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.

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

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.
_________________________________________________________________________________
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?”

My New Signature

Zambezia Science Fair participants with our chique new shirts

For the past few weeks, provincial capitals all over Mozambique have be holding Peace Corps organized science fairs. For the province of Zambezia, myself and my counterpart Joao Ferraz from the Delegacao Provincial de Ciencia e Tecnologia organized the three day event. For most of Saturday, 45 secondary school students and teachers from 10 different districts prepared, presented, and celebrated experiments and innovations in the areas of chemistry, physics, and biology. Each of these students were selected as the best from each of their schools, so the competition was fierce. Their presentations covered all levels of difficulty and types of science, from the implications of Newton's 3rd law to the fermentation of alcohol from stale bread to the construction of an chicken incubator. By the end of the fair Saturday, the judges had a very difficult time selecting the top three projects from 1o ciclo (8-10th grade) and 2o ciclo (11-12th grade), and an even harder time selecting the student from each ciclo who would represent our province at the Feira Nacional de Ciencias in Chimoio. In the end, an 11th grade student from Gurue and a 9th grade student from Alto Molocue, Belchoir, won first place in their respective categories. This means that in 3 short weeks i'll be visiting the city of Chimoio with these 2 students, a teacher from Gurue, and my counterpart Joao. Though I don't want to be cocky, I have high hopes for these two students, and look forward to seeing how they match up with the winners from the other provinces.

Zambezia's science fair winners. Belchior is the little one

But before all of this had happened, the Zambezia fair had to be organized, which came down to one word: money. Each year, Peace Corps Science Fair proposes for the entire operating budget of this national event from PEPFAR (The Presidents Emergency Plan For AIDS Relief), which means that each province's Peace Corps representative is responsible for allocating and distributing the funds. As a result I had an uncomfortably large amount of money sitting in my bank account for the past couple months while I worked out the costs of each item with my counterpart Joao. Since plans stay liquid here for much longer than they should, the full value was still sitting in my account when I went to the Barclays in Quelimane the Friday before the fair for the big withdrawal. Arriving there just as the bank opened at 8a, I learned that they were only doing deposits at that moment, but I could begin waiting in line for the withdrawals which would start "very soon". After waiting there for an hour, I called Joao so that he could find someone to hold my place in line for me while I do other, more important  things. As it turns out, the only other thing for me to do was to go to each of the 4 working ATMs in town and withdraw the daily 5,000 mt ($185) limit for immediate costs. Finally around 11:30 I went back to the Barclay's where I was able to hand in my deposit slip and receive my money. Or so I thought.

Practicing my new signature

For years, I have been using a barely legible, sport-star-autograph inspired scribble as my mark for everything from checks to college admissions documents. Never before has it mattered that it varies from document to document, but before coming to Mozambique I realized that if not even I can read my own signature, there is a problem. So when I was in training and had to open up a bank account, I decided to start fresh with a new, legible, signature. Unfortunately, after not using it for 10 months, I had completely forgotten what I had used. So by 2:30p, half an hour before the bank closed, I had still not withdrawn my money. After various conversation with Barclay's in Maputo, Peace Corps Maputo, Barclay's Quelimane, and the Delegacao Provincial de Ciencia e Tecnologia we finally were able to change the official signature on the account and complete the withdrawal of the money for science fair, which started the next day. Phew...

Hopefully this will never happen again, because immediately after I had withdrawn the money, I spent the next hour signing 70 certificates of participation, 20 honor certificates, and countless other science fair related documents.  Needless to say, I got some good practice.

Day Trip to Nampula

At a certain point you just stop tricking yourself into thinking that you understand what’s going on and what you're trying to do.  I reached that point last week.

Euclides, with some strange money he found
in the pants he bought at the market

On Monday, I found out that one of my best possibilities for money for a student center at the school had been recently underfunded and prohibited from doing any sort of construction projects. Then that night I learnt of a best friend’s personal moral crisis that put in doubt any hope of fidelity or friendship in Mozambique. Tuesday through Wednesday brought the regular exhaustion of 30 tri-foreign-language classes (teaching French in Portuguese with English dictionaries) a week, though my thorough script making has helped to keep me sane. Thursday I finally got the jury invites for this weekend’s Alto Molocue Feira de Ciencias printed, stamped, signed, and delivered; something I had started last week. Then that afternoon, I got part way through a hastily planned Frentugeslish lesson when I realized that I did not even slightly understand what I was trying to teach. This caused me to hastily end the class and retreat home to skip my next few classes while I cooked dinner (baked beans and rice). I recovered bringing my 3 night classes up to speed on material we were behind on, but not without struggling to make weekend plans with my Brigadeiro de Escuteiros (Scout Leader) due to undependable cell phone networks.

Night classes. Notice the number of students

All of this combined left me starting my day trip to Nampula with a mixture of stress, disappointment, frustration, mistrust, and loss of direction. Though it started out as an extremely slow and annoying trip (5 hours to cover 125 miles), I ended up enjoying the delay. Having slowly worked my way through Paul Theroux’s Dark Star Safari over the past few months, I have become more and more engrossed with his no time pressure overland journey from Cairo to Cape Town. Beyond his vivid descriptions of central Africa, and interesting cultural anecdotes, he speaks a lot about his time as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Malawi.  This makes his pragmatically truthful comments on modern Africa, and development work in particular, really resonate. It just put into words the convoluted feelings I have been working through. Though the following burger, air conditioning, care package raid, and having my prayers to the boleia gods answered (an express to molocue Toyota hilux pickup truck with air conditioning driven by someone safe and friendly) have relaxed me, it was the following passage that really calmed me:

“That escarpment road is a hundred years old. It has been beautiful, but did you see all the landslides?” she said. “In the past they cleared the landslides manually -  it took a lot of people, but labor is cheap. And doing it by hand kept the storm drains open. For the past few years they’ve been using donor bulldozers to clear the rock slides. They bulldoze them to the side, blocking the drains. So when the rain comes it washes the road away and creates a torrent, and another landslide.”

So the solution of donor bulldozers had made the problem worse and put many manual laborers out of work.

 “The government had been paying five men to maintain the road. Then they stopped paying them. The road has been deteriorating ever since.

“They need twenty-four teachers to run (the school). There are only fourteen at the school. The English chap is leaving, so in a month they will have only thirteen teachers for about six hundred students. Teachers’ salaries are so low, you see

I said, “I’m wondering why a foreign teacher should go to Livingstonia to teach if Malawians are not willing to make the sacrifice.

With the sweetest smile Uma dismissed the question as much too logical.

Its not that I now know what I’m doing here or how to get it done, but I feels better to know that someone else was equally as lost.

Most recent match of Coco vs Chicken. Ended in stalemate