In two days, the UN report on Iraq comes out, and I expect that it will define, for better or for worse, the stability of the world when it is read by American eyes.
Every day I figure more and more out about language.
It becomes increasingly obvious to me every day that the Portuguese here is a tangential evolution to continental Portuguese. People learn "proper" language, but use in conversation, constructions and vocabulary that correspond with their mother tongue. I do the same thing, but in learning Mozambican Portuguese, have made some adaptations to try and speak in their manner.
I am often tempted to use the "to have + past participle" construction which is very much a part of Portuguese, but is a Latin-based way of thinking. The idea that an activity or action has been completed can also be expressed by saying "already", or in Portuguese, the ubiquitous "ja". Which makes me curious to learn what the Changana equivalent is.
It's very interesting to me to find out how easily a word that has two meanings can be expressed by one word in one language and two in another language. Yet, the speakers are able to feel out the meanings even though there is no one-to-one connection.
For example, the very "esperar" means "to wait" or "to hope". When joined with "que", you can express "I hope...", when alone, you can interject "Wait!" But neither carries exactly the same meaning as in English. Somewhere between "wait" and "hope" is an idea that has one word in Portuguese. If you think about this long enough, it will almost seem like a word is on the tip of your tongue to describe the idea - you can imagine hopeful waiting or even "wait-ful" hoping, and it seems to get closer - but the thing you can't quite express, that you can explain but never put one word to, is the raw idea that language so inadequately strives to express. For the last paragraph, I've essentially tried, unsuccessfully, to explain just one word that seems to correspond with a very primitive idea. This is why written language is so inadequate and inefficient, but plentiful because of its reproducibility and staying power.
Spoken language, complete with body language, gets across the idea just fine. You can even express the same exact idea with completely different words. Or even no words at all, which seems to be where art comes from. And then in the middle of all this expression of ideas seems to lie the oldest means of communication - theater. Good theater is a wonderful blend of the spoken and seen idea - its only criterion for judgment being its effectiveness in transferring an idea.
And this seems to be why my life keeps coming back to it, because it's such a perfect balance of the abstract and concrete worlds. Monday, also, is the start of my first African theater, assuming all goes well.
Peace
John
Friday, February 28, 2003
1/24/2003
The exciting conclusion to my story?
I'm pretty sure everyone else was either asleep or saw it as completely normal to pick on the American. No mention of it today, not at all. And plenty of conversation.
Still an incredibly intimidating experience.
It's odd that I hear more about our drought going on (here) from the States, than I do locally. Maybe it's not strange.
When I ask people if it's going to rain, they always say no. If it's currently raining, all you can see are dark clouds, and I ask if it's going to rain today - I'll get a resounding "I don't think so". This isn't a matter of meteorological naivete. It's superstition, and I still like to test it. I go so far as to suggest it will rain on a particular day in the future, which brings laughs.
Superstition being a gateway to spirituality, it intrigues me very much. Likewise, there is a superstition about pregnancy. NEVER ask a woman when she's due, what the baby's gender might be, etc. It's considered bad luck as well.
Little by little the door is opening for me to the inside workings of Mozambican culture. I don't expect to see it all, but every discovery I make is exciting.
Peace
John
I'm pretty sure everyone else was either asleep or saw it as completely normal to pick on the American. No mention of it today, not at all. And plenty of conversation.
Still an incredibly intimidating experience.
It's odd that I hear more about our drought going on (here) from the States, than I do locally. Maybe it's not strange.
When I ask people if it's going to rain, they always say no. If it's currently raining, all you can see are dark clouds, and I ask if it's going to rain today - I'll get a resounding "I don't think so". This isn't a matter of meteorological naivete. It's superstition, and I still like to test it. I go so far as to suggest it will rain on a particular day in the future, which brings laughs.
Superstition being a gateway to spirituality, it intrigues me very much. Likewise, there is a superstition about pregnancy. NEVER ask a woman when she's due, what the baby's gender might be, etc. It's considered bad luck as well.
Little by little the door is opening for me to the inside workings of Mozambican culture. I don't expect to see it all, but every discovery I make is exciting.
Peace
John
1/23/2003
Today took "surreal" to a whole new level.
I don't know where to start.
The beginning sounds good.
Well, I woke up at 6:30, like usual, to work out and get ready. Even though I don't usually have to be at school atl 8:00 AM, I keep to my schedule for days like today. The Minister of Education was scheduled to visit at 8:00, so it fit perfectly with my schedule.
When I woke up, there was a knock on the door. Blake's girlfriend's friend and a random man were there. She didn't know there wasn't school today due to the visit, and he was looking for a bathroom to fix. The only info he had was that the house he was to go to was a neighbor of "Mondlane" (THIS IS MOM -- I'M GUESSING ON THE NAME) "Mondlane" here is roughly equivalent to "Jones" in the States.
So he moved on and she sat inside, waiting for Blake's girlfriend to get up. I made breakfast, forgoing the workout due to company.
At 7:00 AM, Blake's sister and Blake woke up, along with his girlfriend. They started their morning routine, preparing to go to the airport so Blake's sister could catch her flight, ultimately bound for the States. Blake won't be back until Monday due to PC stuff.
Coincidentally, the Canadian couple is also out of town taking care of costly errands.
I noticed this morning that the cell phone wasn't getting service. After I said bye to everyone and went to school, I found that nobody was getting service. Not putting this puzzle together until later, I was and still am without the ability to reach a North American voice unless I want to pay a bundle for it, due to a set of strange coincidences.
We waited at school for 2 hours for the Minister to show up. This took nobody by surprise. It's not really anyone's fault, it's just that he has all of the city's schools to see before ours, which is where the "Meeting" for the entire school system was being held.
When he showed up, my director ran to the front of the school, teachers appeared out of nowhere and formed a very orderly receiving line.
This is THE Minister of Education for Mozambique and no other. He is in charge of one of the biggest challenges for a developing nation, and visiting our school in the first week of classes to try and set a tone for one of the nicer and well-performing schools in the country. He had an entourage of at least a dozen administrators, a sound system, a personal assistant, and at least four different media representatives including the television stations. I think Mozambique doesn't have more than a couple TV stations that cover news. This was shaping up to be a bigger and bigger deal by the minute.
I was about 3/4 of the way down the line, and my director introduced me as a member of the PC, as the Minister knows our program well. He paused a little longer with me, and then continued on down the line.
We then assembled in the gymnasium, as on Monday, except that this was a lot more important looking. There were three microphones set up, the TV cameras were getting background shots, and everything was very well put together. We entered the gym to find more chairs than I thought we could ever use. I realized later that this meeting was in fact for all of the schools in the area, and there ended up being about 400-500 people in the room including teachers and administrators.
And, oh by the way, me. The lone white guy and sole representative of the Western hemisphere.
We stood up as the Minister entered a half hour after we sat down, sang the national anthem, then started the meeting. Various people spoke including the Minister, and since my Portuguese comprehension and understanding of political education issues are both mediocre, I caught bits and pieces of what was going on. Teachers were invited to voice their concerns, and a few did. About 3 hours later, after every single administrator had said their piece about, well, something, the Minister took the floor again in what seemed to be a very broad appeal to improve the quality of teaching and that 2003 is very important. He addressed concerns that had been brought up by teachers with prepared statements at microphones, and seemed to be fairly animated.
Of course, this was at about 1:30 in the afternoon, a hot part of the day on a very hot day. I was not sticking to the desk I was sitting at, I was melting on to it. I didn't have anywhere to put my arms because I had thoroughly soaked the entire surface. I was getting ridiculously hungry, dangerously dehydrated, and thoroughly incapable of translating any more. I looked around and people were sitting with heads in hands, fanning themselves with anything they could get their hands on, generally spaced out. The Minister and administrators all had water being delivered to them on a regular basis, making us watching all of this even thirstier.
My daydreams started to get more and more intense, and I actually got so lost in one that I had to reorient myself to being in Mozambique. The combination of early signs of heat stroke and not being able to tell what was going on was pretty uncomfortable.
And then it just got ridiculous.
During his speech, I heard mention of the US a couple times in the context of a system to be emulating, but I couldn't quite catch the specifics.
Then I heard "Where is the American?"
I thought, "Oh, shit". Really.
"Levanta, por favor"
"Stand, please." I got a tap on the forearm from the guy sitting at my desk with me, who spoke very good English and had previously made a comment to the Minister in the open session.
A lot of my problem with understanding language is the context. And me standing in the middle of 500 professors because I was American, well, I must have misheard. But I looked over to my desk companion and he urgently nudged me with his eyes to do as he said.
I stood, and gave a half-wave to say "OK, I've made my appearance, I'm ready to sit down now". It would have been weird enough if that was it.
But the Minister continued,
"Why did you come here from America?"
My hands were tucked behind my back and I just kind of stood there, shrugged my shoulders as if to say "Do you want me to answer that, or is that supposed to be a rhetorical question" - or at least "Unnnhhh?"
My heart started to pound harder, and I was sure that everyone could see my shirt moving.
"Why? Why come?" he added.
I looked to my right, for assistance from the guy who was right now my lingual placenta. I guess I gave him a look like I didn't understand the question, but I really meant to give him a look that meant "I understand the question, but don't understand why he's asking this now and here." He translated for me, saying "What is your motivationn for coming here?" I responded, "Eu sei, eu sei."
"I know, I know". The Minister then said, "Speak up so we can all hear you."
Suddenly the meeting that was making my brain crawl sent it into a frenzy. "Remember voice class, open your soft palate and relax. Speak slowly and clearly - you're in no rush." My heart thought otherwise, but I stepped outside myself for a moment and fed John (the obvious American) the following line --
"Because I CAN help and I WANT to help in whatever way you all need."
And it came out almost exactly like that in Portuguese, loud, clear and precise. I might have said "thing" instead of "way", but I'm pretty sure everyone understood. He thanked me, with a surprised look on his face, and I sat down. And returned to my body.
I only get stagefright when I'm being judged - in front of audiences, I get nervous, but as long as I have something planned out, I'm usually fine. This was as scared as I've ever been in a public speaking situation, bar none.
And when I sat down, there were no pats on the back, no reassurance. Only one professor spoke with me afterwards. Of course, this is par for the course, because I don't know that many people yet, but I was deathly afraid that I had made some horrible mistake, and I still am. I really don't know what the Minister was talking about before he called on me, and I can only wonder how it fit into his pep talk to ask me why I came here.
The upside is that I can check the papers tomorrow to get a summary and maybe even find out exactly what I said.
However, I haven't been able to tell anyone but Mozambicans, who just can't relate to how incredibly surreal the whole experience was. This man who is in charge of the education of 19 million people interrupting a speech to ask some random American the fundamental question of his entrance into the Peace Corps. In another language.
My first reaction was to go home and curse him out for being so rude. How could he put me on the spot like that? It may not be rude here, but in the USA that would be downright ignorant, and as an American, he should have some sort of understanding about where I'm coming from and my culture, before just jumping right in.
But then I thought about how strange and presumptuous I seem to them, particularly the Minister. Why am I willing to get paid less, work harder, and do without the things and friends I had in America to be just one teacher in one school? We are an independent country, we've been in Africa much longer than you've been in North America, and just because your country is rich you think you know how to do things better? Or maybe, you've got a great life and you're throwing that all away for idealism for two years?
Why did you come here?
But I DID have an answer to the question, and it's the honest truth. Maybe I broke some unwritten rule, maybe I undermined my colleagues in front of the Minister, maybe I was being an obnoxious American, but I told the truth, and now everyone knows "Why?"
Peace
John
I don't know where to start.
The beginning sounds good.
Well, I woke up at 6:30, like usual, to work out and get ready. Even though I don't usually have to be at school atl 8:00 AM, I keep to my schedule for days like today. The Minister of Education was scheduled to visit at 8:00, so it fit perfectly with my schedule.
When I woke up, there was a knock on the door. Blake's girlfriend's friend and a random man were there. She didn't know there wasn't school today due to the visit, and he was looking for a bathroom to fix. The only info he had was that the house he was to go to was a neighbor of "Mondlane" (THIS IS MOM -- I'M GUESSING ON THE NAME) "Mondlane" here is roughly equivalent to "Jones" in the States.
So he moved on and she sat inside, waiting for Blake's girlfriend to get up. I made breakfast, forgoing the workout due to company.
At 7:00 AM, Blake's sister and Blake woke up, along with his girlfriend. They started their morning routine, preparing to go to the airport so Blake's sister could catch her flight, ultimately bound for the States. Blake won't be back until Monday due to PC stuff.
Coincidentally, the Canadian couple is also out of town taking care of costly errands.
I noticed this morning that the cell phone wasn't getting service. After I said bye to everyone and went to school, I found that nobody was getting service. Not putting this puzzle together until later, I was and still am without the ability to reach a North American voice unless I want to pay a bundle for it, due to a set of strange coincidences.
We waited at school for 2 hours for the Minister to show up. This took nobody by surprise. It's not really anyone's fault, it's just that he has all of the city's schools to see before ours, which is where the "Meeting" for the entire school system was being held.
When he showed up, my director ran to the front of the school, teachers appeared out of nowhere and formed a very orderly receiving line.
This is THE Minister of Education for Mozambique and no other. He is in charge of one of the biggest challenges for a developing nation, and visiting our school in the first week of classes to try and set a tone for one of the nicer and well-performing schools in the country. He had an entourage of at least a dozen administrators, a sound system, a personal assistant, and at least four different media representatives including the television stations. I think Mozambique doesn't have more than a couple TV stations that cover news. This was shaping up to be a bigger and bigger deal by the minute.
I was about 3/4 of the way down the line, and my director introduced me as a member of the PC, as the Minister knows our program well. He paused a little longer with me, and then continued on down the line.
We then assembled in the gymnasium, as on Monday, except that this was a lot more important looking. There were three microphones set up, the TV cameras were getting background shots, and everything was very well put together. We entered the gym to find more chairs than I thought we could ever use. I realized later that this meeting was in fact for all of the schools in the area, and there ended up being about 400-500 people in the room including teachers and administrators.
And, oh by the way, me. The lone white guy and sole representative of the Western hemisphere.
We stood up as the Minister entered a half hour after we sat down, sang the national anthem, then started the meeting. Various people spoke including the Minister, and since my Portuguese comprehension and understanding of political education issues are both mediocre, I caught bits and pieces of what was going on. Teachers were invited to voice their concerns, and a few did. About 3 hours later, after every single administrator had said their piece about, well, something, the Minister took the floor again in what seemed to be a very broad appeal to improve the quality of teaching and that 2003 is very important. He addressed concerns that had been brought up by teachers with prepared statements at microphones, and seemed to be fairly animated.
Of course, this was at about 1:30 in the afternoon, a hot part of the day on a very hot day. I was not sticking to the desk I was sitting at, I was melting on to it. I didn't have anywhere to put my arms because I had thoroughly soaked the entire surface. I was getting ridiculously hungry, dangerously dehydrated, and thoroughly incapable of translating any more. I looked around and people were sitting with heads in hands, fanning themselves with anything they could get their hands on, generally spaced out. The Minister and administrators all had water being delivered to them on a regular basis, making us watching all of this even thirstier.
My daydreams started to get more and more intense, and I actually got so lost in one that I had to reorient myself to being in Mozambique. The combination of early signs of heat stroke and not being able to tell what was going on was pretty uncomfortable.
And then it just got ridiculous.
During his speech, I heard mention of the US a couple times in the context of a system to be emulating, but I couldn't quite catch the specifics.
Then I heard "Where is the American?"
I thought, "Oh, shit". Really.
"Levanta, por favor"
"Stand, please." I got a tap on the forearm from the guy sitting at my desk with me, who spoke very good English and had previously made a comment to the Minister in the open session.
A lot of my problem with understanding language is the context. And me standing in the middle of 500 professors because I was American, well, I must have misheard. But I looked over to my desk companion and he urgently nudged me with his eyes to do as he said.
I stood, and gave a half-wave to say "OK, I've made my appearance, I'm ready to sit down now". It would have been weird enough if that was it.
But the Minister continued,
"Why did you come here from America?"
My hands were tucked behind my back and I just kind of stood there, shrugged my shoulders as if to say "Do you want me to answer that, or is that supposed to be a rhetorical question" - or at least "Unnnhhh?"
My heart started to pound harder, and I was sure that everyone could see my shirt moving.
"Why? Why come?" he added.
I looked to my right, for assistance from the guy who was right now my lingual placenta. I guess I gave him a look like I didn't understand the question, but I really meant to give him a look that meant "I understand the question, but don't understand why he's asking this now and here." He translated for me, saying "What is your motivationn for coming here?" I responded, "Eu sei, eu sei."
"I know, I know". The Minister then said, "Speak up so we can all hear you."
Suddenly the meeting that was making my brain crawl sent it into a frenzy. "Remember voice class, open your soft palate and relax. Speak slowly and clearly - you're in no rush." My heart thought otherwise, but I stepped outside myself for a moment and fed John (the obvious American) the following line --
"Because I CAN help and I WANT to help in whatever way you all need."
And it came out almost exactly like that in Portuguese, loud, clear and precise. I might have said "thing" instead of "way", but I'm pretty sure everyone understood. He thanked me, with a surprised look on his face, and I sat down. And returned to my body.
I only get stagefright when I'm being judged - in front of audiences, I get nervous, but as long as I have something planned out, I'm usually fine. This was as scared as I've ever been in a public speaking situation, bar none.
And when I sat down, there were no pats on the back, no reassurance. Only one professor spoke with me afterwards. Of course, this is par for the course, because I don't know that many people yet, but I was deathly afraid that I had made some horrible mistake, and I still am. I really don't know what the Minister was talking about before he called on me, and I can only wonder how it fit into his pep talk to ask me why I came here.
The upside is that I can check the papers tomorrow to get a summary and maybe even find out exactly what I said.
However, I haven't been able to tell anyone but Mozambicans, who just can't relate to how incredibly surreal the whole experience was. This man who is in charge of the education of 19 million people interrupting a speech to ask some random American the fundamental question of his entrance into the Peace Corps. In another language.
My first reaction was to go home and curse him out for being so rude. How could he put me on the spot like that? It may not be rude here, but in the USA that would be downright ignorant, and as an American, he should have some sort of understanding about where I'm coming from and my culture, before just jumping right in.
But then I thought about how strange and presumptuous I seem to them, particularly the Minister. Why am I willing to get paid less, work harder, and do without the things and friends I had in America to be just one teacher in one school? We are an independent country, we've been in Africa much longer than you've been in North America, and just because your country is rich you think you know how to do things better? Or maybe, you've got a great life and you're throwing that all away for idealism for two years?
Why did you come here?
But I DID have an answer to the question, and it's the honest truth. Maybe I broke some unwritten rule, maybe I undermined my colleagues in front of the Minister, maybe I was being an obnoxious American, but I told the truth, and now everyone knows "Why?"
Peace
John
1/22/2003
My classrooms, up until my third class today, had all been fairly nice, with all the amenities (minus erasers and chalk, of course, which are supplied by the teacher). When I asked a colleague where my class was, because I couldn't find it anywhere in the main building, he said, in effect, that "It's over there". Now, Mozambicans like to use the word "la" for anywhere between 100 feet and 100 miles away. So his saying that it was "over there" was as descriptive as saying that it was in C--- somewhere. I managed to determine, by asking if it was "la la" - in the building "that way" where exactly my class might be.
It turned out it was in an old building used for student overrun now, but was originally one of the main schools on the campus. Walking up to it, I felt closer to the experience I was anticipating having 5 months ago than I have felt since. (I would like to take this moment and remind you that I am attempting to teach a difficult subject in a language that is being spoken secondhand, in a land I've never been close to before. That being said, I readily admit that the last couple sentences were horrendous, but as long as you get my meaning, we're all set.) The building is made of concrete with wood framing. It's very easy to tell that there's wood framing because you can see through the ceiling to the roof. Not only is there a lack of ceiling tiles, but parts of the floors and walls seem to have left about 20 years ago. There is one semi-functional light fixture and a dearth of windows. What is lacking in windows, though, is made up in empty space where there used to be doors and glass. More than originally promised, the students DO have desks.
I want to write about the students' behavior during class, but as I haven't really given a normal class yet, it might be misleading.
I will go so far as to say that I've already been given ten times more respect than I ever would in the States. Part of that is that other teachers tend to be very strict, so it's easy to slip into that role. Another is that you have to control the students more in the beginning or you will lose complete control by the end of the year. This is what everyone has told me, and I can see how true it is. I try to be stoic (or at least straight-faced and intense) in class, staring down anyone who's talking. I looked at one girl today for about a minute until everyone else was looking at her and quietly nudging her to pay attention. She didn't talk again that lesson.
And by the time I'm finished giving my "rules of the classroom", students are petrified to open their mouths. This may seem like a bad thing, that I'm trying to teach TO them and not WITH them, but all I'm doing is building what I'm trying to think of as a brick wall. The wall is made of discipline, and I can remove a brick here and there without any problem. But I only have one wall to start with - if it comes crashing down, I don't have a second chance.
So the first brick I remove is letting them say "Yes" or "No" ("Sim" and "Nao") in response to my questions of comprehension. I've found that it takes quite a bit of convincing and demonstration to let them know that they can say yes or no without punishment. This first brick, as simple as it is, is an important one. It lets them know there are unwritten exceptions to the rules - I don't have to mandate that they can speak, I just have to ask whether they understand and that is license to speak (in and of itself).
For my first lesson, which I will give next week, I'm planning on letting them go outside and find "something that is made up of parts you know exist but can't see" to introduce cell theory. This is an activity that is pretty foreign and reeks of undiscipline. But I know it's just another brick, and if I control it, then I will show them that they can have fun in my lessons, just in a different way and only when I say :)
I don't know if this will actually work, but I might as well try.
I definitely have a big advantage over US schools in that the students want to be in class a heck of a lot more here. So it's actually a punishment to send someone out of class and to stop class for someone who's talking. It empowers the teachers an incredible amount, so I actually need to be careful that I don't abuse this power and turn some students off from Biology because of discipline. It's a balance that every teacher has to make, but depending on the culture, the line is drawn in a different place.
So I'm not looking forward to finishing my last two "rule sessions", because it's a boring thing to do to begin with, and I've alread done it six times.
My Portuguese is improving, though :)
Peace
John
It turned out it was in an old building used for student overrun now, but was originally one of the main schools on the campus. Walking up to it, I felt closer to the experience I was anticipating having 5 months ago than I have felt since. (I would like to take this moment and remind you that I am attempting to teach a difficult subject in a language that is being spoken secondhand, in a land I've never been close to before. That being said, I readily admit that the last couple sentences were horrendous, but as long as you get my meaning, we're all set.) The building is made of concrete with wood framing. It's very easy to tell that there's wood framing because you can see through the ceiling to the roof. Not only is there a lack of ceiling tiles, but parts of the floors and walls seem to have left about 20 years ago. There is one semi-functional light fixture and a dearth of windows. What is lacking in windows, though, is made up in empty space where there used to be doors and glass. More than originally promised, the students DO have desks.
I want to write about the students' behavior during class, but as I haven't really given a normal class yet, it might be misleading.
I will go so far as to say that I've already been given ten times more respect than I ever would in the States. Part of that is that other teachers tend to be very strict, so it's easy to slip into that role. Another is that you have to control the students more in the beginning or you will lose complete control by the end of the year. This is what everyone has told me, and I can see how true it is. I try to be stoic (or at least straight-faced and intense) in class, staring down anyone who's talking. I looked at one girl today for about a minute until everyone else was looking at her and quietly nudging her to pay attention. She didn't talk again that lesson.
And by the time I'm finished giving my "rules of the classroom", students are petrified to open their mouths. This may seem like a bad thing, that I'm trying to teach TO them and not WITH them, but all I'm doing is building what I'm trying to think of as a brick wall. The wall is made of discipline, and I can remove a brick here and there without any problem. But I only have one wall to start with - if it comes crashing down, I don't have a second chance.
So the first brick I remove is letting them say "Yes" or "No" ("Sim" and "Nao") in response to my questions of comprehension. I've found that it takes quite a bit of convincing and demonstration to let them know that they can say yes or no without punishment. This first brick, as simple as it is, is an important one. It lets them know there are unwritten exceptions to the rules - I don't have to mandate that they can speak, I just have to ask whether they understand and that is license to speak (in and of itself).
For my first lesson, which I will give next week, I'm planning on letting them go outside and find "something that is made up of parts you know exist but can't see" to introduce cell theory. This is an activity that is pretty foreign and reeks of undiscipline. But I know it's just another brick, and if I control it, then I will show them that they can have fun in my lessons, just in a different way and only when I say :)
I don't know if this will actually work, but I might as well try.
I definitely have a big advantage over US schools in that the students want to be in class a heck of a lot more here. So it's actually a punishment to send someone out of class and to stop class for someone who's talking. It empowers the teachers an incredible amount, so I actually need to be careful that I don't abuse this power and turn some students off from Biology because of discipline. It's a balance that every teacher has to make, but depending on the culture, the line is drawn in a different place.
So I'm not looking forward to finishing my last two "rule sessions", because it's a boring thing to do to begin with, and I've alread done it six times.
My Portuguese is improving, though :)
Peace
John
Sunday, February 09, 2003
1/21/2003
Yeah, so yesterday I got put in front of most of the students at school, and after the director of the school introduced everyone by their full names, he introduced me as:
John, substitute for Tober.
It's nice to know he won't be forgotten.
I had my first three classes today. They were just introductions, but went pretty well.
A big deal has been made of the fact that there are at least 50 students in each class. I'm sure I'll feel it a lot more later on, but right now, 50 seems a lot like 30 - they're still a bunch of strange kids tat don't understand me very well.
Their desks are 2-3 person affairs where the bench seat is attached to a writing surface that is angled as to facilitate writing. Unfortunately, it's not meant to ease standing.
Proper respect for a tech includes always standing when you're speaking, so these desks make things very awkward for the student to stand as they stay hunched over while trying to answer a question.
The rooms all have overhead lighting - a couple fluorescent fixtures - and a couple fans that sometimes work. Windows have screens, but if the wind is up, there are always a couple windows that rattle incessantly. All the rooms are painted with the MOZ stripe - about eye level, whatever the solid color is changes abruptly to an off-white. I don't know why, but just about every public room is painted in this manner. Chalk is usually in decent supply, but erasers are hard to come by if not impossible. Students all have their individual notebooks for each class - small, 40-page paperback journals that they are to hang on to throughout 10th grade. So when they write, it's carefully and slowly.
I spend a fair amount of time planning out what I was going to say and how to say it as my introduction to these students. When I walked into my first class, I just started talking for about 5 or 10 minutes without my notes. It was nice, but apparent that only about half of the students were understanding. During the second class a student outright told me that it was difficult to understand my manner of speaking.
Now, I know that my grammar was, for the most part, correct, and the vocabulary I was using was simple. They could definitely hear me, so it was definitely my accent. And I knew this before, but I try hard to change my accent - the way I say Portuguese words. However, the problem lies mainly in what parts of my body I use to resonate my sounds, and this seems to be different than Mozambicans. They have a very chesty sound, and mine is based in the head. So I have problems comprehending and so do they due to this.
However, this is not the extent of the problem. When I understand a grammatical construction or a complicated word, I tend to say it quickly in order to demonstrate my understanding of it. This doesn't help. This is the first step I will take tomorrow to help the students understand me.
Additionally, and most importantly, we are communicating in a mutual second tongue. Now, with people who have an English or Romance background, I have no problem communicating. Is it only the chest/head resonance issue? No, it's how we think.
The more I learn about Changana, the more I understand the Portuguese that is spoken here, because I understand the thought processes of the language. I have the same problems when speaking in English to South Africans or Zimbabweans. It's easy for me to understand, because I've been exposed to many different constructions. But to a non-native speaker, they only need to know how to express an idea in a couple ways. So if the ways I want to express myself are out of that scope, then the brain reads words and not ideas. From time to time, I have this problem with non-native English speakers, so it makes sense. It is just one of the many ways Mozambique and America have made compromises to meet in the middle, and there isn't a lot of middle ground. So the more I talk with my students, the better they will understand me and the more native constructions I will pick up. Once again, a matter of time, but for now I can work on speaking slowly and clearly.
I think it would be cool to know 5 languages when I leave Moz. I've got English nailed. Portuguese is on its way. French is somewhere in my head, but will soon get a refresher course. Changana is already starting, and Spanish will be easy to pick up again once Portuguese is in. Yeah, that would be neat. I'd also like to learn Greek, German, Russian and a Chinese tongue at some point. I've got some time for that.
Catrina went home. Don't know why, but I'm sad. So we're down to 35.
Peace
John
John, substitute for Tober.
It's nice to know he won't be forgotten.
I had my first three classes today. They were just introductions, but went pretty well.
A big deal has been made of the fact that there are at least 50 students in each class. I'm sure I'll feel it a lot more later on, but right now, 50 seems a lot like 30 - they're still a bunch of strange kids tat don't understand me very well.
Their desks are 2-3 person affairs where the bench seat is attached to a writing surface that is angled as to facilitate writing. Unfortunately, it's not meant to ease standing.
Proper respect for a tech includes always standing when you're speaking, so these desks make things very awkward for the student to stand as they stay hunched over while trying to answer a question.
The rooms all have overhead lighting - a couple fluorescent fixtures - and a couple fans that sometimes work. Windows have screens, but if the wind is up, there are always a couple windows that rattle incessantly. All the rooms are painted with the MOZ stripe - about eye level, whatever the solid color is changes abruptly to an off-white. I don't know why, but just about every public room is painted in this manner. Chalk is usually in decent supply, but erasers are hard to come by if not impossible. Students all have their individual notebooks for each class - small, 40-page paperback journals that they are to hang on to throughout 10th grade. So when they write, it's carefully and slowly.
I spend a fair amount of time planning out what I was going to say and how to say it as my introduction to these students. When I walked into my first class, I just started talking for about 5 or 10 minutes without my notes. It was nice, but apparent that only about half of the students were understanding. During the second class a student outright told me that it was difficult to understand my manner of speaking.
Now, I know that my grammar was, for the most part, correct, and the vocabulary I was using was simple. They could definitely hear me, so it was definitely my accent. And I knew this before, but I try hard to change my accent - the way I say Portuguese words. However, the problem lies mainly in what parts of my body I use to resonate my sounds, and this seems to be different than Mozambicans. They have a very chesty sound, and mine is based in the head. So I have problems comprehending and so do they due to this.
However, this is not the extent of the problem. When I understand a grammatical construction or a complicated word, I tend to say it quickly in order to demonstrate my understanding of it. This doesn't help. This is the first step I will take tomorrow to help the students understand me.
Additionally, and most importantly, we are communicating in a mutual second tongue. Now, with people who have an English or Romance background, I have no problem communicating. Is it only the chest/head resonance issue? No, it's how we think.
The more I learn about Changana, the more I understand the Portuguese that is spoken here, because I understand the thought processes of the language. I have the same problems when speaking in English to South Africans or Zimbabweans. It's easy for me to understand, because I've been exposed to many different constructions. But to a non-native speaker, they only need to know how to express an idea in a couple ways. So if the ways I want to express myself are out of that scope, then the brain reads words and not ideas. From time to time, I have this problem with non-native English speakers, so it makes sense. It is just one of the many ways Mozambique and America have made compromises to meet in the middle, and there isn't a lot of middle ground. So the more I talk with my students, the better they will understand me and the more native constructions I will pick up. Once again, a matter of time, but for now I can work on speaking slowly and clearly.
I think it would be cool to know 5 languages when I leave Moz. I've got English nailed. Portuguese is on its way. French is somewhere in my head, but will soon get a refresher course. Changana is already starting, and Spanish will be easy to pick up again once Portuguese is in. Yeah, that would be neat. I'd also like to learn Greek, German, Russian and a Chinese tongue at some point. I've got some time for that.
Catrina went home. Don't know why, but I'm sad. So we're down to 35.
Peace
John
1/20/2003
It's strange how happiness and catharsis are such nice bedfellows.
My Portuguese was pretty great today. But tomorrow I start to teach, so we'll see exactly how good it is.
Today was the opening of the school year. I arrived at school at 8AM like usual, and we waited around for 45 minutes doing nothing, like usual. At around 9, the school director came around and told us to round everyone up.
The school was teeming with students, but it didn't seem like more than a couple hundred. Well, wherever they were hiding, they managed to fit about 1000 kids in and around the school, all trying to get into the gym at the same time.
Peace
John
My Portuguese was pretty great today. But tomorrow I start to teach, so we'll see exactly how good it is.
Today was the opening of the school year. I arrived at school at 8AM like usual, and we waited around for 45 minutes doing nothing, like usual. At around 9, the school director came around and told us to round everyone up.
The school was teeming with students, but it didn't seem like more than a couple hundred. Well, wherever they were hiding, they managed to fit about 1000 kids in and around the school, all trying to get into the gym at the same time.
Peace
John
1/19/2003
Sometimes the person or people that need your help the most are the furthest away. Sometimes you're right there. And in either case, your proximity doesn't correlate necessarily with your ability to help.
Sometimes I question whether I am a person who is seeing the world from behind the glass. Just watching, but not really being affected by what's going on around me because of how it might change me adversely. Sometimes I wonder if other people are seeing the world this way and if they can see the glass. And so I wonder if I can get them to break down that barrier.
Sometimes I wonder if people realize the world beyond their own, that it's not as idyllic as it seems and it's not as dreary as it seems. But I just want to help people get to the other side of the glass so they can discover that for themselves.
And sometimes I can't do that explicitly, so I have to do it by example and just hope others come along for the ride.
We ate dinner at the house of the woman whose son is in the US. They live in a collection of mud huts on a dirt compund that also houses a flatbed truck. The husband works for a company shipping things back and forth in Moz, but because people spent too much during the holidays, he hasn't had work.
They made us dinner: "grilled" chicken, cabbage and eggs, onion and tomato salad, and french fries. They didn't have filtered water for us, so we received Cokes, then tea afterwards. The four of us (me, Blake, Blake's sister and Blake's girlfriend) sat at the table - a plastic table and chair set provided by the main furniture supplier in Moz. We were cooled off by a fan without the front guard, plugged into an exterior outlet (in the mud hut) - by separating the wires and plugging them directly into the fixture. We could see the sun setting, creating a beautiful pink glow on everything. Children popped in and out from everywhere, just to see the strangers and to laugh. Not at us, but just for the sake of laughing. And they play just to play. Not to get out of chores, not out of boredom. Because they love to play. And so I watched them play after I played with them for a while. I felt like I was on the other side of the glass, but not long enough to experience the bad side of things. As a perpetual guest here, you're not allowed to see what's seen as Moz's faults by Mozambicans. Not yet, at least.
I realized today that I need to learn Changana soon, and that it won't interfere with my Portuguese. I'm finding it difficult to communicate with people, and I'm not completely convinced that it's because my Portuguese isn't great - it's that I'm trying to teach myself a more elevated version of the language than people speak here. But there aren't any books to learn Mozambican Portuguese. So it'll just take time.
However, when you even touch on Changana, people light up. I feel little slighted that we haven't officially learned a significant amount of the local languages, because even though I can speak with people, I still feel like a stranger.
And it's not because I'm white, American or new.
And so, on the forays I make to the other side of the glass, it's hard to stay there speaking Portuguese the whole time. In fact, it seems impossible.
But my mind isn't really stuck on this whole breaking down of barriers. I wonder if I chose the wrong time to leave for the people who already count on my help.
At the same time, it's hard to imagine going back before I've put my 100% into things here. Even if it does sometimes feel like everything's falling apart, I know people understand me and the things I feel I have to do. Maybe I'll have to start over when I get back, but I won't have to make the same mistakes.
Hopefully I'll get to check Email tomorrow and it will get me back on track. Because I can do SO much here, I'm starting to learn how, and I'm starting to have the means.
I guess this is a matter of barriers, it's just that this one I can't see through to the other side.
Peace
John
Sometimes I question whether I am a person who is seeing the world from behind the glass. Just watching, but not really being affected by what's going on around me because of how it might change me adversely. Sometimes I wonder if other people are seeing the world this way and if they can see the glass. And so I wonder if I can get them to break down that barrier.
Sometimes I wonder if people realize the world beyond their own, that it's not as idyllic as it seems and it's not as dreary as it seems. But I just want to help people get to the other side of the glass so they can discover that for themselves.
And sometimes I can't do that explicitly, so I have to do it by example and just hope others come along for the ride.
We ate dinner at the house of the woman whose son is in the US. They live in a collection of mud huts on a dirt compund that also houses a flatbed truck. The husband works for a company shipping things back and forth in Moz, but because people spent too much during the holidays, he hasn't had work.
They made us dinner: "grilled" chicken, cabbage and eggs, onion and tomato salad, and french fries. They didn't have filtered water for us, so we received Cokes, then tea afterwards. The four of us (me, Blake, Blake's sister and Blake's girlfriend) sat at the table - a plastic table and chair set provided by the main furniture supplier in Moz. We were cooled off by a fan without the front guard, plugged into an exterior outlet (in the mud hut) - by separating the wires and plugging them directly into the fixture. We could see the sun setting, creating a beautiful pink glow on everything. Children popped in and out from everywhere, just to see the strangers and to laugh. Not at us, but just for the sake of laughing. And they play just to play. Not to get out of chores, not out of boredom. Because they love to play. And so I watched them play after I played with them for a while. I felt like I was on the other side of the glass, but not long enough to experience the bad side of things. As a perpetual guest here, you're not allowed to see what's seen as Moz's faults by Mozambicans. Not yet, at least.
I realized today that I need to learn Changana soon, and that it won't interfere with my Portuguese. I'm finding it difficult to communicate with people, and I'm not completely convinced that it's because my Portuguese isn't great - it's that I'm trying to teach myself a more elevated version of the language than people speak here. But there aren't any books to learn Mozambican Portuguese. So it'll just take time.
However, when you even touch on Changana, people light up. I feel little slighted that we haven't officially learned a significant amount of the local languages, because even though I can speak with people, I still feel like a stranger.
And it's not because I'm white, American or new.
And so, on the forays I make to the other side of the glass, it's hard to stay there speaking Portuguese the whole time. In fact, it seems impossible.
But my mind isn't really stuck on this whole breaking down of barriers. I wonder if I chose the wrong time to leave for the people who already count on my help.
At the same time, it's hard to imagine going back before I've put my 100% into things here. Even if it does sometimes feel like everything's falling apart, I know people understand me and the things I feel I have to do. Maybe I'll have to start over when I get back, but I won't have to make the same mistakes.
Hopefully I'll get to check Email tomorrow and it will get me back on track. Because I can do SO much here, I'm starting to learn how, and I'm starting to have the means.
I guess this is a matter of barriers, it's just that this one I can't see through to the other side.
Peace
John
1/18/2003
I played some 3-on-3 basketball today. I remember why I don't like basketball that much. It's just not graceful to me - there's very little flow to it unless it's at a highly competitive level, and then the flow gets interrupted by fouls, etc. I like hockey and soccer so much more because fouls are more rare and there's an unstoppable flow to even amateur games.
I really miss hockey.
People here don't even know what the sport is - not a tremendous surprise, of course, but it makes explaining my Hartford Whalers keychain even harder.
There's just something viscerally stimulatig about hockey. It's a fast game and unpredictable - beauty can be found in passes, saves, hits, goals and even in line changes. Playing is such a thrill for me every time because I know I can outthink most of the other players even if I don't have the physical instincts (yet) to capitalize on it. And all my frustrations come out every game, as it's a great stress reliever.
By far, one of the best feelings in hockey is reading a one-timer. Then diving to block the shot, transitioning to get up and create a breakaway that results in a goal. In basketball, you can block a shot that leads to a basket, but it's only two points of a hundred. In hockey, you never know if that one goal you didn't get makes the difference between 3-2 and 3-3. It's wonderfully random and emotionally trying.
So here's where I try and tie this into my experiences here.
I think I needed to get out of the US because it started to feel like a b'ball game. I'd feel like I accomplished something, but see it overshadowed by the big picture that I couldn't control and didn't really like. Maybe I made a connection with getting a Performing Arts Center at CWRU (college), but then all of the momentum was towards other projects. So I had to keep blocking shots just to stay in the game.
But here, it's easy to get a breakaway, and score the goal that wins the game. Getting yourself in position to do this is the hard part - it takes a lot of training (read: equipment) and you have to speak the language. And you'll dive to block a lot more shots than ever end up being shot. Meaning that you try to fix something, and you just can't. All you can do is get up again and put it all on the line. I really love that feeling.
Peace
John
I really miss hockey.
People here don't even know what the sport is - not a tremendous surprise, of course, but it makes explaining my Hartford Whalers keychain even harder.
There's just something viscerally stimulatig about hockey. It's a fast game and unpredictable - beauty can be found in passes, saves, hits, goals and even in line changes. Playing is such a thrill for me every time because I know I can outthink most of the other players even if I don't have the physical instincts (yet) to capitalize on it. And all my frustrations come out every game, as it's a great stress reliever.
By far, one of the best feelings in hockey is reading a one-timer. Then diving to block the shot, transitioning to get up and create a breakaway that results in a goal. In basketball, you can block a shot that leads to a basket, but it's only two points of a hundred. In hockey, you never know if that one goal you didn't get makes the difference between 3-2 and 3-3. It's wonderfully random and emotionally trying.
So here's where I try and tie this into my experiences here.
I think I needed to get out of the US because it started to feel like a b'ball game. I'd feel like I accomplished something, but see it overshadowed by the big picture that I couldn't control and didn't really like. Maybe I made a connection with getting a Performing Arts Center at CWRU (college), but then all of the momentum was towards other projects. So I had to keep blocking shots just to stay in the game.
But here, it's easy to get a breakaway, and score the goal that wins the game. Getting yourself in position to do this is the hard part - it takes a lot of training (read: equipment) and you have to speak the language. And you'll dive to block a lot more shots than ever end up being shot. Meaning that you try to fix something, and you just can't. All you can do is get up again and put it all on the line. I really love that feeling.
Peace
John
1/17/2003
We had a cockroach infestation tonight, and got rid of it with some heavy-duty bug spray. I'm pretty high from the stuff, combined with being mentally tired - I was doing brain gymnastics at school, making the schedule.
I was working with another professor (a very nice, polite one I might add) and we were basically speaking Portuguese for six hours straight, organizing all of the classes and subjects. Trying to translate all of the logic I was thinking into another language was VERY tiring.
I keep getting ragged on by the Mozambicans about not having a girlfriend here. I tell them I have one back home. I tell them sometimes I have a fiancee back home, but it does no good. Even my American friends are quite doubtful that I'll be able to remain single. This isn't aided by the fact that every volunteer has had at least one significant relationship, one taking back a husband.
The thing is, I'm not here to have a relationship. I can't explain that yet, but I feel very strongly that it would take away from what I can accomplish here. There are some gorgeous women here, but I'm not yet attracted to any of them. And I don't see that changing - not anytime soon.
And people also don't understand that I've spend only about a year and a half of my life - total - in serious relationships. So it's not like I don't know how to handle things on my own.
This isn't to convince myself that I can do this - I already know that - it's just to vent.
I think my frustration stems from the fact that people have a hard time believing in willpower and acting on principle. I try to always act how I believe others should act - but I don't necessarily expect others to act in that way. Principle is a very personal thing, so how can I hold others to what I value? I can't expect to behave according to others' value systems. But why can't people accept that I can, in fact, do something just because I think it's the right thing to do?
Interestingly, I think it's the people who do believe in me who become my closest friends. Because it means more when I say I believe in them.
And all my principles, all my behaviors are getting such a rigorous test here. I've had to make decisions about things I've previously thought of as cut and dried, that aren't easy decisions to make. What if someone asks me for food? To use my bathroom? Do I pick up the trash I see lying around? I used to answer yes to all these things, on principle, but now all that has been complicated. Now my personal buzzword has been "sustainable".
If I can't pick up all the trash, or nobody else will pick it up after I've taken my turn, it does more harm than good. Likewise with giving things out. All because the behavior isn't "sustainable" - because I won't be here forever and there aren't a hundred of me. Moreover, the changes have to come from within, which takes habituation and time. So if I want there to be less trash, I have to change how people think about trash - and well after I leave, the situation may change. Thus, my job as an educator is one of principles - and how can I hold others to theirs if I don't hold my own?
Peace
John
I was working with another professor (a very nice, polite one I might add) and we were basically speaking Portuguese for six hours straight, organizing all of the classes and subjects. Trying to translate all of the logic I was thinking into another language was VERY tiring.
I keep getting ragged on by the Mozambicans about not having a girlfriend here. I tell them I have one back home. I tell them sometimes I have a fiancee back home, but it does no good. Even my American friends are quite doubtful that I'll be able to remain single. This isn't aided by the fact that every volunteer has had at least one significant relationship, one taking back a husband.
The thing is, I'm not here to have a relationship. I can't explain that yet, but I feel very strongly that it would take away from what I can accomplish here. There are some gorgeous women here, but I'm not yet attracted to any of them. And I don't see that changing - not anytime soon.
And people also don't understand that I've spend only about a year and a half of my life - total - in serious relationships. So it's not like I don't know how to handle things on my own.
This isn't to convince myself that I can do this - I already know that - it's just to vent.
I think my frustration stems from the fact that people have a hard time believing in willpower and acting on principle. I try to always act how I believe others should act - but I don't necessarily expect others to act in that way. Principle is a very personal thing, so how can I hold others to what I value? I can't expect to behave according to others' value systems. But why can't people accept that I can, in fact, do something just because I think it's the right thing to do?
Interestingly, I think it's the people who do believe in me who become my closest friends. Because it means more when I say I believe in them.
And all my principles, all my behaviors are getting such a rigorous test here. I've had to make decisions about things I've previously thought of as cut and dried, that aren't easy decisions to make. What if someone asks me for food? To use my bathroom? Do I pick up the trash I see lying around? I used to answer yes to all these things, on principle, but now all that has been complicated. Now my personal buzzword has been "sustainable".
If I can't pick up all the trash, or nobody else will pick it up after I've taken my turn, it does more harm than good. Likewise with giving things out. All because the behavior isn't "sustainable" - because I won't be here forever and there aren't a hundred of me. Moreover, the changes have to come from within, which takes habituation and time. So if I want there to be less trash, I have to change how people think about trash - and well after I leave, the situation may change. Thus, my job as an educator is one of principles - and how can I hold others to theirs if I don't hold my own?
Peace
John
1/16/2003
The singing group is coming together. I wasn't very descriptive about the makeup of the group yesterday. There are about 10 men and 12 women, about 80% showing up per day. Average age is high, around 40 or 50. I'm one of about three "young people" in the group. They rehearse every weekday at 3 PM, and I found out today I'll be teaching afternoon classes, which are from about 1PM to 6 PM. Since I've been working on the schedule, I should be able to give myself the time off to stick with this group. I think it would be really cool to teach three classes, sing, then teach a couple more. It's going to be hard, but rewarding.
I'm definitely going to have to start voice work soon, too, to keep this all balanced - especially if I end up doing theater. I noticed that, like any a capella group, when first starting out, we fall flat very quickly. I don't have perfect pitch or anything, but I know when I can hit a note one time, then it's too low the next time around, then lower, etc., that we're going flat. It probably doesn't help that the director is a baritone and the other basses are BASSES. In the States, I'm a low bass, but here I'm a definite bari, at least until my voice frees up in the low range. It's scary the notes these guys can hit. Think the bass from Rockapella times 3 people. (If you haven't heard Rockapella, they did the Carmen Sandiego theme and the Folger's commercials. Immediately purchase a CD of theirs.)
It was hot again today - probably in the mid-90s - like it is most every day. And everyone talks about the heat, for the same reason we talk about the weather. Because it's something that affects every single one of us, so it's immediately common ground.
Anyway, we have a freezer that we cycle on and off to give us cold water - which has been amazing. Most of the time, part or all the water is frozen in the bottle. For some reason this reminded me of the past summer when I'd leave Dirt Devil with a water bottle full of ice on those really hot days. Days hotter than this, riding on impossibly radiant pavement. (Was that a word? I don't know.) And I remember how great the wind felt and the feeling of getting home, changing out of my sweat-soaked clothing and walking around half-naked. Of course now, just walking 5 minutes from school does the same thing, but without the workout.
I do miss my bike.
KITCHEN UPDATE***
I started a fire today.
We have a two-burner, electric stove. The right burner, when the unit is plugged in, is always warm. When we make french fries, which is often, we like to use a small pan. We also recycle the oil. We have a larger frying pan, but it's too big for the burners so doesn't work as well. We've had problems with there being too much oil and it spilling onto the burner in the past, but nothing serious.
I think that's all the background info you need.
So I was making french fries - trying a new cut this afternoon - and since I only had one potato, I figured I'd use the small pan. Knowing oil liked to spill out from that pan, I only filled it halfway, thinking that was a good level. Well, this story would be going nowhere if it weren't for the fact that I had indeed put too much oil in. As I started the fries, a drip started on one side. I tried to balance it so that the oil was level, but to no avail. Soon, the oil caught on fire - a small, little burst that ended as soon as it started. So I took the pan off, but in so doing, managed to spill a significant amount on to the burner. I transferred the contents of the pan to the larger pan and put it back on the burner.
Before I knew it, it started smoking and as I lifted the pan up, discovered a nice campfire started up. It seemed small enough to try and blow out, but in so doing, I only served to amplify the flames to eye level. This was a little disconcerting.
By the way, the burners are right by the back door. Knowing my breath was not going to extinguish the flames and that an electrical appliance which was PLUGGED IN was on fire, I reached for the unopened packet of Baking Powder and started to throw it very quickly on the flames. (Yes, I opened it first.) In the middle of this, Jorgito walks through the open door, notices the fire licking our chimney, white smoke from the Baking Powder, and just keeps on walking, commenting on the nice fire I made.
Panic is not in his vocabulary.
I finish extinguishing the inferno, talking with 'Gito the whole time. He leaves, and not a minute later, the meter reader shows up. Our meter is inside the house. Luckily, the smoke had cleared, but what would he have thought, walking in 5 minutes earlier? THAT would have been entertaining.
Telling Blake this story (after I cleaned the kitchen completely), he wondered why we weren't given fire extinguishers in our medical kits.
I figure it's probably because volunteers have to work harder to start fires than to put them out. Both literally and figuratively.
I made some good spaghetti sauce tonight:
Onions and garlic, sauteed
Tomatoes
Piri-piri sauce
Ketchup and equivalent amount of water
Cayenne pepper
Black pepper
Basil
Bay leaves
Green peppers
I think I'll call it "Where there is no tomato paste". Well, there is, but I forgot to buy it.
On this, the 400th page of my journal thus far, I submit to you the nth installment of writing in my journal about writing in my journal. It's been a great journey so far, and it's really only beginning. I hope I can keep up the writing the busier I get, but this is important to me so I think it will get done. More importantly, it's crucial to my loved ones' understanding of me and my experiences here.
I often get Emails about my writing, which are encouraging but pressure me to push this in one direction or another. I've been trying to ignore this effect, but it's hard. This writing thing works best when I'm not concerned about what people want to hear.
Ironically, this is all about helping people understand another part of the world and how it affects me. Yet when I respond to the people who read this, the quality declines. Usually, people close to me or interested in my life are an integral part of my life - my day-to-day interactions. But that's what makes this situation so difficult - others don't know what this is like, so how can they expect me to write in a certain way?
I think I've beaten this to death now. By the way, thank my mom for typing all this in.
Peace
John
I'm definitely going to have to start voice work soon, too, to keep this all balanced - especially if I end up doing theater. I noticed that, like any a capella group, when first starting out, we fall flat very quickly. I don't have perfect pitch or anything, but I know when I can hit a note one time, then it's too low the next time around, then lower, etc., that we're going flat. It probably doesn't help that the director is a baritone and the other basses are BASSES. In the States, I'm a low bass, but here I'm a definite bari, at least until my voice frees up in the low range. It's scary the notes these guys can hit. Think the bass from Rockapella times 3 people. (If you haven't heard Rockapella, they did the Carmen Sandiego theme and the Folger's commercials. Immediately purchase a CD of theirs.)
It was hot again today - probably in the mid-90s - like it is most every day. And everyone talks about the heat, for the same reason we talk about the weather. Because it's something that affects every single one of us, so it's immediately common ground.
Anyway, we have a freezer that we cycle on and off to give us cold water - which has been amazing. Most of the time, part or all the water is frozen in the bottle. For some reason this reminded me of the past summer when I'd leave Dirt Devil with a water bottle full of ice on those really hot days. Days hotter than this, riding on impossibly radiant pavement. (Was that a word? I don't know.) And I remember how great the wind felt and the feeling of getting home, changing out of my sweat-soaked clothing and walking around half-naked. Of course now, just walking 5 minutes from school does the same thing, but without the workout.
I do miss my bike.
KITCHEN UPDATE***
I started a fire today.
We have a two-burner, electric stove. The right burner, when the unit is plugged in, is always warm. When we make french fries, which is often, we like to use a small pan. We also recycle the oil. We have a larger frying pan, but it's too big for the burners so doesn't work as well. We've had problems with there being too much oil and it spilling onto the burner in the past, but nothing serious.
I think that's all the background info you need.
So I was making french fries - trying a new cut this afternoon - and since I only had one potato, I figured I'd use the small pan. Knowing oil liked to spill out from that pan, I only filled it halfway, thinking that was a good level. Well, this story would be going nowhere if it weren't for the fact that I had indeed put too much oil in. As I started the fries, a drip started on one side. I tried to balance it so that the oil was level, but to no avail. Soon, the oil caught on fire - a small, little burst that ended as soon as it started. So I took the pan off, but in so doing, managed to spill a significant amount on to the burner. I transferred the contents of the pan to the larger pan and put it back on the burner.
Before I knew it, it started smoking and as I lifted the pan up, discovered a nice campfire started up. It seemed small enough to try and blow out, but in so doing, I only served to amplify the flames to eye level. This was a little disconcerting.
By the way, the burners are right by the back door. Knowing my breath was not going to extinguish the flames and that an electrical appliance which was PLUGGED IN was on fire, I reached for the unopened packet of Baking Powder and started to throw it very quickly on the flames. (Yes, I opened it first.) In the middle of this, Jorgito walks through the open door, notices the fire licking our chimney, white smoke from the Baking Powder, and just keeps on walking, commenting on the nice fire I made.
Panic is not in his vocabulary.
I finish extinguishing the inferno, talking with 'Gito the whole time. He leaves, and not a minute later, the meter reader shows up. Our meter is inside the house. Luckily, the smoke had cleared, but what would he have thought, walking in 5 minutes earlier? THAT would have been entertaining.
Telling Blake this story (after I cleaned the kitchen completely), he wondered why we weren't given fire extinguishers in our medical kits.
I figure it's probably because volunteers have to work harder to start fires than to put them out. Both literally and figuratively.
I made some good spaghetti sauce tonight:
Onions and garlic, sauteed
Tomatoes
Piri-piri sauce
Ketchup and equivalent amount of water
Cayenne pepper
Black pepper
Basil
Bay leaves
Green peppers
I think I'll call it "Where there is no tomato paste". Well, there is, but I forgot to buy it.
On this, the 400th page of my journal thus far, I submit to you the nth installment of writing in my journal about writing in my journal. It's been a great journey so far, and it's really only beginning. I hope I can keep up the writing the busier I get, but this is important to me so I think it will get done. More importantly, it's crucial to my loved ones' understanding of me and my experiences here.
I often get Emails about my writing, which are encouraging but pressure me to push this in one direction or another. I've been trying to ignore this effect, but it's hard. This writing thing works best when I'm not concerned about what people want to hear.
Ironically, this is all about helping people understand another part of the world and how it affects me. Yet when I respond to the people who read this, the quality declines. Usually, people close to me or interested in my life are an integral part of my life - my day-to-day interactions. But that's what makes this situation so difficult - others don't know what this is like, so how can they expect me to write in a certain way?
I think I've beaten this to death now. By the way, thank my mom for typing all this in.
Peace
John
1/15/2003
I found out today that two of my three desires for classes came true. I have only one grade (9th) and it's the grade I wanted. However, I have 8 classes which is more than I was expecting. Each class meets three times a week, so I have 24 hours of classtime every week. On the upside, I have a relatively easy schedule compared with some of the other teachers. Also, I'm teaching Bio to the ENTIRE 9th grade (well, the daytime classes). There are approximately 400 of them (50 in each class, or turma). MY high school had 350 students total!
I was on my way to do errands when I stopped into one of the Canadian's workplaces to drop off the shopping list I alluded to yesterday. I had heard singing there earlier in the week, and while inside, heard singing again. I inquired about the singing group, to which I got a very enthusiastic "Do you sing?". Before I knew it, I was in the bass section, alongside the president of the group who had the biggest smile on his face, nearly matching his girth and cavernously deep voice.
I was intimidated at first, because they were using the same notation as in church and they had more practiced voices, but I soon came to realize that this choral group was like any singing group in the States. There were many levels of voices, from confident to silent - and an equal number of personalities. The women who smiled at me, the wise-ass in the bass section, the young guy in the tenors, the altos who just can't seem to hit that melody...it was all very familiar.
However, the way they learn songs is just plain hard for me. I'm a visual learner - I need to see words on paper, then I internalize them. Well, there is only one copy of all the music they learn, and the director has it. It's handwritten in four parts, do-re-mi.
It's learned part-by-part and you memorize the words along with the tune. Typical SATB harmonies are used, and the song we learned today had a very straightforward bass line, which made it easier for me. They meet every day at 2 PM, for about an hour. It sounds like a great routine to get into, and should help me take care of my voice.
I'm reminded of a picture of Dashon and his singing group - and how out of place he seemed to look. But being on the opposite side, it's only skin color, and that's really starting to make sense.
So, my shopping list.
It had a circle in the middle with "Blake and Joao's Wish List" contained inside. Dotted lines branched off to lines curving into arrows throughout the sheet, indexing the different items. Though the whole space was used, it was not cluttered or clustered. When presented, all the items were found after the initial expectation/realization shock. It meets all the criteria of a shopping list, but looks completely different.
I'm still in the mail catch-up period with my new address, but that should change soon. I'll get mail sent to the old address pretty soon and it's been almost 4 weeks since I first gave my new address out. All this means that the stream of mail will start, and my letter-writing efforts will begin to pay off!
Peace
John
I was on my way to do errands when I stopped into one of the Canadian's workplaces to drop off the shopping list I alluded to yesterday. I had heard singing there earlier in the week, and while inside, heard singing again. I inquired about the singing group, to which I got a very enthusiastic "Do you sing?". Before I knew it, I was in the bass section, alongside the president of the group who had the biggest smile on his face, nearly matching his girth and cavernously deep voice.
I was intimidated at first, because they were using the same notation as in church and they had more practiced voices, but I soon came to realize that this choral group was like any singing group in the States. There were many levels of voices, from confident to silent - and an equal number of personalities. The women who smiled at me, the wise-ass in the bass section, the young guy in the tenors, the altos who just can't seem to hit that melody...it was all very familiar.
However, the way they learn songs is just plain hard for me. I'm a visual learner - I need to see words on paper, then I internalize them. Well, there is only one copy of all the music they learn, and the director has it. It's handwritten in four parts, do-re-mi.
It's learned part-by-part and you memorize the words along with the tune. Typical SATB harmonies are used, and the song we learned today had a very straightforward bass line, which made it easier for me. They meet every day at 2 PM, for about an hour. It sounds like a great routine to get into, and should help me take care of my voice.
I'm reminded of a picture of Dashon and his singing group - and how out of place he seemed to look. But being on the opposite side, it's only skin color, and that's really starting to make sense.
So, my shopping list.
It had a circle in the middle with "Blake and Joao's Wish List" contained inside. Dotted lines branched off to lines curving into arrows throughout the sheet, indexing the different items. Though the whole space was used, it was not cluttered or clustered. When presented, all the items were found after the initial expectation/realization shock. It meets all the criteria of a shopping list, but looks completely different.
I'm still in the mail catch-up period with my new address, but that should change soon. I'll get mail sent to the old address pretty soon and it's been almost 4 weeks since I first gave my new address out. All this means that the stream of mail will start, and my letter-writing efforts will begin to pay off!
Peace
John
1/14/2003
To give you an idea of the school I'm working at, there are 25 professors for the 25 or so turmas (groups of students, or classes), among the 10 subjects taught. This works out to having 2-3 professors per subject. In Biology there are 4, including me. So do they need me here? I don't see why not, but do they need me here more than in other cities?
I'm kind of in limbo, waiting for school to start. In the meantime, I've had some time to do some thinking, not directly related to my experiences here, but inspired by some challenges I've had. I'll try to relate some of that, mainly because I want it written down.
I wasn't completely satisfied with my description of creativity the other day. I think I can be more specific and scientific with my hindsight approach to creativity.
I see "creativity" as a combination of classis "thinking outside of the box" in combination with imagination. First, I'll tackle the box.
When someone says to "Think outside the box", I believe they are doing a disservice. Nobody knows what the box is, so how can you think outside of it? What they really need to say is, "Think outside you assumptions."
But before we define the box, the very process of thinking has to be reevaluated. There's a common misperception that there is a right and wrong way to think, which is mostly the fault of standardized education. Well, I posit that there is no right and wrong way to think, and the way you do it is just fine. The process of CRITICAL thinking is just that, a process subservient to thinking in general. It's a way to examine an idea in an ordered manner, a method of thinking. I want to establish this point so you can throw out critical thinking for a moment, and not lose your general pattern of thought.
So now we need to establish the box. Either think of the box as existing inside a circle or of the box as one of the lists (if you're not a visual thinker). The box, or first list, is full of the assumptions you have made about the problem at hand. The circle, or second list, is made up of the actual constraints of the problem.
Making the box (list #1) is not trivial. You have to look at your approach from every angle without thinking about the problem. Essentially, you're thinking about thought and discovering the way you think. Thus, you can't be uncomfortable with how you think or what you find at this step will not be completely honest. And if you use "critical thinking", you will simply layer assumptions onto your 2nd level thought processes. So keep it simple and keep an open mind to what you find.
Once you're done defining the box/list, examine the problem once again and think about the problem from a distance. What are the very real contraints for this problem? Can each constraint be more generalized and still fit every possible solution? This is your circle, or 2nd list.
Now, the "space" between the circle and square, or the items that are on the first list but not the second - assumptions you have unnecessarily made - are the breeding ground for creativity.
Don't worry, I'll get to an example soon enough.
Now that you have the assumptions you incorrectly made about the problem, you can explore the new territory you've uncovered - thinking outside the box - or simply try and start from the circle/2nd list and work your way in. This is called imagination.
Imagination is that wonderful thing we're all born with, but many of us lose because we're told to think and act in prescribed, unimaginative ways. Imagination is wonderfully simple and inconceivably endless. To be imaginative is simply to not force a thought to exist and when one does pop up, not to dismiss it because it doesn't seem to fit the cultural or specified norms. This is often called "brainstorming", but it implies that it is an active process, which it need not be. Using your imagination can take a few seconds or a few weeks. A problem that has a quick deadline is not going to be able to receive your full efforts. Brains under pressure produce adequate but unimaginative solutions.
So a simple example of this whole process is the writing of a shopping list.
A typical "box" for this task will contain the following:
Items should be listed in a neat fashion.
Items should be thoroughly descriptive so another person can read them.
There should be a title which sets the scope for the list, above the items to be purchased.
A small, but adequate blank piece of paper should be used.
One pen should be used (or pencil).
No extraneous writing should be present.
A typical "circle":
All items to be purchased should be present.
Depending upon importance, items should be described thoroughly.
I will share how my list ended up at another time. But for now, try making one using the above method and see what happens.
Peace
John
I'm kind of in limbo, waiting for school to start. In the meantime, I've had some time to do some thinking, not directly related to my experiences here, but inspired by some challenges I've had. I'll try to relate some of that, mainly because I want it written down.
I wasn't completely satisfied with my description of creativity the other day. I think I can be more specific and scientific with my hindsight approach to creativity.
I see "creativity" as a combination of classis "thinking outside of the box" in combination with imagination. First, I'll tackle the box.
When someone says to "Think outside the box", I believe they are doing a disservice. Nobody knows what the box is, so how can you think outside of it? What they really need to say is, "Think outside you assumptions."
But before we define the box, the very process of thinking has to be reevaluated. There's a common misperception that there is a right and wrong way to think, which is mostly the fault of standardized education. Well, I posit that there is no right and wrong way to think, and the way you do it is just fine. The process of CRITICAL thinking is just that, a process subservient to thinking in general. It's a way to examine an idea in an ordered manner, a method of thinking. I want to establish this point so you can throw out critical thinking for a moment, and not lose your general pattern of thought.
So now we need to establish the box. Either think of the box as existing inside a circle or of the box as one of the lists (if you're not a visual thinker). The box, or first list, is full of the assumptions you have made about the problem at hand. The circle, or second list, is made up of the actual constraints of the problem.
Making the box (list #1) is not trivial. You have to look at your approach from every angle without thinking about the problem. Essentially, you're thinking about thought and discovering the way you think. Thus, you can't be uncomfortable with how you think or what you find at this step will not be completely honest. And if you use "critical thinking", you will simply layer assumptions onto your 2nd level thought processes. So keep it simple and keep an open mind to what you find.
Once you're done defining the box/list, examine the problem once again and think about the problem from a distance. What are the very real contraints for this problem? Can each constraint be more generalized and still fit every possible solution? This is your circle, or 2nd list.
Now, the "space" between the circle and square, or the items that are on the first list but not the second - assumptions you have unnecessarily made - are the breeding ground for creativity.
Don't worry, I'll get to an example soon enough.
Now that you have the assumptions you incorrectly made about the problem, you can explore the new territory you've uncovered - thinking outside the box - or simply try and start from the circle/2nd list and work your way in. This is called imagination.
Imagination is that wonderful thing we're all born with, but many of us lose because we're told to think and act in prescribed, unimaginative ways. Imagination is wonderfully simple and inconceivably endless. To be imaginative is simply to not force a thought to exist and when one does pop up, not to dismiss it because it doesn't seem to fit the cultural or specified norms. This is often called "brainstorming", but it implies that it is an active process, which it need not be. Using your imagination can take a few seconds or a few weeks. A problem that has a quick deadline is not going to be able to receive your full efforts. Brains under pressure produce adequate but unimaginative solutions.
So a simple example of this whole process is the writing of a shopping list.
A typical "box" for this task will contain the following:
Items should be listed in a neat fashion.
Items should be thoroughly descriptive so another person can read them.
There should be a title which sets the scope for the list, above the items to be purchased.
A small, but adequate blank piece of paper should be used.
One pen should be used (or pencil).
No extraneous writing should be present.
A typical "circle":
All items to be purchased should be present.
Depending upon importance, items should be described thoroughly.
I will share how my list ended up at another time. But for now, try making one using the above method and see what happens.
Peace
John
1/13/2003
Yesterday, we and the Canadians went to the beach and visited Catrina, who was very happy to see us! I got a sunburn, but from the ride more than the beach.
I was in the back of a pickup for a couple hours and we "picked up" some people trying to get to Maputo. There were probably about six people in the bed of the truck with me, and a little girl sitting on my lap. She was perfectly comfortable with this and even fell asleep a couple of times. The best part was when she was getting up to leave, she just had this look on her face like she wanted to say something but thought I wouldn't understand. So I told her my name in Changana, but she still had the blank look on her face - caught between conversation and confusion. She just kind of stared at me, looking like she was trying to comprehend that she fell asleep in a white person's care. I'm really curious to know what exactly she was thinking.
I got to see a lot of the countryside, and it's really spectacular. It's not that it's alien, it's just subtlely different from American countryside and conserved. There isn't any complicated network of roads and power lines scattered over the landscape, and houses blend into the spotty forest.
Now that I'm doing more work at school (read: making more lists), I have begun to wonder about my usefulness. There are tons of professors at my school, so what makes me any more qualified to teach Biology? I'm not fluent in Portuguese and I've never taught before. I know teaching is a means to an end, but I wonder how high expectations will be of me.
My writing is suffering because I hurt my right thumb closing a latch, so I might be writing less the next couple days.
Peace
John
I was in the back of a pickup for a couple hours and we "picked up" some people trying to get to Maputo. There were probably about six people in the bed of the truck with me, and a little girl sitting on my lap. She was perfectly comfortable with this and even fell asleep a couple of times. The best part was when she was getting up to leave, she just had this look on her face like she wanted to say something but thought I wouldn't understand. So I told her my name in Changana, but she still had the blank look on her face - caught between conversation and confusion. She just kind of stared at me, looking like she was trying to comprehend that she fell asleep in a white person's care. I'm really curious to know what exactly she was thinking.
I got to see a lot of the countryside, and it's really spectacular. It's not that it's alien, it's just subtlely different from American countryside and conserved. There isn't any complicated network of roads and power lines scattered over the landscape, and houses blend into the spotty forest.
Now that I'm doing more work at school (read: making more lists), I have begun to wonder about my usefulness. There are tons of professors at my school, so what makes me any more qualified to teach Biology? I'm not fluent in Portuguese and I've never taught before. I know teaching is a means to an end, but I wonder how high expectations will be of me.
My writing is suffering because I hurt my right thumb closing a latch, so I might be writing less the next couple days.
Peace
John
1/11/2003
If you want to see the kinds of things I see every day, go rent "Ali" and watch carefully the last part of the movie, set in Zaire. It was actually shot in Maputo and there are some great external shots, including the airport, the streets and the stadium.
We just watched it at a friend's house (!), a good movie, but a little scattered.
I wrote a note to myself to write about racism. I figure that's appropriate having just watched "Ali" and being reminded of the culture of the 60s and 70s, with the implications worldwide of civil rights.
Right now in many countries in Africa, battles are being fought - and many violent - between whites and blacks. This is, of course, in addition to the infighting between black Africans. It's scary for many people, and as I have to tread lightly in this politically sensitive issue, I will leave it at that.
Much that I am told about is reminiscent of what I have learned about the American civil rights movement. There are eerie parallels in South Africa - well after the end of apartheid, tension and inequality still exists. Well after the civil war, tension and equality still existed. Some would argue, still.
But in countries like Mozambique, which are rebuilding from non-racially divided civil wars, the idea of racism is vastly different.
Just the word alone - race - is up for debate. I may have written on this before, when we had a discussion in training about race, but I am very curious about this subject and how thoroughly artificial the whole debate is.
If you define race along the lines of skin color, you run into all sorts of problems. If a white person is someone who looks like me, and a black person is someone who looks like Diamantino (who has very dark skin), then what is a person who is the product of a "white" and "black" person? In America, they are considered "black", as blacks are the minority. In Moz, they are considered essentially mulatto, or a mixture. Go to India or China, and you'll probably receive different responses. Skin color, as we can easily see, is not an absolute. And it is genetically insignificant - it is as different as the ability to roll your tongue, male pattern baldness or wiggling your ears. So are these races? Or just a shortcut so that we can feel a part of a larger group?
We can also take race to mean nationality, in which case racism comes to be fairly equivalent to xenaphobia and many aspects of foreign policy (open border with Canada, closed border with Mexico, etc.) This definition gets tired when you then try to apply it to a 2nd generation foreign national. If my parents were born in Germany, and I was born in the US, does that make me hyphenated? Likewise, if my great-great-great grandparents were slaves, born in Africa, am I then an African-American? Unless you draw the line at where you yourself identify with the most, and not the nationality your ancestors identify with, it begins to be meaningless. So is race nationality? Sure. But this doesn't make it easier.
Race can also signify culture. Often, nations and cultures are synonymous. But if you dig deep into a culture, or you explore some larger countries, people split fairly clearly along cultural lines. There are clearly exceptions as well, but this seems to be the easiest way to classify people - who and what culture they identify with.
But race, and thus racism, is a product of visible characteristics, because classical racism is personal and violent. At least the American idea of racism is. Really, all of this is giving "race" a bad name. Racism can be a very valuable tool in such countries as Moz, allowing you to communicate better with another culture or speak the correct dialect. Different customs exist in different areas of this country, so knowing these things and prejudging people based upon their race is a necessary process.
What we have in the US is not racism. It's an identity crisis. America is too big and is a mixture of too many people to be slapped with a label as to what the culture defines. So people take every cue they can to separate us by culture - by race. Wear baggy pants? An earring in your right ear only? A fraternity pin?
Have dark skin?
It's just another way to try and figure out how another person acts, and expects others to act.
So with this in mind, I present my current situation.
I am stared at wherever I go here. It is what my culture and nation would identify as rude. But it is because I have light skin, I wear glasses, my clothes are not normal, my hair is different, I walk and talk differently - I am part of a culture Mozambicans don't know very much about, and what they think they know is all through the media which gives Americans a very romantic identity. So why not stare? Yes, it is racism. But, once again, this isn't a bad thing.
I will definitely write more on this later.
Eric called again today - it's great to hear from him. He said that North Korea is threatening NATO allies if the US applies sanctions to N. Korea. With nukes. It's scary, but surreal because I'm so far removed from it.
Peace
John
We just watched it at a friend's house (!), a good movie, but a little scattered.
I wrote a note to myself to write about racism. I figure that's appropriate having just watched "Ali" and being reminded of the culture of the 60s and 70s, with the implications worldwide of civil rights.
Right now in many countries in Africa, battles are being fought - and many violent - between whites and blacks. This is, of course, in addition to the infighting between black Africans. It's scary for many people, and as I have to tread lightly in this politically sensitive issue, I will leave it at that.
Much that I am told about is reminiscent of what I have learned about the American civil rights movement. There are eerie parallels in South Africa - well after the end of apartheid, tension and inequality still exists. Well after the civil war, tension and equality still existed. Some would argue, still.
But in countries like Mozambique, which are rebuilding from non-racially divided civil wars, the idea of racism is vastly different.
Just the word alone - race - is up for debate. I may have written on this before, when we had a discussion in training about race, but I am very curious about this subject and how thoroughly artificial the whole debate is.
If you define race along the lines of skin color, you run into all sorts of problems. If a white person is someone who looks like me, and a black person is someone who looks like Diamantino (who has very dark skin), then what is a person who is the product of a "white" and "black" person? In America, they are considered "black", as blacks are the minority. In Moz, they are considered essentially mulatto, or a mixture. Go to India or China, and you'll probably receive different responses. Skin color, as we can easily see, is not an absolute. And it is genetically insignificant - it is as different as the ability to roll your tongue, male pattern baldness or wiggling your ears. So are these races? Or just a shortcut so that we can feel a part of a larger group?
We can also take race to mean nationality, in which case racism comes to be fairly equivalent to xenaphobia and many aspects of foreign policy (open border with Canada, closed border with Mexico, etc.) This definition gets tired when you then try to apply it to a 2nd generation foreign national. If my parents were born in Germany, and I was born in the US, does that make me hyphenated? Likewise, if my great-great-great grandparents were slaves, born in Africa, am I then an African-American? Unless you draw the line at where you yourself identify with the most, and not the nationality your ancestors identify with, it begins to be meaningless. So is race nationality? Sure. But this doesn't make it easier.
Race can also signify culture. Often, nations and cultures are synonymous. But if you dig deep into a culture, or you explore some larger countries, people split fairly clearly along cultural lines. There are clearly exceptions as well, but this seems to be the easiest way to classify people - who and what culture they identify with.
But race, and thus racism, is a product of visible characteristics, because classical racism is personal and violent. At least the American idea of racism is. Really, all of this is giving "race" a bad name. Racism can be a very valuable tool in such countries as Moz, allowing you to communicate better with another culture or speak the correct dialect. Different customs exist in different areas of this country, so knowing these things and prejudging people based upon their race is a necessary process.
What we have in the US is not racism. It's an identity crisis. America is too big and is a mixture of too many people to be slapped with a label as to what the culture defines. So people take every cue they can to separate us by culture - by race. Wear baggy pants? An earring in your right ear only? A fraternity pin?
Have dark skin?
It's just another way to try and figure out how another person acts, and expects others to act.
So with this in mind, I present my current situation.
I am stared at wherever I go here. It is what my culture and nation would identify as rude. But it is because I have light skin, I wear glasses, my clothes are not normal, my hair is different, I walk and talk differently - I am part of a culture Mozambicans don't know very much about, and what they think they know is all through the media which gives Americans a very romantic identity. So why not stare? Yes, it is racism. But, once again, this isn't a bad thing.
I will definitely write more on this later.
Eric called again today - it's great to hear from him. He said that North Korea is threatening NATO allies if the US applies sanctions to N. Korea. With nukes. It's scary, but surreal because I'm so far removed from it.
Peace
John
1/10/2003
My mathematical - logical side has been reawakened by learning "Set" - a wonderful game of matching and seeing patterns.
My mind drifted to chess and how hard it is to program chess because, with the current limitations of computers, you COULD program every combination of moves or write a program to consider every combination, but it would take too long and be too large. So you have to make shortcuts and define strategies for the computer. Also, you have to give the computer an opening strategy or game plan because the probabilities of winning on the first 2 or 3 moves are all just about equal.
This same problem is encountered with language. You COULD program a computer to learn all the different combinations of words, but that would be unwieldy and you'd spend 99% of the time eliminating grammatically absurd combinations. So you have to give it a game plan or a thought to express, and then strategies, or a grammar. A thought that is expressed through words ordered and defined by a grammar is a sentence. A game plan that is executed through moves ordered by strategies is a victory.
Theoretically, we could come up with a computer that evaluates the best decision at every moment (even the opening move) that is practically infallible. Similarly, we could craft a machine that speaks perfect English given enough time.
The question is, do we find humanity in this? Are any new ideas "offered" by the computer? Just because it knows every combination, does that make it smart?
This is the heart of the field of artificial intelligence, and as I see it, intelligence. If someone can work, write or speak perfectly, does that make them intelligent?
And if the answer is no, then does that mean that someone who does NOT speak perfectly can be intelligent? It doesn't logically follow, but I nonetheless support this case.
Even defining a grammar as any word selection that results in transmission of a thought, the grammar is still boundless. There's no limit to the word choices to express a thought, and therefore there's no limit on the grammar. The intelligence is not found in the medium, it's found in the object, or the listener.
Essentially what I'm saying is that it doesn't matter if my words transmit the thought if my point gets across.
Peace
John
My mind drifted to chess and how hard it is to program chess because, with the current limitations of computers, you COULD program every combination of moves or write a program to consider every combination, but it would take too long and be too large. So you have to make shortcuts and define strategies for the computer. Also, you have to give the computer an opening strategy or game plan because the probabilities of winning on the first 2 or 3 moves are all just about equal.
This same problem is encountered with language. You COULD program a computer to learn all the different combinations of words, but that would be unwieldy and you'd spend 99% of the time eliminating grammatically absurd combinations. So you have to give it a game plan or a thought to express, and then strategies, or a grammar. A thought that is expressed through words ordered and defined by a grammar is a sentence. A game plan that is executed through moves ordered by strategies is a victory.
Theoretically, we could come up with a computer that evaluates the best decision at every moment (even the opening move) that is practically infallible. Similarly, we could craft a machine that speaks perfect English given enough time.
The question is, do we find humanity in this? Are any new ideas "offered" by the computer? Just because it knows every combination, does that make it smart?
This is the heart of the field of artificial intelligence, and as I see it, intelligence. If someone can work, write or speak perfectly, does that make them intelligent?
And if the answer is no, then does that mean that someone who does NOT speak perfectly can be intelligent? It doesn't logically follow, but I nonetheless support this case.
Even defining a grammar as any word selection that results in transmission of a thought, the grammar is still boundless. There's no limit to the word choices to express a thought, and therefore there's no limit on the grammar. The intelligence is not found in the medium, it's found in the object, or the listener.
Essentially what I'm saying is that it doesn't matter if my words transmit the thought if my point gets across.
Peace
John
Friday, February 07, 2003
1-09-03
For school, I arranged more lists of students into 50-person classes. This was stupidly boring, the saving grace being that I was learning how to pronounce names. However, the people I was working with didn't know how to use simple Portuguese or speak clearly, so I understood less than usual.
When doing work at school, it's routine now to get lots of people staring in through windows or doors, smiling or laughing. This, of course, is nothing new, and I have completely adjusted to it.
The cockroach count today is 2 dead and counting. I think I shall rename my flip-flops some creature name that makes reference to some obscure aspect of pop culture, implying that they kill lots of roaches. That would be the "cute" thing to do, after all...
In terms of creativity, I was really surprised to see that a lot of people in my training group think I'm creative. We all made little slips of feel-good things about other people, and many of mine made reference to this quality.
This is interesting because it definitely was not always the case, and I think it's the first time my attention has been called to the transition I've made since about junior high school to now. I've had teachers and peers who have pushed me to try new things and truly understand what it means to think outside the box. And, in college, what pushed me into really opening up the spigot of "creativity" was acting and specifically character work. There was an article in CWRU (Case Western Reserve University) magazine about one of my best professors who fostered this "don't eliminate any possibility" mentality. And today, it pervades every aspect of my life, from cooking to teaching to career choices. Really, I've found a way to recognize the underlying assumptions and the real constraints of a situation, then explore the space between. I don't think anyone ever explicitly told me that, but it was a good way to explore a character and it's a good method to enhance anything I'm doing. Ultimately, the thing that enhances creativity is a combination of an open mind, mixed with perfectionism that manifests itself in jealousy toward those who are creative. I think when I stop being challenged by others is when I will have to change my scenery. I don't foresee this ever happening, because there are way too many talented people everywhere.
It's taken me a while to see the talents here in Moz, but they're starting to surface as I shift my view of the world from an American way of looking at things to a broader scope. It's easy to say that people here are inefficient or aren't shrewd businessmen, but saying those kinds of things just doesn't make sense here, because they aren't valued. Just like taking the time to tend to a customer's every need, talk about nothing in particular, ask genuinely how they are doing, and in general form a personal relationship even at the basic food shops isn't an American value.
I'm on my third journal now, and I hope everyone's enjoying the ride as much as I am!
Peace
John
When doing work at school, it's routine now to get lots of people staring in through windows or doors, smiling or laughing. This, of course, is nothing new, and I have completely adjusted to it.
The cockroach count today is 2 dead and counting. I think I shall rename my flip-flops some creature name that makes reference to some obscure aspect of pop culture, implying that they kill lots of roaches. That would be the "cute" thing to do, after all...
In terms of creativity, I was really surprised to see that a lot of people in my training group think I'm creative. We all made little slips of feel-good things about other people, and many of mine made reference to this quality.
This is interesting because it definitely was not always the case, and I think it's the first time my attention has been called to the transition I've made since about junior high school to now. I've had teachers and peers who have pushed me to try new things and truly understand what it means to think outside the box. And, in college, what pushed me into really opening up the spigot of "creativity" was acting and specifically character work. There was an article in CWRU (Case Western Reserve University) magazine about one of my best professors who fostered this "don't eliminate any possibility" mentality. And today, it pervades every aspect of my life, from cooking to teaching to career choices. Really, I've found a way to recognize the underlying assumptions and the real constraints of a situation, then explore the space between. I don't think anyone ever explicitly told me that, but it was a good way to explore a character and it's a good method to enhance anything I'm doing. Ultimately, the thing that enhances creativity is a combination of an open mind, mixed with perfectionism that manifests itself in jealousy toward those who are creative. I think when I stop being challenged by others is when I will have to change my scenery. I don't foresee this ever happening, because there are way too many talented people everywhere.
It's taken me a while to see the talents here in Moz, but they're starting to surface as I shift my view of the world from an American way of looking at things to a broader scope. It's easy to say that people here are inefficient or aren't shrewd businessmen, but saying those kinds of things just doesn't make sense here, because they aren't valued. Just like taking the time to tend to a customer's every need, talk about nothing in particular, ask genuinely how they are doing, and in general form a personal relationship even at the basic food shops isn't an American value.
I'm on my third journal now, and I hope everyone's enjoying the ride as much as I am!
Peace
John
1/08/2003
Anatomy of a Conversation.
THE APPROACH
Walking in Moz is very casual and as has been explained before, can often be directionless but not without purpose. So seeing someone you know is not unexpected or cause for a rapid change of pace - or even direction. Conversations, though short in duration, often happen in passing with very little or no eye contact and much of the speaking happening walking away from the other person. Conversations that actually require stopping and talking are a different beast and require (for a Westerner) a fair amount of concentration.
THE MEETING
Conversations cannot be held just anywhere. There is momentary planning, then a mutual decision usually fully expressed by body language. When it's hot, shade is found; when it's loud, quiet is sought out. The place agreed upon is usually a minimal distance from the people engaging in conversation, or is a happy medium.
Then comes the obligatory handshake (between men or sometimes between professional women and men) or a kiss on both cheeks (only when a woman is involved). The handshake is a standard grip, followed by a quick flip to the thumb-thumb-and-fingers-to-opposite-palm grip and then back. The flip is often fluid and not fully executed; a kind of "secret" handshake.
"Bom dia", "Boa tarde" or "Boa noite"s are exchanged (literally "Good day", "Good afternoon" and "Good night") and each party asks how the other is doing through many different types of questions - the formal "Como esta?" or the informal "Como vai?" (How is it going?) or "Como e que" (How is it?). Responses are pretty standard and are usually along the lines of "Estou bom" (I am well) or "Tudo bem" (All is well). The latter also acts as a question if you're feeling lazy!
After these formalities, we enter the meat of the conversation.
THE TOPICS
You can usually anticipate the topics of conversation: where a friend or colleage currently is, who you are and what your profession is, where you are currently going, the weather, or the general topic of money and giving.
The flow of the conversation is usually a decrescendo unless there is surprising information, at which point it peaks, but just for a second. Then there are long silences, often because my Portuguese (and small talk) is pretty weak ---
A quick note on that. Because Portuguese is a second or third language here, there's a tremendous amount of understanding and patience when it comes to speaking and teaching in it. People here are confident I will learn it quickly because they've seen it all before. In fact, they say that Tober's Portuguese was actually worse than mine, but I don't quite believe them just yet. We'll see. He's fluent now, which gives me hope! Anyway ---
There aren't very many topics of conversation that I've randomly run into. However, that's probably due to language difficulties and my novelty in town.
THE CLOSING
Once the conversationn winds down enough, or someone decides they really must go, a hand is offered and the final handshake is very similar to the opening one, with the addition of pressing your thumbs together and then snapping them off as you leave. Usually, it's preceded by a "Yeah..." or "Ta bom" (OK) and then "Tchau" (ciao!) Almost formulaic, this whole process. And it's really quite interesting how communication can be so homogeneous within a society and different from other societies so radically.
The word from the States is that we're going to war any day now.
Peace
John
THE APPROACH
Walking in Moz is very casual and as has been explained before, can often be directionless but not without purpose. So seeing someone you know is not unexpected or cause for a rapid change of pace - or even direction. Conversations, though short in duration, often happen in passing with very little or no eye contact and much of the speaking happening walking away from the other person. Conversations that actually require stopping and talking are a different beast and require (for a Westerner) a fair amount of concentration.
THE MEETING
Conversations cannot be held just anywhere. There is momentary planning, then a mutual decision usually fully expressed by body language. When it's hot, shade is found; when it's loud, quiet is sought out. The place agreed upon is usually a minimal distance from the people engaging in conversation, or is a happy medium.
Then comes the obligatory handshake (between men or sometimes between professional women and men) or a kiss on both cheeks (only when a woman is involved). The handshake is a standard grip, followed by a quick flip to the thumb-thumb-and-fingers-to-opposite-palm grip and then back. The flip is often fluid and not fully executed; a kind of "secret" handshake.
"Bom dia", "Boa tarde" or "Boa noite"s are exchanged (literally "Good day", "Good afternoon" and "Good night") and each party asks how the other is doing through many different types of questions - the formal "Como esta?" or the informal "Como vai?" (How is it going?) or "Como e que" (How is it?). Responses are pretty standard and are usually along the lines of "Estou bom" (I am well) or "Tudo bem" (All is well). The latter also acts as a question if you're feeling lazy!
After these formalities, we enter the meat of the conversation.
THE TOPICS
You can usually anticipate the topics of conversation: where a friend or colleage currently is, who you are and what your profession is, where you are currently going, the weather, or the general topic of money and giving.
The flow of the conversation is usually a decrescendo unless there is surprising information, at which point it peaks, but just for a second. Then there are long silences, often because my Portuguese (and small talk) is pretty weak ---
A quick note on that. Because Portuguese is a second or third language here, there's a tremendous amount of understanding and patience when it comes to speaking and teaching in it. People here are confident I will learn it quickly because they've seen it all before. In fact, they say that Tober's Portuguese was actually worse than mine, but I don't quite believe them just yet. We'll see. He's fluent now, which gives me hope! Anyway ---
There aren't very many topics of conversation that I've randomly run into. However, that's probably due to language difficulties and my novelty in town.
THE CLOSING
Once the conversationn winds down enough, or someone decides they really must go, a hand is offered and the final handshake is very similar to the opening one, with the addition of pressing your thumbs together and then snapping them off as you leave. Usually, it's preceded by a "Yeah..." or "Ta bom" (OK) and then "Tchau" (ciao!) Almost formulaic, this whole process. And it's really quite interesting how communication can be so homogeneous within a society and different from other societies so radically.
The word from the States is that we're going to war any day now.
Peace
John
1/07/2003
Today I think I felt as isolated from home as I have the entire time here, and ironically it was on a day that I checked Email and received a couple phone calls. I'm finding out who my true friends are and their "true colors" are coming through. I'm also finding out which relationships I need to work on - it's interesting what distance can do.
And though I've been in Moz over four months now...well that was yesterday. Moving on...
Many volunteers have an embrogada (literally "employee") to do their laundry and/or to cook, clean, do general housework, etc. 99% of the time, this employee is a woman. It is suggested that we get an embrogada because we have many chores to be doing - and it's relatively inexpensive. And many volunteers have one for at least the laundry, as does my housemate. He pays 50 Met or $2.08, for the laundry to be done.
From the beginning, I haven't wanted an embrogada because I've wanted to be self-sufficient and I want to show others that I'm hard-working. Having learned that respect is not necessarily earned by doing your laundry yourself or by cooking (although it can help with some people), it seems that the point is moot. Respect will be earned in other ways.
I still would like to be self-sufficient as much as I can. If I start to feel like others are doing too much for me, then I feel lazy and like I am lording it over them. Plus, there's no satisfation like wearing clothes that I washed myself, with my own hands - the same goes for food.
There's a last point in all this, which is that I don't want to flaunt my financial status. Unfortunately, that aspect is inevitable and plain as the glasses on my face. So this only makes a small dent in that perspective.
From the other side of the debate, having an embrogada frees you up to do the real work as a volunteer, supports the local economy and cements your place in the community as someone to be respected (whether that correlates with having respect is not my place to say). So really, it's an open debate and very much a personal preference. For now, I'm still doing my own laundry. And it's fun!
On the topic of fitting in to the local culture, it occurred to me today (as it does on many days) the difference in average lifespan between myself and an average Mozambican. I can expect to live at least 70 years, while a Mozambican lifespan is about half of that number. I see people matriculating in school while in their 30s. I see 50 year old men (rarely) as wise, respected elders of their communities. The obituaries routinely feature very young-looking people. This is due to malnutrition, non-potable water, malaria and AIDS.
So how do I relate to a culture that, by American standards, should be constantly in fear, but isn't? They accept that their lives are more dangerous, but how do I accept that they should be worrying about AIDS vs malaria? And when I'm guaranteed to have a higher quality of life, because of money, it's very easy to talk about making certain sacrifices to ensure my health, but what happens when there are no certainties? Still, I don't have answers to these questions.
By the way, my pedagogical director and fellow Biology teacher has a very similar smile and demeanor to Denzel Washington! He is an amazingly gracious, yet confident man. He possesses an air of pride and nose-to-the-grindstone work ethic. He is, as Mr. Washington often portrays, the model of integrity.
He sent me off to do some busy work, which is all the school has for me right now, with a book and a pencil. Unfortunately, as he noticed very suddenly, the pencil was dull. Now, it's not like there are pencil sharpeners in every room, or for that matter, anywhere.
He took the pencil, and very deliberately searched through his desk drawer, not hurrying, but not dawdling either. Finding a small razor blade, he closed the desk drawer and, collecting the shavings on his lap, proceeded to silently shave off the wood on the pencil. Every stroke was measured but not in any way slow, and he moved with a wonderful rhythm that showed how occupied he was with doing correctly the task at hand. It was clear that he was going to do this job right, and the rest of the world could wait. This was not done in a spiteful manner, but in a very calm, collected way of saying "This matters."
He handed the pencil back to me, perfectly sharpened, with a big smile on his face as if to say "This is how Mozambicans do it". I never thought I'd be entranced by sharpening a pencil, but it's novelty is mainly due to the fact that much of the Western world is in such a rush - and for what? So an electric sharpenr gives you instant satisfaction - whatever happened to putting a concerted effort and pride into all of your work, no matter how small the task? Do we really have that much to do?
Maybe this is what truly bothers me about the embrogada, which is to say that many Americans just throw their laundry into a washer and press a button - so they see the embrogada as merely a substitute for this convenience. I believe I could pay one if I saw that SHE took pride in the laundry as if it were her own, and I were giving her the opportunity to do the job the right way. Maybe I'll watch her next time.
And maybe, through her, I'll feel less isolated.
Let there be peace in North Korea, Iraq and the rest of the world. Please.
Peace
John
And though I've been in Moz over four months now...well that was yesterday. Moving on...
Many volunteers have an embrogada (literally "employee") to do their laundry and/or to cook, clean, do general housework, etc. 99% of the time, this employee is a woman. It is suggested that we get an embrogada because we have many chores to be doing - and it's relatively inexpensive. And many volunteers have one for at least the laundry, as does my housemate. He pays 50 Met or $2.08, for the laundry to be done.
From the beginning, I haven't wanted an embrogada because I've wanted to be self-sufficient and I want to show others that I'm hard-working. Having learned that respect is not necessarily earned by doing your laundry yourself or by cooking (although it can help with some people), it seems that the point is moot. Respect will be earned in other ways.
I still would like to be self-sufficient as much as I can. If I start to feel like others are doing too much for me, then I feel lazy and like I am lording it over them. Plus, there's no satisfation like wearing clothes that I washed myself, with my own hands - the same goes for food.
There's a last point in all this, which is that I don't want to flaunt my financial status. Unfortunately, that aspect is inevitable and plain as the glasses on my face. So this only makes a small dent in that perspective.
From the other side of the debate, having an embrogada frees you up to do the real work as a volunteer, supports the local economy and cements your place in the community as someone to be respected (whether that correlates with having respect is not my place to say). So really, it's an open debate and very much a personal preference. For now, I'm still doing my own laundry. And it's fun!
On the topic of fitting in to the local culture, it occurred to me today (as it does on many days) the difference in average lifespan between myself and an average Mozambican. I can expect to live at least 70 years, while a Mozambican lifespan is about half of that number. I see people matriculating in school while in their 30s. I see 50 year old men (rarely) as wise, respected elders of their communities. The obituaries routinely feature very young-looking people. This is due to malnutrition, non-potable water, malaria and AIDS.
So how do I relate to a culture that, by American standards, should be constantly in fear, but isn't? They accept that their lives are more dangerous, but how do I accept that they should be worrying about AIDS vs malaria? And when I'm guaranteed to have a higher quality of life, because of money, it's very easy to talk about making certain sacrifices to ensure my health, but what happens when there are no certainties? Still, I don't have answers to these questions.
By the way, my pedagogical director and fellow Biology teacher has a very similar smile and demeanor to Denzel Washington! He is an amazingly gracious, yet confident man. He possesses an air of pride and nose-to-the-grindstone work ethic. He is, as Mr. Washington often portrays, the model of integrity.
He sent me off to do some busy work, which is all the school has for me right now, with a book and a pencil. Unfortunately, as he noticed very suddenly, the pencil was dull. Now, it's not like there are pencil sharpeners in every room, or for that matter, anywhere.
He took the pencil, and very deliberately searched through his desk drawer, not hurrying, but not dawdling either. Finding a small razor blade, he closed the desk drawer and, collecting the shavings on his lap, proceeded to silently shave off the wood on the pencil. Every stroke was measured but not in any way slow, and he moved with a wonderful rhythm that showed how occupied he was with doing correctly the task at hand. It was clear that he was going to do this job right, and the rest of the world could wait. This was not done in a spiteful manner, but in a very calm, collected way of saying "This matters."
He handed the pencil back to me, perfectly sharpened, with a big smile on his face as if to say "This is how Mozambicans do it". I never thought I'd be entranced by sharpening a pencil, but it's novelty is mainly due to the fact that much of the Western world is in such a rush - and for what? So an electric sharpenr gives you instant satisfaction - whatever happened to putting a concerted effort and pride into all of your work, no matter how small the task? Do we really have that much to do?
Maybe this is what truly bothers me about the embrogada, which is to say that many Americans just throw their laundry into a washer and press a button - so they see the embrogada as merely a substitute for this convenience. I believe I could pay one if I saw that SHE took pride in the laundry as if it were her own, and I were giving her the opportunity to do the job the right way. Maybe I'll watch her next time.
And maybe, through her, I'll feel less isolated.
Let there be peace in North Korea, Iraq and the rest of the world. Please.
Peace
John
1/06/2003
I went to school for the first time today, working. I ended up organizing all of the 9th graders into turmas (classes) of 50 students, first by age, then by alphabetical order by first name. I dictated each name in order, to another Biology teacher, and she and I proceeded to then reorder each group. All 382 students. It was busy work, but necessary, and helped me with my pronunciation.
After the five hours this took, I proceeded to gorge myself at home.
So there are 4 Biology teachers for 8th, 9th and 10th grades. One of them is essentially the vice principal, who won't teach as many classes as the rest of us. Every student takes every subject herre, so there are approximately 1200 students taking Bio, meaning I'm responsible for at least 300 of them.
I remember in high school, there were 350 TOTAL students (in the school). You only took Bio for two of the four years, and there were at least a couple Bio teachers. It's as if there were only one teacher, and all the students had to take Bio every year and there were no "honors" or "AP" classes - just separated by age.
Now that things are starting to have a realistic perspective, I'm beginning to see why teaching here is difficult aside from the lack of teaching experience or language barrier.
Speaking of language, everyone at school is being patient with me, especially the English teachers, because they know that language takes a while.
I'm convinced every day that I need to relearn French sometime soon (and there is a French teacher at school) because it slips into my Portuguese every once in a while, and it will really help me separate the two languages in my head and hear romance languages better. I'm already speaking in very "Latin" English, meaning that I'll use Latin-based synonyms of male (???) grammar choices that are understandable to English speakers, but awkward.
I'm still trying to get used to the pace of life, though I intellectually know what to expect. I waited an hour this morning at school, but I knew that was going to happen, so I brought a book to study. Still, I get frustrated rather easily (or easier than I'd like) and I had a pretty short fuse today with some of the guys who regularly come over. Granted, they were pretty hyper, but it was an "alone" day. I just needed some time to myself which is not easy to find around here...just yet.
I'm looking forward to lesson planning. Why this is, I'm not sure, but it has something to do with doing the job I have been trained to do. Similarly, I'd like to get the theater group and the Ultimate (Frisbee) league going soon - as those are going to be just as rewarding, or so I hope.
I still miss people a ton, but that's starting to slip away little by little. I think it varies every day, and depends on how close I feel with people here and how long it's been since I communicated with people back home. What makes things feel better is knowing I've already made it over 4 months. It still seems like yesterday that I left, but that day's getting very long and tiring. I think that once big changes start happening, the time will start to feel like weeks and months. But my life has done a 180 degree turn, while others are steering pretty much the same course. As concerned as I am about them changing while I'm gone, I guess I should be worried about changing so much myself.
Peace
John
After the five hours this took, I proceeded to gorge myself at home.
So there are 4 Biology teachers for 8th, 9th and 10th grades. One of them is essentially the vice principal, who won't teach as many classes as the rest of us. Every student takes every subject herre, so there are approximately 1200 students taking Bio, meaning I'm responsible for at least 300 of them.
I remember in high school, there were 350 TOTAL students (in the school). You only took Bio for two of the four years, and there were at least a couple Bio teachers. It's as if there were only one teacher, and all the students had to take Bio every year and there were no "honors" or "AP" classes - just separated by age.
Now that things are starting to have a realistic perspective, I'm beginning to see why teaching here is difficult aside from the lack of teaching experience or language barrier.
Speaking of language, everyone at school is being patient with me, especially the English teachers, because they know that language takes a while.
I'm convinced every day that I need to relearn French sometime soon (and there is a French teacher at school) because it slips into my Portuguese every once in a while, and it will really help me separate the two languages in my head and hear romance languages better. I'm already speaking in very "Latin" English, meaning that I'll use Latin-based synonyms of male (???) grammar choices that are understandable to English speakers, but awkward.
I'm still trying to get used to the pace of life, though I intellectually know what to expect. I waited an hour this morning at school, but I knew that was going to happen, so I brought a book to study. Still, I get frustrated rather easily (or easier than I'd like) and I had a pretty short fuse today with some of the guys who regularly come over. Granted, they were pretty hyper, but it was an "alone" day. I just needed some time to myself which is not easy to find around here...just yet.
I'm looking forward to lesson planning. Why this is, I'm not sure, but it has something to do with doing the job I have been trained to do. Similarly, I'd like to get the theater group and the Ultimate (Frisbee) league going soon - as those are going to be just as rewarding, or so I hope.
I still miss people a ton, but that's starting to slip away little by little. I think it varies every day, and depends on how close I feel with people here and how long it's been since I communicated with people back home. What makes things feel better is knowing I've already made it over 4 months. It still seems like yesterday that I left, but that day's getting very long and tiring. I think that once big changes start happening, the time will start to feel like weeks and months. But my life has done a 180 degree turn, while others are steering pretty much the same course. As concerned as I am about them changing while I'm gone, I guess I should be worried about changing so much myself.
Peace
John
1/05/2003
Tomorrow I start school, kind of. Not really. Basically, I get to meet the other teachers and get my assignment for the next couple weeks. I'm planning on asking to teach 9th grade (only) and see if I can do or help out with the scheduling.
I haven't had a deep thought in a while, which is fairl worrisome. Maybe it's just that I'm occupied with settling in to a new community and getting used to doing a lot less than what I'm used to. I hope that changes, because I can feel the lazy creeping up on me.
Peace
John
I haven't had a deep thought in a while, which is fairl worrisome. Maybe it's just that I'm occupied with settling in to a new community and getting used to doing a lot less than what I'm used to. I hope that changes, because I can feel the lazy creeping up on me.
Peace
John
1/04/2003
Jesse and Zach came by to visit and buy bicycles today. I had a good time showing them around my new home and comparing our sites. They live in the same house together without water or electricity and they have a 5K walk/ride to civilization where they can do food shopping. They moved into a completely unfurnished house and have not had very much to do at all except watch the same people pass by all day, every day.
Even though we're only a couple of hours away, it's a different world there. The floods never hit their town, and they are pretty much on their own learning the area and neighborhood. Houses all look the same, all built at the same time for the flood relief.
We made a good spaghetti dinner tonight with a side of seasoned fries. This morning, I had two delicious omelettes. I love cooking for myself AND others! And when we make a meal all together, it's even more fun to see how all the different tastes come together.
Peace
John
Even though we're only a couple of hours away, it's a different world there. The floods never hit their town, and they are pretty much on their own learning the area and neighborhood. Houses all look the same, all built at the same time for the flood relief.
We made a good spaghetti dinner tonight with a side of seasoned fries. This morning, I had two delicious omelettes. I love cooking for myself AND others! And when we make a meal all together, it's even more fun to see how all the different tastes come together.
Peace
John
Tuesday, February 04, 2003
1/03/2003
I made french toast again this morning. It was sickeningly sweet, mainly because the last time I made it, I didn't have vanilla or milk. Well, the milk was sweetened and I got vanilla AND I was generous with the sugar. Yikes. Good, but a little too doce.
I wrote myself a note to talk about the mail service. It's tempting to leave it at two words -
IT'S SLOW
but that isn't very descriptive. It's slower than honey in Siberia. But like everything else here, there's a good reason for that.
First of all, very few people have a way to receive mail here. There are a couple hundred PO boxes for most of C--- and no hand delivery, if that gives you any idea. My host father in B--- got mail through the agricultural school, which has a PO Box. Blake and I have a PO box. Does that make me feel like I'm living at the level of the community? But, rather, is it necessary? Yes, it is, but still seems like overkill...
Secondly, when you define the people who matter to you as your family and your neighbors, there's not a big reason to get or send mail other than to get junk mail, items you bought from catalogues, and bills. Thus...
There's very little infrastructure to support a fast system without making sending or receiving items outrageously expensive. So things arrive in their own time - quite literally, in fact. It's not strange at all to receive mail from mid-November and mid-December at the same time in February when you just got mail from January a week ago!
Which is OK because it's kind of like Christmas come mail time. You have NO idea what you're going to get. Or, for that matter, a box of chocolates :)
I can't wait for Monday when I'll have some idea of what to expect in terms of work for the next two years. My plate's already full, starting an Ultimate Frisbee league and joining an established AIDS education theater group, but I can't do very much with any of them just yet. So it's hurry up and wait mode until Monday, when it might be more of the same.
And may I emphasize my daily closing,
PEACE
John
I wrote myself a note to talk about the mail service. It's tempting to leave it at two words -
IT'S SLOW
but that isn't very descriptive. It's slower than honey in Siberia. But like everything else here, there's a good reason for that.
First of all, very few people have a way to receive mail here. There are a couple hundred PO boxes for most of C--- and no hand delivery, if that gives you any idea. My host father in B--- got mail through the agricultural school, which has a PO Box. Blake and I have a PO box. Does that make me feel like I'm living at the level of the community? But, rather, is it necessary? Yes, it is, but still seems like overkill...
Secondly, when you define the people who matter to you as your family and your neighbors, there's not a big reason to get or send mail other than to get junk mail, items you bought from catalogues, and bills. Thus...
There's very little infrastructure to support a fast system without making sending or receiving items outrageously expensive. So things arrive in their own time - quite literally, in fact. It's not strange at all to receive mail from mid-November and mid-December at the same time in February when you just got mail from January a week ago!
Which is OK because it's kind of like Christmas come mail time. You have NO idea what you're going to get. Or, for that matter, a box of chocolates :)
I can't wait for Monday when I'll have some idea of what to expect in terms of work for the next two years. My plate's already full, starting an Ultimate Frisbee league and joining an established AIDS education theater group, but I can't do very much with any of them just yet. So it's hurry up and wait mode until Monday, when it might be more of the same.
And may I emphasize my daily closing,
PEACE
John
1/02/2003
The Bread Store (A Padaria)
The bakery in C--- that we go to has the best bread in Mozambique, hands down. And Tober and Blake have both tried many different breads from many different cities. I consider myself a bread connoisseur of a sort, and without a doubt, the bread here is fantastic.
It's baked fresh every day in loaves about 7" long and with a diameter of about 5". They cost 1 Met (1,000 meticals or 4 cents) each, and have a delicious sprinking of salt on the outside, which you really begin to appreciate when you stop eating processed foods of any sort.
At almost any time of day, there are a dozen or so people in the store at the counter. There's no standing poles to form any sort of line - just a 15' long counter behind which sits the fresh bread on shelves and the white-clad employee(s). The bakery was recently remodeled, so it has a very nice tile floor and understated walls, pretty unusual for this area. It stands out due to its quality of looking modern, but also because you can smell it a kilometer away and it smells FANTASTIC.
As there's no line, and forming lines is something of a novelty in this part of the world, you hold your money in your (right) hand across the counter while holding your bag in your left hand and wait for the bread man to choose you. Most of the time, this doesn't take too long, but it still feels special when he chooses you and you say "Ten". I still haven't figured out how he decides who's next, but I've noticed that children have a hard time getting noticed.
In any case, today it was absolutely packed. Yesterday, everything was closed including the padaria, so people were rushing to restock their bread supply. There were children and adults pushing every so often for a spot closer to the bread guy, especially when someone stepped away from the counter. This, compounded by the lack of personal space that we have neuroses about in the States, could have very easily stressed me out.
But I say, when in Rome, do like the Romans. I forget who actually said that, but you know what I mean. So I reached over the children's heads and flashed my 10 Met bill, which after a few minutes transformed into the other kind of bread - but not until after a considerable amount of wiggling and squeezing.
It tasted better than ever today.
One of my goals with this journal and one of my goals for a long time now, is to catch up with my spiritual/philosophical thought process enough to actually spell it out and figure out more exactly how I view the world. This may or may not be good reading, but it's something I need to do.
I find myself always thinking about the world in very general terms and trying to relate specific incidents to a bigger picture, a grand philosophy that binds all of the things I innately find to be true, together. Of course, this search begins with finding what seems to be innately true, and broadening the scope of the value I seem to hold, to see if it's what I think it is. Make sense?
For instance, if I'm of the mindset that all people are born good (and what is good?), then how do I explain bad people? Can I use their upbringing as an excuse, or am I looking at "good" in the wrong way. Maybe the quality of "good" is self-defined, so what others see as "bad" is still "good"? Then, extending this to people who are "bad" AND think that they are "bad" - can their fall from grace be attributed to something that happened, or is it just who they are? This is a quandary I often find myself in.
More applicable, though, I know a lot of people who were abused as children, or similarly went through abusive relationships or traumas. They approach their current relationships in strikingly similar ways, and have very predictable thoughts regarding their ability to be physically or emotionally intimate with their partner. And getting past this always involves making peace with their past, which they have no control over.
Now, this is all a very American concept - what we consider to be emotional and physical abuse. Many other cultures have wildly different expectations for relationships - which isn't to say that American relationships are the most civil. We are still a pretty uptight country, and don't have a very high tolerance for what we consider to be abuse. Because of this, people victimize themselves in situations where they aren't emotionally scarred, but in thinking that they truly ARE a victim, they evoke in themselves the same response as a truly traumatized person has. (I'm sure there are studies and names for these concepts, and far more in-depth and accurate information. But it's MY world view and I'll call it what I want :) !)
So, whereas before I thought that an abused person had certain symptoms that manifested themselves in current relationships, now I see that it's victims, whether self-inflicted or not, who have a predictable response.
And now, what about the people who are abused, but not victims? That is, they have been abused, but do not acknowledge it, or refuse to be considered a victim? Do they exhibit the same behavior?
So, once I figure all that out, I have in my mind a good idea of what abuse does to a person AND what internalizing real or perceived abuse does to a person.
In my thinking, I try to then relate it to human behavior as a whole. When a person is abused, what happens to their self-image? How are they changed on a very basic level that can account for their behavioral changes? My thinking almost inevitably comes down to an evolutionary viewpoint, which is very important in how I see the world. In this case, has abuse always existed and, if so, why is this behavior optimal for passing along good genes? If not, when did abuse start in human history and why did it start then?
I answer these types of questions all the time, trying to get a better grasp on the world. Being in Mozambique has allowed me a very different perspective to try and determine what is and is not universal human behavior.
OK, I'm tired, but I'll try to bring this train of thought back into the here and now of "Holy shit, that's some weird stuff you're seeing and doing in Mozambique, John". Tomorrow.
Peace
John
The bakery in C--- that we go to has the best bread in Mozambique, hands down. And Tober and Blake have both tried many different breads from many different cities. I consider myself a bread connoisseur of a sort, and without a doubt, the bread here is fantastic.
It's baked fresh every day in loaves about 7" long and with a diameter of about 5". They cost 1 Met (1,000 meticals or 4 cents) each, and have a delicious sprinking of salt on the outside, which you really begin to appreciate when you stop eating processed foods of any sort.
At almost any time of day, there are a dozen or so people in the store at the counter. There's no standing poles to form any sort of line - just a 15' long counter behind which sits the fresh bread on shelves and the white-clad employee(s). The bakery was recently remodeled, so it has a very nice tile floor and understated walls, pretty unusual for this area. It stands out due to its quality of looking modern, but also because you can smell it a kilometer away and it smells FANTASTIC.
As there's no line, and forming lines is something of a novelty in this part of the world, you hold your money in your (right) hand across the counter while holding your bag in your left hand and wait for the bread man to choose you. Most of the time, this doesn't take too long, but it still feels special when he chooses you and you say "Ten". I still haven't figured out how he decides who's next, but I've noticed that children have a hard time getting noticed.
In any case, today it was absolutely packed. Yesterday, everything was closed including the padaria, so people were rushing to restock their bread supply. There were children and adults pushing every so often for a spot closer to the bread guy, especially when someone stepped away from the counter. This, compounded by the lack of personal space that we have neuroses about in the States, could have very easily stressed me out.
But I say, when in Rome, do like the Romans. I forget who actually said that, but you know what I mean. So I reached over the children's heads and flashed my 10 Met bill, which after a few minutes transformed into the other kind of bread - but not until after a considerable amount of wiggling and squeezing.
It tasted better than ever today.
One of my goals with this journal and one of my goals for a long time now, is to catch up with my spiritual/philosophical thought process enough to actually spell it out and figure out more exactly how I view the world. This may or may not be good reading, but it's something I need to do.
I find myself always thinking about the world in very general terms and trying to relate specific incidents to a bigger picture, a grand philosophy that binds all of the things I innately find to be true, together. Of course, this search begins with finding what seems to be innately true, and broadening the scope of the value I seem to hold, to see if it's what I think it is. Make sense?
For instance, if I'm of the mindset that all people are born good (and what is good?), then how do I explain bad people? Can I use their upbringing as an excuse, or am I looking at "good" in the wrong way. Maybe the quality of "good" is self-defined, so what others see as "bad" is still "good"? Then, extending this to people who are "bad" AND think that they are "bad" - can their fall from grace be attributed to something that happened, or is it just who they are? This is a quandary I often find myself in.
More applicable, though, I know a lot of people who were abused as children, or similarly went through abusive relationships or traumas. They approach their current relationships in strikingly similar ways, and have very predictable thoughts regarding their ability to be physically or emotionally intimate with their partner. And getting past this always involves making peace with their past, which they have no control over.
Now, this is all a very American concept - what we consider to be emotional and physical abuse. Many other cultures have wildly different expectations for relationships - which isn't to say that American relationships are the most civil. We are still a pretty uptight country, and don't have a very high tolerance for what we consider to be abuse. Because of this, people victimize themselves in situations where they aren't emotionally scarred, but in thinking that they truly ARE a victim, they evoke in themselves the same response as a truly traumatized person has. (I'm sure there are studies and names for these concepts, and far more in-depth and accurate information. But it's MY world view and I'll call it what I want :) !)
So, whereas before I thought that an abused person had certain symptoms that manifested themselves in current relationships, now I see that it's victims, whether self-inflicted or not, who have a predictable response.
And now, what about the people who are abused, but not victims? That is, they have been abused, but do not acknowledge it, or refuse to be considered a victim? Do they exhibit the same behavior?
So, once I figure all that out, I have in my mind a good idea of what abuse does to a person AND what internalizing real or perceived abuse does to a person.
In my thinking, I try to then relate it to human behavior as a whole. When a person is abused, what happens to their self-image? How are they changed on a very basic level that can account for their behavioral changes? My thinking almost inevitably comes down to an evolutionary viewpoint, which is very important in how I see the world. In this case, has abuse always existed and, if so, why is this behavior optimal for passing along good genes? If not, when did abuse start in human history and why did it start then?
I answer these types of questions all the time, trying to get a better grasp on the world. Being in Mozambique has allowed me a very different perspective to try and determine what is and is not universal human behavior.
OK, I'm tired, but I'll try to bring this train of thought back into the here and now of "Holy shit, that's some weird stuff you're seeing and doing in Mozambique, John". Tomorrow.
Peace
John
Sunday, February 02, 2003
1/01/2003
Next year, I go home.
Still sounds like a long time, but I know it will fly by. And I still know I want to be here. 'Cause this is cooler than anything my friends back home are doing (thanks, Dennis).
Last night was pretty crazy. There were fireworks going off everywhere and nowhere at the same time. People were dancing and singing, drinking and setting off explosives. Pretty standard for a new year, but I holed myself up just the same, waiting for D. He never showed because it was just too dangerous last night. So I listened to the radio do the countdown and hear everyone cheer all around my house. It was eerie because I couldn't see anyone, but they were yelling from their houses, other streets, etc. I watched an improvised fireworks demo coming from the neighbor's lawn, then got some much needed rest.
I've started my own workout regimen, doing isometric pyramids of a sort. I start off doing 30 pushups, crunches, tricep pushups and lifts, rest for a bit, then do 25 of each, 20, etc., until I do 5. When I find somewhere to do pullups, I'll work my way up to doing halfsies (30 pushups = 15 pullups). Anyway, this gets me mighty tired, being only the third day. But it wakes me up in the morning and justifies taking an ice-cold bucket bath.
Going back to the whole fireworks thing...
I was reminded about last July 4th (US Independence Day) when a bunch of us climbed up on top of a campus building which is situated on the top of a large Cleveland hill. From there, we could see all the fireworks shows from about a 10-mile radius. It was really gorgeous, because you could just see random sprouting of exploding colors. You could choose to watch one show or just look for the highlights of the best show going on. Every once in a while, you'd hear a closer explosive, but it was on the whole quite peaceful. Everyone on the roof (with the exception of about half an hour) was quite and enjoying the night.
Why am I reminded of this? Because it was the complete opposite of last night. I couldn't see anything going on, but I was in the middle of everything all the noise being made. And I felt very lonely and sentimental, flipping through my pictures. Then I thought about the fact that people in the States were just preparing to celebrate the new year, being 7 hours behind. This, more than the void of communication, more than knowing that my life is changing and my friends' lives are changing, made me feel a long way away. Even at the same moment, I can't assume that we might be having the same or similar experiences/feelings.
Soon enough, I'll be knee-deep in lesson planning, AIDS education and community work. But it seems like it can't happen soon enough.
I have a pretty big list of things I keep meaning to talk about in the journal. One of these is the dexterity of women being ablt to carry things on top of their heads, the strength to pound peanuts and other things for quite a while, and then relaxing by breast-feeding while walking to the market.
Well, not quite, but pretty close.
It's pretty incredible to watch the women (and some children and men) carry large things on their heads. Things such as 12' long bundles of wood, multiple rice sacks, etc. Very large things that could never be carried in the arms of one person.
The beauty of this method is that it redistributes the weight of the item to the strongest muscles in your body - your neck and legs. The back is used in its natural position, and carries very little of the weight. I've even seen a woman carry a backpack on her head, in full knowledge of the "proper" manner, but knowing it was easier on her head.
The big hangup for people, what is most amazing, is the balance. Once you see the technique from its early stages, though, it's less amazing as it is elegant.
A cloth is usually used on top of the head to act as a cushion and shim. If the item is heavy, which it often is, one or two other people grab the item and lift it on to the head of the crouching woman. She then redistributes the weight with her hands to the perfect position, then slowly sets out at a good pace. She takes very flat steps, letting her hips do the work that our knees usually do. Likewise, her neck moves back and forth to account for the changes in momentum from her hip movements, which are slight. Back-to-front momentum is all but eliminated and there is almost no need to compensate with the neck. When carrying water, often an arm will be tucked under the back because of the shifting center of gravity. Girls start out pretty young carrying smaller items, and by the time they have their own family, it's second nature.
It's elegant because there's no tension in the movements - there's a oneness with the ground and the object being carried, giving the illusion that the human in between is a fluid medium in between the two.
On the opposite end of elegance, but still well within its realm, is the process of "pilar"ing, or pounding food to a fine grain. A large wooden drum and a rounded, heavy stick is used. Sometimes, two women or a woman and child will team up, each with a large....log. The will pound in a similar strain as lumberjacks with an axe, for a minute at a time. They achieve a rhythm that is simultaneously eerie and captivating. The elegance is in how strong these women are - all the while remaining proud of their work without thinking it exceptional.
And in case there was any doubt as to their necessity in the house besides cooking, lugging groceries, being a human food processor, greeting guests and selling things at market - they sit down to chat and a baby comes out of nowhere (often tied in back with a capulana) reaching for its breakfast, aka the breast. Boobs come flying out anywhere, anytime at the child's discretion. And this is downtime for the woman...and in its own way, elegant.
I think I figured out why we stud our native tongue, English. Here it's necessary to know two languages or more to be successful in business or to hold down almost any job. People don't ever study their native tongue formally, but they do study their second language (or, more specifically, their European language) very formally to learn it, but usually not like we study English.
Yet our language abilities are as rich as those of people here. We delve so much more deeply into English and create new English so rapidly and regionally, that in many ways we speak several forms of English. We don't have a native tongue like Africans do, so when we wish to be intimate or personal with someone, we speak in our own dialect and we laugh at those who don't...even though it's still English.
Not that I'm any genius for discovering why we study English, but I often wonder why we have to. It's just that the language we speak is so dense and in other cultures could easily be represented by different languages.
Why Mozambicans don't study their native tongue is a political matter that I can't stray into, but suffice it to say that wars have been fought over language.
One of the great things about introducing a new language to a culture is how they mold the language to fit their culture. Unfortunately, I'm no expert in Portuguese, but I'm intrigued by one word in particular - passear. It means to walk by or stroll, but is used in a way that cannot be translated by one English word. So among the volunteers, we call what we do "passear-ing" - taking a walk with no purpose other than to stop and talk to people and do whatever comes up.
Now, I have no idea if this sort of thing is practiced in other Portuguese-speaking countries, but I know that in the US, it's much less commonly practiced. We often take walks, but rarely just take walks to stop and talk with people. Usually, we want to do some thinking or just get away. The passear is an intentional socialization, not meant to get away, but meant to seek others out as it may happen.
It's a wonderful thing to do, to passear, and it can really bring communities closer. I suggest you try it.
Both my parents called today, which was somewhat --- normal. We had regular patterns of conversation and it felt like I was in college again. A very strange college with an intense Portuguese curriculum and practical self-sufficiency, along with professors that show up at whatever time, whenever they feel like it.
It was mentioned how my writing has improved to the point of being enjoyable in its own right. Of course, this raises expectations for my writing (for myself), so I'll state right here and now that it will sometimes downright suck, out of necessity. Because if I don't have poor writing days, then you won't be able to tell which are the good ones.
Some writers strive just to change their style to keep the reader alert. No, I appeal to a much lower standard. I vary the amount my writing is intolerably incomprehensible. So in case you get wrapped up in something that seems genius and too heady, take a step backwards and realize that there is in fact verbal diarrhea spewing from my pen and it should be absorbed only for the sake of being relieved to find truly tolerable text in the following day's entry.
In all seriousness, this is still just a journal and I still struggle with adequately relaying my emotions and experiences. It can only improve through practice and feedback, so feel free to ask what may seem like dumb questions (for instance, "Where do you usually buy food?) because in my situation, there really is no such thing as a dumb question. In school in the States, there are most definitely dumb questions, and I could usually be counted on to bring several of them up. So feel free.
And may this year be peaceful.
Please.
Peace
John
Still sounds like a long time, but I know it will fly by. And I still know I want to be here. 'Cause this is cooler than anything my friends back home are doing (thanks, Dennis).
Last night was pretty crazy. There were fireworks going off everywhere and nowhere at the same time. People were dancing and singing, drinking and setting off explosives. Pretty standard for a new year, but I holed myself up just the same, waiting for D. He never showed because it was just too dangerous last night. So I listened to the radio do the countdown and hear everyone cheer all around my house. It was eerie because I couldn't see anyone, but they were yelling from their houses, other streets, etc. I watched an improvised fireworks demo coming from the neighbor's lawn, then got some much needed rest.
I've started my own workout regimen, doing isometric pyramids of a sort. I start off doing 30 pushups, crunches, tricep pushups and lifts, rest for a bit, then do 25 of each, 20, etc., until I do 5. When I find somewhere to do pullups, I'll work my way up to doing halfsies (30 pushups = 15 pullups). Anyway, this gets me mighty tired, being only the third day. But it wakes me up in the morning and justifies taking an ice-cold bucket bath.
Going back to the whole fireworks thing...
I was reminded about last July 4th (US Independence Day) when a bunch of us climbed up on top of a campus building which is situated on the top of a large Cleveland hill. From there, we could see all the fireworks shows from about a 10-mile radius. It was really gorgeous, because you could just see random sprouting of exploding colors. You could choose to watch one show or just look for the highlights of the best show going on. Every once in a while, you'd hear a closer explosive, but it was on the whole quite peaceful. Everyone on the roof (with the exception of about half an hour) was quite and enjoying the night.
Why am I reminded of this? Because it was the complete opposite of last night. I couldn't see anything going on, but I was in the middle of everything all the noise being made. And I felt very lonely and sentimental, flipping through my pictures. Then I thought about the fact that people in the States were just preparing to celebrate the new year, being 7 hours behind. This, more than the void of communication, more than knowing that my life is changing and my friends' lives are changing, made me feel a long way away. Even at the same moment, I can't assume that we might be having the same or similar experiences/feelings.
Soon enough, I'll be knee-deep in lesson planning, AIDS education and community work. But it seems like it can't happen soon enough.
I have a pretty big list of things I keep meaning to talk about in the journal. One of these is the dexterity of women being ablt to carry things on top of their heads, the strength to pound peanuts and other things for quite a while, and then relaxing by breast-feeding while walking to the market.
Well, not quite, but pretty close.
It's pretty incredible to watch the women (and some children and men) carry large things on their heads. Things such as 12' long bundles of wood, multiple rice sacks, etc. Very large things that could never be carried in the arms of one person.
The beauty of this method is that it redistributes the weight of the item to the strongest muscles in your body - your neck and legs. The back is used in its natural position, and carries very little of the weight. I've even seen a woman carry a backpack on her head, in full knowledge of the "proper" manner, but knowing it was easier on her head.
The big hangup for people, what is most amazing, is the balance. Once you see the technique from its early stages, though, it's less amazing as it is elegant.
A cloth is usually used on top of the head to act as a cushion and shim. If the item is heavy, which it often is, one or two other people grab the item and lift it on to the head of the crouching woman. She then redistributes the weight with her hands to the perfect position, then slowly sets out at a good pace. She takes very flat steps, letting her hips do the work that our knees usually do. Likewise, her neck moves back and forth to account for the changes in momentum from her hip movements, which are slight. Back-to-front momentum is all but eliminated and there is almost no need to compensate with the neck. When carrying water, often an arm will be tucked under the back because of the shifting center of gravity. Girls start out pretty young carrying smaller items, and by the time they have their own family, it's second nature.
It's elegant because there's no tension in the movements - there's a oneness with the ground and the object being carried, giving the illusion that the human in between is a fluid medium in between the two.
On the opposite end of elegance, but still well within its realm, is the process of "pilar"ing, or pounding food to a fine grain. A large wooden drum and a rounded, heavy stick is used. Sometimes, two women or a woman and child will team up, each with a large....log. The will pound in a similar strain as lumberjacks with an axe, for a minute at a time. They achieve a rhythm that is simultaneously eerie and captivating. The elegance is in how strong these women are - all the while remaining proud of their work without thinking it exceptional.
And in case there was any doubt as to their necessity in the house besides cooking, lugging groceries, being a human food processor, greeting guests and selling things at market - they sit down to chat and a baby comes out of nowhere (often tied in back with a capulana) reaching for its breakfast, aka the breast. Boobs come flying out anywhere, anytime at the child's discretion. And this is downtime for the woman...and in its own way, elegant.
I think I figured out why we stud our native tongue, English. Here it's necessary to know two languages or more to be successful in business or to hold down almost any job. People don't ever study their native tongue formally, but they do study their second language (or, more specifically, their European language) very formally to learn it, but usually not like we study English.
Yet our language abilities are as rich as those of people here. We delve so much more deeply into English and create new English so rapidly and regionally, that in many ways we speak several forms of English. We don't have a native tongue like Africans do, so when we wish to be intimate or personal with someone, we speak in our own dialect and we laugh at those who don't...even though it's still English.
Not that I'm any genius for discovering why we study English, but I often wonder why we have to. It's just that the language we speak is so dense and in other cultures could easily be represented by different languages.
Why Mozambicans don't study their native tongue is a political matter that I can't stray into, but suffice it to say that wars have been fought over language.
One of the great things about introducing a new language to a culture is how they mold the language to fit their culture. Unfortunately, I'm no expert in Portuguese, but I'm intrigued by one word in particular - passear. It means to walk by or stroll, but is used in a way that cannot be translated by one English word. So among the volunteers, we call what we do "passear-ing" - taking a walk with no purpose other than to stop and talk to people and do whatever comes up.
Now, I have no idea if this sort of thing is practiced in other Portuguese-speaking countries, but I know that in the US, it's much less commonly practiced. We often take walks, but rarely just take walks to stop and talk with people. Usually, we want to do some thinking or just get away. The passear is an intentional socialization, not meant to get away, but meant to seek others out as it may happen.
It's a wonderful thing to do, to passear, and it can really bring communities closer. I suggest you try it.
Both my parents called today, which was somewhat --- normal. We had regular patterns of conversation and it felt like I was in college again. A very strange college with an intense Portuguese curriculum and practical self-sufficiency, along with professors that show up at whatever time, whenever they feel like it.
It was mentioned how my writing has improved to the point of being enjoyable in its own right. Of course, this raises expectations for my writing (for myself), so I'll state right here and now that it will sometimes downright suck, out of necessity. Because if I don't have poor writing days, then you won't be able to tell which are the good ones.
Some writers strive just to change their style to keep the reader alert. No, I appeal to a much lower standard. I vary the amount my writing is intolerably incomprehensible. So in case you get wrapped up in something that seems genius and too heady, take a step backwards and realize that there is in fact verbal diarrhea spewing from my pen and it should be absorbed only for the sake of being relieved to find truly tolerable text in the following day's entry.
In all seriousness, this is still just a journal and I still struggle with adequately relaying my emotions and experiences. It can only improve through practice and feedback, so feel free to ask what may seem like dumb questions (for instance, "Where do you usually buy food?) because in my situation, there really is no such thing as a dumb question. In school in the States, there are most definitely dumb questions, and I could usually be counted on to bring several of them up. So feel free.
And may this year be peaceful.
Please.
Peace
John
12/31/2002
I just finished "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" with 2 hours of 2002 left to go. My head is spinning because I read so much of it in the last three hours. I identify with much of it, but it all seemed so self-indulgent of Pirsig. I know he sought to improve himself first, but he had been focused on that for so long - man, at least use your powers of insanity for good :)
People in the States often see pictures, read words about the conditions here in the 3rd world. They feel helpless.
Well, I'm here and I often feel helpless. Diamantino has malaria, which many (if not most) people here have, but when malaria decides to wake up and get its host sick, that's when problems start. So D's absence these past few days have been because of this.
It wasn't that I was floored when he said he was sick -- it's pretty natural to assume that if someone doesn't adhere to any semblance of routine, malaria is to blame.
But I feel handcuffed. I take my Lariam once per week, and I don't get sick. By the end of my service, I'll most likely have contracted malaria without having gotten sick and I will receive a regimen of drugs to flush it from my system.
For people here, they have to buy chloroquine treatments (to which some strains of malaria here are resistant) or go to a few clinics that hand them out for free (I believe; but that's just the impression I've gotten from some people). Truth be told, switching this treatment to Lariam (mephloquine) wouldn't be an improvement. Eventually, malaria would be resistent to meph. Essentially, several different treatments need to be simultaneously used that don't selectively pressure one strain or another - formation of new malarial lines is inevitable, but can be handled more easily than total immunity to one treatment.
Economically, this isn't feasible right now. Until the other drugs come down in price, people can't afford them. And I can't afford to "lend" people my medication. Not in any way whatsoever. But here I sit, malaria-free, while others around me suffer. And I'm supposed to educate them about AIDS? I'm supposed to tell them what a horrible disease it is and how they need to avoid one of their remaining pleasures in life - unprotected sex - so that they can avoid the risk of contracting a virus that somewhere down the line, could kill them? When being bitten by a mosquito could do the same thing?
Yeah, it's easy for a Westerner, backed by millions of dollars of health care to come into Moz and preach caution about contracting AIDS.
This is not to say that HIV/AIDS is not a tremendous and horrible problem. This is not to say there aren't millions of people who also think it's a devastating virus that could change their lives forever.
But we can prevent malaria through drug treatments primarily and very secondarily through behavior (you have to be ridiculously paranoid to protect yourself adequately). HIV/AIDS is prevented primarily through behavior and very secondarily through drug therapy.
Both education and drugs can be provided, but does education begging different behavior necessarily exact this change? If I had $30,000 to spend, would I spend it on educating against HIV/AIDS contraction, or on drug cocktails to combat malaria?
There are no easy answers to these questions, but it seems clear that one of my major roadblocks (and that of many before me) will be that people want to live as normal a life that they can muster, and encroaching on their sex life only reminds them more comprehensively how imperiled their lives are.
Groups here have seen the failures of scare tactics in HIV/AIDS education and have started voicing new messages of ensuring your future by using a condom. These groups have people envisioning their longterm goals and then visualizing the path to get there - which includes an HIV-free life.
Compounding even this solution is a lack of longterm goals on the part of many Mozambicans who have become accustomed to trying to figure out where dinner will come from (while I decide what dinner will be...) Additionally, AIDS victims are kept out of the communities' views so this heightens the fear that many Westerners have of the disease.
My #1 goal this upcoming year is to really touch people and get them to realize for themselves the problem of HIV/AIDS.
Peace
John
People in the States often see pictures, read words about the conditions here in the 3rd world. They feel helpless.
Well, I'm here and I often feel helpless. Diamantino has malaria, which many (if not most) people here have, but when malaria decides to wake up and get its host sick, that's when problems start. So D's absence these past few days have been because of this.
It wasn't that I was floored when he said he was sick -- it's pretty natural to assume that if someone doesn't adhere to any semblance of routine, malaria is to blame.
But I feel handcuffed. I take my Lariam once per week, and I don't get sick. By the end of my service, I'll most likely have contracted malaria without having gotten sick and I will receive a regimen of drugs to flush it from my system.
For people here, they have to buy chloroquine treatments (to which some strains of malaria here are resistant) or go to a few clinics that hand them out for free (I believe; but that's just the impression I've gotten from some people). Truth be told, switching this treatment to Lariam (mephloquine) wouldn't be an improvement. Eventually, malaria would be resistent to meph. Essentially, several different treatments need to be simultaneously used that don't selectively pressure one strain or another - formation of new malarial lines is inevitable, but can be handled more easily than total immunity to one treatment.
Economically, this isn't feasible right now. Until the other drugs come down in price, people can't afford them. And I can't afford to "lend" people my medication. Not in any way whatsoever. But here I sit, malaria-free, while others around me suffer. And I'm supposed to educate them about AIDS? I'm supposed to tell them what a horrible disease it is and how they need to avoid one of their remaining pleasures in life - unprotected sex - so that they can avoid the risk of contracting a virus that somewhere down the line, could kill them? When being bitten by a mosquito could do the same thing?
Yeah, it's easy for a Westerner, backed by millions of dollars of health care to come into Moz and preach caution about contracting AIDS.
This is not to say that HIV/AIDS is not a tremendous and horrible problem. This is not to say there aren't millions of people who also think it's a devastating virus that could change their lives forever.
But we can prevent malaria through drug treatments primarily and very secondarily through behavior (you have to be ridiculously paranoid to protect yourself adequately). HIV/AIDS is prevented primarily through behavior and very secondarily through drug therapy.
Both education and drugs can be provided, but does education begging different behavior necessarily exact this change? If I had $30,000 to spend, would I spend it on educating against HIV/AIDS contraction, or on drug cocktails to combat malaria?
There are no easy answers to these questions, but it seems clear that one of my major roadblocks (and that of many before me) will be that people want to live as normal a life that they can muster, and encroaching on their sex life only reminds them more comprehensively how imperiled their lives are.
Groups here have seen the failures of scare tactics in HIV/AIDS education and have started voicing new messages of ensuring your future by using a condom. These groups have people envisioning their longterm goals and then visualizing the path to get there - which includes an HIV-free life.
Compounding even this solution is a lack of longterm goals on the part of many Mozambicans who have become accustomed to trying to figure out where dinner will come from (while I decide what dinner will be...) Additionally, AIDS victims are kept out of the communities' views so this heightens the fear that many Westerners have of the disease.
My #1 goal this upcoming year is to really touch people and get them to realize for themselves the problem of HIV/AIDS.
Peace
John
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