An Important Tangent from Stela's Story

There is still one more post to be written about Stela and the evolution of S&S Mozambelleza, but I'm taking a break to process through some different recent conversations. I know you'll miss Stela, but get over it because this is gunna be good.

As I wrote in this post, things have been feeling pretty normal around here lately. I have a healthy, productive routine, I feel confident in my teaching-math-in-Portuguese abilities, and nothing super thought provoking has really come up lately. This past week, though, a few moments have happened that have reminded me of the cultural differences that will likely always be present among myself and my Mozambican colleagues and neighbors. I want to tell y’all about them now. 

The English Test

This week was National Exam week in Mozambique. Every secondary school gives national exams to tenth and twelfth graders, kind of like our standardized testing in the States. Depending on the subject, the test lasts between 90 minutes and two hours. Tenth graders have two tests each day for three days, from 7am-noon (including breaks). Twelfth graders have the same setup except it goes from 12:30pm to 5:30pm. Students are not allowed to bring anything except a pencil and a pen into the classrooms with them; they must bring their IDs; they will be turned away if they are late; they are given an answer sheet, one piece of scratch paper (stamped with the school’s official logo); and the test itself. Tests come in sealed envelopes and can only be opened once the bell rings for time to start. When the seal is broken, before the tests are distributed, students clap (when I asked why they said “I don’t know, we just do”). Two teachers are assigned to each classroom, and must stand the entire time. They are not allowed to bring phones or books. They must pace the rows to discourage students from cheating. They cannot talk to each other. They can answer students’ questions about instructions but not about material. Teachers and students must stay in the classroom until the ending bell rings, and it doesn’t matter if they finish early. Teachers cannot proctor the discipline that they teach, to avoid the temptation of helping students perform better than they would on their own. 

Does the tone suggest that this was a serious-kind-of-like-the-military ordeal? It should. It was very strict and students knew it and teachers knew it and everyone did what they were told and tried not to disturb the flow of the process. 

On Thursday morning, the English exam happened, and I do not teach English so I was on the schedule to proctor. I find out which room I am assigned to and go there to start passing out materials. Right before the test starts, a chefe (boss) enters the classroom and tells me that I am not allowed to look at or interact with any of the students. I ask why and the answer is “because you know English”. Ok, I said, then can somebody else take my spot? If I can’t watch out for cheating or answer student questions, there’s not really a point to me being in here. And he said “we only have English teachers left, so you must be in here—it’s the rules”. 

I tried to explain to him that I would not give students answers because cheating is one of my biggest pet peeves ever (I don’t know how to say pet peeve in Portuguese, but I tried to convey the idea as best I could). And his response was “Ha de transmitir”. It might get transmitted. Referring to my knowledge of English. And while there is a gazillion logical arguments against this line of thinking, I had neither the energy nor the vocabulary to try to make a case. So the conversation ended, and I sat in the front desk, facing forward, not telepathically sending my English abilities to students, or doing anything else for that matter, for exactly two hours and zero seconds.

What. (eyeroll emoji). 

The Value of a Tomato 

There is a tiny little shop near by house that sells essentials like eggs, bread, tomatoes, onions, baking powder, cookies, and whiskey. It’s only a 2 minute walk from my house, which beats the hell out of the 15 minute walk to the market. A Mozambican convenience store, right smack in the middle of my neighborhood. #winning 

I went there on Friday to buy some bread to make an egg sandwich for lunch, and decided I wanted to buy a tomato to put on my sandwich as well. This shop sells tomatoes at 4 for 20 meticais, so I brought 5 mets for one tomato and 4 mets for one piece of bread (bringing exact change helps me avoid buying shitty coconut cookies every time I go there, which is like every day). I asked Mamá Maria for one pão (bread) and one tomate. I handed her the plastic bag I brought with me along with the 9 mets. She asked me if I wanted two breads, and I said “no I would like one bread and one tomato”. A confused look crept onto her face.

“Falta”. Not enough money. I said, no it’s right, 4 for bread and 5 for one tomato. And she said “Tomate está vinte”. Tomatoes are twenty. I said, I know, but that’s for four and I am only asking for one. And she said “um está dez. Meia de vinte é dez.” One is 10. Half of 20 is 10. And I said, “so 10 mets for two tomatoes, or 5 mets for just one. I only want one”. And she said “falta cinco”. You’re five mets short. I said, senhora, if four tomatoes cost twenty mets, then one tomato costs 5 mets. And I only want one tomato.” 

And she nodded her head and so I thought we were on the same page. She put one tomato in my bag and didn’t ask for anymore money. But then, before I turned to go home, she said “but I only did that for you, and only this one time” with a big smile on her face. I could tell she truly thought she did me a favor and gave me a big discount. Five mets off. I then explained “but one tomato does cost 5 mets, so I paid your price.” And she laughed and said “ok filha. Meia de vinte é dez.”  Ok child. Half of 20 is 10. I was a little sad that she thought I was trying to pull a fast one on her, because we are friends and her kids love me even though they don’t always know my name, and I wouldn’t try to jip her out of five mets (~six cents). But I also have had enough interactions with Mozambicans to understand that she wasn’t likely to budge. Her mind was made up: 4 tomatoes are 20 mets and less tomatoes than 4 will cost 10 mets. I smiled and said thank you and that I would see her tomorrow. She said thank you and that was that. 

This interaction might seem silly and not exceptionally noteworthy, but it reflects a larger issue that I’ve experienced with my students in my classroom: students have been taught to learn math by rote memorization instead of understanding how numbers relate to each other when mathematical operations are applied. Mamá Maria didn’t understand that 20 mets gets you 4 tomatoes so 10 mets will get you 2 because of her fundamental understanding of division or ratios; she knew this because somebody told it to her and she remembered it. So, when another, different instance of division came up, she didn’t know how to process it. Because I’m the only freak that would want to buy a single tomato, she’s probably never been presented with the situation and was never told the “answer”. So, she took the answer that was closest to this similar-but-different case: 10.

This happens in my classroom with my students more often than not: students can tell me the right answer, but not the process to get to that answer. They may get one problem right but the next, slightly different one wrong. This lesson for me happened early and blatantly, and forced me to slow down my lessons to ensure that I reviewed why an answer is right, why 8 divided by 2 is indeed 4, or how multiplication can be viewed as repeated addition. I try to nail home the point that understanding the process to getting to the right answer is often more important than the actual answer. There is a lot to be learned between the problem and the solution—both in math and in life. 

This short but meaningful conversation reminded me that even though math is known as a universal language, there are huge differences between how it is taught here vs in the States, which directly affects the application of it. Therefore, simple things like this that are obvious to me, are not for them—and it’s not due to a lack of intelligence on the part of the learners. 

Women’s Health

Note: the verb conquistar in Portuguese means “to conquest” and it is often used to describe a man pursuing (hitting on) a woman. Do you already hate the word? Good, me too. 

This week, while a math test was being proctored (but not by me because I am a math teacher), a group of professors and chefes were sitting around shootin’ the shit like all great employees do from time to time. They mostly speak in Changana (local language that I don’t understand) amongst themselves, so I was shamelessly daydreaming about Wendy’s Frostys. Then, one teacher got my attention and said he would like to discuss something with me. I said, ok but please in Portuguese. He laughed and agreed. It started:

“Doctora, é verdade que mulheres têm que ser conquistadas ou não ficam bem?” Doctor (anyone with a 4-year degree is considered a doctor here), it is true that women have to be hit on [by men] or they won’t be well (health wise)?”

Um, what. Well, this should be a fun conversation. 

I, very bluntly because even halfway across the world my life still has a filter paucity, said HELL NO. I would be much better without ever being “conquistar-ed”, thank you very much. Their minds were blown. They said “no, teacher, women like to be hit on in the street and without it they get sad and unhealthy”. I said, absolutely not. I do not like to be cat-called in the street and usually when it happens I get angry and try to ignore it. Não fico bem. I don’t stay well. 

They explained to me that in Mozambican culture, women need to get continuously validated and feel wanted. They said that men in the street cat call women because they know that they need it. I said that I can’t speak for all women, but here’s the truth for me: I like to feel appreciated by my namorado (boyfriend), in a respectful way. I think it’s an important part of a relationship to show appreciation for your significant other and make them feel attractive, valued, etc. And it is true that women like to feel beautiful. But that is very different than having a random man in the street making hissing and kissing noises at you and telling you they love you and want to marry you, all before asking your name. 

They acted offended. Asked if I was “too good” to talk to a man in the street. So then I had to explain that I do enjoy conversing with people, but chatting and being proposed to and two very different things. I am more than just my face and I like to talk about other things than love or marriage or sex. And they seemed confused. They were under the impression that women like direct, strong advances and men look weak if they don’t do it that way. Oye. I again repeated that I cannot speak for everybody but that for me, it’s disrespectful and I only like to be romantically affirmed by a man that I know and trust. I said I would guess that’s true for women everywhere, but if Mozambique has taught me anything, it’s that I can’t assume that people’s views on certain things (or anything really) align with mine. And, I cannot confidently say that other women don’t like to be cat called in the street…perhaps they do and in this culture it is a form of respect and flattery. Probably but not plausible?

They concluded that American woman are different (and from the tone I would also venture to say weird and naïve). And so the rua conquistas (street conquests) will likely continue, much to my chagrin. 

Lightening and Mirrors.

On Friday I got to come home for lunch in between tests because the mães made chicken and I didn’t want to eat plain rice. When I got back from purchasing bread and my single tomato, Adozinda and Mamá Amelia were picking grass from our yard to bring to the nuns’ house to feed to the goats. I went into the kitchen to make my egg and well-earned tomato sandwich, and Adozinda followed me in. She, very worriedly, asked me if we covered our full-length mirror with capulana last night (it stormed badly). I said, no, why? Is that a thing? She’s like, yes when it storms you MUST cover all mirrors with capulanas, or não fica bem (it’s not good). Because I have never heard anything like this before, I asked why. And she said “why what?”. I said “like, why? Is it dangerous to not cover them? Does covering them bring good luck? Or what?” and she said “só porque fazemos aqui”. Just because we do it here.

So naturally, being the math-minded nerd that I am, I said, “so you do things even though you don’t really know why? I’m not going to do that unless I understand why because covering mirrors with capulanas during storms doesn’t seem logical to me”. She said, I’ll go get Mamá Amelia…she probably knows. And I did agree with that part because moms, by nature, know everything.

So Mamá Amelia comes in and tells me that she’s not surprised that I’m questioning this, but that I shouldn’t because it’s true. She explained, very intently, that it’s because mirrors can get struck by lightening and even though accidents sometimes happen, we here in Mozambique like to prevent horrible accidents from happening whenever possible. Behind her, Adozinda nodded in agreement. 

There are a lot of reasons why this is a bizarre “rule”. For one, will the lightening knock on the door and then enter upon invitation to interact with the mirror? (Andy will be mad if I don’t say that I didn’t think of this loophole on my own because it didn’t occur to me that the house would get struck before anything inside of it). What about everything else that has the potential to get struck by lightening such as the tin roofs or the electrical poles? Should we cover all that stuff up with capulanas too? And why would capulanas help if the lightening did strike? I mean, I know capulanas have a lot of uses (dresses, towels, blankets, etc), but I didn’t know that lightening repellant was one of them. Also, our mirror is cheap and is made out of plastic and cardboard, which aren’t known to be good conductors. 

I tried to explain that other things could also get struct by lightening..anything made out of metal has a higher probability than non-metals, so why just mirrors? And they said “because, Mana Sarah, we just should”. 

I’m like, ok but what about the pots and the pans and the spoons and the forks and the stove? 

And she said, “oh to prevent the lightening from striking those things, we just close the curtains”. 

Dead serious. This was in no way shape or form a brincadeira (joke). I laughed before I realized the seriousness of the matter and then made a solid effort to shut myself up. She made me promise to cover the mirrors and close the curtains next time it looks like it’s going to storm, to be safe. She reiterated the fact that sometimes sad accidents happen and we can’t do anything about them, but that it’s important to do what we can to prevent them. 

Instead of continuing in the circular conversation of logic/science and “we know it’s true because it is and it always will be”, I assured her that I would try to remember next time it storms. She said thank you and gave me a hug. Then she laughed because she could tell I still wasn’t convinced. And she’s right…I’m not.

To separate storytime from conclusion, I've added a picture of a Frosty because I want one so bad it's unreal. Please somebody eat one for me but don't tell me about it because the jealousy will kill me. 

This post was not to serve as a way to say “look at how whack some Mozambican lines of thinking are”, but more to bring attention to the idea that the things that seem obvious or universally known to some are not the same things that seem obvious or universally known to others. As silly as I felt about Mamá Amelia believing that closing the curtains would protect the pots and pans but not the mirrors is probably the same amount of silly she felt about me not knowing this simple and obvious truth. 

Also, it brings up the point that if a person or community doesn't have knowledge readily accessible, how are things learned, confirmed, or proven right, or proven wrong? If somebody approached you, and very seriously said "all the tomatoes in your city are infected with this weird disease spread by bugs, and it's very important that we don't eat tomatoes until further notice" and there was no way to confirm that as truth/lie via the internet or news articles or whatever, would you accept it as truth stop eating tomatoes? Probably yes. And probably you would tell your friends and family to help them avoid getting sick too. And pretty soon, whether backed by science or not, nobody would be eating tomatoes and it would become a well-known thing that tomatoes make you sick...It would be easy to conclude that chefe is dumb if he actually thinks that my English abilities could be transmitted to students just by looking at them, but when you look at the root of this belief, it becomes more complicated than smart or dumb. Consider that probably some time long ago a chefe somewhere very seriously told that to a teacher who had no way to confirm it, then that teacher became a chefe himself and told that to his staff...and so on. Without access to concrete scientific knowledge, or the desire to fact check, does it seem so far-fetched that this belief exists? To me it doesn't. 

This PC experience in general has challenged me to acknowledge when I am looking at things solely from my American-seeded perspective, and challenge myself to see that same thing from the perspectives of the Mozambicans I live beside. To observe without judgement in order to optimally understand how viewpoints, culture and values develop, become ingrained and are lived out. These 4 seemingly bizarre happenings occurred within 48 hours of each other, and it was a light but very real reminder of just how much culture, environment and circumstances affect beliefs, perspectives and ultimately a person’s way of living. 

Also, it makes me wonder what are the things that I do that are ingrained as being “right” or “important” that somebody else with a very different background would think absurd. 

Right. True. Normal. Obvious. Important.

All subjective adjectives, and I am lucky to be in an environment where I am reminded of that regularly.