The Last Last

While preparing to leave the place I have called home for the past two years, I have noticed a constantly increasing frequency of "lasts". For some, the event was planned and executed with all attention worthy of a final moment:

• my last camping trip
• the last neighbor's phone charged at my house
• my last roof-top sunset at Fambone
• my last shopping trip in the Central Market
• my last hike with Sticky
• my last time at the Peace Corps Office in Nampula
• my last lunch with Tojo

Many others just passed without even being noticed, to only be recognized as "lasts" after the fact:

• the last class I taught
• my last time eating xima
• my last brolocue dinner
• my last transit police passport check
• my last bucket bath
• my last power outage
• the last person saying licensa (excuse me) when they approached my house
• the last time I bought phone credit
• the last time I handwashed underwear
• the last time I was called macuna

Whether planned or not, with each of these "lasts" came not only feelings of nostalgia and relief, but also reflections on the impact these major and insignificant activities had on my life here:

• How one of my strongest friendships grew out of having a neighbor who had no electricity at her house, so she would ask to charge her cellphone at mine
• How I found the central market so overwhelming at the beginning that I always took the exact same route through it each time I went food shopping. Now I count my tomato lady as a close friend
• How Dylan, Eric, and I would always find a way to make something unique and special for our group dinners, whether it be special spices, strange ingredients, or just exorbitant amounts of cheese
• How up until the day I left Molocue, former students would still yell "BINGO" at me as I walked down the street. As far as they're concerned, I invented our favorite classroom game
• How I would normally pause a workout towards the end so that I could get water boiling for my post workout bucket bath
• How I became so used to being woken up by an early morning visitor saying licensa until I emerged from my house, that I am now up-and-about by 5am, even if I have nothing to do
• How it became normal to be considered part of everyone's families: I was Sergio's brother, Celias's uncle, Tojo's father, and even Agostinho's 67 yr old sister's son
• How Sticky would always sprint out from under the bed the moment I dropped an empty tuna can on the floor to lick out the oily fishiness
• How the moment Tojo would arrive at my house I would get up to find something to do, because his work ethic made me feel lazy to be just sitting at a computer typing
• How I was meticulous about always having a lighter in my pocket and candles in a predictable location, because you'd never know when the power would decide to just cut out

After having spent two years retelling the stories of and reflecting on my experiences that have filled the 67 posts on this blog, it is time for my last last. Thanks to everyone who has followed me on this amazing and life changing journey I have been on. Being able to share with you the struggles and successes that come with being a Peace Corps Volunteer have made me feel both understood and supported. I hope to run into all of you sometime soon, and if not, to hear from you about your adventures and accomplishments.

Keep Exploring,

Samuel Bar

The inscription on one of the two benches I built at my school

Despedidas are Such Sweet Sorrow

Juvencio, Nildo, Monis, Euclides and Rosario tending the
grill. The shish kababas were a big hit

Though I've never been someone who's put much stock in the formal events that normally mark big changes, I knew long ago that having a Festa de Despedida (goodbye party) would be an important marker of my time here. But after having seen volunteers close out their service with everything from disappearing in a puff of smoke, to weeks of blowout parties, holding a small and informal event seemed the most appropriate way for me to say goodbye. After spending two of the most important years my life in Alto Molocue, it was the least I could do to host my friends and adopted family together for one last party.

Cristencio, Dalton, and Belchoir enjoying the novelty of
meat-and-veggies-on-a-stick

During the past week, any of my time that I wasn't spending showing my Moz 21 site visitors (hey Jules and Jesse!) around Alto Molocue was spent preparing for the party. Between printing invitations, formally handing them out to everyone, buying food, acquiring pots and pans, borrowing chairs, and contracting some kitchen help, my last full week here was packed.  Waking up Saturday morning ready to have a party, I was greeted by Tojo's sister Maria, who I had contracted to help me for the day. Since the family has been going through some difficult times over the past week, I was happy to help them out in any way I could. While Maria got the large pots of beans and rice ready, I worked on all the other things there were left to do. Throughout the day, friends came by to see how the preparations were going and offered to help take care of something else that needed done. I felt so lucky to have all these smart, reliable, hard-working people there with me to help set everything up.

Eric and Steph decorating the cakes with home-made
frosting and Nutella. Yum!!!

Once all the prep work was done, and the hour of the party was approaching, everyone who was helping out headed home to take a bath and change their clothes. Then at 15:00, my 30 guests started showing up, and the party was under way. After picking up plates of food and soda at my makeshift outdoor buffet, guests spent the afternoon sitting in my yard chatting, laughing, and dancing. The biggest hit were the expertly seasoned shish-kababs, which were an improvement on the plain meat-only skewers that they normally sell here. Seeing my friends giggle with delight as they bit into a grilled cherry tomato was almost as fun as introducing Mozambicans to s'mores.

Steph, Raimundo, Gloria, Lourdes, and Cesar hanging out
in-front of the buffet. They were very strategic in their seating

Once everyone had arrived, and gotten a chance to fill their bellies, we got to the sad but sweet collection of goodbyes. First Eric showed a slideshow (accompanied by awesome 90s music. Woot Woot Third Eye Blind!) of pictures from my 2 years here. Then Belchoir read a heartfelt goodbye message that nearly brought me to tears. Finally, there were a few friends who presented gifts, and it was time to make the difficult but necessary speech. Most of you know that I'm a big talker. Whether it be chit-chatting at the dinner table, debating world issues, or sleeping-talking in multiple languages, I'm rarely at a loss for words. But how does one pack 2 years worth of gratitude and love into a few concise sentences? Doing the best that I could, I thanked them all for making me feel at home in a place that was so strange and foreign to me 2 years ago and ensuring them that they would never be forgotten. After some impromptu singing, and a fun cake cutting ceremony, the party continued with hours more of eating, dancing, drinking, and just enjoying each-others company.

Myself, Sergio, and Gil serving ourselves a 2nd
(or 3rd, or 4th....) plate

Being able to bring 30 of my closest Alto Molocue friends together in one place was a real treat, and I will always remember how fun a relaxing life here can be. With only a few days left here to give away presents,  pack my bags, and say my final goodbyes, I will always be thankful for my friends-turned-adopted family that have made Alto Molocue a second home.

Durante a resta da minha vida, vou ter saudades no fundo de meu coração. Kopwaha ki owane!

Macunas in Macuna and up Namuli

Our early morning drive started the day off with a great view

Having spent so much of my time here going through the exhaustive process of climbing metaphorical mountains (learning the language, getting known in my community, building a scout troop, ect...), ascending the very real Mt Namuli was a climb I had been looking forward to for a long time. At over 2419 meters (7936 ft) high, it is the second tallest mountain in Moz, and considered the hardest hike within it's borders. After being told about it's preserved natural beauty and stories of it sacred mythical power, conquering the "Half-dome of Mozambique" seemed to be a suitable last adventure for my service, and this macuna (white person in Elomwe) was not disappointed.

People thought we looked silly for not using our heads to
carry anything. I think it would have looked even sillier if
we'd  put our backpacks on our noggins.

Starting in Gurue at 4am, our 3 bro crew of Eric, Zackaria, and I easily caught a boleia from town to the tea plantation trailed head (Namuli: 30km). Starting up the quickly steepening road, we started to gather a following of locals on their way to school and work, making the climb all the more entertaining. Along the way, one of them reminded us that we were supposed to bring an offering of flour, sugar, gin and money to the Reina da Montanha (queen of the mountain) in order to receive permission to climb. Though we had remembered the sugar, gin, and money, we had no flour with us, and began asking people along the way if they had any flour to sell.

Myself and Zackaria trying to negotiate for something that
was at that moment about to be offered by the approaching
girls. Generosity like that is so humbling and confusing.

House after house, the answer was no. As the kilometers slipped away, we began to get worried that we would be accused of cultural insensitivity and denied permission to climb the sacred mountain. Would we just turn around and go home? Or secretly climb the mountain without a guide, risking the wrath of the gods? Luckily, our prayers were answered and we stumbled upon a situation that is as indicative of Mozambican culture as anything: we couldn't buy the flour, we could only be offered it. After being told by the what felt like 100th local that he had no flour to sell, we were instead brought a bag a freshly hand pillared (pounded with a stick) corn flour by a young girl and told that her family was religious and they wanted us to make an offering to the mountain on their behalf. Grateful and moved, we continued our climb with new found vigor and spirit.

Though we occasionally walked through open fields, most
of the valley was undeveloped and naturally lush

 As we simultaneously rounded a bend and came up the crest of our last switchback, a beautiful valley opened up before us and our destination came into sight: Mt Namuli. Though it looked like a long and exhausting trip, we were excited to finally be seeing our objective. For the next 4 hours, we took a journey back through time as we hiked through farming communities that haven't changed in appearance or function since the civil war and eucalyptus forests planted by the Portuguese colonists. As we followed the trail around the mountain, and our feet began to ache, we began to look in earnest for anything that would indicate that we had arrived at the village of Macuna and the reigning Reina da Montanha.

Us relaxing outside the Reina da Montanha's house with
Namuli in the background

A little after 13:30, we stumbled into her large family compound, prominently placed on the closest hill to the base, and collapsed onto an esteira (grass mat) in front of her hut. After letting us rest for a bit, and after setting up our camp, the Reina and her husband/interpreter took us behind a little nearby tree and began the slightly disappointing ceremony. Though the ritualistic offering of flour and gin to the spirits of the mountain while muttering Elomwe incantations and prayers seemed authentic, her lack of ceremonial dress (Dever broncos sweatshirt and Nampula beanie hat) and focus on our monetary contribution (1000 mts=$35) made it much less inspiring. Once the ceremony was done, we were presented to our guides and asked to present their payment. But instead of blowing our cover as "poor" volunteers, I decided to offer something in trade that would be much more useful: binoculars. After a hilarious period where the various guides, family members, and children played with this amazing little tool, we were told that they had accepted it as payment and we would be waking up before 4am the next morning to begin our climb.

The early morning trek up the mountain had some
breathtaking views and one of the best sunrises I've ever seen

Having grown accustomed to the Mozambican concept of time (9am means anything before 10:00), I was surprised to be hearing a "com licensa" (excuse me) at 3:30am waking us up. After preparing our day pack and eating a quick breakfast, we began our steep and fast ascent.  Not wanting to take a seemingly endless tumble down the mountain as a result of poorly placed feet on bare rock and tufts of grass, I spent little time enjoying the surrounding views as we climbed. But when I did, they were a sight to see. With the morning light slowly bathing over the surrounding peaks, valleys, rivers, waterfalls, forests, farms, and homes Mozambique looked more beautiful than I could have ever imagined.

Just to get an idea of the inclination, Zacakaria
and the guide in the back there are 10m above
Eric in the front. The sheer cliff we free climbed
is behind us.

As we climbed, the trail got progressively steeper and steeper, moving from an aggressive 45 degree angle to a terrifying 80 degree angle in a matter of minutes. Since our two guides had first climbed the mountain at ages 4 an 5, they were not at all bothered by the quite technical assent. But as us macunas worked our way up the open slope, we became increasingly worried about having to come back down afterwards. Every step seemed to bring the opportunity of another infinite fall, and so we hugged the wall of the mountain and slowly continued to climb. Though there were points were harnesses and ropes would have been required in the state, the only tools we had with us were careful planning and sure footing. That, and the excitement to be nearing the summit of this mythical mountain (Elomwe, Macua, and Makonde creation stories involve humans having come from the dwarf people that are rumored to live in/on the mountain and cultivate massive magical fruits) pushed us on wards.

Our moment of victory, followed by a lovely nap and a
fun but terrifying descent

After little more than 2 hours, we had reached the top and could enjoy the fruits of our labors: 360 degree views as far as the eye could see and nothing but clear blue skies above. We took some pictures, a quick nap, and then began our dangerous decent. A couple hours latter, the three macunas were back in Macuna breaking camp and looking to get a head start on our 30km hike back. We said our goodbyes (ate omelo, kopwaha) and began trekking back to Gurue victorious conquerors of one of the toughest mountain in Moz. Though my feet are still covered in blisters (this was 5 days ago), and will be for days to come, sharing the trail,tent, and mountain with some of my favorite PCVs will always be a cherished memory of my last month here.

Ohoolo! Osoolo! (Onwards! Upwards!)

Photos were taken by and are the property of  Eric Wilburn. Thanks bro!

One Last Campout

Over the past weekend I went on what will be my last campout with the Escuteiros, and I couldn't have thought of a better way to celebrate the beginning of my last month in Moz. Though there were the usual tiffs and fights that come with taking 14 adolescent boys and girls into the bush, the weekend went great.

Thanks to a generous donation from the local municipal council, most of our food for the camping trip was free, which was a big help to our cash strapped scouts. As salaries typically arrive at the beginning of the month, most of the scout's found it impossible to get money from their parents and guardians, which means that they had to raise the money on their own. But between working as a mota-taxi driver, selling dried fish, carting water, and the other little jobs that they were able to do, everyone contributed somethings. This was especially important for me, as it would have been too easy for me to pay for the whole trip myself (total cost=1200mts or $40) and erase all the hard won sustainability victories that Juvencio and the troop have achieved.

Though the sandy bottom of the campsite made for less
uncomfortable than normal sleeping, I must be getting old
because my back was hurting each morning

Meeting at the school on Friday afternoon with our backpacks full of food, tents, and other equipment, we started our short hike  to the riverside campsite. After the pleasantly short 6km hike to our sandy spot, we setup camp and started preparing our dried fish and rice diner. While I was packing for the trip that morning, I must have been feeling pretty generous because I had included an unopened jar of nuteal among my weekend treats. With the objective of spreading the love with the scouts, I broke out the jar after dinner and told them that I needed the plastic contained empty by the time they went to bed. After approaching the weird brown almost-liquid with apprehension, they quickly dove into the task at hand after a little taste. Bread, rice, spoons, hands, and even fried fish were used to scoop the delicious chocolaty liquid out of the jar, getting it spotless in a mere 15 min. Having accomplished their task, the scouts went to bed satisfied, ready for an exciting day to come.

Juvencio (shirtless bottom left) seemed to think complex
human towers made for more impressive photos. You judge

Saturday started with a little yoga class. For the past month I have been doing morning yoga to get rid of one of my more embarrassing physical traits: inability to touch toes. Since the days of the presidential fitness tests we took in elementary school, I have been embarrassingly inflexible. Though the past few weeks of yoga have eliminated this physical impediment, starting the day with stretching and silent contemplation has become a comforting part of my routine and a slightly uncomfortable night sleeping on the ground wasn't going to change that. Making it all the more fun were the 4 scouts who decided to join me, and silently copied my awkward positions. Hearing them tell the others how they "yogar"ed with me latter on made it all the better. We spent the day lounging about, going on short hikes, swimming, and playing surprisingly competitive games of "keep away" at the nearby swimming hole. Between beautiful weather, fantastic company, and the overall relaxed atmosphere, it is sure to be one of my favorite memories of Mozambique.

Tug-of-war is always an intense event, but having fancy
"Eagle Scout, Be Prepared" pocket knives at stake made
winning all the more important

Once Juvencio was back from his quick foray into town to monitor some tests, the two of us sat down and started planning the much-hyped Competicao das Patrulhas (Patrol Competition). Once it was all ready we got the scouts together, had them organize into their patrols (Wolves, Tigers, and Hares) and got the games under way. For the next few hours the patrols competed in three-legged races, tug-of-wars, treasure hunts, knot-tying, and a scouting quiz to win the grand prize: pocket knives for everyone in the patrol. Arriving a the Fogeira de Conselho (Council Fire) where the winners would be announced, the air was tense with anticipation. In the end, Patrulha Coelho won by 1 point and victoriously claimed their prize. Though there were a few moments of sore-losserness that did not befit the scouting movement, everyone had a lot of fun and the winners are sure to be proud of their hard-won knives.

Passing on the knowledge of how to properly roast a
marshmallow is the sacred duty of every scout, and they've
now paid it forward

Afterwards, we got into the meat of the Fogeira de Conselho, where scouts talked about everything good and bad that happened during the weekend. Once the air had been cleared, I made a heartfelt speech thanking Juvencio and the troop for all the hard work that it had taken to get the Escutieos de Alto Molocue to where they are today. Following me, Juvencio spoke about continuing what we had started in the years to come and the importance of living by the scout law. Hearing Juvencio promise that I  will still find a fun group of people to go camping with in Alto Molocue 30 years from now was the biggest gift I could ever have been given as a volunteer. With our hearts full of love and our eyes ready to bust into tears, we ended our campfire in the overall sweet way all campfires should end: smores. Thinking back to over a year ago when I was laughing with delight as scouts struggled through the word "marshmallow" and fought to keep them from engulfing into flames over the fire, I was proud to seethe older scouts expertly toast their mallows and teach newer scouts how to handle theirs. Sempre Pronto

Sunday Swim

Antonio (left) and Guebuza (right) with a captured river crab

For the past months, Alto Molocue has been making that unfortunate transition from the pleasant wintry coldishness to the pre-rainy season super dryness. This unwelcome change in seasons not only brings swealteringly hot days and increasingly uncomfortable hot nights, but also covers the surrounding area in intentionally started wild-fires and the resulting constantly falling ash. When I was already sweating uncomfortably by 8:30 this morning, I knew that something had to be done to ensure that I did spend all day suffering. So I got up and went over to my neighbors house to brainstorm with my 8 and 12 year old neighbors Guebuza and Antonio. Quickly we decided that the best way to avoid the heat was to go for a swim; so I ran home, grabbed my swimsuit, picked up Eric and Sticky, and we set off.

Once everyone saw Eric with his camera, chaos ensued and
mobs of posing children started to form. Imagine what would
have happened if we had then started to bare our pastiness

Apparently most of Alto Molocue had the same idea, so as we walked along the river looking for a good place to swim we encountered beach after beach of children, women, and men bathing, washing clothes, and swimming. Though I love interacting with my fellow Molocueans, being a white person here normally attracts a high amount of unwanted attention. Now add in the fact that going  for a swim would expose my uniquely hairy chest and more white skin than they'd ever seen before, and all of a sudden privacy becomes a priority. Explaining this to Geubuza and Antonio was especially difficult, as they didn't understand why we wanted to be hermits and begged to stop and swim at each beach we found.

Seeing Anontio and Guebuza swim next to Sticky brought new
meaning to the words "doggy paddle." I tried teaching them
a proper swim stroke, but I guess french teaching skills don't
translate well.

Eventually we discovered an isolated swimming hole, and excitedly took off our shoes and shirts and jumped in. Though it wasn't necessarily the cleanest river (the prevailing stench of #2 was everywhere along our path), having cool water wash the sweat off your body is an unbelievably satisfying feeling. Even Sticky jumped in and paddled around for a bit, after standing on the banks whining for a while. Having it been a while since I'd given him a bath, I happily counted this as a wash instead. Of course, the moment he got out of the water, he promptly rolled around in the dirt to dry off, making sure my canine owner hygiene duties stayed unfulfilled. After a quick 30 min swim, we all were feeling a pretty hungry and reluctantly decided it was time to head back home for lunch in the sweltering heat.

Coming back into town refreshed and clean made the rest of the day past quickly and in comfort. Though it was still super hot, there was little need for the recently necessary twice a day bucket baths. With the dry season far from over. I'm sure to be back into the Rio Molocue before long.

Photos were taken by and are the property of  Eric Wilburn. Thanks bro!

In Quelimane, Science Rules! Part 2

After watching Eric get all stressed out in the run up to the Zambezia Provincial Science and HIV/AIDS Prevention Fair, I was both dreading and looking forward to the flagship National Science and HIV/AIDS Prevention Fair this past weekend. As the National Fair is a much more complicated event and has a much higher profile, having everything run smoothly is of great importance to the reputation and future of the project. With this event looming on the horizon for so long, Dan (the other national coordinator) and I have been planning for months, and in the end it went perfectly.

Though I didn't get to watch it, I could have listened

to the Fair live on the radio

Though the budgeting, coordinating, and planning of the Fair (with a capital F for fun!) has been going on since mid March and much of the organizational and financial responsibility lies with the Ministry of Science and Technology (MCT in protugese for short), I didn't want to take any chance. So a full week before the Fair, I went down to Quelimane to check in with our partners and see that all details, big and small, were being taken care of. Learning from my experience with last year's Provincial Fair, I went to the bank first and was able to easily use my beautifully legible John-Hancockesque signature to withdraw the funds for the Fair. After holding meetings with the MCT staff and representatives from most of our partner organizations, I felt pretty confident that everything would be ready on time. But having learned my lesson from both last year's and this year's Provincial Fairs, I checked, confirmed, and reconfirmed that HIV testing would be available, that a qualified person would be on hand to run the HIV/AIDS discussion, that the jury members were invited, that enough hotel rooms were available, that the restaurant where we would be having our dinners was prepared, that the fancy color card-stock programs were fancy enough, and that the personalized name tags were indeed using people's personal names. What both Dan and I neglected to check was perhaps the most important part of any event: the certificates!!!!!

By the end of the day I was getting a little silly, though it

might have been cruel to play games with the certificates 

The only thing that maters at a Mozambican event more than whether food will be provided is whether a properly signed and stamped certificate will be available for all participants to take home. From a JUNTOS workshops to a Peace Corps conference, having a piece of paper with a participants name and some fancy printed-on graphics makes the difference between happy and disappointed participants. Perhaps it's a symptom of Mozambique's highly formalized culture, or because there's a rumor that NGO's look for these certificates when hiring new employees, but either way they are not to be forgot. Well on Saturday morning Dan and I were informed that instead of having 100 official, printed, signed, and stamped MCT certificates, we had 3 packs of imaginary certificates (i.e. blank card stock paper). So instead of watching the 20 cute mini-scientists from 10 provinces present their experiments with all the earnestness befitting an over-excited kid out of his/her element, I had to run around designing, printing, signing, stamping, and filling in the certificates. Though they were ready by the time the winners from Niassa and Inhambane were announced, I was unable to actually watch the Fair and had little idea how the mini-scientists's presentations went or if anything exploded into fiery destruction. I have since been told by a wide range sources that everyone had a great time and that no incendiary devices were accidentally created. Thanks to our amazing counter-parts at the MCT, 8 great PCV provincial coordinators, and my co-national coordinator Dan, everything went smoothly and sciencey.

All of the 60+ participants, coordinators, and judges. Thanks

to our great team, this year was a huge success

Now with the National Fair under my belt and only some receipts and reports to process, I look back with fondness at the stress and anal-retentiveness that came from caring so much about something to come. Though I hope I'll be back one day to see a future Science and HIV/AIDS Prevention Fair, it could be a long time before I get to have such an important role in a project that helps kids learn to love science. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some disappointingly unscientific French papers to grade.

Photos were taken by and are the property of  Eric Wilburn. Thanks bro!

All Grown Up

A week ago, the Escuteiros de Alto Molocue made me feel like what I assume my parents felt like when I first went off to college. For the previous months, myself and the rest of the scout leadership had been planning a camping trip to Nawela in honor of the 7th of September (the peace accord which ended the civil war). As opposed to the previous camping trip, which was wholly and fully funded by our own personal contributions, this time we were hoping that the local government would help us pay for food and transportation. Luckily, the Administrator of our district was a scout when he grew up in Gurue, so it wasn't a hard sell. But after the date had been set and plans were under way, I found out that my COS (closing of service conference) would be ending the first day of the camping trip, making it virtually impossible for me to participate. So after having helped to plan, coordinate, and prepare for what was sure to be great trip, I had to sit at home on Saturday and Sunday nights and wait to hear how it all went.

Thankfully, Juvencio took some pictures with his cellphone,
so I could see all the fun I missed out on

Though the scouts were supposed to have gotten back on Sunday, I hadn't heard anything from them by the time I was leaving for Quelimane on Monday morning and had begun to worry that something horrible had happened to them. Thankfully I ran into Baltazar, a scout who had been on the trip, on his way to school and the filled me in. Apparently it was a near perfect trip. The scouts all went and came back safely, a theater piece they had presented on domestic violence and premature marriages was well received by a large crowd, the church-yard campsite was beautiful and included water and bathrooms, and it was all seamlessly run by the troop that I had took such care to organize and train. The only hicup was that the government provided transportation and food had arrived 24 hours late, but considering the complexities of Mozambican bureaucracy, that's actually pretty good. All in all, it was a fantastic trip that I regret to have missed.

Juvencio in Nawela helping a scout with her backpack

After having spent since May of last year to start, grow, teach, coordinate, equip, and prepare the leadership of the troop for the day when they when I would be back in the USA, I can say with both confidence and pride that the Escuteiros de Alto Molocue will do just great on their own. But just like parents who's children have left the nest and can take care of themselves, it's bittersweet to know that they'll be alright on their own.