Identity in Limbo

I’ve been out of Moz for one month and one day. I’ve been back in the States for 11 days. The time between exiting Mozambique and entering America was spent in Bali, Singapore, Cambodia and Vietnam.

The globe trot has been fun. It has also been a nice diversion from the sadness that came with saying goodbye to Manjacaze and the uncomfortable transition phase that welcomed me on American soil.

So, where am I at?

Physically, I’m writing from White Bear Lake, MN, sitting across from Andy at caribou coffee drinking a delicious white mocha while it’s -15 degrees outside. Emotionally, I’m happy, sad and uncertain all at once. My optimism is high, but so is my skepticism.

Although I am no longer physically in Mozambique, I feel like I haven’t quite left yet. Since I’ve been home, I have felt like a visitor, taking a break from my real life back in Manjacaze. The fact that my time in Manjk has ended doesn’t feel real or final. I still talk about my life in Moz in the present tense:

“I teach secondary school math”

“I go over to Mana’s for dinner almost every night”

“The neighbors laugh when I walk the dog on a leash”

“Filipe and I practice English together”

“Gerlado and I make brick-oven pizza because it’s the only dinner than we can agree on”

"I don't understand most conversations that are happening around me"

“My students are awesome”

“Nelcia and I talk about Fat Amy like she’s our friend”

"Most of my friends are teenagers or over 40"

I’m absolutely not ready to switch go to went, or are to were…and I’m not sure if/when I will be. 

I also am having a very hard time letting go of the Peace Corps Volunteer part of my identity. We as humans attach onto certain ways of defining ourselves, both to ourselves and to other people. In college I was a soccer player and a Chi Omega and a Math Major. After college I had to find some other labels to hold onto, and latched onto runner. In Dallas I also added Yogi and Great Dane Owner to the list of ways to describe myself. Vegan happened for a bit and so did Crossfitter (if I didn’t add those two in, then was I ever really a vegan or did I ever actually do Crossfit?) When I joined the Peace Corps, PCV became the leader of the titles, and living in Mozambique seemed to be the most interesting and important thing about my current identity. I still held onto dog lover and runner and yogi, but PCV was definitely the strongest. 

Once I got my R (Returned), I lost that easy, interesting and proud way to identify myself. Not only did I lose that, but I gained just a whole lot of limbo. I will be a graduate student, but currently I’m just an adult without a salary. I will have a part-time job but nothing really worth mentioning. I don’t have a home base. It’s too cold to set any impressive running goals and I’m not currently a member of a yoga studio. Lucy died. I am proud of the type of friend I am—loyal, giving, and intentional—but I haven’t seen most of my good friends in over 27 months. 

So, as 2018 rolls in and a wonderful life adventure closes, I will challenge myself to be comfortable without a catchy way to describe myself. I am Sarah. I am a daughter. And a friend. I am bad at dancing and even worse at singing. I can run for a long time, and pretty fast. I practice yoga daily because it’s joyful. I enjoy serving others. I have a constant desire to meet new parts of the world. I started a bullet journal and it’s coming along. I love dogs and tolerate cats. I have a nice camera but I’m not exactly a photographer. I know some great people in Mozambique and boy oh boy do I miss them. 

Those current self-identifying factors, which are all part of who I have been and who I will continue to be, will just have to be enough. Other titles will come and go, but I want to learn to be comfortable and proud of the permanent, albeit sometimes boring, things that make me Sarah.

Even after closing my serving, Peace Corps doesn’t cease to challenge me in unpredictable ways.

Homesickness in my Belly.

I’m doing something similar as my good friend Cece, who is a wonderful blogger (check out her blog here) and fellow Moz PCV from my group. She’s writing a series on “life after Peace Corps”, and I like that idea. For one, I want to debunk the idea that everyone seems to have that I’m “so happy to be done”, but also I think writing through this transition period will be super helpful and calming for me. So here I go: Part 1…Leaving Moz and how I feel about it.

Well, after 27 months, I finally got my R. R stands for “returned” and it’s the letter that gets put in front of PCV once a volunteer completes his or her service. I am officially a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer. I powered through some pretty tough times to earn this one letter, and I’m proud about that. However, now that I have it, and my time has come to an end, and I’ve left Mozambique for the last time (at least for the foreseeable future), I’m not feeling as joyous as I had imagined I’d feel.

The Goodbye

I had a little goodbye party at my house with some close friends in town and lots of cakes and fruit and soda pop. While I wanted it to be a time for me to say “thank you” for all of my friends’ support and one last happy time together, there actually ended up being quite a lot of tears. Each person stood up one by one and gave a small message about my time in Mozambique and how they will miss me.

Adozinda and Mama Amelia (my friends, helpers and members of the nun family) told me, “a chegada dá felicidade mas a saida dói”. The coming gives happiness but the leaving hurts. 

A student, Monalizia, told me that I helped her find her passion for mathematics, and that she wants to be like me. 

Another student, Meridio, told me that he’s happy for me to go back to my family, but sad that I’m leaving. He said he’s confused to be feeling two opposite sentiments at one time.

Mana Marta cried more than she spoke, and lots of thank-you’s was the gist of what she was communicating. Her entire family stood behind her, tears streaming down their little faces, while my own tears flowed freely as well.

One student, Gabriel, came from Xai Xai (the provincial capital, about 90 km away), and told me that he’s grateful for the opportunity to learn English from me. 

Diana told me that my heart inspired her to be good to other people all the time. (Personally, I think she already is good to people all the time and a lot of that has to do with her strong, selfless mother, but I’m sure glad she learned a little something from me too). 

Daize told me that I’m a good model of fun and serious, and I am truly flattered by that compliment.

Geraldo told me “well done”, which means a whole lot coming from him, as I truly admire him and the work that he does.
Filipe told me that he trusts me as a teacher and a friend.

I stood up and told my circle that I don’t know what I would have done without them these past two years. The homemade meals without having to ask; the silly inside jokes; the comfortable silence; the not understanding each other until we finally do; the run-ins at the market that turn into unexpected adventures; the open minds and open arms; the laughing at each other and ourselves; the inspiring strength exuded by the females that I was surrounded by—which manifested itself physically, emotionally, and motherly. The contentment. The relationships. The moments that don’t sound so wonderful explaining out loud but make my heart soar with joy. The curiosity and ever-evolving understanding of one culture by another. 

Adozinda's son happy about cake.

Handmade capulana picture frames I made for Adozinda and Mama Amelia.

My kid friends using sidewalk chalk for the first time.

My REDES girls. Too cool for school but they still go.

Mindo and I.

A girls only pic that Titos (he goes by Toby because it sounds American) bombed.

The beautiful-inside-and-out Diana.

Gabriel, my first favroite student.

Daize, always giving me a doubtful look.

My sweet sweet girls.

Monalizia: Strong, ambitious and super smart. 

The party ended, and everybody went home. I was left to an empty house, a feeling of bittersweetness, and a whole lot of packing, unpacking and repacking to do. My ride was coming at 3am to take me to Maputo, and I wanted at least a couple hours of rest before dawn. 

At 2am I got a call that my chapa was arriving…which was one hour sooner than I expected it to come (literally, the ONLY time in two years that a chapa came early happened to be super inconvenient). So I jolted out of bed, brushed my teeth, and heard the honk soon after. Luckily, all my bags were organized, so the early arrival didn’t completely throw off my process. As we pulled away, my three best students (and best friends too) ran up to the chapa to give me final goodbye hugs and gifts. We indulged in uninhibited tears until the driver told me it was time to go. In the dark, at 2:15am, my people were there to see my off one last time; I wouldn’t have had it any other way. Nélcia wrote me a notebook full of personalized memories of my time in Manjacaze, told in English from her perspective. It is beautiful and priceless, and I cannot wait to share it with you all in a future post. Merídio gave me a hand-carved wooden keychain, which is fixed onto my camera bag until I have some keys. Diana gave me a hand-written note, and I’d wager that the most-used word, by a long shot, was coração, which means heart.

Pulling out of Manjacaze that super early (basically middle of the night) morning, I cried. Six months ago, if somebody told me I’d be crying, I would have assumed it would be tears of joy and pride. Instead, sad tears overwhelmed me. This chapter—all the joy and smiles, ugly crying and frustration—is over. I felt an empty homesickness in my belly, which in Portuguese we call saudades. 

Not only will I (and in some cases already do) have saudades for my friends and the comfortable routine we had created, but also for the lifestyle. In a way, I felt the way I felt when I drove away from Wittenberg for the last time: 

My life will never be this way again.

In college, it was the fact that all my friends lived mere blocks away; that my schedule varied every day and my hobbies changed with the seasons. Frat keggers and sorority themed parties, and hazing the freshman on the soccer team and caffeine-buzzed studying and middle of the night streaking and margaritas on Mondays just because and a free gym membership and Sunday morning pillow talk with my best girlfriends. That was all in my rearview mirror as I drove away, and deep down in my gut I knew I was never going back to that time in my life, even if I did at some point return to the University. 

That gut feeling was with me at 2:15am on November 19, 2017 as the stuffed chapa drove out of Manjacaze. 

Saudades. 

The bom dia professora Sarah’s and the lame excuses for tardy homework and the super smarty in the front row and the tireless trier in the back row. The nonstop hellos in the streets and the “mana Sarah!”’s from behind the trees and the friendly market ladies and the children asking for photoshoots (and sometimes for money) and the weird looks while I’m walking my dog and the free ride offers while I’m running. The comfort of buying my bananas from the exact same lady in the market every time. The sitting on Mana Marta’s porch while the girls hustle to complete their chores and the boys play barefoot in the street. The random dance parties and never-ending uno games and the awkward conversations with neighbors whose names I should know but forgot and now it’s way too late to ask again. The Mondays off and the Thursdays with just one class. The packed full Fridays, but it’s Friday so everyone’s in a great mood. The simultaneous teaching to and learning from students and neighbors and friends. The joy on Valente’s face when he can do something that I can’t (like cut a wire or fix a broken outlet or dig a dead rat out of the ceiling). Sharing my apple cores with Amêndoa and the satisfaction of a new jar of homemade peanut butter. Hearing (again) about the delicious chocolate cake I baked over two weeks ago. The safety that my mosquito net brought and the hot bucket bath on a chilly “winter” night. The joy of freshly hand washed underwear and the peace of solitary yoga practice on a breezy afternoon. The unplanned dinner dates and the unannounced school interruptions that made perfect opportunities for Sex Ed instead of math. Home made pizza and wonderful conversation with one of the best dudes I’ve ever met (Geraldo that’s you). The not-rushed pace of things. The importance of greetings and goodbyes and time spent in the company of others.

Of course, there are things that I won’t miss, and things that I am looking forward to: having my own car or at least reliable transportation, being able to flush on just pee, AIR CONDITIONING, the Whole Foods salad bar, not being in a long-distance relationship. Eyebrow waxing and endless choices of Greek Yogurt flavors and brands…or really just any type of Greek Yogurt. Group yoga classes, and maybe even Crossfit. The absence of hungry dogs in the streets and being able to walk down the road without being noticed. Functioning in my natural language. Having people ask me where I go to school and saying “Harvard” (nonchalantly). Netflix. Insulted walls that don’t crawl with lizards and roaches. Washing machines. Putting my face in a warm pile of just-out-of-the-dryer clothes. Being in the same country as my mom. Seeing Grandma Ginnie. Having an excuse to wear make-up and blow dry my hair. Starbucks Iced Soy Caramel Macchiatos.

The thing, is, though, that all those modern and convenient and pleasurable things I’m looking forward to don’t help to lessen the saudades. I’ve had the hustle and bustle of America before, and I’ll have it again. I can’t say the same for Manjacaze life. I had it and now it’s gone…never to be recreated. 

Wow. That’s heavy. 

Am I proud? Yes. Am I happy to have completed my service? Yes. Am I excited about my future? Absolutely. 

Do I have saudades for my Moz life?

More than the letters on this page. 

Cutest neighbor ever.

Meridio and Andy.

The best Mozambican family ever.

Mama Amelia. One of the sweetest and most patient women I've ever met.

Adozinda and her baby, Geraldinho.

Ercio. Brother from another mother.

Geraldo, fellow dog lover.

Groupwork.

A Sunday afternoon watching people we don't know play soccer. 

The Best Mozambican Day Ever

November 1, 2017 was my favorite day in Mozambique, since I arrived in September 2015. 

The Best Mozambican Day Ever, TBMDE, if you will.

I know this because when I laid down in my bed on that Wednesday, I thought to myself:

Wow, that was my favorite day in Moz to far. 

And I was happy and told a couple of close friends about it. They were happy too.

What made November 1, 2017 so special to me, you ask? I don’t really know. Nothing overly out of the ordinary happened; on the contrary, it was just a normal day filled with some work, some play, peaceful normalcy, and lots of joy. I’ll walk you through my day and talk through all the not-super-exciting happenings that made it so good. 

I woke up and went to class.

On Wednesdays, I only teach one double period of 90 minutes. It’s the first class period of the day so I arrive at 7:00am and am done by 8:35am. I like this schedule because I get to do something productive without having to be at school for hours and hours. This class was an especially fun one to teach because it let me rant about how silly math is sometimes.

I introduced imaginary numbers (i is equal to the square root of -1). The concept of the imaginary number i is pretty absurd, because by the definition of a square root, it’s impossible to find the square root of a negative number. So, someday way back when, some math dudes with no life decided to give the square root of negative one a value anyhow, so they called it a letter, and they said it was imaginary because the square root of a negative number doesn’t actually exist. But for some reason these dudes wanted it to exist so badly that they named it i for “imaginary”. *EYE ROLL*. And now hundreds of years later my Mozambican 12th graders, who will not ever need to know this in order to be successful in their future jobs, are learning it as the last topic of their entire secondary school experience. 

So here I am at 7am on a Wednesday explaining to my students that sometimes mathematicians do way too much and they need to chill out. I explained to them that the letter i actually represents a number that doesn’t exist. The number/letter/thing helps us put a value to the square root of other negative numbers, which actually don’t exist either. Ranting about this was pretty fun, because they laughed at how outwardly annoyed I was at the whole concept (and I felt like a huge nerd in good way). 

Successful class, and first step to TBMDE (The Best Mozambican Day Ever). 

I delivered two beds to children who have slept on the floor their entire lives.

My mom and her husband, Michael, met my Mozambican family when they came to visit in April. Everybody got along swimmingly and it was really great to have my Moz and American families together for an evening. When my mom and Michael learned that the kids didn't have beds, they wanted to help. Fast forward to once the new house was finished being built, we got the beds ordered from South Africa and delivered to the house. The middle daughter, Selma, and I put the beds together and reorganized the kids' room, so that when the others got home from school everything would look nice. 

Selma was super excited. The others came home a couple hours laters and were over the moon about their new beds. Joyful celebration is quite an understatement in this case. I'm so happy to have been a contributor of their pure joy.

When Mana returned from work later that day, she gave me a hug and sobbed. She is so grateful to have beds for her children, a strong house of their heads. The joy and gratitude were palpable, and it's a moment I won't soon forget.

Two of the kids seeing the beds for the first time. There were giggles and tears and jumping up and downs.

Nélcia's raw reaction to her new bed:

I came home and hung out with Adozinda.

Adozinda is the lady that comes over once a week to clean up the kitchen and mop the floors and wash some of my clothes. The Mozambican word for her is emprigada, which means “worker”, but I don’t really like using that word. I guess an American would refer to her as the cleaning lady, but, besides that, she is my good friend. She is close with the nuns and her mom is the gardener that comes nearly everyday to water the crops and bring produce up to where the nuns and nuns-in-training live. Adozinda comes every Wednesday with her infant, Geraldinho, and switches off between working, drinking tea and breastfeeding. She is honest and hardworking and did not get dealt the best life hand, if you know what I mean. She has a great heart and we really care about each other. 

When I got home on Wednesday, she had already finished washing the clothes and she was doing the dishes while Geraldinho was tied to her back. I began baking a cake (more on that later) and soonafter the baby started being fussy. So, Adozinda put him on the floor nearby the kitchen thinking he wanted to lay down. He relaxed and then a really cool thing happened: he met Amêndoa. She approached him very slowly and gently, let him touch her face, and gave him gentle kisses. It was a sweet and quiet moment and Adozinda and I got to witness it together. 

Now that I live alone, I look forward to coming home to somebody to chat with on Wednesdays. She’s around my age and we indulge in brief neighborhood gossip, complain about how terrible the heat is, and agree that we wished puppies could stay puppies forever. I’m super glad that TBMDE happened to fall on a Wednesday so Adozinda could be a part of it. But, now that I think about it, she’s probably one of the reasons that it became TBMDE anyhow.

I got in a nice sweaty workout.

If you know me at all, I can’t label a day “the best ever” without a good workout. I followed a PopSugar Fitness Cardio Boxing Video, and then practiced some yoga. Adozinda was still here while I was working out, but I didn’t feel self-conscious. We’ve finally gotten to a point where even though I’m certain she doesn’t understand why jumping around like a nut and sweating is even a little bit enjoyable, she understands and respects my fitness routine enough to not gawk or laugh at me. Here, where the concept of exercising for the sake of exercising is so foreign, I consider that a big win.

Some students came over to celebrate my friend’s birthday. 

My friend Filipe turned 34 on October 31. Typically he comes over on Wednesdays just to hang out and have some practice speaking English. He’s one of the only Mozambican men I trust to not have ulterior motives (aka I know he won’t hit on me) and we have been friends since I first got to site. Last year, he co-lead English Theater with me, too. 

I told him to come on over at 15:00h, but didn’t mention that I had invited our English Theater kids over too. Five students, plus Taylor (the new volunteer that will replace me next month) and myself were all waiting for Filipe when he arrived. I baked a cake and did a pretty badass job decorating it (if I do say so myself…). It was a small white cake with chocolate frosting and white lettering: HBD Filipe! We ate the cake and sang happy birthday (in English, Spanish and Portuguese) and chatted about the school year winding down, and my upcoming going away party. It was casual, nothing over-the-top, but a really nice time. 

Filipe and his almost-professional cake.

After the cake was all gone and the sun was beginning to set, Filipe told us thank you for the love we showed him today. He explained that his wife is stationed in a far-north province as a police officer, and his sons are too young to know about birthdays. So, yesterday (on his actual birthday) he didn’t get a cake or a song or a gift. He was very grateful that we made time to celebrate him, and just the 1-minute thank you he gave confirmed that the cake and mini-surprise was a good idea. 

Cake and friends and gratitude and English speaking students: TBMDE.

We walked to the bank and Amêndoa came with.

Nélcia (Mana Marta’s daughter and my student), Taylor, Amêndoa and I walked to the bank (30ish minutes) as the sun set. We walked slowly and joked around and sang American songs. We laughed at Amêndoa pooping in the middle of the street and were collectively relieved to see there wasn’t a long line at the ATM. We all got some fresh air and a nice view of the sunset. Nélcia told us how Mozambicans sometimes change the words to American songs when they don’t understand them. Example:

Work by Rihanna

Actual lyrics: 

work work work work work

he said me have to 

work work work work work

Mozambican Lyrics:

wonk wonk wonk wonk wonk 

galinhas fazem 

wonk wonk wonk wonk wonk

Translation:

wonk wonk wonk wonk wonk (as in…the sound that ducks make aka quack)

galinhas fazem: Chickens make [noise]

wonk wonk wonk wonk wonk (quack quack quack quack quack)

They turned Rihanna’s song about love, being used, moving on, etc…into a song about how farm animals talk. Hilarious and creative. 

We laughed. A lot. Until tears came and bellies hurt. TBMDE

We played Uno at Mana’s house with the kiddos.

After we returned from the bank and dropped Amêndoa off at home, we headed over the Mana’s house to eat dinner. We sat outside on a straw mat, ate beans (MY FAVORITE), and played Uno. Uno always leads to some light banter (read: shit talking with smiles) and I always, always lose. Lindo usually wins and Angelica usually doesn’t have a clue what she’s doing (she’s the youngest). Taylor is never the winner or the loser but when she emphasizes the wrong syllable of Portuguese words on accident we all get a great kick out of it. The best way I can describe dinners on Mana’s porch is: joyful and comfortable. There is laughing and joking, and it’s the time when I feel most at home in this foreign country. Seeing Taylor get along so well with my family also made my heart happy; I think I would feel much less okay with leaving here if the volunteer replacing me sucked. Luckily, she doesn’t suck at all: she’s got a great attitude and an open mind, and she’s a little bit weird like me (aka she brought more than one pet rock with her to Peace Corps. One is named Pedro). I know that she will do well here, and both she and my family will be in great hands with each other.

Beans and Uno. I mean, really, do I have to say more about why that fits into TBMDE?

I went home and ate dessert and decided that today was the best day ever.

I left mana’s around 19:00h after it was dark, and stopped on the way home to grab some vanilla yogurt and packaged coconut cookies (my lazy dessert when I don’t feel like baking). I brushed my teeth and washed my face, then laid in bed and reflected on the day.

From the funny math rant, the the bed delivery, to Gerladinho meeting Amendoa, to Filipe’s mini birthday get-together, to the sunset walk and silly song lyrics, to semi-competitive Uno and giggles, to cold vanilla yogurt and my sweet snuggly dog in my bed, I decided that I wouldn’t have changed anything about the day.

I was able to show a good friend that even though his wife is many miles away, he is not alone. MY students gave my cake five-star reviews all around. I walked around town with my dog on a leash and felt like I belonged. My family excitedly served me beans because they know they’re my favorite. I said snarky things to Lindo and he didn’t get offended. I grew closer to the new Manjacaze volunteer, and my faith in her heart continued to be affirmed. I was able to be myself. 

Throughout the day, I crossed paths with people who not only know me, but have begun to understand me. I punched air along with an aerobics video and my Mozambican friend didn’t blink an eye. I showed love in a way I prefer (little surprises) and it was accepted with the utmost gratitude. I had conversations with a person I had just met, and it felt like we had been friends for way longer than just two weeks (thanks for being you, Taylor). I obnoxiously laughed without embarrassment and when tears started streaming down my face I just laughed harder. I lost at Uno and wasn’t mad about it. I told mana that she’s the best and meant it completely.

Upon arriving at site, I wrote about how the main goal of the first three months was to “integrate into the community”. I also wrote about how I didn’t really know how to define that, or how I would know when my goal was met.

Today, I know. This little rural town has become my home. My place. And some of my favorite people live here.

Thank you Manjacaze and friends, for giving me my TBMDE. 

Spritely American Visitors

Throughout the past month, I’ve had two friends visit. Maria, a friend I met in Dallas working at Reasoning Mind [link], and Ian, a high school friend who also happened to move to Dallas not long after college. Maria and Ian also know each other through me and Dallas. Both are well-traveled and open-minded; the latter is a certain necessity for gaining visitor’s right from yours truly. 

Since I’ve been here for two years, things that felt new, different, exciting and/or unbearable have become completely normal. So, it was very insightful to have two Americans visit me this late in my service, to be reminded of all the differences between here and the good ‘ol land of the free. It also gave me insight on the things here that I really do cherish, the work I’ve done that I’m proud of, the friends and students I want my American friends to know, and the basic living amenities that I no longer take for granted (which many in the “developing world” do indeed take for granted). 

I’ll use this post to write about some insights that I gained from having visitors this late into my service. 

Cock Roaches are Not Scary

Maria: There’s a cockroach in the sink! What do I do?

Me: Keep using the sink?

Ian: I’ve killed a couple cock roaches.

Me: Me too. But mostly now I just ignore them.

I’m a Bucket Bath Pro

Maria: The sponge bath wasn’t so bad.

Ian: [Partway through his bucket bath, through the wall]: Sarah! Can I use the sink to rinse my hair?”

Me: *sigh* Amateur.

I am Protective of Mozambique

It’s true that I experience frustrations with the lack of development in the country on a daily basis. The transportation system is terrible, the electricity is unreliable, the school system is ass-backwards, and pretty much anything you want to get done happens as slowly and as inefficiently as possible. (Don’t worry, I’m not holding back). 

But when Ian or Maria mentioned anything related to the shortcomings of Nossa Teirra Gloriosa (our glorious land—how Moz is called in the National Anthem), I was very quick to defend it. When the Portuguese finally left Mozambique after colonizing it for nearly 500 years, they did not do so amicably. Rather, upon losing the 11-year revolutionary war against Mozambican natives, they completely destroyed almost all of the infrastructure and businesses that the Portuguese had built, leaving the country in ruins to a population of formerly oppressed people lacking education and skills. This was in 1975. I know time goes by fast, but just to remind you, 1975 was only 42 years ago. Just FORTY TWO YEARS AGO (your parents are definitely older than that, and you might be too), this entire country was robbed of any semblance of structure and left to be completely rebuilt by a population that had been taught to obey instead of think for the past 500 years. I think we can all agree that Mozambique was absolutely not set up for success. To add insult to injury, two years after independence was gained, a civil war broke out between the group that mainly led the liberation movement (FRELIMO) and an opposition group, RENAMO, which was conveniently funded by white-ruled neighboring countries of South Africa during apartheid and Rhodesia, which is now Zimbabwe, as an effort to keep Mozambique moving in a political direction favorable to its white neighbors.

The civil war didn’t end until 1992. I was alive in 1992. Mozambique was not in a state stable enough to start rebuilding (or, really, building for the first time) country infrastructures and social systems until 1992. That was 25 years ago. 

I was the first person to say that while there are a lot of things wrong in this country, considering how young it is and the tribulations it has been through, I think it’s doing pretty damn well.  I am the first person to defend the school system immediately after pointing out that it fails in reaching its goal of effectively teaching children. I am the first person to explain, in a positive light, the lack of safe and reliable transportation, even though chapas have made me angry cry on more than one occasion. When the lack of resources or relatively low standard of living here is brought up in conversations, I’m the first one to demand compassion from locals and foreigners: Mozambique is young and certainly has its struggles and shortcomings, but it is strong and resilient. 

So, in a way, Mozambique is like my little brother. I can complain about it and be mean to it, but as soon as someone else does, I’m the first to defend it. 

People Can Find Similarities No Matter Where They Come From

Given the circumstances, I'm sure that my friends did not expect to do many "normal" American pastimes while visiting me here. However, we did. Maria and my host sister and student, Nelcia, listened to Girl on Fire by Alicia Keys on repeat. While I was in a school meeting, they went for a stroll and lost the keys to my gate somewhere along the way (something I do all the time).  Mana Marta cooked a nice meal for both guests, and presented each with gifts. Ian and my host family played Uno, and got way too competitive about it. We made silly jokes and picked on each other and belly laughed. My students asked Maria how old she was, and danced like Michael Jackson with Ian. Maria brought Natalinha, Mana Marta's niece, a brand new pair of red Converse sneakers and she loved them. (She feels super cool wearing them and works very hard at keeping them clean).  We made homemade pizza in a brick over with my good friend Geraldo, and had engaging conversations about traveling, politics and culture. Ian taught one of my classes the Macarena, and they impressed him with the first verse of the Star Spangled Banner (in English!). Ian and Maria were just as confused about derivatives as they were. LOL.  There was definitely a language barrier and some cultural differences; as to be expected. But my favorite part of each trip was the night we spent at Mana Marta's just hanging out with her family. We poked fun at each other, talked about how good the food was, played cards and, at times, sat in comfortable silence. I'm so glad that Ian and Maria got to meet my Mozambican family, share a meal with them, and see for themselves just how similar we are in many ways.

Above: video of Ian and Diaz doing MJ's famous crotch grab. I don't know how to turn the video the right way, so just tilt your head.

My House is Actually Not Luxurious

Compared to other Peace Corps houses, my house is pretty damn fine. (If I do say so myself…)

I have a bathroom connected to my room with a toilet that actually flushes. I have space in said bathroom to take a bucket bath without worrying about cold and/or windy weather. The bathroom also has a sink and a mirror where I can brush my teeth. It has tiled walls and a tiled floor and I bought some plastic shelves to keep my two-year supply of shampoo, conditioner and tampons. Minus a hot shower, my bathroom offers all the components of a States bathroom and I feel super lucky about that. 

My room is spacious and has a closet with space to hang clothes, and some built-in shelves. I have two outlets and window curtains. The kitchen also has a sink with running water, which makes doing dishes super easy. It has a gas stove with one working burner, a refrigerator and shelves for food and shelves for books and two tables and 6 chairs. The kitchen has a blender for smoothies and an electric oven for cakes. My living situation does not leave me wanting/needing anything I don’t currently have. It’s one, if not the, nicest house on the block. 

My yard has passion fruit trees, banana trees, one giant avocado tree, papaya trees, moringa trees, and pineapple bushes. Depending on the season, the garden in our yard gives green peppers, tomatoes, lettuce, carrots, and onions. We have a reed fence that borders the yard to allow for safety and privacy. 

Because of all this fancy stuff, I was really proud to introduce my house to my visitors. However, to my surprise, they were not impressed. I didn’t get ooooohs, aaaaaahs, or wooowwwwws. They were not unimpressed, like “ew gross” or “yikes”, but they definitely weren’t overly enthusiastic about all the amenities my house had to offer. 

What. A. Buzzkill. 

So, I stopped and thought about their reaction and why it was so different from my expectation. To do this, I had to put back on my USA shades, to see my house through the eyes of a spritely American. Here’s what I saw:

A house made out of half cement and half reed sticks, without insolation. A bathroom whose toilet seat was mounted crooked and that does not have a working shower. A living room without a couch or a TV, instead a plastic table and chairs. The kitchen offers plastic shelves, a college dorm room-sized fridge, stove burners propped up on cinder blocks that’s covered in years of splattered oil. An oven that doesn’t have a temperature regulator, a blender whose knob has long been lost, and plastic yogurt containers repurposed into tupperware. A wicker bookshelf whose shelves sink in the middles, and a second table with stains and chips all over. My kitchen has a broken window and a plastic trunk that’s used as a side table and one fluorescent white lightbulb. 

Although it helped me understand why my visitors weren’t over-the-top impressed with my sweet digs, I did not like those USA shades one bit. They encouraged me to compare what I have here to what is standard and normal—expected—in the States…but for what? I’m not in the States and I haven’t been for two years. My house serves me well—better than well, really, and I like it. I’m comfortable here, I am safe here, and I can practice self care here. I can bathe and cook and eat and sleep and relax with a good book and a hot cup of coffee. Here is where I come to after a long day of school or a frustrating trip to the provincial capital, or a long run on a hot day. My house serves me. It has everything I need and I was glad to host my visitors and show them how I live: comfortably, safely, and with gratitude. 

My USA shades encouraged me to find faults in my current living situation, while my Moz shades supported my gratitude for my home. Often times, reality is all about perspective. 

There is Not Just One Formula for Happiness.

Both visitors made comments about how happy my neighbors, friends and students were, despite the daily difficulties of life in Manjacaze. Most families have to cart water multiple times a day; women tend to their gardens all day in the heat, just to feed their families. Students walk up to two hours to get to school, and some days their teachers don’t show up to teach. Women sit on the side of the road all day selling bread, and boys roam the market selling hard boiled eggs, or cookies, or phone credit. All day every day, people work. But they also smile. A friendly hello from a passerby is expected; seeing women chatting, laughing and singing while they work in the hot sun is common. Kids get excited to find a piece of trash they can use as a toy, such as making old plastic bags and string into kites. Neighbors blast music and dance. Teenagers watch American music videos on their phones, and try to learn the choreography. Older sisters play makeshift checkers with their younger brothers. Mothers and grandmothers play silly peek-a-boo games with their children, and entire families lay on a single straw mat and watch cartoons on TV. 

The work is hard. The sun is hot. The pay is little. The amenities are lacking. Sometimes, there is doubt about where the next meal will come from. Water is heavy and hand-washing clothes leaves raw knuckles. Air conditioning doesn’t exist, and often times “bed” is synonymous with “floor”. Shoes have holes and clothes have stains and hand-me-downs and randomly-founds are much more common than new products. 

But there is love. There is family strength and support. There are jokes and music and games. There is mindless television and ice cold water, and yummy cake on special occasions. There are babies’ first words, and fancy meat-filled meals. There is hospitality and gratitude and tea drinking and hair braiding and story telling. 

There is a special mozambican pride that exudes from this country’s people. It’s something that is contagious, and my visitors felt it right away. Of all the souvenirs you can buy in the capital city’s art market, nothing beats the privilege of sharing Mozambican Good Vibes with some of the nicest and most giving people I’ve ever met. 

Thank you, Maria and Ian, for your open minds and open hearts. Thank you for taking the time to travel to the other side of the world to know a new culture and meet some great friends. Thank you for being great ambassadors of the United States. And most of all, thank you for allowing me the opportunity to see my experience here in another new and different light.

Ian doesn't drink coffee but while we were in Maputo I made the most of it: Fancy Coffee.

Maria enjoying one of Moz's beautiful beaches.

Ian and the ocean.

Maria had beans made by my favorite bean lady! Best beans in Xai Xai!

This babe was a wonderful guest. I'm lucky to call her my friend.

Ian and I with my Mozambican family, just before the power went out.