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

Moz Moments Round 1

Today is Monday, October 5th, which marks Day 8 of me being in Namaacha and staying with my host family. This is going to be a post about some of my favorite Moz Moments so far.

1. #momchat My mae talked to my mom on the phone. I called my mom for the first time yesterday, exactly a week since I got here. It was really nice to hear her voice. My Mae was walking up from getting water and I told her that I was talking to my mom. She excitedly came over. They said hi to each other and they talked, using me as the translator. My mom was on speaker phone and my Mae was yelling loudly into the phone. Basically, they were telling each other how much they love me. 

Mom: Thank you for taking care of my daughter. I love her very much!

Mae: Your daughter is my daughter now too! I will take good care of her.

Mom: Thank you! It helps me to worry less knowing that she’s happy and healthy.

Mae: I am her second mother.

Then they said thank you and goodbye multiple times, laughing at the wonder of being able to speak to each other. Short. Sweet. Priceless. Minha tia Jaquelina (my aunt Jacqueline) was standing next to us crying happy tears. It was a moment that I wouldn’t trade for anything. (Except, maybe, air conditioning. Just kidding.) 

Also please note: after only one week I was able to translate that…definitely not perfectly, but I got the points across. #slowlywinning

2. #BoaVida. So, whether you admit it or not, I’m freaking hilarious #notsohumblebrag. And I was a tad concerned that the language barrier would prevent my host family from understanding just how funny I am. But guess what! I was concerned for nothing! I made our first ever inside joke. “Boa Vida” in Portuguese means “the good life”…

One day, when power was out (that happens multiple times each day) I came home from class to find Mae and Tia complaining. It’s so hot. We don’t have power. We never have power. The power cuts every day. I couldn’t find Mboa at the market today. It’s so hot. It’s so hot. No power. So Hot. No Power. Hot. Power Cut. Hot. Hot. Hot. Hot. No Power. Hot. They were saying other things but those were the only words I could pick up on. The tension in the room was palpable. Then it got silent. 

In the silence I said, “ehhh…Boa Vida!”. And both ladies cracked up. Laughed for 5 minutes. I laughed too even though I was mostly feeling relieved that one of them didn’t take it the wrong way and become even grumpier. Phew! Sarah’s first joke in Portuguese. And now it’s a thing: Every time something good or bad happens, they say “Boa Vida” and crack up. One example is that we had Fanta at dinner yesterday. This was special because usually we only have water or powdered orange juice—“Orange Drink", if you will. Every time Tia Jacquelina took a sip she said “Boa Vida” with silliness and the mood was just so great for the entire meal. *sip sip*...Boa Vida...hehehehe.... Another example happened the other night when we didn't have power. The candle we were burning for light tipped over and burnt out. It was pitch black. Mae yelled “SHIT!” (in English lolol)…then silence…then: “Booooooa Viiiiiiida!” and cracked up. We stumbled around trying to find a flashlight while we laughed and then life went on.

The joke is perfect for the good and the bad. The good seems even better when there’s a simple and silly way to acknowledge it. And when little daily unavoidable nuances come up, it’s a way to take a step back and be able to take that in stride without getting too upset. 

3. Do You Eat It? As I wrote about in my last post, it was not easy to communicate with my family that I don’t eat meat. Animals. I don’t eat pork, beef, chicken, fish, or whatever other living creature you want to fry up. Nope. No way. I told them that it would make my belly hurt if I ate it. I thought that would help make me seem less picky.

When I told them that, they first couldn’t comprehend that I considered chicken meat. I think that’s true for a lot of cultures but I just really don’t get it. Meat is animal flesh that a person eats. That’s literally the definition. How can one animal count but the other not. I will never understand. The hilariously awkward part is what came after they somehow finally accepted that no meat means No Meat:

My Mae went through every single type of food she had in the kitchen—one by one—and asked me if I ate it. I know it was because she wanted to make sure that she offered me things that I like and would eat, but it still seemed silly to me. Below are some of the foods she asked me about, and the broken conversation that took place during the questionnaire:

Oranges. Apples. Bananas. She points at each one as says “Come?” (do you eat it?). I said “yes, it’s fruit. I like fruit. I eat everything except for animals.” She said okay and “Ahh bem!” (ohhh good!) with excitement. 

Brown Sugar. White Sugar. Powdered Milk. Remember she’s pointing at each one separately and asking me in a complete sentence “Do you eat this?” for each one. I respond “yes because it’s not meat” each time, hoping that she will realize the pattern, but she kept asking.

Coffee. Tea. Hot Chocolate. “Yes. Yes. Yes. I like to drink coffee in the mornings”. When I told her that, she cheered. Like a full on celebration. If she would have danced it would have been a full-blown party. All because I told her I like to drink coffee in the morning. I joined in the celebration because is there an alternative choice? #besties

Leafy Greens. Cucumbers. Tomatoes. Onions. I said “yes I like all vegetables” and she said “ME TOO SARAH WE HAVE SOMETHING IN COMMON!” Yes, Mae. This is the start of a beautiful friendship. Coffee in the morning and veggies all day. #besties

Bread. Rice. [Still pointing at each one separately and asking “do you eat it”]. Yes I like both of these things. I ask if she eats rice plan and she said no. I said “ME EITHER!” and we celebrated again. About rice. And how it sucks if you have to eat it plan. #besties

Peanut Butter. This is the best one (if you don’t know how much I love peanut butter, we are probably only Facebook friends and not real ones). When she asked “do you eat it” I said—very excitedly—“Yes! it’s my favorite food!”. And you people know how excited I get about my peanut butter. This was genuine excitement—not just part of our game…

And she got quiet and said “Nao Gosta de Black Cat” (Black Cat is the brand of PB they have here). #excusemewhat. I’m living with a mom who doesn’t like peanut butter?! CAN I EVEN TRUST THIS PERSON ANYMORE?! #buzzkill. Oh well, more for me! 

Once the game ended chores started (I wrote about the chores in my previous post) and the game I like to call “celebrate every food Sarah likes” was over. It was wonderfully nonsensical while it lasted and I liked it. 

Here’s a picture of my Mae to finish off this one:

A Mae and A Pai and I'm Shy

Ever since leaving Dallas on September 12th, different stages of this journey have been coming and going super quickly:

• Leave Dallas…Drive to Kansas (8 hours)
• Get to Kansas: Buy things; Pack those things; Family Time; Lucy Time. (9 Days)
• Go to Philly: Staging—a brief synopsis on what to expect and basic Safety/Security (2 Days)
• Fly to Johannesburg…then to Maputo (15 Hours)
• Stay at a Hotel in Maputo (Mozambique’s capital): Vaccinations, Malaria Medication, Training (2 Days)

Each of those tidbits of my journey led me to last Sunday—the day we met our host families and began living in Namaacha alongside hard-working, xima-eating, Portuguese-Speaking Mozambicans. To be honest, the idea of a homestay gave me a lot of anxiety. 

I can maybe if I’m lucky string one sentence of Portuguese together. Am I just going to sit there in silence, smiling like an American chump? 

I don’t eat meat. What if that’s all she has cooked for lunch on Sunday? I show up and say I’m good with just water? Yeah right. 

The bathing situation is the definition of foreign to me. “Bucket Bath” is a faraway idea that is now my only way of getting clean. 

I have the most basic understanding of the culture, but what if I do something inappropriate and/or offensive? Considering how not-censored I am, this one may actually happen. But I really hope it doesn't. 

Most importantly to note, is that this is the first time since I got to Philly where I haven’t been with at least one other volunteer. I wrote about how nice it was to be amongst people with similar anxieties and aspirations, and between 2pm Sunday and 7:30am Monday morning, I would not have that. As we drove to Namaacha from Maputo that day, I was anxious with anticipation…intimidated…to be honest, I was scared. I wanted to be the best volunteer guest ever, but I wouldn’t be able to say a sentence. Yikes!

We arrived at the Teacher Training Center (“IFP”) in Namaacha around 2pm, where all 62 of our families were waiting for us in a big circle on the basketball court. They were singing a song in Portuguese, and even though I had no idea what they were singing about, you could tell they were all bursting with excitement to meet us and bring us back to their homes. Happy tears welled up in the back of my throat. It was a beautiful sight. One member of each family was holding a sign that said a volunteer’s name and the head-of-household’s name. We began looking for our names, held by the people that would take care of us for the next three months. It’s like at the airport when you’re going somewhere new for business and some stranger is standing there with your name on it and you’re like “cool I don’t know you but I’m who you’re looking for!”. It was like that…except way, way better. 

Meu Pai (my dad), Horacio, of minha familiia (my family) met me at the IFP and said that minha Mae (my mother) was at home cooking lunch for us. I was expecting there to be a 15 year old grandson in the house as well but Horacio said it was just him and Cecelia at home. It took me approximately 1 minute to realize that the communication barrier was real. I was able to tell Horacio that I am from Texas, that Texas is big, and that the flight from Dallas to Maputo took about 15 hours. Those simple facts were communicated slowly and with lots of hand gestures over a 20 minute walk. Other volunteers were walking to their new homes with a bunch of children, and I felt jealous of that. For one, the children were freaking adorable and you can’t help but feel happy when you see them. Second of all, it took some of the pressure off of speaking because with little children you can smile at them with adoration and play silly games with them for hours and nobody will think anything of it. I didn’t have that so I continued to engage in brain-frying half-conversation.

Think about that for a second. You are about to live with and depend on two people with whom you cannot communicate. I did not know how to ask where the bathroom was, say when there was enough food served to me, or say I am tired and want to go to bed. The most difficult part was that I wasn’t able to express how grateful I was for their wonderful hospitality that first day. 

Here are some photos of my new home:

When we got to the house Cecelia greeted me with a huge smile and a hug and that made me feel a little better. Horacio was nice and welcoming, but there is something about a mother’s energy that naturally offers comfort. Because it was so late (they usually eat lunch between 12h00 and 13h00 and it was past 14h00), we ate immediately. She made chicken and rice. That’s right people, chicken and rice. No como carne. I don’t eat meat. I told Mae Cecelia that and she said in Portuguese “okay no problem. I made chicken.” Ma’am….that’s meat. But Mozambicans don’t consider chicken or fish meat, so actually, Mae, we do have a problem. 

A Retelling of the Egg Fiasco Beings Right Now.

I tried to explain that it would hurt my belly if I ate meat and she said okay and told me I should cook my own eggs so that she could see how I liked them. Usually I like my eggs over medium so I started with that. She poured some oil in the pan and I crack the egg, fully committing myself to the task of flipping an egg once and keeping the egg in tact. After I committed to the over-easy situation, I motioned for a flipping apparatus (If I can’t say “where’s the bathroom” there’s no way in hell I know the word for “spatula”). She gave me a spoon. A spoon. To flip an egg. Can we please recognize how hard it is to successfully flip an egg with a spatula. It’s hard. I only do it without breaking the yolk like 20% of the time. The rest of the time I default to scrambled and half of the eggs get stuck to the pan and breakfast is as good as worthless. With a spoon instead, the chance of me nailing this one is pretty much nonexistent, but the pressure was on…hard. Mae is watching me very intently, trying to learn how I like my eggs, and I’m about to bust this yolk open like it was 1999.

...

BUT SOMEHOW I DID IT. NO BROKEN YOLK. #RAISETHEROOF #IMTHECHAMP #CANTSTOPWONTSTOP and I’m pretty sure she knows how hard it is to cook an over-medium egg without messing it up because with a giant smile she said “ayyy bem!” which means good. I laughed and we high fived and it was our first moment. 

Egg Fiasco Over. Mission Egg: Possible.

After lunch she asked me if I had any dirty laundry and after I said yes she told me to bring them outside so that I could wash my clothes. Homegirl doesn’t waste any time #chores. I hand washed all of my dirty clothes on a washboard made of stone. She showed me how first and then I followed. As I finished washing a piece of clothing she would hang it on the line. 5 pairs of my underwear were hanging on the line, right smack in the front of the house. Good thing they were tastefully adorable and not lacy thongs.

After laundry, she showed me her baby piglets—6 of them and only 14 days old. I got too excited about the pigs and Mae laughed at me. And I laughed too because what else do you do in that situation. I can’t really speak to you, so if you’re happy I’m happy. We also watered the garden and she showed me all the vegetables that she grows (leafy greens, onions, tomatoes) and we stood there in silence for about 30 minutes watering because the bucket took forever to fill up and I literally didn’t know any words to say #Duolingofail. In that moment, I was really glad to know that Mozambicans don’t mind silence. I just stood and enjoyed being there, watering a beautiful garden with a woman who will soon become a second mother. Even if she did laugh at me for falling in love with the piglets. 

After chores Mae told me it was bath time. Yes, I have two bath times each day: one in the morning and one in the night. Both are mandatory. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t get served dinner if I didn’t bathe beforehand. At first I thought that it was going to be a pain to do the bucket bathing twice per day (a pain in the bucket, if you will) but it’s actually quite nice. I have learned to take a complete bath—washing hair, face and body—using only 6 cups of water. If you’re not impressed by that then consider yourself uninvited to my blog party. #bye

Dinner was the same meal as lunch—rice and eggs (and the omnivores ate chicken). After dinner I sat in the living room in silence with them for about thirty minutes while they watched Brazilian soap operas on TV. It felt really good to sit down and turn off my brain (since the show made no sense to me anyhow). I told them I was going to go to bed and they wished me a good sleep. I shut the door to my new room, and under my mosquito net, zonked out the second my head hit the pillow.

In sum, that day/night with my homestay family was not easy. I knew that they were about to put in a lot of extra work in order to support me, accommodate me, try to learn about me, and show me love. I knew that I could barely say “thank you”, let alone express my true gratitude for their willingness to serve as my host family or the next three months. That was tough. They were so happy to see me and to meet me and I felt like I couldn’t give anything back. Not even a snipit of who I was or how I was so excited to be there. I think it would have been really cool to have been able to say, “Yo Mom! We are going to become bestie boos, just you wait!” But I knew in time that would come. 

Patience Sarah. I don’t have much of that currently, and now seems like a pretty darn good time to become a collector of patience. One. Day. At. A. Time.