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

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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

Capulamikas

For the past couple weeks I have been trying, unsuccessfully, to find the common thread between the sinking of the titanic, the declaration of the emancipation proclamation, an IRS deadline, and Alto Molocuean Passover. Water related deaths cover the titanic and Passover, but not the others. The federal government put the IRS and emancipation proclamation together, but again left two in the cold. Day of freedom could bring together all but the titatnic, unless you have a philosophical view of death. Try as I might, these 4 events shared only one strangely coincidental thread: April 15^th. 

Ellen, Myself, Arielle and Dylan at the seder

Though the date commonly recognized as the time for the 5000-year-old-escaping-slavery -victory-party was more than a week before, Eliahu got to Alto Molocue a little late this year. Maybe it has something to do with the lack of Jews (10 in Peace Corps by my counting). Maybe it has something to do with the lack of matzah (only available if you make your own). Maybe it has something to do with the uncomfortable proximity to Gaza (province). Or maybe it has something to do with exam week falling on the same week as Passover. Whatever the reason, I spent global Passover eating 4 delicious egg, ketchup, and cheese (newly arrived to Alto Molocue!) sandwiches, but April 15^th and 16^th eating flavorless crackers.

On day before AMP (Alto Molocuean Passover) I left the breathtakingly beautiful Gurue, which I had come to for a JUNTOS (Peace Corps journalism group) conference, and made my way back to Alto Molocue in the company of Moz 17er Zackaria and Moz 16er Vincente. Sitting in the back of a pickup truck with about 20 other travelers, 2 chickens, 4 sacks of cement, 2 window frames, and a large piece of zinc roofing we made our way up the bumpy winding road. Due to the previous night's rain, the mud along the dirt road was quite bad. On two occasions the road was so slippery that everyone had to get out and push to make it up a hill. 2 sore ass cheeks latter, we arrived in Alto Molocue and made a brisk shopping trip (tomatoes, eggs, bread, sugar cane, and light bulbs) to prepare for the inundation of visitors from Cabo del Gado and Nampula provinces.

As this was the first time I was going to have a large group of volunteers at my house, I was quite nervous. Beyond the unusual jitters that come with being a host (clear directions, sufficient food, room to sleep, ect…) being a PCV adds a few more layers of stress. First, there is the problem of water. Where as in the US water is an effortless resource, any water I have here either requires a heavy rain or an exhausting trip to the pump. Hoping to avoid having to get water during the 3 days of visits, I had bought and filled an 80 litter balde (bucket) to supplement my already existing 150 litters of storage. Even so, 7 people drinking water, taking bucket baths, flushing toilets, cooking food, and washing plates used most of it up in a little over 24 hours. Luckily, I have the amazing Tojo to keep water in my house and my calm in my mind.

I'm a lumberjack and I'm ok,

I sleep all night and  I work all day

Another added stress is security. It is well known among PCVs that most security incidents happen when a large group of volunteers are together. Though I normally feel very safe at site, all the added attention that comes with having 6 more Americans in my house does change things. Hoping to avoid any incidents, I had spent the week before upgrading the security measures on my house. Knowing that a crocodile filled moat around my yard might make community integration a little difficult, I had to settle with putting up gates on the doors of my quintal, re-cementing the gelhas on my windows and doors, and making sure Coco was comfortable sleeping outside. Though these measures may not have done much in the event of an actual burglary, it put my mind at ease.

Harroset!

Feeling as prepared as I could be, I started walking up towards the paragem to welcome my guests to Alto Molocue. As if I had planned it, Ariel, Ellen, Patrick, Leah, and Christina all showed up just as I reached the highway. After allowing them to sample some off the finner things in Alto Molocue (soft serve ice cream) and taking them on a leisurely stroll through town (hike up a 10% grade hill with big bags), I brought them home. As requested, each guest had brought with them an ingredient for Passover, which they presented before our quick and easy dinner of spaghetti with sauce. After a couple round of beers from a local bar, we pushed furniture to the walls, turned the bed-sofa into a bed, and went to sleep.

Chicken's out of Coco's grasp

Monday found us awake and excited to start what would be the gross majority of our merry band’s first Passover (10 attendees, 3 Jews). To get all the ingredients for our feast, I went out with a small foraging party. Upon our triumphal return, we began cooking a Passover spread that would have made any Jewish mother proud. Chicken (first kills for Cristina and Ariel), matzah ball soup, harroset, homemade matzah, cacana (bitter herb), apple crisp, and friend rice alongside a giant balde of sangria to ensure that we all met the 4 drink minimum (check your hagada).

My fellow Jews Arielle and Ellen with their Capula

After distributing the capulamikas (capulana yamikas), everyone sat down and we began the seder. You should know that this wasn’t your grandfather's everything-in-hebrew-no-skipping-pages-wish-I’d-just-watched-the-rugrats-episode seder. This was a Sam Bar seder. And if you know anything about Sam Bar, you know he’s fast, and likes to talk in the third person. Though I would like to show you how it’s done, the extensive video recording system I set up never worked, so here are the highlights:

1) Tell the Passover story
     a. Jews building pyramids
     b. Moses to Pharaoh "Let my people go!"
     c. 10 plagues (voting is required)
     d. Pharaoh to Moses "I'm letting your people go"
     e. Pharaoh to himself "I shouldn't have let his people go"
     f. Chariot chase ends in Red Sea
     g. Moses to himself "Where should my people go?"
2) Four Questions
     a. Flavorless crackers
     b. Bitter herbs
     c. Condiments are awesome!
     d. Chillax the night away
3) Seder Plate
     a.  Egg
     b. Cacana (bitter herb)
     c. Dried Parsley
     d. Harroset
     e. Chicken Bone
     f. Wasabi (horse radish)
4) Drink wine and eat food

Despite the little mishap with the afikoman (one of the guests didn't understand that it was to be eaten latter, so they hid it in the toilet), everyone finished the night stuffed full of food and a little drunk on sangria. The next morning, we all packed our bags and headed to Nampula for the conference which takes place after 4 months at site for volunteers to compare notes and integration strategies, known as Reconnect. It’s also a great excuse to go shopping in Nampula for life’s essentials (peanut butter and duct tape).

Happy Belated Passover!

PS: I was unable to take any pictures of the Seder. Luckily, Ellen was snapping away and once I get the pictures from her, I will add them to the post.

Mi Kiri Pama

One of the things you need to know about Peace Corps is that all volunteers start to find very strange combinations of words hilarious. This unique brand of comedy is so strange that each country has its own, exclusive brand of comedy. Saying “These are not the ladraoes you are looking for” and throwing things like “E possivl”, “Entao”, and “E o Nao e?” randomly into sentences wouldn't be funny to anyone else, but to me they’re hilarious. It’s to the point where the funniest thing I ever get to hear on a regular basis is “I am fine, and how are you?”  coming from the mouth of some random Mozambiquean. Yes, the weirdly accented vowels are funny, and the overly earnest expression on their faces makes you chuckle, but what it really comes down to is relief. Relief that the communication barrier you normally have to break down has been broken for you. Sure, it may be the full extent of their English, but at least you’re not left alone sounding stupid in Portuguese.

But at some point, you don’t sound so stupid in Portuguese. In fact, you feel pretty confident that you can get your point across as long as you can find a way to explain what you mean with a very limited vocabulary. That’s why local languages were created.

The cultural gods’ gift to me was Elomwe. Spoken only in the northeastern region of Zambezia Province, it sounds like nothing I’ve ever heard. Though there are elements of Portuguese woven in, all the words are strange and new, which has made it challenging but fun to learn. Thankfully Ionde e su caderno?” (where is your notebook) if I don’t have it out fast enough.

have my good buddy Machonichone. I'm not actually sure that that's his name, and since its way to complicated to remember, I just call him Professor. Every time I see him at his bagged cooking oil stand, he’s ready with a new word of phrase for me to learn. At first, I would try to just remember them by hearing them, but I found out that unless I write it down in a little notebook, it’s like it never happened ( I must be my mother’s son because). So then I started carrying around an “Elomwe” notebook to dorkily whip out every time I see him. It’s gotten to the point that Professor even follows up the new words with an exasperated “

Starting out with the general greeting (Mosheliwa), we worked our way through salt (maka), water (mahi), tomatoes (tomates) essentially the items in front of us. But it wasn’t until after talking with my empregado that I found out that Mosheliwa didn't mean “hello”, but “how are you?” Having only the question, but not the answer, I felt so incomplete. Like Alex Trebec, I could ask questions I couldn't answer. I needed to know. So the next time I returned to the market, I returned with a purpose. Marching straight to Machonichone, I was pleasantly greeted with “Mosheliwa” to which I responded “como se dizes ‘eu esto bem, e voce?’”. But before telling me, before unlocking the secrets I desired, Machonichone made a notebook and pen mime with his hands. After surviving the trials of finding the pen and tinny notebook in my backpack-of-a-million-and-one-pockets, I finally was able to learn the Simon to my conversational Garfunkel:

“Mi Kiri Pama, ka hi nu anu?”

(I am fine, and how are you?)

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On the day I wrote this post, I gave 6 end-of-trimester French tests. This means that after writing the test on the board and providing instructions maybe 20 times, I had a lot of down time to sit and watch for cheating. Sometimes I graded, sometimes I twiddled thumbs, sometimes I counted rafters, and sometimes I got inspired to write acronym puzzles in honor of World Malaria Day on April 25^th:

M ighty Morphin Power Rangers
A rrested Development

L ibyan Dictators

A pple pie flavored Go-Gurt

R -Kelly

I celandic Mega-Banking

A merican Idol Creativity

What do these things and Malaria have in common? Nothing. They’ve come and gone while Malaria is still infecting 1 out of 3 people in Mozambique