The Beginning of the Adventure: Words for Moz 23

Dear Moz 23 Volunteers,

Congratulations on being selected to serve in Mozambique; it is a beautiful country with a difficult history and a bright future. You will find yourself changing in ways you never thought possible. I hope that these few words of advice and preparation will help you to have a happier, more productive, and more fulfilling service.

Mozambique will change you more than you will change it. Yeah, yeah, I know the "whole point" of what we're doing here is to change the world; to teach these kids something; to make a difference. Honestly, you will make a difference, but probably not the difference you thought you'd make. Did I teach any of my kids to speak English? Weeelll... not really. But did I make a difference in peoples lives? You betcha, almost as much as they made in mine! What will change the most will be your attitudes towards life, towards family, towards education, towards poverty... you will come out of this a different person. And that's a good thing; don't be afraid to change.

Get ready for a rollercoaster; being a PCV will be awesome and awful at the same time; you'll have highs and lows, probably within an hour of each other. And you know what? That's OK. That's Peace Corps, and eventually it will even out. You may well find yourself thinking "This can't possible get any worse. What the heck am I doing here?" For those times, you have your friends -- both fellow PCVs and Mozambicans -- to reach out to. Reach out. It helps.

Focus on the things you can do; don't worry about those you can't. Mozambique has a lot of problems. Corruption, hunger, poverty, the list goes on. You're a teacher; focus on that. Focus on your secondary projects. Don't worry about every little thing that sucks about life here, or you'll get bogged down and depressed. Maybe your school is corrupt -- you can't control that. But you can control how you discipline kids in your class, and how you interact with your students when you are in control. Focus on that. You can't stop corruption. You can't feed every hungry child. But you can have a positive impact in your community -- just find an opportunity and have at it!

You may be a teacher, but that doesn't mean you stop learning. You are coming in with a first-class eduction and real-life experience, but Mozambicans have a lot to teach you. Don't assume that you know what's best for them; be open to listening to how and why things are done here. It's easy to fall into the trap of judging Mozambique for not being more like America. Well, guess what? It's not America! And it never will be. Open yourself up to learning the deeper origins of the issues in Mozambique; you'll find yourself more integrated and more effective.

Be productive and all that; but remember to have fun. We're here to do a job. Do that job. But in your free time, make the most of living here! Enjoy yourself!  Have a meal with your neighbor's family. Visit other volunteers. Throw a party. Go to Victoria Falls and Kruger. Splurge on pizza in the big city. Wander into the bush for three days. See as much of Mozambique as you can. The adventures you have here will stay with you forever.

Get ready for the best damn two years of your lives. I know you're all worried about packing, and that's normal, but honestly; it's going to be OK. Unless you forget to bring underwear, you'll be fine.

Have a great trip to Mozambique, and I'll see you all at training in 7 weeks! Drink a milkshake in my honor!

BEMVINDOS!

P.S. Y'all better start bribing Peace Corps staff now; only one of you gets to replace me at my site, and it's a pretty sweet deal... just saying.

Ready, Redi?

Redi was the first person I met from Mavudzi-Ponte; She came and picked me up from Chimoio, took me to our house, and made me feel welcome. My first year of service, Redi and I lived together and had a blast. We work together as English teachers, we co-facilitate our REDES group, we are both involved in English Theater, and she hosts a once-a-week English lesson for the kiddos in Quizito and my community library program. Redi is my closest Mozambican friend, and I don't know what I would have done these last two years without her. She's got spunk, she's funny, she's a good friend, and most of all, she is a great teacher who really cares about her community.

Whodathunk my closest friend would be a 40-year-old sassy African lady.

Back in January, at a Peace Corps conference, I learned about a scholarship opportunity for Mozambican teachers through the U.S. Embassy in Maputo. The program, funded by the Department of State called TEA ('Teaching Excellence and Achievement,' funded by the Department of State) is a six-week teaching seminar in the United States with a two-week practicum in an American high school.

On my paper, I wrote in capital letters in red pen and circled and starred it: REDI!

Over the next three months, we worked hard on Redi's application. She filled out a mountain of paperwork and I wrote her a glowing letter of recommendation. She traveled to Maputo to take the TOEFL test and do an interview, and passed both with flying colors. She was approved as a finalist for Mozambique, and her name was sent to Washington to be considered alongside hundreds of others from all over the world for one of 75 spots in the cohort. And then we waited.

...and waited...

...and waited...

The original deadline for the decision, the end of July, came and went. August came and went. September came -- and then, one day, Redi appeared at my door, flushed with excitement. "Can I check my e-mail on your computer? The decisions are out!"

Redi, Laura and I huddled around my little laptop and cursed the incredibly slow internet connection as it loaded Gmail.

Loading. (I closed my eyes and cross my fingers.)

Loading. (Redi crossed herself and said a prayer)

Loading -- and then!

"Congratulations! It is my pleasure to inform you of your acceptance to the 2015 TEA Cohort."

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!"

We all screamed, at a pitch probably only dogs and small children could hear. We jumped, hugged each other, and screamed and laughed some more. Redi went running out the door, past all the other teacher's houses, shouting "I'M GOING TO AMERICA! I'M GOING TO AMERICA!" Everyone else came outside and started hugging and clapping, shouting "LET'S ALL GO TO AMERICA!" It was a very intense communal joy, and one of the happiest moments of my time in Mozambique.

This program will most definitely change Redi's life for good. Without this opportunity, Redi almost certainly would never have made it to the U.S. -- and most likely, she probably would never have left southern Africa. During those six weeks of next spring, she'll make contacts and learn new skills that will help her to go far and do whatever she wants to do.

I'm so proud of her, and so happy that I could help her to make this dream a reality. Sometimes, in Peace Corps, we lose hope, because we don't see the immediate results of what we're doing. In the movie Blood Diamond, Leonardo DiCaprio's character says "Peace Corps types only stay around long enough to realize they're not helping anyone." Well, at least in this case, I feel proud to know that I did help make a difference in someone's life, and it's a big difference too.

World, get ready for Redi!

Thanks for everything, Redi! You deserve this!

Close of Service Conference -- Already!?

This is a photo of Moz 19, my training class in Mozambique, as we swore in to become Peace Corps volunteers at the end of our ten-week training in 2012. At the time, two years in Mozambique seemed like an eternity to me. Would I be able to live here for that long? Could I stick it out? I wasn't sure.

And yet, last week, Moz 19 had our Close of Service conference, which marks the beginning of the end. Two years have flown by, and now I find myself thinking, "Will I be able to go back to the States" and "How am I going to leave this place?"

The conference was a very emotional time, because it was the last time we were all going to be together -- during the actual close of service process in November/December, only a few volunteers go through the process in Maputo at a time. On the last day of the conference, we finished our sessions early and went with Custodio, everyone's favorite Peace Corps staffer, to enjoy ourselves at the Feira Popular, which has bumper cars and a swing ride, among other things. It was a bittersweet night; everyone had fun, but after a while, people slowly started trickling back to the hotel and out of our lives forever.

First thing he ever said to us: "Hi, I'm Custodio. And I'm awesome."

 After my first year of Peace Corps dragged on like nothing else, I can't believe how fast the second year has gone. It's funny to remember the things that I was scared of before coming -- bugs, heat, loneliness -- and finding that those things don't really bother me anymore. (Seriously, as I write this it's over 100F outside and I'm comfortably wearing long sleeves.)

I remember having a complete breakdown upon finding out where my site was -- I cried so much that Custodio, upon walking by me, looked very uncomfortable at the sight of me sobbing into Veronica's dress, and awkwardly said, "Well... OK... I'll just come back later..." Now, I love Mavudzi to bits -- my students, my friends, my colleagues -- everything. Whoever replaces me is one lucky duck.

I remember getting to my house, an empty, sweltering concrete box, and thinking "Oh no... what have I done!?" Now, this house is filled with the ghosts of so many memories -- good memories, bad memories, funny memories, powerful memories -- and seems anything but empty to me.

I remember walking into the conference room during Staging in Philadelphia, and being overwhelmed by all the other prospective Peace Corps volunteers, thinking "Who the heck am I to be in a group with these people who have their lives all figured out?" Now, those people are my closest friends, with whom I share everything, and I have my own life much more figured out -- so much so, apparently, that my colleagues voted me "Most Likely to Be Country Director of Peace Corps Mozambique in 20 Years". (Um... what? But, hey, thanks!)

From the original 68 volunteers in Moz 19, we lost 11 volunteers because they had transferred here from Cape Verde and had only one year of service in Mozambique. We lost several others for various reasons -- family emergencies, medical conditions, dissatisfaction with Peace Corps or Mozambique. 49 of us made it all the way to the end, and I wholeheartedly congratulate each and every one of them. A few are even extending their time, an option that I seriously considered and ultimately decided was not for me.

Here's to you, Moz 19! We did it!

Two Years Later

From here on out, there are a lot of "lasts". Some of them are very sad (The last time I will ever see some very important people), some of them are stupid (The last bar of soap I'll ever open in Mozambique), and some of them are great (The last time I'll ever have to ride a chapa!)

So what are my plans from here on out? Short-term, after close of service, I'll be traveling with my closest PCV friend Lisa (dune-surfing in Namibia, safari-ing in Swaziland, and exploring Capetown) before flying to Germany to spend a (hopefully) white Christmas with my family. I cannot express how excited I am to celebrate a real Christmas, with cold weather, warm fires, family, hot chocolate, and snow.

After that, I'll return to Texas for a while, awaiting the results of several job and scholarship applications, and I'll start living the rest of my life.

Weird.

Cahora Bassa: A Nossa Energia

A tiger fish swims into a concrete wall. "Dam!" he cries.

In this case, it's Cahora Bassa, Southern Africa's biggest dam. Built by the Portuguese during the colonial period on the Zambezi river upstream of Tete City, in a quaint town called Songo, Cahora Bassa supplies power for not only Mozambique, but Zimbabwe and South Africa as well. It's kind of a Big Deal around these parts; our neighbors proudly proclaim themselves 'os donos da energía', owners of the energy, and whenever the power goes out, there's a communal wail of "Oh, Cahora Bassa!" as if to ask how it could have failed its loyal donos so. The artificial lake created by the dam is home to millions of crocodiles, hippos, birds, and fish, including the famous tiger fish, and this ecosystem is just about Tete's only tourist attraction.

Considering all that, it's ridiculous that it took me almost two years to make it out there. In my defense, I hate traveling alone, and no one wanted to come visit Tete for the longest time (being scared off by its exaggerated reputation for being a hot, dusty expanse of nothingness). So I took advantage of the few extra days we had after our Zimbabwe trip before school started again to drag my friends to the lake with me.

The jankiest bus ever.

Getting there was one of the rougher travel experiences I've had in Mozambique.We didn't start off so well, with a 7 a.m. bus breakdown just 5 km from my house on the way to Tete City. When we finally did get to Tete City, we found out that the chapa we needed to take had stopped running for the day. Well, shoot. So negotiated with chapa driver to rent out his chapa and take us straight to our lodge. He saw the name and address of the lodge and he said "Oh yes. The lodge. I know it." We agreed on a price and set off. So easy, right? HA.

He ended up going the wrong way, even though we shouted the whole way "You're going the wrong way!" while he shouted back "No, I'm not! You muzungus don't know what you're talking about!" Turns out he thought "The Lodge" was the name of one specific place and not a generic name for one of many different places. When he finally realized his mistake, and realized that the price he was asking was definitely too low for where we were going, he threw a tantrum. We sat there and told him, you set this price and you told us you knew where it was. It's not our fault you screwed up. Realizing that he was clearly in the wrong, he stepped up and did the right thing: He abandoned us in the middle of nowhere and went home.

At least he dropped us at an elephant crossing.

Thankfully, the he left us at the outskirts of a beautiful little village, from which we were able to phone the lodge to come rescue us. While we waited, we made friends with some of the village kids. We must have been a sight to see, because at one point, an old man came up and asked us "Er... everyone wants to know what on earth you're doing here?" We told him our story, and he cursed the chapa driver and sat with us for a while. Shortly, the minivan came and whisked us away to the lodge.

We didn't stress about a single thing for the next three days. The lodge owners, Gail and Zane, were so accommodating and generous. Our rondável (round cabin) was absolutely perfect, with a full kitchen and enough beds for all six of us. We dropped off our stuff, and immediately went to the pool and stayed there. The next two days were filled with rest and relaxation, much needed after our whirlwind tour of Zimbabwe and awful travel experience. Zane was nice enough to take us out on his boat and even let us ride the jetski!

Cannonball!

Cahora Bassa lake, from Zane's boat.

Jet-skis are FUN.

.... and then we broke the jetski. Beware of crocs!

We had a wonderful time at Moringa Bay. The lake was beautiful, and  I've always been partial to lakes as opposed to the ocean. The people I was with were all good friends, and we had a great time. Lots of swimming, hot sun, cold drinks, relaxation, and silliness. Three days later, we were very sad to leave, but the third trimester was calling.

The ride home was awful. We got a ride in an openback truck so full that two of us had to sit on top of the cab. When we thought it couldn't get worse, we stopped fill the back with two dozen sacks of dried, salted fish that smelled to high heavens. Gross.

But when I think about Cahora Bassa, I won't think about the crazy chapa driver, or the fishy ride home.  I'll think of this:

Perfection.

Adventures in Zimbabwe, Part 2: Harare

The morning after our excursion to the Great Zimbabwe, we woke up bright and early to catch a bus to Harare -- though not early enough, because we nearly missed the bus. As we rounded the corner, the bus gave a few warning revs and we ran the last block, our bulky bags banging about on our backs.

Usual mode of transport.

The bus was, like most things in Zimbabwe, way nicer than anything I've ever seen in Mozambique. Clean, cloth seats, one butt per seat... it was fantastic. Unfortunately, it also had one thing that Mozambican buses do not: obnoxious bus preachers. I'd seen this on long-distance buses in Malawi, too -- shortly after leaving the station, one of the passengers will get up, start clapping and shouting and hallelujah-ing -- and this goes on for about an hour. I really don't enjoy having scripture shoved down my throat at 6 a.m. in Shona by a very loud man who then asks for money, but the other passengers on the bus seemed unphased. I just ate my bananas and stewed in silence.

Biker-chic coffee shop 'Helen Cakes'

Six hours later, we made it to Harare, the capital of Zimbabwe. We wandered around in the middle of the bustling downtown, dazed by all the surrounding high-rises. Harare is much more developed than both Tete and Maputo. Guided by the rumbling in our stomachs, we stumbled into a mall (yes, a mall) and ate at the food court. Once our bellies were full with delicious cheap Zimbabwean Chinese food, we hopped into a taxi and went gave him the address of our friend, Blaine.

Blaine is a Zimbabwean friend of ours living in Mozambique who happened to be home in Harare for a visit at the same time we were there. Generously, he invited all of us to stay at his house. He showed us around his hometown, introduced us to his crazy but fun family, and took us to all the best places in Harare.

We didn't exactly get a "genuine" experience of Harare in the sense that a vast majority of the population lives very differently from Blaine and his family, but it was nice all the same. One of the places Blaine took us to was a really fancy shopping center that would look at home in any British suburb -- and upon entering this complex, we got the answer to the question that had been nagging us since crossing into Mozambique. So this is where all the white people are! During my (admittedly limited) time in Zim, I got the impression that most of the white folks huddle in a bubble, separated from the rest of Zimbabwe -- much more so than in South Africa, Mozambique, or Malawi. This is understandable to an extent, considering Zimbabwe's violent history with race -- if I had an angry mob storm my house and try to kill me and my family, I'd be a bit on edge too -- but it's sad, and it robs both white and black Zimbabweans of a valuable opportunity to exchange cultures and get to know one another. I'm glad to be friends with someone like Blaine, who goes out of his way to be friendly to everyone and not just those that look like him.

Still, it was within this White Bubble that we stayed for the next day or so, and honestly, I didn't complain. It was nice to be among people who got my sarcastic sense of humor and who are as excited about frozen yogurt as I am. Blaine took us to many delicious food places, and he also took us to the Lion and Cheetah Park. Despite the name, there were in fact no cheetahs (which I was disappointed about), but there were lots of lions, including rare white ones, and even a whole building called Snake World. Cool.

Giant galapagos tortoise, came to about mid-thigh on me.

Tiny baby leopard tortoise!

Is this one cool looking white lion or what!?

Careful, guys! This domestic pig might hurt you!

Lisa and Taylor are not enamoured by the snakes.

Green Mambas: Come on, all we want to do is spoon!.... and kill you.

We didn't really do much else in Harare except hang out with Blaine's fun family and eat lots of delicious food. We only had one full day, after all, and then we had to mosey on back to Mozambique for part three of our glorious adventure.

After taking this trip, lots of people back home asked me about Zimbabwe. "What's it like?" they said with big eyes, almost as if I had ventured into North Korea. Honestly, Zimbabwe was... weird. I could tell it used to be very developed, and I can see why all my Zimbo friends talk about it like a promised land. But it feels very empty and very alien. People just kind of mill about, not doing much, and not excited about it. Everything was much quieter than Mozambique. More organized for sure, but somehow less fun. Maybe this is the effect of the British influence versus those crazy Portuguese? I don't know.

One thing that I did find amusing was how western Zim is considering how anti-West the president is. Most of Zimbabwe looks weirdly like Britain from a few decades ago, as if a zombie apocalypse hit, but there are no zombies. The weirdest thing is that Zimbabwe uses the American dollar as currency -- and they are the grossest dollars I have ever seen in my life. Think of the nastiest, greasiest, most-drug-covered 20 dollar bill in your wallet and multiply that by ten, and that's the gross factor of Zimbabwean dollars. Weirdly, there are also a bunch of $2 bills in circulation. Even more weirdly, there is no American change -- change is given in rand, with 1 rand being roughly equivalent to 10 cents. If you pay for a 50c stick of gum with a dollar, expect to get 5 rand back. I don't understand why they don't just use rand exclusively -- seems easiest, considering every country around them except Mozambique does.

Zimbabwe was, in a word, surreal. I'm glad I was able to visit, but I'm not sure I'll be going back anytime soon. The people were super friendly, and everything was cleaner and more modern than in Mozambique, but...I feel at home in Moz. After five days in Zim, I missed Mozambique -- so we made our way back to the Mozambican border, and onward to the next part of our journey...

...which you will read about in a few days.


NEXT UP: Cahora Bassa: The Lake that Powers Southern Africa (a.k.a. I got to ride a jet-ski!)