full schedule hit new highs this Tuesday. On the 25^th of September, which is the Dia da Luta Armada (Armed Resistance Day), I somehow managed to work on all 4 of my secondary projects nearly simultaneously. It started with an early morning English Theater practice to review our performance in front of the school the day before and make preparations for this weekend’s trip to Mocuba. Then I went straight to the Rotunda da Villa (City Roundabout) where I was meeting up with the scouts for our first commemorative march. As this would be our introduction to the community of Alto Molócuè, we had been preparing for a week. Though the banner making crew had only completed their work the night before, we were actually prepared. Pretty important for a group whose slogan is Sempre Pronto. While waiting for the march to the Praca da Herois (Heroes Plaza) to start, I met up with the journalist who was assigned to cover the event. After showing him how to use the camera the march got underway.

Escuteiros getting down during the march
and after its over, that's why they're smiling

Done on most commemorative days, march’s are an important part of Mozambican ceremonies. Normally, many groups relevant to the day’s event, and many more irrelevant, organize people to walk through town singing songs, clamping hands, and generally being merry. But as the majority of the town’s chefe’s are in Pemba for the 10^th FRELIMO congress, attendance was pretty low. This did not deter our scouts, who’s cheers, dances, and songs did not stop over the entire 2 km route. Even while we stood waiting for the government representatives to arrive, there were only very short stretches of time where we were not making an inordinate amount of noise. After an hour of waiting in the sun, the ceremonies finally got under way, but not without their own opportunity for a scouting demonstration. As if we had planned it, one of the older veterans of the armed resistance (1964-1975) fainted in the square and we were called over by my director. Though we were shamefully unprepared, he was moved to the shade while I ran the short distance home and picked up my first aid kit, a few cups, and several bottles of water. After re-hydrating, he felt much better and for the rest of the day scouts were on public safety patrol.

Belchoir, myself, the 2 Directors, and the Administrador

As is typical, the wreath laying at the praca dos herois was followed up by speeches, plays, and contests at the public park nearby. En-route, I pulled off my scout uniform, revealing the National Science Fair t-shirt I had worn underneath. Since one of the winners of the National Science Fair was my student, the two of us had been making the rounds of the provincial and local governments to shake hands and take pictures. But there was one more honor left. As part of the day’s festivities, Belchoir was to be presented to the community as a victor, and make a little speech. Though I was also asked to say a few words, I declined, not wanting to embarrass myself in front of the whole town. Once Belchoir was done, we walked down the stage, and joined the scouts for the end of the ceremonies. Upon our exit, JEAM’s photographer took a group picture of the scouts, and we went home. After sorting through the day’s photos with the reporter, I was finally done.

Needless to say, this was an exhausting morning (yes, this all happened before noon) and I rewarded myself with a relaxing lunch and afternoon hike with Dylan. Though I’m glad I was able to participate in all these activities, it will be nice to have some free time once the school year ends and many of my students leave town to go home. Only 1 month left, and then I’m on summer break!

Marshmallows in Mozambique

Scouts with Smores

I’m sitting on a log in a circle of friends around a campfire. We’re all exhausted, but content, cause we spent the day climbing mountains. In my hand is a perfectly cooked, half eaten, s’more, and I can hear others chowing down on the delicious treat. Everyone is chatting, but I’m so tired I can’t pay attention to what anyone is saying. Just as I’m falling asleep, I hear a question: “Professor, como se chama esta coisa branca?” “Marshmallow” “Merchimalao?” “hehe, Marshmallow” “Mashmullew?” “ahaha, Marshmellow!” “Marchmewow?” “hahahaha, nao Euclides, Maaarrrssshhhmmmeeelllooowww” “ahhhh, Mashmilloo." Figuring it’s better he stops before he hurts himself, I nod my head decisively. Then, settling back into the perfect comfort of a bed of grass in front of a warm fire, I fall asleep.

Backup 4 months to the end of my first trimester. Really looking to solidifying my relationships at site before I leave for PCV vacation land, I go over to Juvencio’s house for the first time. After showing my around his sparsely furnished 3 room house, we sit down to chupar cana (suck sugar cane) and chat. Though I don’t remember how we got on the topic, our conversation quickly turns into a gush-fest for scouting. Though the two of us grew up in wildly different locations (Summit, NJ and the Ilha de Mocambique), we both had amazingly similar experiences as scouts. Both of us I had gone on memorable hiking, camping, and canoeing trips. Both of us had learned vital life and survival skills. Both of us had made lifelong friends. Both of us had found wise and judicious mentors. And both of us knew that Alto Molócuè needed its own troop. So as I set off on my trip, I knew what my goal would be for the rest of my service: launching a scout troop.

Scouts after our first hike

Once the second trimester started, we got right down to work. Juvencio and I went through what being a scout in Alto Molocue would mean to us and how it would be tied into the community. We found a female teacher, Silvia, who would work with us to encourage female membership. We pitched my director on the idea, explaining why the school needed another extra-curricular group. We made a list of our favorite students, and sent out invites. And finally, we held our first meeting, which took place around a fire pit that I dug at the back of my house. Over the next 3 months we went on hikes, taught scouting skills, discussed scouting principals, and talked about possible community service projects. All the while, Juv and I were secretly planning our initiation ceremony. Thanks to a very generous grant from the Lena and Alden memorial fund, it was only a matter of putting the pieces together. Mountain? Check. Attendance by other Mozambiquean scouts? Check. Permission from the padres? Check. Uniforms? Check. List of motivated scouts? Check. Signed permission slips from their respective adults. Check? Collected contributions for food? Check. Sooner and easier than I ever thought possible, the weekend I had been looking forward to for the longest time had arrived.

At the mountain with padre Tome a few weeks earlier

Last Thursday I woke up nice and early to go pickup the freshly made scout shirts. From there I went home to pack my bags, grab coco, and hit the trail. Mount Rupe, where we were holding our initiation ceremony, was a good 17km away and we had a lot of prep work to do. After meeting up with Juvencio and the two scouts from Quelimane, Charles and Nadia, we took most of the morning to get to the mountain. There, we sat down to lunch with Padres Andre and Tome to figure out the best way to house, water, feed, and put to work the 14 scouts, 2 leaders, and 1 journalist who would arrive the next day. With a plan in hand, we marched around their extensive property, trying to get a feel for what our scouts would do after they’re equally exhausting 17km hike. Content that the plan wasn’t a guaranteed disaster, we ate a hearty dinner of rice and beans (for the 2^nd of what was to be 6 days in a row) and went to sleep.

Scouts on their way to the mountain

Throughout the night I had terrible, distressing dreams. Kids lying on the side of the rode, incapacitated by dehydration. Swimming merit-badge-less scouts trying to cross a swollen river that has lost it’s bridge. Tired and fed up adolescents giving up and heading back to town without making it up the mountain. Lovingly packed, shipped, transported, and protected marshmallows, graham crackers, and Hershey bars getting attacked by packs of rabid mice. Thankfully, the morning came, and anxious to see the scouts arrive, I walked out of the monastery gates to meet them on the trail. Soon enough, I heard young voices chatting away and yelling “Coco!!” at a happy dog. Once we had gotten all of them inside, rested, and seated, we began our work. First, they would clean out the chicken pens, then the goat pens, and then they would chop wood. But they would neither fry eggs, eat goat, nor burn chopped wood as a result. After lunch, we would then hike up the mountain to where we would lug 33 kg blocks of concrete around. Then we would keep hiking up the mountain to a secrete spot where a secrete event would happen. Needless to say, they were less than exuberant.

Hiking up the mountain with coco

6 hours later, we were on top of said mountain, 

Me and Juvencio in our new uniforms

standing around a nice sized pile of sticks, taking in an amazing view, and getting some final practice in on a very special promise and law. As the sun set, the fire was lit, and our tired students began reciting the words with their hands outstretched towards the fire. Afterwards, each of them received a uniform, with the promise that just as it was provided for them, they would provide a uniform for a new scout next year. Then we celebrated. We danced. We singed. We held a royal rumpus. And as the last flames died away, we marched back down the mountain in great cheer. After patiently waiting for dinner to be ready (rice and beans….), we ate and then made our way to the “fogo de coselho” (reflection fire).

                                Scouts putting on theirs

The day hadn’t gone perfectly. There were a few incidents where scouts had been disrespectful to each other. There were several dirty plates which were left at the lunch spot unclaimed by their owners. And there was a general incertitude about what the scout law and promise were; disappointing after all the time we had spent practicing. So at our fogo de coselho, we discussed these problems, and tried to hammer home the idea that being a scout was both an honor and a responsibility. With everyone a little glum after hearing everything they had done wrong during the day, I knew it was the perfect time to break out the s’mores. Feeling like the fat kid from The Sandlot, I began educating my new scouts on the proper construction of a s’more. “First you take the mallow and you roast it over the fire, not burn, roast. Then you take the chocolate, and put it on the graham. Then, using the graham as your fingers, you pull the mallow off the stick and make your S’more.” S’more making must come naturally to scouts, because not a single one messed up. Not even a single marshmallow as lost to the flames. After successfully completing my most sacred duty, I fell asleep.

Me awkwardly smiling with my improvised kippa

The next morning we cleaned up, ate breakfast and got packed. Being at a monastery, we had planned to stay through Sunday mass. Curious, I had asked Padre Andre if it would be ok if I watched the mass even if I was Jewish. His eyes lit up excitedly “You’re Jewish! I spent 15 years studying in Jerusalem. Can you read Hebrew?” “Sure, but it has been a few years. I might need some practice.” “No problem, we can read the parsha together.” So after running to his room to get his copy of the bible in Hebrew, we stood in the church practicing the 5 lines of Isaiah that were to be today’s text. At 8:30 sharp, the padres rang the bells for mass, which all of the catholic scouts dutifully attended, and we entered the church. After standing and sitting a few times, Andre invited me up to the pulpit, where he handed me a kippa and the Hebrew bible. Nervously, I read Isaiah ____ 4-7a, which concerned itself with _________ and sat down. Andre then read the same portion, but in Portuguese, and began discussing its relationship to scouting. After standing and sitting a few more times, with some joyous clapping interspersed, we exited the doors of the church just as our ride back to Alto Molócuè pulled up at the front gates. Quickly loading everyone in, we said our goodbyes to Padres Andre and Tome, and drove home.

The next day, I received the rest of the care package, which contained another box of graham crackers, package of Hershey’s chocolate, and bag of marshmallows. I look forward to making more s’mores in Mozambique sometime soon.
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UPDATE:
On the day that this post was put up, Alto Molocue was experiencing some very frustrating rolling blackouts. Not knowing when I would next be able to get on the internet, I put up the post in haste, leaving the chapter and topic of the bible passage I read unfilled. Since then, I have confirmed with the padres that I read Isaiah 35, 4-7a which concerns itself with the vengeance of god. Though I'm still not sure what this has to do with scouting, I'm glad I finally know what I read.

Fighting Ghosts

Last week, Vina, a close friend, came by my house for a visit. Beyond the always present desire to share the pleasure of my company, a project of hers had stalled, and she was wondering if I had any ideas. It turned out that for the past few years she had been working with a group of young writers and poets to produce a book of their work. At various points, it had been patronized by the NGO Ibis, the Ministeiro da Cultura, and the Centro de Desenvolvemento Juvenil (Youth Development Center). But as a result of a single poem which was critical of the government in a broad sense, they had lost all official support. Though she had attempted to enlist the support of several different government officials, they all fell through when she realized that they were only interested in her sexually. So without the support of any NGO or government official, the wonderful works that these children were creating were going unpublished.

Unfortunately, I was encountering publishing problems of my own.

After a month of editing delays, the most recent edition of the Jornal Escolar de Alto Molócuè had finally gone to the press on Tuesday, and all that was left was distribution. Being a school newspaper, this required the signature of the Director da Escola, which until now was just a formality. But instead of getting the go ahead to paste the paper to the wall of the school and drop off copies at various government offices, I received a text from my director asking me to come into his office. It seemed to him, and the pedagogical staff, that our most recent edition was pessimistic and too critical of how the school was being run. Instead of lauding over their many accomplishments, we were promoting a glass-half empty view. He even went so far to say that we were ramble rousing and creating problems where there were none. Though I strongly disagreed with him, I understood the position he was in. Being the only newspaper in Alto Molócuè about Alto Molócuè, JEAM has an unfortunately high profile. Publishing and distributing the problems would be an embarrassment for the not only the school, but especially the Director. Knowing that many of my other projects depended on his approval and support, I didn’t try to press him on the principal of an independent press or the idea that an informed debate is positive in the long run. Instead, I cowardly threw my counterpart Frietas under the bus, saying that if had more support from the teachers at the school, these types of cultural misunderstandings could be avoided. In the end, I left his office with the publication of this edition in limbo and a very dirty feeling of resentment and betrayal.

Lamenting on these problems to Vina, I complained about the insecurity of “these” government officials. What were they so afraid of? Though Mozambique has 3 political parties (FRELIMO, RENAMO, and MDM), the reality is that only FRELIMO has any actual power. In a city like Alto Molócuè, where seeing a t-shirt, banner, or capulana for anything but FRELIMO is unheard of, there isn’t actually any opposition. Discussing this with Vina, I asked “if there is no chance that the party could lose an election, what is the harm in having a conversation about the problems in our community? It like they’re fighting something that doesn’t exist. It’s like they’re fighting ghosts.” To which she raised an eyebrow, and responded “but are you sure that ghosts don’t exist?”