Peace Love & Polygons: December 2017

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.

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.