I'm in the midst of giving tests, so today was a review day. I had double periods with almost all my classes, so we did some hefty reviewing for about three quarters of the time, and I thought I'd end with a fun game of bingo. Bingo is easy and fun, right?
HA!
Kids here are used to a very different style of learning than what I am used to teaching. Kids here are accustomed to rote memorization, taking down notes word for word, and writing dictations. Critical thinking, individual thought, and group work are foreign concepts to them. Here's how bingo went.
I asked them to draw a 4x4 bingo board in their notebooks. They proceeded to get out their rulers and very carefully and delicately trace faint pencil lines into their notebooks. They start going over it in pen, slowly and deliberately. At this rate, they'll still be drawing tomorrow morning.
"OK, it doesn't have to be a masterpiece. This isn't art class, it's just a game!" I say.
They stare, and continue with their rulers.
About ten minutes later, half of them are finished and in the interests of time, I decide to move on.
"Ok, here are sixteen words," I tell them, "Each of you should put each word into one of your sixteen boxes, so that each box has a different word in it."
They stare.
"Let me show you." So I do an example. "Now, don't copy this exact arrangement, because everyone should have their words in different places."
I walk around and see them copying exactly what I drew on the board. I erase my drawing and explain again that everyone's should be different.
"So... where do I put each word?" one of my more outspoken students says.
"Wherever. Pick a box, any box. Doesn't matter. Just put each word in a box. Whichever box."
He hesitantly picks up his pen and gingerly writes "to run" in one of his boxes.
"YES!" I say, visibly excited. "Exactly like he is doing!"
I walk around and notice that a handful of people have understood, and the rest of the students are copying. I decide to cut my losses and continue.
I explain the rules, and call out the first verb for them to cross off their bingo sheet.
"You want us to... cross it out? Like, make an x through it?"
"Yes."
"But...in our notebooks?"
"Yes."
They seem visibly upset that I expect them to defile their notebooks in this horrendous manner. I ignore that fact and move on.
"Once you have four in a row, you win, so you need to shout Bingo!" I say. "Let's move on."
I call out the second, third, fourth and fifth verbs. I expect someone to win pretty soon. I mean, statistics are in my favor, here.
I call out the sixth, and seventh words. No one says bingo.
"Does anyone have bingo yet?" I ask "Four in a row? Or four in a column?"
Silence.
I walk around the room and notice that one of the students in the front row has four in a row.
"Look, like this. See? He's got four in a row. He wins! You have to say bingo!"
He stares at me.
"I have a prize for you... but first you have to say bingo and then read your words."
I have no idea what he's thinking, but his expression is blank. A few awkward moments pass and he says absolutely nothing.
"Uh... ok... does anyone else have bingo?"
Finally, one student tentatively raises her hand in the back and whispers "Bingo..."
Finally! I go back and have her read out her words. It takes a good two minutes, since she's talking so quietly that I can barely tell that sound is coming from her mouth. Eventually, she gets through all four words.
"We have our first winner! Congratulations!" I clap for her, expecting others to join in.
They do not join in.
Unfazed, I pull out the roll of stickers from my bata and tell her to choose a sticker.
Suddenly, everyone perks up. If I had to attribute a caption to that moment, it would be "Wait, you never said there were stickers involved!"
Now, everyone has bingo. Students frantically draw a new square and try to fill it in with a winning combo. They cross out words and re-write them to have bingo.
I sigh.
"That's all for now," I say, "We can play again another time."
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
Monday, February 25, 2013
Integration
I've been worrying about integration a lot lately. I'm generally happy in my town, but nearly everyone says that I don't passear (walk around making social calls) as much as the last volunteer, and that I am very quiet and sure do stay in my house a lot.
It's not that I'm anti-social -- I converse with my roommate when she's around, I talk with my next-door neighbors often, and I make an effort to sit outside every evening as the sun sets so people know where to find me if they want to chat.
What I don't do is wander around, talking to whoever I happen to pass on the street. Unless I need to buy something at the market, which is not that often, I don't have much reason to leave my neighborhood. There's nowhere to go, anyway, since you can walk from my house to either edge of town in under two minutes. So I find myself at home a lot, and that doesn't really bother me.
I'm fairly content with my social situation -- sure, I've got a long way to go, but I've only been here for two and a half months. I wasn't expecting to have any life-changing best friends at this point. Plus, I've never been the type of person to mind being alone for long periods of time. An evening with just me, Poppy and a book is an evening that I will enjoy.
However, Peace Corps makes a big deal out of stressing the importance of integration into your community, and there's a constant pressure to be always reaching out to new people, forming new relationships, etc. While I definitely see the advantages of a Super Social Volunteer, isn't it just as productive to have a volunteer who focuses their energy on a smaller group of people but really deepens those connections? I'd rather talk with Páscoa or Norai for three hours about politics, the world, philosophy, etc, than walk around my town making small talk with everybody and their mother.
Yesterday I found myself in need of a new lightbulb, so I walked into town to buy one. I smiled and waved at people and answered all the calls of "Good morning, Teacher" despite the fact that it was in fact evening already. People seemed happy to see me, but they also seemed surprised that I had ventured outside of my housing complex.
And thus I had the sad realization that I barely know any of these people. My entire social circle consists of the people who live in the professors' complex, and of them, I know only a handful well. While that's enough for me personally, it's not enough professionally. If I want to be able to enact any sort of change in this community, I'm going to have to make more of an effort to be a part of the community, and not just an observer.
I'm not really sure how to go about doing that. I am hoping that in a few weeks, when I start having extracurricular club meetings, it'll help me connect with students who really care.
In the mean time, looks like I'm going to have to learn how to passear.
It's not that I'm anti-social -- I converse with my roommate when she's around, I talk with my next-door neighbors often, and I make an effort to sit outside every evening as the sun sets so people know where to find me if they want to chat.
What I don't do is wander around, talking to whoever I happen to pass on the street. Unless I need to buy something at the market, which is not that often, I don't have much reason to leave my neighborhood. There's nowhere to go, anyway, since you can walk from my house to either edge of town in under two minutes. So I find myself at home a lot, and that doesn't really bother me.
I'm fairly content with my social situation -- sure, I've got a long way to go, but I've only been here for two and a half months. I wasn't expecting to have any life-changing best friends at this point. Plus, I've never been the type of person to mind being alone for long periods of time. An evening with just me, Poppy and a book is an evening that I will enjoy.
However, Peace Corps makes a big deal out of stressing the importance of integration into your community, and there's a constant pressure to be always reaching out to new people, forming new relationships, etc. While I definitely see the advantages of a Super Social Volunteer, isn't it just as productive to have a volunteer who focuses their energy on a smaller group of people but really deepens those connections? I'd rather talk with Páscoa or Norai for three hours about politics, the world, philosophy, etc, than walk around my town making small talk with everybody and their mother.
Yesterday I found myself in need of a new lightbulb, so I walked into town to buy one. I smiled and waved at people and answered all the calls of "Good morning, Teacher" despite the fact that it was in fact evening already. People seemed happy to see me, but they also seemed surprised that I had ventured outside of my housing complex.
And thus I had the sad realization that I barely know any of these people. My entire social circle consists of the people who live in the professors' complex, and of them, I know only a handful well. While that's enough for me personally, it's not enough professionally. If I want to be able to enact any sort of change in this community, I'm going to have to make more of an effort to be a part of the community, and not just an observer.
I'm not really sure how to go about doing that. I am hoping that in a few weeks, when I start having extracurricular club meetings, it'll help me connect with students who really care.
In the mean time, looks like I'm going to have to learn how to passear.
Sunday, February 24, 2013
A Vida em Rosa
This morning, I woke up before day broke. I made myself a cup of mocha coffee and sat out on the porch to watch the sun rise.
I spend a lot of time on my front porch, but I'm usually doing something -- writing in my journal, grading homework, making lesson plans, washing something -- but today, I spent a good two hours just sitting on the porch, watching the morning unfold and listening to the sounds of Mavudzi-Ponte.
While the sun rose with brilliant colors, roosters crowed and the songbirds chirped. People emerged from their houses, brushing their teeth and sweeping the porch. They congregated at the water pump for their morning supply of water, greeting each other, asking "Como acordou?" ("How did you wake?")
We're inching towards the cooler season, so nights are quite pleasant temperature-wise. As I sat on the porch, I wrapped my favorite capulana around me for warmth.
I have a lot to do today. Tests to prepare, laundry to wash, food to cook, floors to mop... but this morning, I didn't do anything at all. Not even read.
"What a lovely morning," I thought to myself. "I should do this more often."
I spend a lot of time on my front porch, but I'm usually doing something -- writing in my journal, grading homework, making lesson plans, washing something -- but today, I spent a good two hours just sitting on the porch, watching the morning unfold and listening to the sounds of Mavudzi-Ponte.
While the sun rose with brilliant colors, roosters crowed and the songbirds chirped. People emerged from their houses, brushing their teeth and sweeping the porch. They congregated at the water pump for their morning supply of water, greeting each other, asking "Como acordou?" ("How did you wake?")
We're inching towards the cooler season, so nights are quite pleasant temperature-wise. As I sat on the porch, I wrapped my favorite capulana around me for warmth.
I have a lot to do today. Tests to prepare, laundry to wash, food to cook, floors to mop... but this morning, I didn't do anything at all. Not even read.
"What a lovely morning," I thought to myself. "I should do this more often."
 |
| The sun peeks over the horizon. |
Saturday, February 23, 2013
Saturday Morning Staff Meeting
Yesterday, I was informed that we were to have a staff meeting this morning from 8:00 to 9:00 a.m. I knew that this schedule would not be adhered to, but I figured I'd be ready just in case.
The following is a timeline of this morning's events.
7:50 a.m. : I am ready to go. I step out of the house and no one else is even awake yet.
8:00 a.m. : The meeting's official start time comes and goes without incident.
8:15 a.m. : I am sitting on the front porch, ready to go, reading a book and waiting for something -- anything -- to happen. Lo and behold, some of the other teachers trickle out of their houses to go take a bath and get dressed. My next door neighbor starts washing his clothes.
"We have a meeting at 8 this morning, right?" I ask him, just to make sure that I'm not crazy.
"Oh sure. What time is it now?" he says.
"8:15."
"Oh, good. I'm not late yet." He continues washing clothes, still in his PJ's.
I raise an eyebrow, but continue reading my book.
8:45 a.m. : My director walks by, the first person other than myself that I've seen actually dressed and ready. "Oh, you're ready already?" he asks, "Boy, you're punctual!"
9:00 a.m. : My roommate and her friends are ready to go, so we walk to school together. So far, only female teachers are there. I am told it's the women's job to clean and set up the room for the meeting. (Though I wanted to, I made no comment about this.)
My roommate and her friends spend ten minutes debating where to put the tables for the chefes (the bosses) to sit at, how long the table should be, how many capulanas we will need to cover the table, whether the capulanas are sufficiently ironed, who the heck picked these ugly capulanas anyway, etc. Things are arranged, discussed, and re-arranged several times. I want to shout "IT DOESN'T MATTER. A CHAIR IS A CHAIR. CAN'T WE JUST ALL SIT DOWN!?" but I hold my tongue. I don't really know what to do with myself, so when I spy the shortest teacher in the room hopping up and down, trying to erase the blackboard, I eagerly offer to do it instead. I feel pleased that I've contributed and I take my seat. I twiddle my thumbs.
9:30 a.m. : The male teachers come in. Everyone else sits down. We preface the meeting with some small talk. ("Did you hear what so-and-so's daughter did yesterday!? Let me tell you!")
10:00 a.m. : We finally start the meeting. At last I find out what it is actually about -- we've been sent new guidelines by the Province about how to give and grade tests, and have been mandated to go over these new guidelines. They are exactly the same as last year except for one tiny change to the rules for which students pass and which don't. We gloss over this change and the teachers spend an hour and a half discussing a completely unrelated topic. They ask my opinion, and I realize I haven't been listening and have no idea what they are talking about, so I just shrug and say "I don't know. It's different in America."
12:00 p.m. : Now that we've thoroughly avoided doing what we came to do, the Pedagogical Director decides to wrap up the meeting.
"Well, we didn't exactly finish, but we'll just do it next week. Let's leave it here for now. Oh, and I forgot to tell you, each of you are going to be docked one day's wages from this month's salary to go to the flood relief fund in the south."
This sparks an incredibly heated argument about workers rights and "donations are supposed to be voluntary." I feel awkward and don't want to get in the middle of a political debate, so I try to make myself disappear into a wall.
12:30 p.m. : After much shouting and philosophical debate, the meeting is finally adjourned. More small talk ensues in the hallways of the school. ("I heard about so-and-so's daughter, but did you hear about her friend? No? WELL! It's quite a story.")
1:00 p.m. : I finally come home, from a meeting that was supposed to end at 9 a.m. I'm not even phased. I just get out my buckets and start washing my clothes.
The following is a timeline of this morning's events.
7:50 a.m. : I am ready to go. I step out of the house and no one else is even awake yet.
8:00 a.m. : The meeting's official start time comes and goes without incident.
8:15 a.m. : I am sitting on the front porch, ready to go, reading a book and waiting for something -- anything -- to happen. Lo and behold, some of the other teachers trickle out of their houses to go take a bath and get dressed. My next door neighbor starts washing his clothes.
"We have a meeting at 8 this morning, right?" I ask him, just to make sure that I'm not crazy.
"Oh sure. What time is it now?" he says.
"8:15."
"Oh, good. I'm not late yet." He continues washing clothes, still in his PJ's.
I raise an eyebrow, but continue reading my book.
8:45 a.m. : My director walks by, the first person other than myself that I've seen actually dressed and ready. "Oh, you're ready already?" he asks, "Boy, you're punctual!"
9:00 a.m. : My roommate and her friends are ready to go, so we walk to school together. So far, only female teachers are there. I am told it's the women's job to clean and set up the room for the meeting. (Though I wanted to, I made no comment about this.)
My roommate and her friends spend ten minutes debating where to put the tables for the chefes (the bosses) to sit at, how long the table should be, how many capulanas we will need to cover the table, whether the capulanas are sufficiently ironed, who the heck picked these ugly capulanas anyway, etc. Things are arranged, discussed, and re-arranged several times. I want to shout "IT DOESN'T MATTER. A CHAIR IS A CHAIR. CAN'T WE JUST ALL SIT DOWN!?" but I hold my tongue. I don't really know what to do with myself, so when I spy the shortest teacher in the room hopping up and down, trying to erase the blackboard, I eagerly offer to do it instead. I feel pleased that I've contributed and I take my seat. I twiddle my thumbs.
9:30 a.m. : The male teachers come in. Everyone else sits down. We preface the meeting with some small talk. ("Did you hear what so-and-so's daughter did yesterday!? Let me tell you!")
10:00 a.m. : We finally start the meeting. At last I find out what it is actually about -- we've been sent new guidelines by the Province about how to give and grade tests, and have been mandated to go over these new guidelines. They are exactly the same as last year except for one tiny change to the rules for which students pass and which don't. We gloss over this change and the teachers spend an hour and a half discussing a completely unrelated topic. They ask my opinion, and I realize I haven't been listening and have no idea what they are talking about, so I just shrug and say "I don't know. It's different in America."
12:00 p.m. : Now that we've thoroughly avoided doing what we came to do, the Pedagogical Director decides to wrap up the meeting.
"Well, we didn't exactly finish, but we'll just do it next week. Let's leave it here for now. Oh, and I forgot to tell you, each of you are going to be docked one day's wages from this month's salary to go to the flood relief fund in the south."
This sparks an incredibly heated argument about workers rights and "donations are supposed to be voluntary." I feel awkward and don't want to get in the middle of a political debate, so I try to make myself disappear into a wall.
12:30 p.m. : After much shouting and philosophical debate, the meeting is finally adjourned. More small talk ensues in the hallways of the school. ("I heard about so-and-so's daughter, but did you hear about her friend? No? WELL! It's quite a story.")
1:00 p.m. : I finally come home, from a meeting that was supposed to end at 9 a.m. I'm not even phased. I just get out my buckets and start washing my clothes.
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Physics 101: Properties of Waves
Back when I was still having delusions of wanting to major in Physics, my good friend Loliya and I used to say that life was sinusoidal, consisting of crests of great days and troughs of rough ones.
In the spirit of the English Language, these nouns were verbed and you'd often hear us saying nonsense like this:
Loliya: Hey there, Helen. How's it going?
Helen: Great! What a lovely day! I'm cresting!
Loliya: Oh, that's nice. I'm down in the dumps, definitely troughing.
Helen: No worries, buddy, you'll be cresting before you know it! After all, life is sinusoidal!
Well, this last week hasn't been so much cresting or troughing -- it's been more... spewing. Without going into lots of detail, let's just say that my gastro-intestinal tract has been, to quote Lady Catherine de Bourgh, "most seriously displeased."
Though Montezuma has been quite comprehensive in enacting his revenge, I must compliment him on his timing. I had to miss two days of class, but this week was just review anyway -- easily shortened and moved to next week.
Even better, a friend who passed through Chimoio this weekend had just brought me my mail, including three letters and two care packages from home. Not only did I receive everything I had requested -- a new journal; comfort food from home; string to make friendship bracelets with; headphones, etc -- there were extras in there that I didn't even know I wanted -- like a painting of winter that my mom made for me, and a fan for when the power goes out. The most exciting item, however, was my brand new Kindle Paperwhite. Cleverly hidden in a skirt by my mother to avoid prying Mozambican Postal Worker hands, I have never before been quite so pleased with a piece of technology. I have been reading non-stop since my self-imposed house arrest two days ago.
And so it is that I find myself cresting today. Despite the fact that its 95 degrees in my house as I sit clutching my puke bucket, despite my runny nose and runny, well, you know, and despite the fact that I am forced by the Peace Corps doctor to drink Oral Re-hydration Fluids that taste like what I'd imagine a bucket of sweat tastes like. Despite all this, it is a good day.
Boy, am I lucky that I like reading so much.
In the spirit of the English Language, these nouns were verbed and you'd often hear us saying nonsense like this:
Loliya: Hey there, Helen. How's it going?
Helen: Great! What a lovely day! I'm cresting!
Loliya: Oh, that's nice. I'm down in the dumps, definitely troughing.
Helen: No worries, buddy, you'll be cresting before you know it! After all, life is sinusoidal!
Well, this last week hasn't been so much cresting or troughing -- it's been more... spewing. Without going into lots of detail, let's just say that my gastro-intestinal tract has been, to quote Lady Catherine de Bourgh, "most seriously displeased."
Though Montezuma has been quite comprehensive in enacting his revenge, I must compliment him on his timing. I had to miss two days of class, but this week was just review anyway -- easily shortened and moved to next week.
 |
| Super awesome care package. Thanks, Mom and Dad! |
And so it is that I find myself cresting today. Despite the fact that its 95 degrees in my house as I sit clutching my puke bucket, despite my runny nose and runny, well, you know, and despite the fact that I am forced by the Peace Corps doctor to drink Oral Re-hydration Fluids that taste like what I'd imagine a bucket of sweat tastes like. Despite all this, it is a good day.
Boy, am I lucky that I like reading so much.
Monday, February 11, 2013
Staying Optimistic (The Flip-Side)
Well, if I wasn't sure about Peace Corps making you bi-polar before, I am 100% sure now. These last few days have been really awesome, and it seems really weird to think that just one week ago I was having a really hard time. So many great things have happened lately! And all in a great big chain of wonderful events. Let me explain:
It all started when Szasha came over this weekend. In an effort to spend less money, we decided to try not going to Tete City this week and instead, we hung out here in my town. We cooked lots of food, watched movies, hung out with my neighbors, and played game after game of my new favorite game, Bananagrams. I could play Bananagrams all day, every day, and not tire of it.
Because Szasha and I were in my town and had lots of time to cook, we made brigadeiros, a typically Brazilian chocolatey dessert ball covered in sprinkles. In an effort to make up for last week's anti-social behavior on my part, and say thanks for all their help so far, I gave some to my neighbors. They were really happy! Sweet!
As a consequence of my gift-giving my neighbors gave me a piece of bolo, or cake, in return. It was more like a little biscuit -- and delicious -- and the best part is, it turns out that there's a woman in my town who sells them every day! So now I have a new food that I can regularly eat for breakfast, with peanut butter, jelly, or chocolate spread. Yeah!
Because of my delicious breakfast this morning, I was in a really good mood when I went to school and had an excellent lesson with my tenth graders. Due to many canceled classes, this was only the 2nd time I had ever seen my tenth graders, so we were very far behind and it made me nervous. But they were so attentive and great that we got through almost everything that we were supposed to have done in the last three weeks in one lesson! Score! The professor who was supposed to teach them the period before didn't show (not uncommon) and thus we started and finished class early. Even better!
Since I finished class early, I had time to stop by my director's office and say hi. I found there both my director and pedagogical director, and we had a really great conversation about what the school's goals are for the near future and the possibility of getting a second volunteer here. This is something I'd really like to push for, because we're down three teachers at the moment and the kids just don't get schooling in those subjects until a teacher can be found. Mozambique has a severe teacher shortage. Plus, the school is growing quickly and I am already pushing the boundaries on the number of classes I can teach -- if we add any more English classes we're going to need another teacher. Not to mention that my school is opening up a computer lab next year, and teaching Informatica in addition to English is something I'd definitely be up for, if there's someone else to take up the slack. Plus,Peace Corps is looking to expand their presence in Tete, and it goes without saying that I'd love nothing more than to have another volunteer here in town.
It was a very uplifting conversation, and I still made it home earlier than usual! And you know what the cream of the crop was? This is what I came home to at the end of the day.
It all started when Szasha came over this weekend. In an effort to spend less money, we decided to try not going to Tete City this week and instead, we hung out here in my town. We cooked lots of food, watched movies, hung out with my neighbors, and played game after game of my new favorite game, Bananagrams. I could play Bananagrams all day, every day, and not tire of it.
As a consequence of my gift-giving my neighbors gave me a piece of bolo, or cake, in return. It was more like a little biscuit -- and delicious -- and the best part is, it turns out that there's a woman in my town who sells them every day! So now I have a new food that I can regularly eat for breakfast, with peanut butter, jelly, or chocolate spread. Yeah!
Because of my delicious breakfast this morning, I was in a really good mood when I went to school and had an excellent lesson with my tenth graders. Due to many canceled classes, this was only the 2nd time I had ever seen my tenth graders, so we were very far behind and it made me nervous. But they were so attentive and great that we got through almost everything that we were supposed to have done in the last three weeks in one lesson! Score! The professor who was supposed to teach them the period before didn't show (not uncommon) and thus we started and finished class early. Even better!
Since I finished class early, I had time to stop by my director's office and say hi. I found there both my director and pedagogical director, and we had a really great conversation about what the school's goals are for the near future and the possibility of getting a second volunteer here. This is something I'd really like to push for, because we're down three teachers at the moment and the kids just don't get schooling in those subjects until a teacher can be found. Mozambique has a severe teacher shortage. Plus, the school is growing quickly and I am already pushing the boundaries on the number of classes I can teach -- if we add any more English classes we're going to need another teacher. Not to mention that my school is opening up a computer lab next year, and teaching Informatica in addition to English is something I'd definitely be up for, if there's someone else to take up the slack. Plus,Peace Corps is looking to expand their presence in Tete, and it goes without saying that I'd love nothing more than to have another volunteer here in town.
It was a very uplifting conversation, and I still made it home earlier than usual! And you know what the cream of the crop was? This is what I came home to at the end of the day.
 |
| Double rainbow, all the way across the sky! Yeah! |
It might even be a triple rainbow!
Thursday, February 7, 2013
Chamussas
"Professora Helena, you are getting too skinny," my director announced today as he walked by the house. I was sitting outside with my roommate, Redi, and a couple of the other teachers from school, chatting as the sun went down.
Redi laughed, and under her breath whispered, "You can tell he's been drinking. He only makes jokes after a beer or two...otherwise he never talks."
I snickered.
"Don't you think she's getting too skinny?" he demanded of the others. "We can't send her back to America like this. She's wasting away. People are going to think she hated Mavudzi-Ponte! That we didn't take care of her!"
I laughed and assured my director that I was neither starving nor unhappy. "I love it here," I said, "When I go home everyone is going to think Mavudzi-Ponte is the nicest village on the planet."
Still, less than an hour later, I looked up from my novel to see my roommate striding into the house with a purpose.
"I've decided to start making and selling chamussas," she said.
"Oh?" I asked.
"Yes. I want to make some extra money. I'll sell them for 2 meticais each."
Now, I don't know if my director and my roommate are in cahoots, but the facts are thus:
Redi laughed, and under her breath whispered, "You can tell he's been drinking. He only makes jokes after a beer or two...otherwise he never talks."
I snickered.
"Don't you think she's getting too skinny?" he demanded of the others. "We can't send her back to America like this. She's wasting away. People are going to think she hated Mavudzi-Ponte! That we didn't take care of her!"
I laughed and assured my director that I was neither starving nor unhappy. "I love it here," I said, "When I go home everyone is going to think Mavudzi-Ponte is the nicest village on the planet."
Still, less than an hour later, I looked up from my novel to see my roommate striding into the house with a purpose.
"I've decided to start making and selling chamussas," she said.
"Oh?" I asked.
"Yes. I want to make some extra money. I'll sell them for 2 meticais each."
Now, I don't know if my director and my roommate are in cahoots, but the facts are thus:
- I LOVE chamussas. They are possibly one of my favorite snacks in Mozambique.
- Redi makes awesome chamussas.
- 2 mets per chamussa is way cheap. In Namaacha, the price was 5! Now, I can eat 13 chamussas for $1! Score.
 |
| Chamussas. (a.k.a. samosas) |
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Honor Code + Great Blog Posts
Conversation with a Student Today
Professora Helena: Please take out your homework so I can come around and initial it.*Students comply, papers rustle. One student writes furiously as I look at other students work. I approach his desk.*
Professora Helena: Is this your homework?
Student: Yes, teacher.
Professora Helena: You did this homework at home? Before class?
Student: Yes, teacher.
Professora Helena: You're not lying, are you?
Student: No, teacher.
Professora Helena: That's funny, because I see you already copied down today's date from the blackboard here, right above where you've just hastily scrawled your answers to last week's homework.
Student: It's my homework, teacher. I did it.
Professora Helena: I see. And I see that last week's notes are in blue pen, and right now you're holding a black pen. What color is your homework written in?
Student: Uhh....
Professora Helena: What color pen?
Student: Uhh... black pen, teacher.
Professora Helena: That's what I thought. You may leave my classroom now. Get the notes from today from one of your friends. Next time, do not lie to me. It is disrespectful to me, and your classmates, and you will not learn that way.
Student: Yes, Professora Helena.
*Student leaves.*
JUSTICE IS SWIFT!
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Great Blog Posts
My friends and colleagues here have been writing some pretty great things on their blogs recently. Here are some particularly fantastic posts that recommend you read.
New Neighbors (Lisa S.) - Welcoming me and Szasha into the small family of Tete volunteers. A very accurate depiction of the Tete stigma among volunteers.
Flood Adventures (Nick) - A thrilling tale from a site that was affected by the recent flooding in Mozambique.
The Goat Rescue (Szasha) - Baby goat stuck in latrine? Now that's a Peace Corps problem.
Monday, February 4, 2013
Peace Corps Mozambique Pocket Dictionary
A Dozen Useful Words
Bacia (Noun) - A bucket. Used for positively everything, from bathing children to carting water to cooking to peeing in -- just make sure to never mix up your cooking and peeing buckets.
Capulana (Noun) – A patterned cloth with unlimited uses, including: skirt, dress, baby-carrier, towel, sheet, picnic blanket, swimsuit, tablecloth, curtains, umbrella, sweater, grocery bag, mosquito net, bandana, hat, fashion accessory, belt, carpet, etc.
Chapa (Noun) – A minibus used for public transportation. May have some TARDIS-like capabilities, judging by the impossible amount of people routinely squished inside.
Criança (Noun) - A child. Pack mentality - tend to form swarms. They travel in packs and go crazy about things like candy and stickers. Often have sticky and/or charcoal-covered hands. Amusing most of the time, but have very limited definition of personal space.
Demorar (Verb) - To be late. This occurs often when Western Time clashes with Mozambican time. To convert: Mozambican Time = Western Time + ~3 hours. Example: If an event is supposed to start at 8 a.m., Mozambicans will show up at 11 a.m. at the earliest.
Engordar (Verb) - To become fatter. Mozambicans want you to do this. They want to prove that you are eating well in Mozambique. It takes a lot of explaining that, no, Americans don't actually want to become fatter. They get really upset if you in fact start losing weight.
Fofocar (Verb) – To gossip. This is a passion that the Mozambican and Volunteer communities share. Good luck trying to keep a secret in the Peace Corps.
Fugir (Verb) – To run away or escape. People tend to fugir when you need something from them – such as when you want something back that your neighbor borrowed, or when your Pedagogical Director promised you that he'd get a copy of the National Curriculum to you by the end of the day.
Lá (Preposition) - Vaguely means "Over there." Used in a huge variety of contexts and can be elongated for exaggerative effect. Examples:
- Where did you come from? "La." (Translation: "From there.")
- Where is Páscoa? "Laaa...." (Translation: "I don't know where she is, but she's not here.")
- Where is your site? "Laaaaaaaaaaaa." (Translation: "Tete.")
Lanche (Noun) - Pronounced "Lunch-y". Does not, however, mean lunch or lunch-like. Weirdly means "snack" instead. Go figure.
Passear (Verb) - To walk or wander. Vague enough to make a great cover story for when your neighbor, the nun, asks "Where were you?" The correct response is "Passearing with my amiga," not "Drinking beer at the barraca with my amiga."
Sozinho (Adjective) - Alone. Considered very strange. A volunteer that prefers to stay in and read or watch a movie instead of sitting outside and socializing once in a while must be sick or angry, because that is clearly NOT normal human behavior.
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