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