The Best Things and The Worst Things of Manjacaze, Part I

I have been at site—Manjacaze, Gaza, aka my home for two years—for three weeks. (Technically it has been three weeks and three days, but who’s counting?)

I will start by saying that when I got here and saw this medium-sized town, I was pleasantly surprised. It’s a town of about 30,000 people, which seems tiny relative to the States, but is on the larger side for Mozambique (and, let me remind you, I spent four years at a university 15x smaller than Manjacaze…this is large). In the center of town, there is a pretty green space, with swings, a green house, and a small concrete soccer pitch. Lots of trees, many of whose trunks are painted white, overlaid with the HIV/AIDS awareness red ribbon. We have a bank, many lojes, which are stores in buildings—as opposed to stands in the market— where you can get foods that need to be refrigerated and other non-vegetable goods. We have a nun house, lots of churches, places to grab a beer (or two or three), pre schools, primary schools, and two secondary schools. Basically, what I’m trying to say is that if I didn’t leave Manjacaze for the next two years, I could physically survive. I would really miss yogurt, and I would be going stir crazy as hell, but all of my basic physical needs would be met.

Center of town, approaching the market.

Over the past three weeks, I have developed a couple of Sarahisms that I don’t think will go away anytime soon. They are “the best thing” and the “worst thing”. I’ll give some example uses before I move on: 

“The orphans that live at the nuns’ house come over to feed the pigs. They also climb the papaya trees to get the ripe ones before they fall on their own and bruise. They usually leave one for us. It’s the best thing.” 

“The chapa drivers tried to charge us 60MT for the ride instead of the 30MT it should cost because we are white and they think all white people are rich. It was the worst thing.”

I understand that neither of those situations are, in the literal sense, the best or the worst, but I say it that way anyways because it gets the point across. So—if you couldn’t guess already—I’m going to use this brand new, brilliant and  “so Brades” ism to highlight the highs and lows of the last three weeks. (This is Part I. Part II will come soon.)

Before coming to site, Alex, my roommate, and I learned that we would be living in a two-bedroom house with an indoor bathroom, living room and kitchen. It is about 2km away from the school so we would need to buy bikes once we got there. It has a fenced in yard for privacy and the rent was 3,000MT per month. The health volunteer, Bbeca, that has been living in Manjacaze for 1.5 years found the house and made the deal with the landlord. Sounds great, right? Right. Well, on our way to site, I get the following message from Bbeca: 

Bbeca:

Okay, so your landlord went psycho*...

And now you guys don't have a house

So Sergio is going to call you to let you guys know that you'll be staying at my house for a couple of days.

Sarah:

Oh Jesus.

Bbeca:

So a truck came by and took out my power line...

I'm sorry but I don't know when we'll have energy again.

Sarah:

Okay, our guy says we are going to live in a house by the school temporarily and not with you.

Bbeca:

Are you sure? I have an extra room and 2 beds

Sarah:

I'm sure those were the words he said but no way of knowing if they are true or not.

Bbeca:

No I meant like do you guys want to stay there?

Sarah:

I don't think it's a matter of what we want to do. We re doing what we are told.

Bbeca:

Okay. I'll call Sergio. Last time he called he asked me if you guys can stay and I had told yeah
What a stressful morning. The argument with the landlord was not fun at all.
Sarah:
I just talked to him and he said we need to go to your house.

*Psycho: The landlord increased rent by 2,000MT per month, and demanded thee months' rent (15,000MT) in advance. Peace Corps did not want us living underneath a landlord that goes back on his word/changes is mind so quickly. So that house was not an option.

It was the worst thing. We are about two hours away from our site and we don’t have a place to live. Shortly after Bbeca’s message, I get a phone call from our Education Country Director, Sergio, who confirms that we don’t have a house. His quote, “We will not let this bring us down. You will find a house.” was the best thing and the worst thing at the same time. Thanks for the encouragement, buddy, but what do you mean “you will find a house”? Does that mean I will find a house? How the hell do you expect me to do that? 

Note: The house that the school offered us to live in was the SCIENCE LAB. #umwhat. It smelled like chemicals and shit (literally, poop) and nobody had actually lived in it for over 5 years. No. Thank. You. The worst thing.

In case you weren’t so sure, there is no such thing as Craigslist or Apartment Finder in Moz. The way you find a house is by asking people on the street if they know of anyone who is renting a house. If someone says yes, you ask, “com boas condiçoes?” (with good conditions?) and if they say yes you say that you’re interested and then hope that they follow up with the owner and somehow follow up with you. You also hope that their idea of “good conditions” aligns with yours. The standard for good conditions here is way different than in the States, and many times very different than Peace Corps house requirements as well, so pretty much there’s no reason to ask about good conditions because even if they say yes, we will need to see for ourselves and the house would likely fall short in some way or another. (For example, may families share one outside latrine and Peace Corps requires that all volunteers have their own private bathroom.) Considering we needed a house ASAP, this slow and uncertain process was the worst thing. 

Temporarily, we were staying with Bbeca, because she lives in a house (owned by nuns) with three bedrooms and three bathrooms. We had access to one bedroom that had two twin beds in it and a bathroom attached, so it worked just fine. Bbeca’s house was perfect:

It has running water. The best thing.

It has many papaya trees, mango trees, banana trees, passion fruit trees, and pineapple bushes. The best thing.

A wash board and many laundry lines. The best thing.

Each bedroom has it’s own indoor bathroom with shower and flushing toilet. The best thing. 

Fully stocked kitchen, including fridge, stove and no-stick frying pan. The best thing.

Puppies. Six of them. The best thing.

A large living room/dining room space that has accumulated decorations over the past few years from other volunteers. The best thing.

Kitchen/living Space on the left, three rooms to the right.

We wanted to live there. Bbeca, who had been in Manjacaze as the only American for a year and a half also welcomed the idea of two roommates. Peace Corps didn’t explore this idea in the first place because they thought that having three volunteers living together would stifle community integration because we would stay at home and hang out with each other instead of venturing out and meeting our Mozambican neighbors. Considering the fact that we were now in Manjacaze and not finding anything promising through our house search attempts, we thought maybe Peace Corps would reconsider this idea. It had been two weeks, we still didn’t have a permanent place to live, and I’m sure Sergio wanted this issue resolved ASAP. So we asked. And he told us to find out the price. And after a week and a half we finally got an answer from the nuns, who were willing to rent the extra rooms to us and told us the price. Within 24 hours, Peace Corps agreed to the arrangements and a contract was written up and signed by both parties. It was a day to celebrate. A few days later we got the keys to the third room and moved our stuff into our respective rooms and we were home. Three weeks later. We were home. It was the best thing. 

Some pictures of Manjacaze follow:

Soccer Field #nograssnoproblem

Garden in the center of town

Swing in the center of town

View of our house from outside the gate. (Water pump on the left)

A peek into a cemetery.

Escola Secundaria de Manjacaze
The school I will be teaching at: classrooms on the left, professor's office to the right.

A view of a street. #coolsky

Never have I ever...Until I did.

Five things I’ve done here in Mozambique that I never thought I’d ever do. Like ever. Ever ever. Ever ever ever. You ready?

Licked Bread:

One morning, my host nephew, Lukey, was wandering around the house aimlessly, repeating words of things he knew: agua agua agua (water); bolo bolo bolo (cake); xima xima xima (grits); acabou acabou acabou (finish); Sarah Sarah Sarah; etc. Then we saw me making breakfast of bread and peanut butter and he decided, as children do, that right at that moment he needed peanut butter bread more than anything else ever in the world and if he didn’t get it right then his world might end. It was intense. So naturally, to encourage the behavior, I made him his own piece of peanut butter bread. My Mãe doesn’t like peanut butter—she only buys it for me—and I think it may have been the first time that Lukey ever had it. Instead of taking bites of the bread like a normal human, he instead decided to lick the peanut butter off the bread, without actually eating the bread. After there wasn’t an ounce of peanut butter left on the bread, all of it replaced with the spit of an almost-two-year-old, Lukey handed the bread back to me and said “mana Sarah come”…”Sarah, eat it”. And I did. Don’t ask me why because to this day, many weeks later, I have no idea why I did it. He was cute and demanding and I love him and in that moment I just couldn’t say no. Judge all you want, it’s whatever. #toocute #disgusting #eatspit

I think it's impossible to say no to that. Right?

Muita Força:

One day I was heading out of the house to passear (wander around), and Pai was standing outside in front of the house next to the car. He esta pedir-ed (asked, as Mozambicans do) me to help him push his car from our front yard into the street (the street is on a downhill slant and the car will only start after it’s put into neutral and rolls down a hill for a bit. At which time Pai turns the key and voila! the car starts). Sometimes, Mãe helps him do this, so it was kind of weird but not really. So, I say okay (because what am I going to say, no?) and go around to the back of the car. At which time, Pai goes and stands on the front porch and crosses his arms and said “com muita força” (with a lot of force). He was not intending to help me, so I said “não posso sozinho” (I can’t do it alone). He said, “yes you can, use a lot of force” and continued to stand there and watch me. There was no backing out now; he was not about to take no for an answer. So I pushed. And nothing happened. And he said muita força. And I pushed again. And nothing happened again. And he said mais força and I pushed and nothing happened. Then he told me to take a running start. #areyoukiddingme So I did. And it moved. YES IT MOVED. I pushed that freaking almost-not-functional car into the street! Pai ran up next to it, jumped in, put it in neutral and rolled with it down the hill. See ya later Pai, you’re welcome.

Pigs dying, Brades crying:

Being sick sucks. Being sick when you’re away from your mom sucks worse. And being sick in Mozambique sucks the worst. I promise you.  On the way back from visiting two current volunteers in the province of Gaza, another volunteer, Tyler, and I stopped in Maputo and ate pizza #cheeseplease. We got the vegetarian variety #duh and pineapple Fanta out of the bottle and life was prime. The restaurant even had a flushing toilet and liquid soap—we were living like royalty. Well that restaurant can suck my dick because that pizza got me the sickest I have ever been. The barfing started around 8pm and continued every 20 minutes until about noon the next day. It was the definition of miserable. My Mãe noticed that I was running to the bathroom and puking after the second time, and she brought me vinegar. She told me to drink it to stop the vomiting. Straight vinegar. Half a glass of it. My stomach was extremely queasy and I told Mãe I couldn’t do it. She told me I had to in order to get better. I did. Three giant gulps and vomited on the spot. Mãe said sorry and let me go to my room. Then, about an hour later I hear this atrocious screaming—not from a human. I open my door and peek out just long enough to see Måe, Pai and a giant pig all in the front yard. The pig was about to die. I went in my room, shut the door, vomited again and laid down. The pig screamed again and didn’t stop screaming until it was completely dead about thirty minutes later. Thirty minutes. Throughout those thirty minutes, I lay in bed thinking “I don’t think this can get worse”, while I violently dry heaven multiple times. Nothing can make this moment worse. 

Vomit. I hate this. Lay. I hate this. Pig scream. I hate this. Vomit. I hate this. Lay. I hate this. Pig Scream. I hate this. Vomit. Vomit. Vomit. I hate this. I hate this. I hate this. Pig dead. Dead. Dead. I hate this. So sad. I hate this.

Then around 9:30pm Mãe brings in chicken soup and tells me to ignore the chicken and eat it because it will make me better. Ignore the chicken, Mãe, really? No. Heck no. HELL NO. I feel like I’m going to die. I think you tried to kill me with vinegar. A pig actually just died. And now you’re making Sarah the vegetarian eat chicken? This has got to be a sick joke. I hid the soup under the bed until the next morning, when I snuck to the bathroom and poured it down the toilet.

To recap: Got sick from pizza. Drank straight vinegar. Laid in bed puking my guts out while listening to a pig die. Fed chicken when Mãe knows I’m a veggie girl. Nope, didn’t see that one coming.

15 hours later the vomiting stopped. The rest is history.

A Lesson in Tooth Brushing:

My first night in Mozambique, I asked my Mãe where I should spit the toothpaste after I was done brushing my teeth. That sounds like a weird question, but I noticed that she was very adamant about keeping the bath tub clean, and I didn’t want to spit in there without asking first. Spit in a tub might be offensive to Mozambicans—you never know. Instead of just telling me to spit in the tub, which I eventually learned was okay, she gave me an entire lesson on brushing my teeth. Brushing my teeth. Let remind you that I am 27 years old, and have been brushing my teeth at least twice a day for as long as I can remember. 

She went into the bathroom and grabbed her toothbrush and toothpaste and walked me through the entire process—from putting the toothpaste on the brush all the way trhough: scrubbing, spitting, swishing and finally rinsing off my toothbrush with treated water. Assi, Sarah. (Like this, Sarah). I didn’t want to offend her by telling her “I know Mãe”, or what I was really thinking: Do you think I’m a flippin’ idiot? Do you see these pearly whites? They don’t get this way because I never learned how to brush my teeth! 

Instead I did as she did and we completed the teeth brushing lesson. When we both had fresh breath and ready for bed, she hugged me, kissed me on each cheek and told me parabéns. That means congratulations.

Thanks, Mae. I waited 27 years to learn how to brush my teeth, and I couldn’t have done it without you.

Pythagorean Theorem (Saving the coolest for last):

Part of our training in Namaacha included teaching a couple of real turmas (classrooms of students) at the Escola Secundaria de Namaacha (Namaacha Secondary School). All classes except for English are taught in Portuguese—English class is taught in, well, English. #duh The Peace Corps Math education guy worked with the school to figure out what topics we should prepare to teach based on how far the kids got in the curriculum. I was scheduled to teach two double-classes, which is a 90-minute block; one class on triangle congruency (Side-Angle-Side, anyone?), and the other on the Pythagorean Theorem. In Portuguese. To real live students. Who are in 8th grade (aka sassy AF). Who are used to being taught by someone who can actually speak Portuguese. And who is, most likely—although I never met him—an older male. And likely not white either. If a Martain showed up to teach these kiddos the Teorema de Pitágoras, it may have seemed less weird for them than having me walk through the door. 

Walking to the school takes about 25 minutes, and about halfway there on that first day I taught, I actually remember thinking, “am I really about to do this?”. Teach a math class in Portuguese to Mozambican students? Yes. This is my life. And I got joyful butterflies. The kind when you’re like “holy shit how am I this lucky?” butterflies. I got those. And for good reason: After 9 weeks of intensive Portuguese and Math training, I was about to get a taste of what it was like to do the thing I came here to do. I wasn’t sure if I was ready for it or not, but I sure as hell was ready to try with all my might. And that I did.

The first 90-minute block (aka “a double”) went well—the kids caught onto the material way faster than I realized, so I ended about 20 minutes early. My second double was better because I used up the entire time—taught for 90 minutes in Portuguese and they actually understood the concepts. #win While there were some words that I could not find in my Portuguese vocabulary during the class, the students were very willing to help me with the language.

The best part, I would say, is at the end of the class we played a game where I divided them up into teams and had them race to complete 4 “very difficult” problems. They had to leave the answer in square root form because they didn’t come out to perfect squares. They had to show their work. They had to solve for variables. They had to demonstrate an understanding of the formula. And whichever team solved all four problems correctly first won lollipops. And let me tell you: one team won—completed all four correctly—which I wasn’t sure would happen at all. And each of the other teams got at least two problems right, with work shown correctly and everything. I truly felt like they learned, and they were excited about it. As a teacher, my class was structured so that I ensured they had all the knowledge they needed to dive into Pythagorean and understand it. I did my job. I saw their eyes light up. And they demonstrated their newly gained knowledge in the form of a fun game. #win #win #win

The best part, was after the game, with five minutes left. They asked me to make a video of a Mozambican dance they do as a group. They asked me to watch it over many times and learn it so that I could dance with them. To me, the idea that they wanted me to participate in something that brings them much joy was flattering and humbling. 

That day, I felt like a teacher. A good teacher. A teacher that can effect change in the lives of my students. Thus far, nothing has felt better. This is what I came here to do.

My first class ever. <3 

Estou a Pedir

The term “estar a pedir + [noun]” in Portuguese means “to be asking for [something]”. For example, I would say “estou a pedir lanche” in order to ask Mãe if I could have a snack. Or Lukey will say, “‘stou a pedir auga” whenever my water bottle is within his sight. Or my Mãe will tell me “estou a pedir leite” when the milk for coffee is near me on the table and she’s preparing her chá (tea). 

At this point, y’all are like, “cool Sarah, we now know how to say ‘can I have a snack’ in Portuguese”. And I’m like. Yeah, you do. But actually, I have a point.

The Mozambican culture relies heavily on this phrase because it is a culture of sharing and lending support whenever necessary. Since being here, I have realized that asking for help in America can sometimes—scratch that—most of the time--have a negative connotation. In the States, independence is an extremely valuable characteristic and people strive to do things on their own, and take pride when they complete tasks sozinhos (alone) rather than relying on others. Furthermore, in the States, when a person does need to ask for help, it usually is only asked of close friends, family, or a person who already owes some kind of favor. For example, there were only certain people I would feel comfortable asking to drive me to the airport, to take care of Lucy/Stoli, or for help moving from one apartment to another (#thanksRyan). And honestly, as I’m sitting here typing of this, I cannot even think of other instances where I would ask someone for a favor. I would never ask someone for money, food, or to help me cook something or make something or do something that I could eventually figure out how to do on my own. And I think the reason is two-fold: 

1. I take pride in being an independent woman living in the heart of Dallas and I don’t need no help from no one! 
2. I understand that everybody is busy and I would hate to intrude on someone else’s to-do list unless it was absolutely necessary. 

If you are an American and reading this and cannot relate to this, then you must live in a commune or something. The busy must-get-all-the-things-done-everyday attitude is a basis of how many of us live our lives. The positive connotation around independence as well effects how we carry out day-to-day tasks, and therefore effects how much we rely on others to #getshitdone. I am not writing to say that this is bad or that this is good; it just simply is. But my value of independence is something that I have not really acknowledged as being a guiding rule for the way I had been living until I came to Mozambique, where I now hear estou a pedir multiple times a day. 

So far I’ve mentioned that I have heard estar a pedir in the family setting: Lukey to me, Mãe to me, me to Mãe, Pai to Mãe, etc. And that’s true and probably seems normal even to Americans (please pass the potatoes, mom). But consider this:

We left Namaacha to visit various sites around Mozambique on a Saturday morning. We had to be at the central meeting place at 3:30 am. The central meeting place was about two houses down from my own, which meant less than a 2-minute walk. When I told my Mãe about this, she told me I needed to ask Nelson (my 19 year-old host cousin) to walk me to the place at 3:15am, because there was no way she was letting me walk by myself in the middle of the night in the dark (I know my mom appreciates this but c’mon it was one block). 

Me: You’re telling me I need to ask Nelson  to wake up literally in the middle of the night to walk me one block? Hell. To. The. No. (I didn’t say that last part out loud). 

Mae: Sim. Ele vai fazer isto. (Yes, he will do that). Não é problema. (It’s no problem).

She said this without any emotion. Like, “duh filha (daughter), of course he will”. So then I had to swallow my Independent Woman pride and ask him. And he said yes. No questions asked. Said that he would be waiting at the front door at 3:15 to walk me over. And when that morning came he was there at 3:15am. While I said thank you approximately 417 times, he laughed at me for saying thank you so much and said the same thing my Mãe said: Não é problema. Furthermore, he greeted me with a smile on his face and asked me all about where I was going and what I would be doing. He wished me a good trip before heading home to catch a few more hours of zzzZ. Not only did I not feel guilty about him getting up in the middle of the night for me, but I felt like he was happy to do it. Wow. It was an experience that taught me that when I estou a pedir, I should allow myself to accept the response humbly and without guilt.

Kids also use estar a pedir without hesitation. I can be walking down the street and a child I have never seen before (or at least do not recognize) will esta a pedir agua, if I’m carrying a water bottle; esta a pedir bolacha, if I’m eating a cracker; esta a pedir camisola, if they like my jacket; esta a pedir dineiro, because I’m white and it’s assumed I have money; or best yet: esta a pedir cabelo, if they want to take my hair to the market and sell it. 

As an American, my first thought was: RUDE! I don’t know you and you’re asking me for the coat off my back? The small amount of money I earn as a volunteer? The cracker I’m about to take a bite out of? Literally the hair off my head? AND I DON’T EVEN KNOW YOU?! Go home kid, you’re delusional (and socially incompetent).  

But that wasn’t the case at all. 

These kids aren’t asking me for things because they are rude or socially inept. It’s because the Mozambican culture doesn’t look down upon the idea of asking for things, whether it be support or assistance or physical things. It’s not looked down upon to ask for help, or ask for a thing. Not only is it acceptable to ask things/favors of families and strangers alike, it is also necessary, considering the apparent lack of resources that exists here. Family members would not be able to get basic, necessary tasks done without each other’s help; families would not be able to get by without the help of their neighbors; and the entire community would not be able to function without the exchange of hard work between each of it’s individual members. Estar a pedir is necessary in order for all of us to have the things we need to live healthy and joyful lives. 

I’ve also learned that I won’t be able to survive here for two years without asking for help. I have a feeling (and I have been told) that the mães in the market will become my best friends and most helpful allies in the community. So far, I have asked for help finding places, getting dresses made, having meals cooked, figuring out where to buy things, and obtaining materials necessary to do my laundry. If I had not been able to estar a pedir thus far, I would be hungry, dirty and confused. No doubt. 

Every day I am learning to, little by little, let go of my Independent Woman I-can-do-all-the-things-by-myself mentality and exchanging it for the humble beauty of estar a pedir. 

#thankyouMozambique

#alwaysroomforgrowth

Mães: Necessidades.

Since I’ve been here, I’ve shared some stories about my Mãe: she cooks great food, she takes great care of me, and she can get a pair of pants cleaner than a washing machine can. However, I have not yet taken the time to describe the value of the Mãe in Mozambican culture, so I’m going to do that now. 

My Mãe does absolutely everything. She wakes up early and starts each day by cleaning the entire house: Sweeping, mopping and making the sure kitchen is spotless. She makes the bed, ties up the mosquito net and ensures that everything in Mãe and Pai’s bedroom is exactly in its place. She also ensures that my Pai’s work clothes are clean and pressed. Then she prepares lunch/dinner. This takes about 3-4 hours. She eats breakfast (chá and pão—tea and bread) around 11am, and by noon lunch is ready for me when I get home from morning class. Imagine that. Half of every single one of your days is spent cleaning the house. Every. Single. One. She does it with bright eyes, a smile on her face, and usually humming a tune. While this sounds like, and from experience I can confirm is, very repetitive and mindless work, Mãe radiates positive energy while she carries out these tasks. She takes pride in having a clean house and a husband who looks sharp for work each day. She takes pride in the meals she makes and genuinely accepts each compliment I give about her cooking. 

The Mãe is also the person in the family who works the machamba (garden or farm depending on the size). Mães plant, tend to and harvest all the crops the family needs to eat and/or sell. Driving through Mozambique, you will see from the road huge machambas and many mães bent over doing the plant work. Families need crops for both income and nutrition and the mães ensure that they have it. They work the farm, secure fruits and vegetables and then sit in the market and sell the product of their hard work in order to earn supplemental income for their family. There are mães in the houses, mães in the machambas and mães in the market to ensure that their own families—and the entire community—has food to eat. 

I believe that my pai does not know how to cook. Like anything. Seriously. I have seen him in the kitchen twice—once to get a cup of water for his grandson and the other time to put a dirty dish on the counter. He probably felt very out of place both times, too, because the cozinha (kitchen) is a mãe’s workshop. Traditional mozambican dishes, such as Mboa and Matapa (or what I like to call green mush) require multistep processes to make, including manually crushing peanuts into powder and manually shredding coconut. These delicious dishes cannot be whipped up in an hour; more like 2 or 3. Mães make these multiple times a week, and considering many families don’t have a fridge, leftovers are not an option. Mães spend at least 3 hours per day preparing food for their families to eat. Without Mãe, Pai would starve. No if, ands or buts about it.

Mães are also the prime caretaker of their children and their husbands. They ensure that every member of their families has clean clothes to wear, a clean house to live in and a bed to sleep in. They make sure their children are healthy, go to school, and learn life skills. My host siblings are all grown up and are living/working/studying in Maputo, Mozambique’s capital; it’s rare that I get to see Mãe interact with her children. However, the past two weeks her grandson Lukinney or Lukey for short (my host nephew), who will turn 2 years old next month, has been staying with us for the past two weeks. Not only does Mãe continue to carry out her daily chores with a 2-year-old running around or tied to her back, but she also offers Lukey brain-building moments throughout her chores. She describes what she is doing, points out new words and repeats them until he says it correctly. She teaches him songs, offers him other household items to play with. He is never further than 5 feet from her, and there is always a conversation between the two of them being had. Lukey learns from her, depends on her for food and water, and you can tell by the way he looks at her that he truly adores his grandmother. And she finds great joy in watching his eyes light up while he learns and grows and plays. 

Mãe and Lukey

It’s pretty clear that a family would not have a healthy, necessary structure if it weren’t for the mães. However, the community as well depends on a Mãe’s strength in order to stay organized and productive.  I went to church a few weeks ago and the first 1.5 hours were Mães singing hymns. They all brought their hymnbooks and sang song after song after song in Changana (the local language). I didn’t understand any of it but it was beautiful and joyful nonetheless. There were four men sitting in front of the congregation and throughout the three hours of church, the four of them combined spoke for less than 10 minutes. Two mães of the church gave the sermon, and each talked passionately and animatedly to the congregation for 45 minutes each about something to do with God (this was also in Changana so I didn’t understand). The men were there seemingly as figureheads and the mães shared their words of love, Jesus and inspiration, which is what we were all there to hear. 

Mães plan and execute all types of ceremonies in which the community participates. This includes weddings, funerals, birthday celebrations, holiday celebrations, etc. Mães are charged with buying and cooking the food, making the dresses (for example for a wedding party), providing the music, preparing the space, and planning the agenda of the event. This weekend there was a two-day long wedding. My Mãe has been helping in the preparation of it for many weeks now, and both mornings this weekend she has woken up at 5 am to go to the house of the wedding and begin cooking. On Saturday they started cooking around 0600h and we didn’t eat until 1500h. That’s a whole lot of cooking if you ask me. I got to the wedding early and all the Mães were in the backyard cooking over fire and singing and gossiping and laughing and joking. While I would hate to cook a giant meal for over 50 people for 10 hours straight, the mães made the environment positive and joyful. I will also mention that later in the evening, they brought the singing and the dancing and the party would not have gone on without them. 

All this being said, the Mozambican world would struggle to function without the Mães. They cook, clean, care, work, sell and plan. It’s hard work. It’s long work. It’s repetitive work. But they do it with light in their eyes and smiles on their faces. They take great pride in providing for their families and for the community. And they find the most joy in seeing the ones they love benefit from their hard work. These women are among some of the strongest and most loving women I have ever met. I am blessed to have lived with and learned from my Mãe over the past 8 weeks and am so excited to continue to forge relationships with the Mães in my community. 

Bits of Familiar

In my current world, I rarely say that things feel normal: the food is different and the language is different and the schedule is different. The way that simple tasks around the house are done is different. Gender expectations are different. The education system is different. My life—my world—is more different than it ever has been, or that I could have imagined it ever would be. However, one night about a week ago, a feeling of familiar happened and it was beautiful. Tiny—maybe even could have gone unnoticed—but I noticed it and I’m so glad that I did.

Some volunteers met up after a long day of classes to grab a drink and speak in English and we stayed a little longer than usual. By the time I got home, it was dark and almost dinner time (don’t worry mom, someone walked with me). Anyway, it was dark outside and I thought my family might be irritated that I was home later than usual, so I knocked on the door with some dread and was expecting to be met with a quiet hello but not much else (Mozambicans are not very confrontational). 

Instead, Tia Jacquelina answered the door with a giant smile and a hug—she had been in Maputo for a few days so this was our first time seeing each other in a while. Phew—no quasi-silent-treatment. I asked her how her trip was and she said it was great. My Mãe was also in great spirits—big hugs and smiles and asking me how my day went. Not only did they not think twice about me coming home late-ish, they were in happier moods than usual! #winning

I quickly noticed that Mãe and Tia got their hair done that day—they both usually wear it wrapped up but today both had it down and it was shiny and styled and they looked like total babes. I commented on how nice they both looked. Sheepish grins, giggles, and thank-yous followed. Pretty much the same reaction that any girl anywhere would have after receiving a compliment when they already know they look #bangin. It was adorable and familiar and I’m glad I said my complements aloud. 

Mãe was cutting leafy greens in the kitchen and I asked what she was making. She said kakana and she and Tia busted up laughing. Naturally, I asked, why is that so funny? And they laughed some more. At first I thought it was because that sounds like cocaine, but these two don’t seem like the type of women to laugh at their own jokes about hardcore drugs. So I asked again and they laughed again. Then Mãe said não vai gostar. You’re not going to like it. Excuse me, but I’m a vegetarian and you’re cooking leaves. I’m pretty sure I’ll like it just fine. When I told them I think I’ll like it, they laughed some more. And then I said I would try it and see for myself and they laughed some more. I laughed along with them because I didn’t understand at all why they felt so strongly about this sounds-like-drugs-but-not food. My face was red and my forehead was scrunched and I was confused but I kept laughing and kind of sweating because I’m awkward and this was just weird. How bad could a leaf really be? 

When dinner time came and the kakana looked exactly like every other green mush I’ve eaten since I’ve been in Mozambique, I was certain I would like it. Not to mention the pot was sitting right next to another pot of green mush called Mboa, which I know I like—and I couldn’t tell them apart. Mãe put a tiny spoonful on my plate and said that I could try it but since she knew I wouldn’t like it, that’s all I get. I playfully rolled my eyes and tried it. 

…It was disgusting. It was super bitter and the texture was extra mushy (the bad kind of mushy #ifyouknowwhatimean) with chunks of gosh-knows-what. I think before my face even made the inevitable expression of disgust they both busted up laughing. I admitted that there was no way I would eat another bite and Mãe served me Mboa while she and Tia talked about how funny I am. Note: While I do believe that I am quite hilarious, that laughter had nothing to do with my funniness and everything do with kakana in all of its do-people-actually-eat-this glory. 

That whole scene is absolutely something that would happen in my North American life. Suggesting a friend tries a food you know they will hate just to see their reaction, and then laughing your ass off when they react even more dramatically than you expected. The joke was on me, but I’m not sad about it. 

After dinner we washed dishes like usual and then went to hang out in the living room. Usually during this time I pretend to understand what the TV is saying and Mãe and Tia fofocam (gossip) about anything and everything. However, that day Tia had returned from Maputo with Mozambique’s version of a smart phone (somewhere between an LG Chocolate Touch and an iPhone). Well, said phone was equipped with a camera and Mãe and Tia went to town; it was perfect timing with their new fancy hairdos.

Begin photoshoot:

Tia poses for a picture. Mae takes some. Mae shows Tia. They both laugh.

Mae poses for a picture. Tia takes some. Tia shows Mae. They both laugh. 

Tia poses for a picture. Mae takes some. Mae shows Tia. They both laugh.

Mae poses for a picture. Tia takes some. Tia shows Mae. They both laugh. 

They take a break from posing to scroll through the pics they’ve taken after many rounds of the photoshoot. They point and laugh at each picture although multiple in a row are identical. 

I offer to take one of the two of them together, and compliment their new hair again. I call them chique, which means fancy/luxurious. They giggle and blush and dance and it’s adorable. They pose for a picture together and their reaction to that one is the best. I think they probably haven’t taken a photo together since the last big formal event (wedding or graduation), and I can tell they are getting so much joy from this.

They insist that I pose for a photo by myself. I’m in my pajamas after a long day of Portuguese and Teacher Training and some beers and I am the opposite of chique right now. But they insist. And I oblige. And now there are at least 5 identical pictures of scuzzy, no-make-up, hair in a messy bun Sarah Biz in Tia’s phone forever. Wonderful.

But this too was a scenario that my North American self recognized. Getting a new hairdo (or outfit or lipstick or whatever) and then taking all the selfies because you want evidence of your chique self thoroughly documented. Ladies, we’ve all done it. The difference is, these two women had no intention of posting these photos anywhere and therefore were not hoping for likes or comments. They were content to pose, view and feel beautiful, no follow-up or outside voice needed. 

In a place that is so far away and different than what I have known for the last 27 years, it was amazing to experience multiple instances of familiarity in one night: the new-hairdo-beautiful feeling; playing not-so-nice-jokes on friends; all the selfies. It also reminded me that no matter how different the culture here is, we are all human beings. We find joy in similar places, welcome silliness, and as women, sometimes feeling beautiful is worth more than gold can say. 

“Wherever there is a human being, there is an opportunity for a kindness”. 

A Day in the Life

Many people have been asking me “what’s it like there?”, so now I’m going to give you ‘a day in the life of Sarah Biz” as a Peace Corps Trainee.

…you think you know, but you have no idea. 

The “phase” of Peace Corps I’m in right now is called PST (Pre-Service Training). And it is exactly that: intensive, time-consuming, information-overloading training that may or may not prepare me for my two years of Peace Corps service as a secondary school math teacher. I say may or may not because I don't think a person can truly feel/be prepared for what's to come these next two years. 

Monday-Friday, this is pretty much what life is like here [I will demonstrate my own routine, and cannot speak for other volunteers]:

4:47am: Alarm Goes off. I hit snooze twice—18 minutes total thanks to iPhone’s weird 9-minute snooze—and actually get up at 5:05am. #gohomeiPhoneyouredrunk

5:15am: Leave for morning run. Sometimes I meet my friend Andy at the Nyusi Sign and we run together—and walk up most of the hills because let's be real: chatting is more important than cardio. Nyusi is Mozambique’s current president and the only billboard in Namaacha is a giant picture of his face. Imagine if each city in the States had one billboard and it was a picture of Barrack Obama [or even better Donald Trump hahahahahahaha] with a cheesy-ass smile. Would I love that or hate that? I just don’t know. #whatifTrumpisnext

6:15am: Return from run. Get the hot water from a thermos on the counter and pour it in my bucket. At this point the water is scolding hot, so I let it cool while I brush my teeth outside and spit in the grass. Typically I don’t use drinking water to do this because getting it is a pain in the butt, so I just brush my teeth without water. Note: There is a Hot Water Fairy that lives in my house. I’m not even kidding. There is a thermos in the kitchen that my Mae says is for me and it is ALWAYS filled with piping hot water. I have never seen her heat up water, or pour water from a kettle into the thermos, but every time I want to take a bath, no matter time of day, there is hot water in my thermos waiting for me. If not Mae, then must be a fairy. I like to think I'm special because I got the house with the fairy. #Mozambicanmagic #nocoldbaths

6:20am: Take a bath. 6 cups of water, hair and body washed, shaved legs when motivated #quasi-never. After my bath I get ready for class. This also includes making my bed and sweeping my room, which my Mae wants me to do every morning para fica fresca (so it stays fresh). In Dallas I was pretty disgusting and only swept the floor...maybe monthly, so this is a big change for me and I don't know how I feel about it. Having a clean living space makes me feel more like an adult; being told by my mother every morning to make my bed makes me feel like a 7 year old. #torn

7:10am: Breakfast time. I never know what I’m going to get. Sometimes it’s french fries and an egg. Sometimes it’s an egg and rice. Sometimes it’s two bananas and Black Cat (peanut butter). Sometimes it’s plain rice or plain bread…or both. Sometimes I ditch the hot food and take an orange for the road. Whatever is served for breakfast is accompanied with “cafe” which is actually Nestle Malt Energy Drink. It’s hot chocolate with caffeine pretty much. Thank goodness my mom sent actual coffee in my care package. #frenchfriesforbreakfast

7:20am: Leave for class. My neighbor is a volunteer named Daniel and we are in the same Lingua Group. It takes between 10-20 minutes to get to class depending on whose house class is at that week. There are four people in our Lingua Group, and each week a different host family allows us to conduct class there. This past week was my family’s week so I didn’t have to walk anywhere. It was wonderful. As a side note, when you walk down the street in Mozambique, it’s respectful to greet every person you walk by. On the way to class Daniel and I say Bon Dia at least 50 times, sometimes multiple times to the same person if that person seems like a morning person. #goodmorninggoodmorninggoodmorning

7:30am-12pm: Lingua class. No English allowed, not even on breaks. Arsenio is our professor and he hears everything, even when we whisper, if we say it in English. Then he yells at us for talking in English. And then he makes a joke but really we know that the yelling is serious. #justkiddingbutseriously #noEnglishallowed. We sometimes go over grammar using a Grammar book; sometimes we talk about Mozambican culture; and most of the time (like every language class ever) we talk about basic life facts (family, job, house etc.). So pretty much, we speak like 5 year olds with a limited vocabulary, all in present tense: “My name is Sarah. In the United States I have a nice mother. My father works at an office. I work as an Education Specialist. My favorite color is pink. I like to eat chocolate. (because chocolate, I believe, is a cognate in pretty much every language and I didn’t know how to say peanut butter).” #IdontknowPortuguese #helpmeplease

12pm-1:30pm: Lunch. This meal also varies every day, but it’s always some type of lunch food (unlike french fries at breakfast #notcomplaining). Matapa and Mboa are traditional Mozambican dishes that look like green mush and are served over rice. Mboa is made from leafy greens, coconut and peanuts all ground up and simmered together. I like it a lot. Usually lunch is rice or xima (thick grits basically) and green mush. To add variety, sometimes I get tomato-based mush that’s red and on really special days I get beans. One time for lunch I got a potato that looked like a regular potato but tasted like a sweet potato. When my Mae explained that sweet potatoes can be orange or white, my mind was blown. And she laughed at me and thought I was stupid and it was great. I try to eat as fast as I can and then take a nap. After four hours of Portuguese my brain needs it. I enter into my sweet mosquito net fort and snooze for about 45 minutes. #foodsleepfoodsleep

1:30pm-5:30pm: More class. Some days it’s more Portuguese. Yes, on those days we have 10 hours of Portuguese class. I know I need it but that doesn’t mean I like it. If not Portuguese, we have discipline-specific classes, where we learn about teaching methods and lesson planning. All the math teachers are together for this, although so far we haven’t learned anything math-specific. During these sessions, I feel like no matter how much they tell me or how much I try to prepare, i just will not be fully prepared to teach a classroom full of 60-100 students. Yes, you read that right. 60-100 students per class, with one teacher (this girl). Looks like I’ll have two years to figure that out….maybe? #teachallthekids

5:30pm-7:30pm: This is my only real window of free time. Sometimes I go home and pull out my yoga mat and get funny looks from passerbys who have no fookin’ clue what yoga is. Other days some volunteers get together to go exploring. On these days we accumulate children along our journey. This is fun because the kids are super energetic and excited to show us around their town. These kids are also a bit violent: Using sticks to slash down flowers, grass and trees like nobody’s business. We let them go to town and try to stay out of the kill zones. About once a week (for me, but maybe more often for others), we meet up at a bar and get some drinks and speak to each other in English. I honestly don’t care what we talk about or who is talking; it’s so nice to be able to speak and listen in English without getting  joking-but-seriously yelled at. This is also on of the only times during the weekdays we get a chance to hang out with other volunteers that aren’t in our Lingua Group or will be teaching the same discipline. Usually during these hangouts one beer turns into three and we all start laughing at bad jokes and wishing it didn’t get dark so soon. #cheersforbeers

7:30: Dinner and dishes. Always the same as lunch. If there is an exception to this rule, I have not found it yet. Because Mozambicans are okay with silence, talking does not happen for most meals. I threw that trend right out the window when I got here, though. For one, silence gives me anxiety and my first instinct is to want to fill it. Second, my family members do not speak English and it’s a great oppourtunity for me to practice [even more] Portuguese. When I first got here the conversations were super basic: how are you, how’s the weather, how’s the food. However, as my language skills grow, so do the conversations I have with my Mae. Last night we talked about her daughter’s wedding—how she planned it, what kind of food they had; we talked about dancing and music and the wedding party. I started the conversation, contributed to it, and understood most of it. I appreciate our dinner conversations although it is still extremely difficult for me to form complex sentences in Portuguese. I get to learn about my Mae, what makes her happy, what gives her stress, how she grew up etc. I try as best I can to tell her about myself and my life in the States, and I believe she very much enjoys that. Dinner conversation has allowed me to start understanding her as a person, and the more I learn the more I love. #loveyaMae

8:15-9:00: Chill time. After dinner and dishes are done and the kitchen is closed for the night, Mae and Pai sit in the living room and watch TV. There are two options for TV programming: Telejornal (the news), or Telenovelas (Soap Operas). I prefer to watch the Telejornal because it’s helpful to learn not only what is actually happening throughout Mozambique, but also to gain insight on what people want to know about. Do people want to know about sports? crimes? weather? Political news? The Telejornal shows a lot of sports and a lot of crimes: live interviews of pissed off people who just had a crime committed against them. Not too different than the States, sadly--but seeing people yell in a language you don't understand definitely appears more intense than your typical English-speaking Joe Schmoe. The Telenovelas are either Brazilian or Mexican actors and they are just as shitty and pathetic as Soap Operas in the states. If you like Soap Operas you are welcome to take offense to that, and I’m judging you. Anyhow, we all pile around the TV and I pretend to understand what they are saying and it’s a great time. #isthatsarcasm

9:00-tomorrow: Sarah Time. Finally. Sarah Time. At pretty much exactly 9pm each night, I tell my family I’m hitting the sack and I go to my room. I shut my door and for the first time all day, I allow myself permission to not be “on point”. I stop smiling and take a deep breath and congratuate myself on another productive day of learning and loving and growing. The mosquito net that surrounds by bed feels like a fort, and I have to pack my fort with all my Sarah time things before I crawl in: computer, Kindle, chocolate cookies, phone, and socks (in case my feet get cold in the night). Usually I read and eat some chocolate cookies that I secretly keep in my room. One time my Mae said that eating chocolate will make you fat so I secret-eat in my sweet fort like a true fat kid. I’m not ashamed. I usually fall asleep around 10pm because my 4:47 alarm comes very soon. #goodnightmoon

The days here are long and require a lot of mental energy. I welcome the little time we have to chill with friends and laugh and vent and just be. Some days I wish I had more chilling and less learning, but I know that it will be worth it. I came here to do big things: To serve children. To teach children. To love children. To serve my community. To teach my community. To love my community. These 10 weeks of training are going to provide me with skills that will allow for the realization of my Peace Corps service goals. So, when I get so sick of sitting in Portuguese class that I think I might upchuck actual letters, I remind myself that this one moment, in some way, will contribute to a bigger, beautiful picture. 

#atelogo