Blogathon Day 14: End of the Line

A few months ago, I took the Foreign Service exam. To my surprise, although I didn't do very well on the timed essay portion, I passed the test the first time around. I moved on to the Personal Narrative stage, in which candidates write two hundred word blurbs about their experiences.

Unfortunately, this year, that's where I ended. I didn't make it past the Qualifications Evaluation Panel, in which a panel takes your test scores and narratives together and decides if you qualify to move on to the next stage. I feel like my narratives were pretty strong, so I'm left with the sneaking suspicion that my failure to move on is due to my freeze-up on the timed essay part of the test. I'm the first to admit that the essay I wrote was weak.

Still, now I am more familiar with the test and the whole process. I passed the test the first time around without a whole lot of practice and while I was super behind on current events, so I should be able to kill it next year, when I'll be in the U.S. and have the time and connectivity to study properly.

Although I'm disappointed that my candidacy stops here this year, I'm just as determined as ever, and Ill be back in the testing room next February to try again. Ain't no stopping me!

Blogathon Day 13: My New Hoodie!

A woman wearing a capulana.

Capulana is the traditional cloth worn by all women in Mozambique. Capulanas are great because you can use them for just about anything -- as clothing, to carry your baby, to wrap an injury, to pad your head while carrying twenty liters of water, to sit on, as a towel, etc, etc, etc. The uses are endless.

The best use of capulanas, however, lies in making clothes. In any decently sized town, there will be a few modistas (seamstresses) and alfaiates (tailors), and these people can make anything and everything out of capulanas. Most of the time, they make ridiculously great fatos (those crazy African suits with poofy arms and lots of frills), but you can ask them to make anything. Volunteers have had a lot of success in giving their modista an article of clothing and having them copy it in capulana -- which is precisely what I did last week.

I am lucky in that I have a friend who is an alfaiate. His name is Ramim, and he works in Tete City as a particularly talented tailor. Ramim's really awesome -- he can make absolutely anything, so I asked him to make me the holy grail of Peace Corps Mozambique clothing -- the capulana hoodie. I left him the fabric (which my mom helped me pick out!) and two weeks later, I went to pick up the finished product.

Mission: Accomplished.

It came out sooooooooo great. I've been wearing this hoodie nonstop since Ramim delivered it to me. I think I might wear this hoodie until the day I die.

Blogathon Day 12: Dinner with the Solár Family

A while back, Laura and I went to Izaquel's house for dinner and to meet his family. They slaughtered a chicken for us -- an incredible gift from a family that often eats one meal of nothing but xima per day. Last week, we mentioned to Izaquel that we wanted to return the gesture and have them here for dinner.

"Maybe Sunday..." Laura said offhandedly.

"Sure, maybe," said Izaquel casually as he went to go wash the dishes.

We didn't discuss it again, and had completely forgotten about it until Sunday night, when Izaquel's parents and three siblings showed up at our house for dinner. We hadn't cooked anything and turned to each other with a panicked look of, "Oh, $#!%!"

Thankfully, we're pretty good at rolling with the punches by now. We put on a movie for them to watch (Ratatouille, which they loved) and took stock of our kitchen. Laura whipped up a potato stew type thing and I made a Mozambican-style cabbage salad.

During the meal, we didn't talk much. Only Izaquel and his dad speak Portuguese, and our Nyungwe isn't really good enough yet for us to have meaningful conversations his mom and brothers. There was a lot of charade-type gesturing. Still, everyone enjoyed themselves, and they ate a lot.

Izaquel's family.

Blogathon Day 11: A Hike in the Mountains

My new year's resolution was to live a less horizontal life. So far, I haven't been doing too well -- since I teach in the afternoons and evenings, my mornings are usually free to lie around reading.

The problem, you see, is that none of the 'active' hobbies I had in the States apply here. Horseriding, ice skating, jazz dance... yeah. Not really possible. I could run, I suppose, but everyone stares and the road is so straight and hilly -- it's nothing like running the Outer Loop at Rice, where it's shaded, there's always something to look at, and you don't get followed by several dozen Mozambican children all shouting "You're tired already!? Can I have your iPod? How about your phone? How about 10 mets?"

In the end, Laura and I end up spending a lot of time in bed, lying around. As a Fundamentally Lazy Person, I'm totally OK with this -- however, after a certain amount of time, Laura's Horizontometer reaches the red zone and she feels the driving need to go out and do something before she explodes. This is great for me, because left to my own devices, I'd probably never leave the house.

So today, as I was in the middle of an episode of The Big Bang Theory, Laura marched in with her tell-tale I-need-to-get-out-of-the-house face and said, "Let's go take a walk into the mountains with Simba and the boys."

We threw some water bottles and our cameras into a bag, and took three of our favorite kids on a hike to climb "that little hill there."

Turns out that a consequence of being a Fundamentally Lazy Person, as well as spending most of your time horizontal, means that climbing a "little hill" takes your breath away. As I concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other without passing out, Izaquel was jumping and running up ahead, climbing trees along the way, picking maçanicas to pop into his mouth and looking for baby birds in the highest branches.

The view from the top was pretty cool, though. And just when I felt like I had returned to a normal color again and was breathing sufficiently to not faint, it was time to go back down.

"Oh, there's a snake in that tree," Castelo said casually as we made our way down the steep and rocky mountainside.

Laura and I stopped. "WHAT!?"

"Oh, it's fine. He can't hurt you unless he bites you."

We shared a glance. "Let's go another way."

The boys laughed. "It's fine, we'll just throw rocks at it to scare it away."

Yes, throwing rocks at an angry snake seems like a great idea. They did it anyway.

"OK, now that you scared the snake and made it angry, where is it?" Laura asked.

The boys looked at each other and shrugged. "I dunno. Gone."

"YES BUT WHICH WAY!?"

Castelo frowned, picked a direction at random and pointed. "That way. Let's go."

We descended the mountain, certain that we were about to be bitten by an angry black mamba. When we finally reached the clearing at the riverside, I had thorns in my hair, was bleeding due to several blades of angry grass, and had been thinking about just flinging myself off the side of the mountain to end my misery.

We trudged home along the river, me dragging my legs while Izaquel and Castelo did flips in the sand with Simba jogging along playfully and Laura snapping pictures all the while. When we finally got home, I slumped into a chair and exhaled.

"That was nice," said Laura, "We should do that more often."

And the weird thing is... it was nice. We should do it more often.

The hiking crew. Laura, Izaquel, Archel, Castelo and me.

Blogathon Day 10: Frio, pah!

Winter has come with a vengeance!

Last night, I made myself and Izaquel hot chocolate with marshmallows, which we consumed each cocooned in our own blankets. It's overcast, cold, and real stay-inside weather -- this morning, I would have been content to stay in bed in my bubble of warmth, reading 100 Years of Solitude all day if it hadn't been for my rather urgent need to pee.

All the students are walking around, wearing big puffy jackets. Looking at them, you'd think it's below freezing, when really, it's maybe in the low '60s. In Sweden, I would have called this "shorts weather". Here, it feels more like absolute zero.

I love this time of year. Hot tea with honey, soup for dinner, blankets in bed... so lovely. We have exactly two months to enjoy it, and I plan on taking full advantage.

Now, where's my mug of hot chocolate?


(P.S. Check out this hilarious blog post by my friend Gina!)

Blogathon Day 9: Inherent Risks

To me, my life seems normal. I have a job, a house, a roommate, a cat, friends. None of this seems out of the ordinary. And yet, I also have to take malaria medicine every day, worry constantly about infection, and have to bleach all my vegetables before I eat them.

At first, it seemed like everything was trying to kill me, but after 20 months, I've gotten used to the dangers and how to avoid them. However, that doesn't mean the dangers aren't still there, and a few occurrences in the past few weeks have reminded me of that.

First, a couple of the volunteers in the north of the country contracted Dengue fever, which, if you haven't heard of, is really not fun. They call it "the bone-breaking fever" for a reason. At the same time, another volunteer came down with malaria, but the Peace Corps doctor couldn't take care of them because he, too, had dengue. All of them were flown to Maputo for emergency care.

Around the same time, a volunteer from my training group wasn't feeling well, but couldn't figure out what was wrong. By the time the doctors realized his appendix had burst, it was almost too late -- they didn't even have time to get him to Maputo -- they performed emergency surgery in Nampula, and since there was no anesthetic available, he had an epidural and was awake for the whole procedure. Terrifying.

Thankfully, all of the aforementioned volunteers are OK. However, my roommate recently linked me to a an eye-opening blog, "He Gave Me More Than A Bracelet," written by a former Peace Corps volunteer serving in Zambia who contracted HIV while she was serving. She took precautions, and "did everything right" according to Peace Corps policy, and still got HIV. That's going to be with her for the rest of her life. Scary.

Moments like this, I look back and am thankful and how lucky I've been. Sure, I've gotten food poisoning a few times, had some colds, parasitic worms, and one malaria scare, but on the whole I've fared pretty well. In this environment, no matter what you do, you might get sick, and here's to hoping that my last 6 months of service continue as smoothly as the first year and a half have been.

Blogathon Day 8: SENSA!

Well, I made it exactly a week blogging without skipping a day -- but to my defense, yesterday's lapse was not my fault.

Maybe my recent surge of traveling has finally caught up to me, but last night I found myself in bed with a runny nose, and this morning I woke up with a fever.

We were supposed to have a REDES meeting this morning, but with Redi and Laura traveling, and me not feeling well, I left a note on the door letting the girls know we wouldn't be meeting and went back to bed.

Around 8 a.m., I heard... it. The sound every PCV hates when they just want to be left alone for a little while.

"Sensa! Sensa! Sensa!" at the door. I rolled over, but it kept going. "Sensa! Sensa! Sensa!"

Eventually I gave up and opened the door to see my REDES girls. "Didn't you see the note?" I asked grumpily.

"Yes teacher. We came to see if you needed anything. Shall we fetch water for you? Do you need us to cook for you?"

I felt like a jerk, and touched that they cared. "Thanks, girls, but I'm fine." I went back to bed.

This afternoon, around 2 p.m., my fever was worse and I was bundled up under the blankets.

Knock, knock, knock.

"Sensa! Sensa! Sensa! Sensa! Sensa!" I ignored it but it just kept going. "Sensa! Professora Helena! Sensa! Professora! Sensa! Sensa!"

I stumbled out of bed, and opened to door to see one of my students, Anessi, holding her phone. "Can I charge my phone?" she asked.

I just glared. "You knocked and sensa'd for ten minutes just to charge your phone?" I said through gritted teeth. "I was sleeping!"

She shrugged, plugged in her phone and left.

One of those small cultural differences, I supposed. In America, you don't wake sleeping people -- it's rude. In Mozambique, you always answer your door, even if you were alseep. To not do so is rude.
 

Blogathon Day 7: Manic Monday

"It's just another manic Monday
I wish it were Sunday
'Cause that's my funday
My I don't have to run day
It's just another manic Monday"
The Bangles must have been thinking of me when they wrote their hit song, Manic Monday, because my Mondays this year are crazy, today especially. I woke up this morning and all I wanted to do was watch Game of Thrones, but I had a to-do list the size of Niassa, so I got to work. The whole time I was making phone calls, I was thinking "Boy, how's Tyrion going to get himself out of THIS mess?" and every keystroke of my computer reminded me of sword-swishes and axe-clashes. I went to class, and as I taught about was and were for eight hours, I kept thinking "So who WAS the king-killer? Who WERE they working for?" At eight thirty this evening, when I was finally finished teaching (eight lessons in a row! phew!), I made a break for home but got caught up in a chit-chat with my director. (You all know how much I just love idle conversation.)

But now? I'm home. My door is locked. I'm showered and in my PJs, and I'm under the covers.

It's time for Game of Thrones. I've been waiting all day, and it's my reward.

Winter is coming! The night is dark, and full of terrors!

Blogathon Day 6: Our Animals are Dorks

On Thursday, just two days after coming home from Nampula, I turned around and left again for Chimoio to fix my computer. (Missing accomplished! Thanks, Taylor!)

I came home today, and Simba was so happy to see me he wouldn't leave my side the rest of the afternoon, including when I went to take a bath. The cat basically glued her furry little head to my ankles, purring and rubbing the whole time. When I left the house to go get water, she followed me to the pump, meowing.

Our animals are so needy, but we love them -- and clearly, they're feeling neglected. So if you'll excuse me, I have a cuddle session with the kitty.

Clearly they don't hate each other anymore.

Blogathon Day 5: A Fortaleza (The Fort)

Ilha de Moçambique, an island off the northern coast of Mozambique, was the capital of Portuguese East Africa for hundreds of years. On it lies the fortaleza (fort) which houses Chapel of Nossa Senhora de Baluarte, the oldest European building in the Southern Hemisphere.

Creepy abandoned hallways

Beautiful tropical waters

Canon inscription

The chapel

Graffiti

The Indian Ocean

Blogathon Day 4: I Conseguired!

Since I got here, there's something I've always wanted to be able to do, and that's carry things on my head. Mozmabican women carry EVERYTHING on their head. All the time.

 Finally, after much trial and tribulation, I DID IT.

Here's the photographic evidence. I walked around with this water bottle on my head for a good 20 minutes.

Boo yah!



SO MOZAMBICAN



Blogathon Day 3: Headphones

I don't know if its a cultural thing or what, but students here can do the same thing over and over again without getting tired of it. For example, the primary school kids come out every morning like clockwork, stand in the field in front our our house, and sing some chants with their teachers. One of the chants goes like this:

Teacher: "Crianca?" ("Child?")
Kids: "Sou eu!" ("That's me!")
Teacher: "Crianca?" ("Child?")
Kids: "Sou eu!" ("That's me!")
All: "As flores que nunca murcham!" ("The flowers that never wilt!")

Cute chant, right? Except that I have heard this chant repeated at least a dozen times every school day since I moved here. I am certainly tired of this chant. And yet, somehow, the kiddos are not. They laugh and scream and jump up and down every time they get to sing this little song.

This mentality sticks with the students as they get older. Our trusted water boy, Izaquel, is a great little dude. He's hardworking, he's honest, he does more than we ask him to. The only problem we've had with him is with a little song called Danza Kuduro.

Danza Kuduro is a hit song, half-Spanish, half-Portuguese, that took Mozambique by storm. Even though its a couple of years old, this song is still played like its the hottest track on the charts.

Izaquel recently got Danza Kuduro on his little phone. He was very excited about it, and played the song as loud as it would go on his tinny little phone speaker. He danced exuberantly and we all laughed. Then he played it again and we laughed some more.

After the 5th time, we were not laughing. "OK, stop playing that song now, Iz,"  we had to tell him, and he looked crestfallen.

The next day, at 6 a.m. I was woken by "DANZA KUDUROOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"  blasting outside of my window. That day, Izaquel played the song about 20 more times. The next few days, I must have heard that song over a hundred times.

Finally, I broke.. "Izaquel, don't you have any headphones for that thing?"  I snapped.

He looked at me, sadly. "No, teacher. Sorry. I can stop listening to it."

I threw him a pair of headphones. "You can have these ones, under ONE condition."

His eyes lit up. Having headphones would boost his cool factor at school by several points. "What's the condition?"

"I never, never, NEVER want to hear that song out loud again. Deal?"

He laughed, as he gleefully grabbed the earbuds. "I can do that, teacher!"

The funny thing is, the next day as I was on a chapa, I put my own headphones in, and I had the sudden, overwhelming desire to listen to...

...absolutely anything but Danza Kuduro!

Blogathon Day 2: A Little Normal

Americans are generally very positive people. Sure, you can't turn on the news without seeing people screaming at each other, but that's not what I'm talking about. When you pass someone on the street and say "How are you?" they say "Good, thanks!" and usually will flash you a smile.

Mozambicans are not like that. Don't get me wrong, Mozambicans are not negative people, they just don't sugarcoat things. When I see someone I know, I smile big and ask how they are, and they almost always stoically respond with "Um pouco normal," (Literally, this means "I'm a little normal.")

I ask my students how their break was. Um pouco normal. I asked my colleague how her test went. Um pouco normal. I ask my friend how her big birthday party was. Surprise! Um pouco normal.

At first, I thought everyone was just really grumpy. Looking back, I know I probably seemed really strange to them. ("Why is the branca always so happy about everything? She smiles all the time. It's creepy.") Now I don't think it's quite as weird. I'm still not used to it (I still smile at everyone), but, well, let's put it this way. It's um pouco normal.

Blogathon Day 1: Coming Home Fat

In America, when you come home from a vacation at the beach, you hear things like "You look great!" and "Nice tan!" People ask you how the water was and what you ate, they want to hear all about how nice it was to relax on the sand with a cold drink in one hand and a good book in the other.

Here, that's not the case. When I came home yesterday, my well-meaning Mozambican colleagues had other things to say, such as "Ew, you got brown." and "Nice shoes, how much did they cost? Nice capulana, how much did it cost? Nice *insert any new item here*, how much did it cost?" and of course, my very favorite, "You are getting soooooo fat."

Mozambicans LOVE to tell you you're getting fat. To a Mozambican, being fat is chique. Being told you're fat is a compliment. So they won't hesitate to tell you you're fat ALL THE TIME. It doesn't matter if you're actually fatter or not --- you've still "gotten fat." (Let's ignore for a minute the fact that I've actually lost weight since coming to Mozambique.)

One time, after I came home from a short trip, I was walking through the town and saudaring people. ("Saying hi.") I passed my neighbor. "Welcome home! You're so fat!". I saw my friend. "Wowee, you must have eaten well cause you got FAT!" I saw my students "Teacher! So fat!" And finally, I passed an old lady I know. "Hey there, fatty!" she said toothlessly.

I know for a fact that this old lady is blind as a bat, so I call B.S. on this whole "fat" business.

Now pass me those chocolate cookies.

Houston, We Had Some Technical Difficulties!

Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!

Right after coming back from America, where I finally updated my software and programs and got my computer in tip-top condition, it decided to unceremoniously crash on me, leaving me with no way to even get online long enough to say "We'll be interrupting your regularly scheduled blogging for a short while."

Luckily, while I was enjoying myself at the beach in Ilha de Moçambique for the trimester break, my lovely friend and fellow Tete resident Karmen was able to bring me an emergency netbook from my parents in San Antonio. (Thanks, Mom!) So two weeks and many internet-withdrawal bouts later, I'm finally back online.

Now, I know that I usually update every few days, and now it's been a month since I've written anything of substance. I've gotten several angry messages ("You there! Get your lazy butt off the couch and update your stupid blog!")

Therefore, to make it up, and to get rid of the HUGE backlog of blog entries I have.... announcing:

THE MONTH-LONG BLOGATHON!

Starting tomorrow, I'll be posting once a day for an entire month! Look forward to hilarious anecdotes of traveling in Mozambique, sobering stories of poverty, and heartwarming tales of hope.

It all starts tomorrow. Get excited.