If I keep relying on future's fortunes, I'll never discover the beauty of the present.
I do that fairly often when I think about when I will be leaving Mozambique, but it wouldn't take much to shock me into the moment.
Peace
John
Friday, January 30, 2004
01/01/2004
Happy New Year! Hey, I come home this year!
Jenna came by and we rang in the New Year on our own terms - lacking any method of figuring out the real time - the three of us (including Nanosh) arbitrarily decided around midnight that it was midnight and we did our own countdown, then went out for drinks in full view of haphazard fireworks and sparkler displays.
More Portugal...
We found our hotel in Faro very easily, right as we got off the train. We arrived at night, Christmas Eve, and were glad we had checked to make sure the place was open. The hotel was nice, but clearly frequented by upper-middleclass tourists - probably many Americans. They had available Internet, Port samples, and an automatic bell whenever anyone entered. After our previous few hotels - quaint, old and empty - this had a completely different feel.
Eric and I ate Christmas Eve dinner at a Chinese restaurant (a good one) as it was about the only one open. We wandered around town for only a little bit, then retired.
Christmas morning was pretty lonely, as the streets were barren and it was a tourist hotspot, but in the off-season. We were still able to appreciate some historical areas and a neat fountain, but it sort of felt like the twilight zone (or a Stephen King movie). At about 2 in the afternoon, the city quickly awakened and we poked around places we had become familiar with in the preceding few hours. There was a nice downtown area with Christmas lights hanging above (as every city had, some more elaborate than others) and a red carpet marking the pathway under your feet. There seemed to be quite a few decent restaurants and I insisted that we get pizza (which was delicious). Some more fruitless wandering and we were very ready to move on from Faro the next morning.
When we arrived in Albufeira, about 30 minutes away by train (but made an hour by construction delays), we were quite confused as to whether we were actually in Albufeira. Eric asked a woman who was boarding if it were the stop we wanted, and she said it was.
In the travel books, we had read that Albufeira was a wonderful beach town, and a must-see on any tour of the Algarve. But we were staring at a very industrial railroad station that seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. Oh, well, we figured, town must be a little way off. So we started to get our bearings, and following road signs, headed to Albufeira.
Now, I'm used to the New England convention of marking directions for the center of town with the town name, even if you're already inside of it. I thought, and Eric did as well, that we were simply away from the center of town. It was warm, so I took off a layer (leaving two) and we humped our packs a couple of miles.
We started to realize that we weren't seeing beach AND we were still seeing signs for Albufeira. Worse, there seemed to be a bus system but no buses running. A couple of miles later, we were seeing buses, but also hills that we were sure led to beach.
Well, they did, but another mile and a half later! After our one-and-a-half-hour hike, we weren't winded, but not quite in the mood to price every hotel. I navigated us through town to a three-star hotel, and though it was relatively pricey, we decided things wouldn't get much better.
We started out in town, seeing Albufeira - a sort of Portuguese mini-New Orleans - toured mainly by Germans and Scandinavians - and getting continuously, hopelessly lost. It's built on hills with gently curving roads and few clear landmarks. Individually, Eric and I get lost fairly easily, but together we had Portugal down to a science. Except Albufeira. No matter what we did, we could never find where we wanted to go. Wandering in thismanner, we found a bar that served Guinness on tap. After our hike, lack of food, and thirst for a good pint, we left the bar with a very pleasant buzz and a renewed spirit for making the most of our second-to-last day. We hit the beach, I found myself in one layer for the first and only time (meanwhile, there were many Northern Europeans sunbathing), threw the Frisbee around, and appreciated why it was that the Algarve was famous. Though it was a nice beach, we both agreed that the States often affords sports much prettier.
We grabbed dinner at a touristy place, and it was a good, but clearly not carefully prepared, meal. Tourist food seems to be marked by tasting good and safe, but not going the extra mile to make sure you come back over and over again.
Afterwards, at the hotel, we decided that we had to hit the clubs. Hearing that things didn't pick up till about midnight, we bided our time until we couldn't take it anymore, and hailed a cab a few minutes into the new day. Talking with the cabbie, he let us know that the club we wanted to hit didn't get going until about 3 AM. So we went to a well-populated dance bar, tore up the floor, then at 3 (when the bar closed) moved on to the club until 5:30ish, continuing to show everyone else how Americans party (more specifically, how Eric and I party). It was a wonderful time, and something I really needed after, well, everything. Eric seemed to enjoy it equally well.
We woke up ridiculously early to take advantage of the free breakfast, surrounded by Germans. It was a strange experience, being in another country but among foreigners that weren't Americans - and homogeneously so. But now I know what other Europeans complain about when they go to an American-infested hot spot. It didn't feel like Portugal, or what we had come to expect of Portugal.
We took a taxi to the train station (smart), found our seats after waiting several hours for the train to arrive (as we had to check out of the hotel, but didn't want to wander around with our tired dancing legs), and as soon as the conductor took our tickets, we passed out. Arriving in Lisbon at night, we checked out a couple of close two-star pensaos and found one that seemed fine.
Very familiar with Lisbon, and having smelled a great Indian restaurant on the way, we had the best dinner of our trip that night, sleeping very well in spite of having to rise at 6 AM to get Eric to the airport.
Eric and I said our farewells at about 9 AM - I tried not to get sentimental as I know it will be only 11 months or so until I'm back.
Having some time to kill before checking out of the hotel, I decided to walk to the metro station close to the airport. After getting directions from a cabbie, I found myself in an open-air market (where I bought some gifts for people here) and according to the map, close to a metro station. Well, I spent the next hour close to a metro station, but not finding any. I gave up eventually and took the bus to what I knew would get me to a metro station and ended up arriving at the hotel with only 30 minutes to shower and pack up.
I strolled through Lisbon, fully loaded, for a couple hours, sitting and taking in the people and general atmosphere. Then, I took the metro out to the zoo, where I wrote the 12/28 entry, and having soaked in as much Europe, sweet-smelling, affluent and manicured as it is, I declared myself ready to go. I hopped back on the metro and found a big station close to the airport. Walking out, I realized I had stumbled on a large stadium (Campo Grande, where Sporting plays), so I budgeted myself 30 minutes more and walked inside. A brilliantly laid out stadium with bowlingm food courts and shopping made less like a mall than the outer rim of a futuristic arena, I was thoroughly impressed. It was a good final impression, and I didn't let the salty cab driver who got me to the airport, ruin it!
Apparently, Peace Corps has been in the news the last few months as being an unsafe, irresponsible organization. Though I'm not about to even touch that subject, there has been interesting commentary relating to the fact that the Peace Corps experience is a lot more watered down and less intense than it once was. Many volunteers (like many in Moz) have cellphones, Internet access, and regular media contact. Purists, as the original volunteers (and maybe even up till the 90s) can be called, denounce this as nonsense and that a volunteer isn't the same in the new millenium.
I agree.
But, likewise, the world is not the same place. Mozambique, 30 years ago, would have been somewhere where months would pass without communication, self-medication would be necessary, and all the stereotypical hardships would be present. But Mozambique, like the world, is changing. Within the last 5 years, cell phone use has become the norm and Internet Cafes are easy to find. Living a purist's experience would require living below the level of the community and interestingly, outside of the community.
The goals cannot be forgotten - we're here to help, not to suffer. And I think most every volunteer will say that the conditions - electricity, water, food, etc. - you can grow accustomed to with no problem. It's all of the factors that don't depend on money or random circumstance, such as the nature of your job, necessary emotional distance from your friends and family, mood swings, loss of familiar cultural cues, and many more things that make this experience inevitably difficult.
Maybe it's not as hard as 30+ years ago. But does that mean a volunteer should feel that they haven't accomplished as much because they haven't suffered enough? It's a very Judeo-Christian principle, and I don't buy it. I'm very concerned with how I can best help Mozambicans. If I'm suffering, then Moz will receive a half-assed job because I can't focus on what I'm supposed to do. Maybe the purists can look at their suffering as allowing the current volunteers certain luxuries so we can do our jobs that much better.
Month by month, what to look forward to:
January - New school year, mid-service conference
February - Avocado season (guacamole time)
March - Health trainees arrive and prep begins
April - See more of Moz during school break
May - Winter begins
June - Canadians leave. Health volunteers arrive.
July - Dad comes
August - City day and general debauchery
September - Birthday
October - Last classes, exam prep
November - finalizing plans, schoolwork
December - finish!
Why the emphasis on the Health volunteers? Well, they'll be learning Changana, and I should be pretty involved in that process. I feel like my Changana is not improving as fast as I'd like, but I need to still be patient.
Peace
John
Jenna came by and we rang in the New Year on our own terms - lacking any method of figuring out the real time - the three of us (including Nanosh) arbitrarily decided around midnight that it was midnight and we did our own countdown, then went out for drinks in full view of haphazard fireworks and sparkler displays.
More Portugal...
We found our hotel in Faro very easily, right as we got off the train. We arrived at night, Christmas Eve, and were glad we had checked to make sure the place was open. The hotel was nice, but clearly frequented by upper-middleclass tourists - probably many Americans. They had available Internet, Port samples, and an automatic bell whenever anyone entered. After our previous few hotels - quaint, old and empty - this had a completely different feel.
Eric and I ate Christmas Eve dinner at a Chinese restaurant (a good one) as it was about the only one open. We wandered around town for only a little bit, then retired.
Christmas morning was pretty lonely, as the streets were barren and it was a tourist hotspot, but in the off-season. We were still able to appreciate some historical areas and a neat fountain, but it sort of felt like the twilight zone (or a Stephen King movie). At about 2 in the afternoon, the city quickly awakened and we poked around places we had become familiar with in the preceding few hours. There was a nice downtown area with Christmas lights hanging above (as every city had, some more elaborate than others) and a red carpet marking the pathway under your feet. There seemed to be quite a few decent restaurants and I insisted that we get pizza (which was delicious). Some more fruitless wandering and we were very ready to move on from Faro the next morning.
When we arrived in Albufeira, about 30 minutes away by train (but made an hour by construction delays), we were quite confused as to whether we were actually in Albufeira. Eric asked a woman who was boarding if it were the stop we wanted, and she said it was.
In the travel books, we had read that Albufeira was a wonderful beach town, and a must-see on any tour of the Algarve. But we were staring at a very industrial railroad station that seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. Oh, well, we figured, town must be a little way off. So we started to get our bearings, and following road signs, headed to Albufeira.
Now, I'm used to the New England convention of marking directions for the center of town with the town name, even if you're already inside of it. I thought, and Eric did as well, that we were simply away from the center of town. It was warm, so I took off a layer (leaving two) and we humped our packs a couple of miles.
We started to realize that we weren't seeing beach AND we were still seeing signs for Albufeira. Worse, there seemed to be a bus system but no buses running. A couple of miles later, we were seeing buses, but also hills that we were sure led to beach.
Well, they did, but another mile and a half later! After our one-and-a-half-hour hike, we weren't winded, but not quite in the mood to price every hotel. I navigated us through town to a three-star hotel, and though it was relatively pricey, we decided things wouldn't get much better.
We started out in town, seeing Albufeira - a sort of Portuguese mini-New Orleans - toured mainly by Germans and Scandinavians - and getting continuously, hopelessly lost. It's built on hills with gently curving roads and few clear landmarks. Individually, Eric and I get lost fairly easily, but together we had Portugal down to a science. Except Albufeira. No matter what we did, we could never find where we wanted to go. Wandering in thismanner, we found a bar that served Guinness on tap. After our hike, lack of food, and thirst for a good pint, we left the bar with a very pleasant buzz and a renewed spirit for making the most of our second-to-last day. We hit the beach, I found myself in one layer for the first and only time (meanwhile, there were many Northern Europeans sunbathing), threw the Frisbee around, and appreciated why it was that the Algarve was famous. Though it was a nice beach, we both agreed that the States often affords sports much prettier.
We grabbed dinner at a touristy place, and it was a good, but clearly not carefully prepared, meal. Tourist food seems to be marked by tasting good and safe, but not going the extra mile to make sure you come back over and over again.
Afterwards, at the hotel, we decided that we had to hit the clubs. Hearing that things didn't pick up till about midnight, we bided our time until we couldn't take it anymore, and hailed a cab a few minutes into the new day. Talking with the cabbie, he let us know that the club we wanted to hit didn't get going until about 3 AM. So we went to a well-populated dance bar, tore up the floor, then at 3 (when the bar closed) moved on to the club until 5:30ish, continuing to show everyone else how Americans party (more specifically, how Eric and I party). It was a wonderful time, and something I really needed after, well, everything. Eric seemed to enjoy it equally well.
We woke up ridiculously early to take advantage of the free breakfast, surrounded by Germans. It was a strange experience, being in another country but among foreigners that weren't Americans - and homogeneously so. But now I know what other Europeans complain about when they go to an American-infested hot spot. It didn't feel like Portugal, or what we had come to expect of Portugal.
We took a taxi to the train station (smart), found our seats after waiting several hours for the train to arrive (as we had to check out of the hotel, but didn't want to wander around with our tired dancing legs), and as soon as the conductor took our tickets, we passed out. Arriving in Lisbon at night, we checked out a couple of close two-star pensaos and found one that seemed fine.
Very familiar with Lisbon, and having smelled a great Indian restaurant on the way, we had the best dinner of our trip that night, sleeping very well in spite of having to rise at 6 AM to get Eric to the airport.
Eric and I said our farewells at about 9 AM - I tried not to get sentimental as I know it will be only 11 months or so until I'm back.
Having some time to kill before checking out of the hotel, I decided to walk to the metro station close to the airport. After getting directions from a cabbie, I found myself in an open-air market (where I bought some gifts for people here) and according to the map, close to a metro station. Well, I spent the next hour close to a metro station, but not finding any. I gave up eventually and took the bus to what I knew would get me to a metro station and ended up arriving at the hotel with only 30 minutes to shower and pack up.
I strolled through Lisbon, fully loaded, for a couple hours, sitting and taking in the people and general atmosphere. Then, I took the metro out to the zoo, where I wrote the 12/28 entry, and having soaked in as much Europe, sweet-smelling, affluent and manicured as it is, I declared myself ready to go. I hopped back on the metro and found a big station close to the airport. Walking out, I realized I had stumbled on a large stadium (Campo Grande, where Sporting plays), so I budgeted myself 30 minutes more and walked inside. A brilliantly laid out stadium with bowlingm food courts and shopping made less like a mall than the outer rim of a futuristic arena, I was thoroughly impressed. It was a good final impression, and I didn't let the salty cab driver who got me to the airport, ruin it!
Apparently, Peace Corps has been in the news the last few months as being an unsafe, irresponsible organization. Though I'm not about to even touch that subject, there has been interesting commentary relating to the fact that the Peace Corps experience is a lot more watered down and less intense than it once was. Many volunteers (like many in Moz) have cellphones, Internet access, and regular media contact. Purists, as the original volunteers (and maybe even up till the 90s) can be called, denounce this as nonsense and that a volunteer isn't the same in the new millenium.
I agree.
But, likewise, the world is not the same place. Mozambique, 30 years ago, would have been somewhere where months would pass without communication, self-medication would be necessary, and all the stereotypical hardships would be present. But Mozambique, like the world, is changing. Within the last 5 years, cell phone use has become the norm and Internet Cafes are easy to find. Living a purist's experience would require living below the level of the community and interestingly, outside of the community.
The goals cannot be forgotten - we're here to help, not to suffer. And I think most every volunteer will say that the conditions - electricity, water, food, etc. - you can grow accustomed to with no problem. It's all of the factors that don't depend on money or random circumstance, such as the nature of your job, necessary emotional distance from your friends and family, mood swings, loss of familiar cultural cues, and many more things that make this experience inevitably difficult.
Maybe it's not as hard as 30+ years ago. But does that mean a volunteer should feel that they haven't accomplished as much because they haven't suffered enough? It's a very Judeo-Christian principle, and I don't buy it. I'm very concerned with how I can best help Mozambicans. If I'm suffering, then Moz will receive a half-assed job because I can't focus on what I'm supposed to do. Maybe the purists can look at their suffering as allowing the current volunteers certain luxuries so we can do our jobs that much better.
Month by month, what to look forward to:
January - New school year, mid-service conference
February - Avocado season (guacamole time)
March - Health trainees arrive and prep begins
April - See more of Moz during school break
May - Winter begins
June - Canadians leave. Health volunteers arrive.
July - Dad comes
August - City day and general debauchery
September - Birthday
October - Last classes, exam prep
November - finalizing plans, schoolwork
December - finish!
Why the emphasis on the Health volunteers? Well, they'll be learning Changana, and I should be pretty involved in that process. I feel like my Changana is not improving as fast as I'd like, but I need to still be patient.
Peace
John
12/30/2003
Arriving in the Algarve on a classic train with all your clothes on your back - well, it sounds a lot more exciting than it was.
I'll continue with the travel log later, but I was reminded today of begging. I'm constantly asked (as are all the Americans, if not anyone with money here) for money or other various items. I started off giving credence to the begging, asking why they needed the money, etc., then realizing I was never getting an honest answer. I started just saying "no", but with food, it's different. I'll often give bread, bananas, cassava, etc., to people who ask and aren't just asking for the novelty of it. What I find from this is telling. Often my offer of food will be rejected, even after the beggar has said that they need it. On the surface, I feel justified in denying money. In fact, I had the same experience in Portugal - I had some chestnuts (freshly roasted - mmm) and offered them to beggars who approached. Some denied the offer.
But who am I to say how someone wants to spend their money? Just because I fear I'm giving to someone who doesn't actually need it - and because I fear they'll spend it on something I would consider frivolous - I don't give. An Edwin McCain song talks about this and roughly says he'll give money to a bum "to walk up to the bar and enjoy his life". Which makes me reevaluate everything.
If I give money to someone who needs it, they'll probably spend it how they want, not by my priority. If I give money to someone who doesn't need it, they'll definitely do that. If I give food to someone who needs it, they'll be less motivated to buy food OR have more time and energy to be miserable begging. To someone who doesn't need it, food is only welcome if they like it. And then there's education. Hopefully, giving an education gives both money and food.
Peace
John
I'll continue with the travel log later, but I was reminded today of begging. I'm constantly asked (as are all the Americans, if not anyone with money here) for money or other various items. I started off giving credence to the begging, asking why they needed the money, etc., then realizing I was never getting an honest answer. I started just saying "no", but with food, it's different. I'll often give bread, bananas, cassava, etc., to people who ask and aren't just asking for the novelty of it. What I find from this is telling. Often my offer of food will be rejected, even after the beggar has said that they need it. On the surface, I feel justified in denying money. In fact, I had the same experience in Portugal - I had some chestnuts (freshly roasted - mmm) and offered them to beggars who approached. Some denied the offer.
But who am I to say how someone wants to spend their money? Just because I fear I'm giving to someone who doesn't actually need it - and because I fear they'll spend it on something I would consider frivolous - I don't give. An Edwin McCain song talks about this and roughly says he'll give money to a bum "to walk up to the bar and enjoy his life". Which makes me reevaluate everything.
If I give money to someone who needs it, they'll probably spend it how they want, not by my priority. If I give money to someone who doesn't need it, they'll definitely do that. If I give food to someone who needs it, they'll be less motivated to buy food OR have more time and energy to be miserable begging. To someone who doesn't need it, food is only welcome if they like it. And then there's education. Hopefully, giving an education gives both money and food.
Peace
John
12/29/2003
Another caveat to looking for restaurants is that the Portuguese cuisine restaurants are impossible to tell apart. They all seem to serve the same thing (depending on the region), for roughly the same price. Of course, I would say this about American restaurants, and we know what to look for after a while.
So, in Viana do Castelo, we wandered around town for quite a long time, trying to find someplace more traditional but settling on...well...anywhere. We stayed in a hostel about a 10 minute walk from town, so we didn't want to tire ourselves out too quickly. But we did pass out pretty early due to all of the walking, amidst the screams and yells of a dozen young boys we were sharing the hostel with.
As a conclusion to our stay in the north, we hiked to the castle (for which the town was named). It's about 20 minutes up uncountable and beautiful steps, hundreds of years old, and marked with the occasional cross. The climax was a staircase lined with stone railings with the "castle" (a cathedral) in view. However, at the same time, I could hear cheesy string music blaring from a gift shop at the base, being frequented by tourists who had just hopped off a tour bus and were getting their pictures taken with "authentic" instant cameras. It was slightly shocking, but not at all surprising. I was very glad we were seeing Portugal the way it - more or less - should be seen.
Speaking of, we had a train to catch in an hour, so we hiked down and stopped at a sandwich shop in a mall for a quick bite.
The train took us to Coimbra (Koh - EEM - brah), about in the middle of the country. We arrived at the train station, realized that a good hotel was located near the station, then realized Coimbra had two train stations. We walked across town to our hotel, a converted townhouse wiht nice, quaint rooms. We left in time to catch dinner and gave ourselves a little time in the morning to do a bit more exploring, but our stay in Coimbra was far too fleeting.
We arrived in Faro after confirming we'd have a place to stay for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.
To be continued later...I started today flying over the Meditteranean, proceeding to Maputo, catching a chapa to town, then catching up with people. It's amazing how quickly I've readjusted to life here - a matter of hours - and that just earlier I was a continent and a hemisphere away - and temporarily halfway home. Blows my mind.
Peace
John
So, in Viana do Castelo, we wandered around town for quite a long time, trying to find someplace more traditional but settling on...well...anywhere. We stayed in a hostel about a 10 minute walk from town, so we didn't want to tire ourselves out too quickly. But we did pass out pretty early due to all of the walking, amidst the screams and yells of a dozen young boys we were sharing the hostel with.
As a conclusion to our stay in the north, we hiked to the castle (for which the town was named). It's about 20 minutes up uncountable and beautiful steps, hundreds of years old, and marked with the occasional cross. The climax was a staircase lined with stone railings with the "castle" (a cathedral) in view. However, at the same time, I could hear cheesy string music blaring from a gift shop at the base, being frequented by tourists who had just hopped off a tour bus and were getting their pictures taken with "authentic" instant cameras. It was slightly shocking, but not at all surprising. I was very glad we were seeing Portugal the way it - more or less - should be seen.
Speaking of, we had a train to catch in an hour, so we hiked down and stopped at a sandwich shop in a mall for a quick bite.
The train took us to Coimbra (Koh - EEM - brah), about in the middle of the country. We arrived at the train station, realized that a good hotel was located near the station, then realized Coimbra had two train stations. We walked across town to our hotel, a converted townhouse wiht nice, quaint rooms. We left in time to catch dinner and gave ourselves a little time in the morning to do a bit more exploring, but our stay in Coimbra was far too fleeting.
We arrived in Faro after confirming we'd have a place to stay for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.
To be continued later...I started today flying over the Meditteranean, proceeding to Maputo, catching a chapa to town, then catching up with people. It's amazing how quickly I've readjusted to life here - a matter of hours - and that just earlier I was a continent and a hemisphere away - and temporarily halfway home. Blows my mind.
Peace
John
12/28/2003
Hey there! It's been quite a while. I'm in the waning hours of my adventure in Portugal, sitting on a bench in the Zoological gardens (the free part), specifically the "Banco da Americana". Apparently this bench was built for an American woman who donated a lot of money in 1940, anonymously, and the only thing the zoo knew was her nationality. So they built a bench in the hope that some day she would come back to the zoo which inspired her to donate, and sit in it. Who knows, maybe she has?
And really, I'm sad. Eric's already left for the States and now I'm here in the city alone. Lisbon. It's beautiful in a very European way of oozing with history, fashion and modernity all at the same time. It strikes a balance between being a gateway - and destination - for tourists, and being a very functional city. I've found that both here in Lisbon and in all the other cities we went to (Oporto, Viana de Castelo, Coimbra, Faro and Albufeira), speaking Portuguese has been a wonderful advantage. Though by my accent they can tell that I'm not local, it often puts a smile on Portuguese faces. Amazing how many times I spoke Portuguese with a hotel desk cleark, they answered the phone in English, then went back to Portuguese with me. Slowly, but clearly.
It's also incredible to me how Eric and I can come from a year in places so far opposite (that they don't seem to be of the same world) and meet here, looking to do roughly the same stuff - that is, randomly hop on trains, stay somewhere warm, catch up on the past few months, and see...stuff.
It's also occurred to me over the past few days, especially on Christmas, how much I really still do miss everyone, and that maybe I should have gone back to the States. I keep waffling in that decision, but like I was saying before I left and I would have been saying in the States, it's only two years. There's a ton of ways to look at two years as 800 days of missed opportunities, etc., but no matter where you are, there are thousands of places you aren't, missing out on things you'll never do.
So this trip was really about realizing that - and that truly close friends are always in some way together. As promised, Eric and I talked about the future. It's really fantasizing, talking about the future, no matter how "realistic" it may be. The future's always a guess until you get there. But I admit, it's fun to gues.
What am I going to do? Where am I going to live? Who is going to be impotrant to me? Who will I be important to?
Maybe it's too early to think about this, but in a little over a week, I go down to Maputo to complete a physical exam, then come back to town to do school work, then the midservice conference comes around, afterwards the first trimester of school. 12 weeks later, I'm on a little break to see other parts of Moz. Then, 12 more weeks, my father visits, then the final 13 weeks of school. It's all sitting out there in front of me.
But first, Portugal.
I arrived in Lisbon on what felt like a very cold morning, under Eric's guidance. We got to the hotel after a significant hike - I seem to have forgotten about hills - and started exploring right away. We climbed up to the castle that rules Lisbon, in awe of its grandeur and power. From that vantage point, I'm sure the Portuguese monarchy felt like it owned the world, and in a sense, it really did. This relatively small country (about 8 train hours to cross the long way), a product of conquerors themselves, ruled the seas and colonized many different parts of the world. In the end, if 1975 can be considered as such, the country and language shrank finally from its incredible heights, leaving indelible cultural earmarks in the Americas, Africa and Asia. Portuguese has fallen from being one of the top 5 most-spoken languages, to being about 8th. The country consists of the mainland and a few beautiful islands. The people remain selfless and friendly, though the country has, in many places, fallen into disrepair.
This is not evident in Lisbon, though, a city that, in its sprawl, welcomes citizens of seemingly every other country on the globe in obviously modern apartment buildings, using slick new public transportation and every possible electricity-saving method possible. Though I see it every day in Mozambique, it was relatively shocking to see clothes hung out to try in even the more affluent areas.
Cars are quick and small, lights, escalators and other public appliances turn themselves off when not needed, gas and cigarettes are well-taxed and conscientiously so (though it's hard to find a Portuguese who doesn't smoke), the money is intelligently made (though it's the Euro, and Portugal can't take credit for that), all tickets are smartly and easily bought at vending machines, police are present and helpful - and stay out of the way - and pedestrian traffic is a major priority.
Lisbon is a city that, like other European cities and unlike most American cities, runs itself efficiently, cleanly and modestly.
Although Eric and I spent a lot of time looking for restaurants, mainly because the Portuguese schedule is so different than what we're used to, food in Lisbon was excellent, even when we ended up in average eateries. We spent about 2 hours the first night wandering the area around our hotel looking for a dinner place after a recommended Buddhist vegetarian place fell through. We found some very ordinary restaurants - and extraordinary ones out of our price range - but ended up settling on a place I can't even recall. I know I'd remember it if the food were bad, though!
Bed the next day was hard to get out of - being so warm, and me being so cold - but we did, and quickly hopped on a train out to Porto. The train was an Alfa Pendular, meaning that it was a high-speed tilt train. We were so amazed by the comfort and technology that the trip flew by. We arrived in Porto, found a great Pensao in the middle of town, and immediately started to explore, being wowed by the river cutting through the city, creating vine-covered walls for a couple hundred feet on both sides. The combination of rundown houses built into the banks, train tunnels weaving through the sides above them, and well-placed bridges all along framing the scene, brought back memories of playing with an old train set and adding scenery, much like the naturally existing environment here. Porto is definitely the most beautiful city we saw.
Peace
John
And really, I'm sad. Eric's already left for the States and now I'm here in the city alone. Lisbon. It's beautiful in a very European way of oozing with history, fashion and modernity all at the same time. It strikes a balance between being a gateway - and destination - for tourists, and being a very functional city. I've found that both here in Lisbon and in all the other cities we went to (Oporto, Viana de Castelo, Coimbra, Faro and Albufeira), speaking Portuguese has been a wonderful advantage. Though by my accent they can tell that I'm not local, it often puts a smile on Portuguese faces. Amazing how many times I spoke Portuguese with a hotel desk cleark, they answered the phone in English, then went back to Portuguese with me. Slowly, but clearly.
It's also incredible to me how Eric and I can come from a year in places so far opposite (that they don't seem to be of the same world) and meet here, looking to do roughly the same stuff - that is, randomly hop on trains, stay somewhere warm, catch up on the past few months, and see...stuff.
It's also occurred to me over the past few days, especially on Christmas, how much I really still do miss everyone, and that maybe I should have gone back to the States. I keep waffling in that decision, but like I was saying before I left and I would have been saying in the States, it's only two years. There's a ton of ways to look at two years as 800 days of missed opportunities, etc., but no matter where you are, there are thousands of places you aren't, missing out on things you'll never do.
So this trip was really about realizing that - and that truly close friends are always in some way together. As promised, Eric and I talked about the future. It's really fantasizing, talking about the future, no matter how "realistic" it may be. The future's always a guess until you get there. But I admit, it's fun to gues.
What am I going to do? Where am I going to live? Who is going to be impotrant to me? Who will I be important to?
Maybe it's too early to think about this, but in a little over a week, I go down to Maputo to complete a physical exam, then come back to town to do school work, then the midservice conference comes around, afterwards the first trimester of school. 12 weeks later, I'm on a little break to see other parts of Moz. Then, 12 more weeks, my father visits, then the final 13 weeks of school. It's all sitting out there in front of me.
But first, Portugal.
I arrived in Lisbon on what felt like a very cold morning, under Eric's guidance. We got to the hotel after a significant hike - I seem to have forgotten about hills - and started exploring right away. We climbed up to the castle that rules Lisbon, in awe of its grandeur and power. From that vantage point, I'm sure the Portuguese monarchy felt like it owned the world, and in a sense, it really did. This relatively small country (about 8 train hours to cross the long way), a product of conquerors themselves, ruled the seas and colonized many different parts of the world. In the end, if 1975 can be considered as such, the country and language shrank finally from its incredible heights, leaving indelible cultural earmarks in the Americas, Africa and Asia. Portuguese has fallen from being one of the top 5 most-spoken languages, to being about 8th. The country consists of the mainland and a few beautiful islands. The people remain selfless and friendly, though the country has, in many places, fallen into disrepair.
This is not evident in Lisbon, though, a city that, in its sprawl, welcomes citizens of seemingly every other country on the globe in obviously modern apartment buildings, using slick new public transportation and every possible electricity-saving method possible. Though I see it every day in Mozambique, it was relatively shocking to see clothes hung out to try in even the more affluent areas.
Cars are quick and small, lights, escalators and other public appliances turn themselves off when not needed, gas and cigarettes are well-taxed and conscientiously so (though it's hard to find a Portuguese who doesn't smoke), the money is intelligently made (though it's the Euro, and Portugal can't take credit for that), all tickets are smartly and easily bought at vending machines, police are present and helpful - and stay out of the way - and pedestrian traffic is a major priority.
Lisbon is a city that, like other European cities and unlike most American cities, runs itself efficiently, cleanly and modestly.
Although Eric and I spent a lot of time looking for restaurants, mainly because the Portuguese schedule is so different than what we're used to, food in Lisbon was excellent, even when we ended up in average eateries. We spent about 2 hours the first night wandering the area around our hotel looking for a dinner place after a recommended Buddhist vegetarian place fell through. We found some very ordinary restaurants - and extraordinary ones out of our price range - but ended up settling on a place I can't even recall. I know I'd remember it if the food were bad, though!
Bed the next day was hard to get out of - being so warm, and me being so cold - but we did, and quickly hopped on a train out to Porto. The train was an Alfa Pendular, meaning that it was a high-speed tilt train. We were so amazed by the comfort and technology that the trip flew by. We arrived in Porto, found a great Pensao in the middle of town, and immediately started to explore, being wowed by the river cutting through the city, creating vine-covered walls for a couple hundred feet on both sides. The combination of rundown houses built into the banks, train tunnels weaving through the sides above them, and well-placed bridges all along framing the scene, brought back memories of playing with an old train set and adding scenery, much like the naturally existing environment here. Porto is definitely the most beautiful city we saw.
Peace
John
12/20/2003
Being on a long-distance flight is a lot like being in daycare.
"Snack time!" Everyone perks up, gets a rationed amoung thrown at them (no, you can't have seconds, but if you're a good passenger...) and downs it in as little time as possible.
"Throw your trash here!" They make sure there's no extracurricular trash disposal and your space must be kept neat, your "tray table" tidily hidden and your chair upright, like a good little boy.
"Keep your seat belts on!" And before you can ask how long it is to the destination, they constantly throw at you how much time, down to the minute. If you want to go to the bathroom, you have to do everything short of asking permission.
"Movie time!"
"Lights out!"
"Time to get up!"
And none of these are done subtly, with the turning on and off of hundreds of "soft" lights by the "captain".
And on a good landing, like after an entertaining midday TV show, we applaud the whole act and seem to actually be grateful that we were allowed to revert back to innocence, if only for a few hours.
I'm almost in Lisboa, dressed in my second layer of clothing, and wondring what this next new experience will be like. No sense anticipating now! Here we go!
Peace
John
"Snack time!" Everyone perks up, gets a rationed amoung thrown at them (no, you can't have seconds, but if you're a good passenger...) and downs it in as little time as possible.
"Throw your trash here!" They make sure there's no extracurricular trash disposal and your space must be kept neat, your "tray table" tidily hidden and your chair upright, like a good little boy.
"Keep your seat belts on!" And before you can ask how long it is to the destination, they constantly throw at you how much time, down to the minute. If you want to go to the bathroom, you have to do everything short of asking permission.
"Movie time!"
"Lights out!"
"Time to get up!"
And none of these are done subtly, with the turning on and off of hundreds of "soft" lights by the "captain".
And on a good landing, like after an entertaining midday TV show, we applaud the whole act and seem to actually be grateful that we were allowed to revert back to innocence, if only for a few hours.
I'm almost in Lisboa, dressed in my second layer of clothing, and wondring what this next new experience will be like. No sense anticipating now! Here we go!
Peace
John
Thursday, January 29, 2004
12/19/2003
It's been quite the busy week. I sowed Nanosh and Jenna around the city for a couple days, then rested up for a day before coming to Maputo. Unfortunately, that rest day quickly and unwittingly became a drinking day due to the double American presence.
We ended up eating dinner at a friend of mine's house - again unwittingly - and being forced to get pleasantly drunk. It was forced, of course, because I was planning on getting up at 5 AM the next morning. As it had been quite late getting in the night before, I woke myself up a little past 6, drank a ton of water and got on the bus for Maputo. I doubt Nanosh woke up before I got into Maputo yesterday.
(By the way, his name is pronounced NAN-ush.) THIS IS MOM -- actually, what I filled in as a "u" is really the upside down "e", which I can't type in.
One of the things that truly surprised me about his arrival is how much it's changed my relationships with others here - instantaneously - and how much I have to learn from him.
There's something about freshly arriving in a strange place that brings extra optimism and energy. There's a certain necessary naivete that is wonderful to see, for someone who's lost most of that. I'm really not that curious about where I live, the people I know. But I think he's showing me that I should be.
Also, since the way people treat me has changed, I suppose realizing that Blake's essentially out of the house and I'm the key to getting to know the Americans now, getting to know others is infinitely easier.
Hopefully, that will continue when I get back, too.
So now I'm sitting on the most expensive street in Maputo, staring at the unfortunately brown bay. I've been running around the city, trying to change my meticais into Euros, which is easier said than done. This being the holidays, practically nobody has any, and yesterday I only managed to find one quarter of what I needed. I went to about two dozen cambios, and finally found it today. Though I was preoccupied the entire time with how much money I had on me, it was a good way to see more of the city. It's got a ton of potential and some already well-developed and fun areas, but the culture is so incredibly different than in the rest of the country, that it's not so much a capital as it is a bridge to the rest of the world. I suppose it won't be as shocking to leave after being here for two days. But the temperature (in Portugal) is going to kill me.
On Wednesday, it got to 110 F. It wasn't that unbearable for me. But I'm going to be in weather that will not even get to half that. I've packed everything warm that I own, and I'm planning on using my capulana pants as long underwear. It's gonna be somethin'...
My thoughts often come back to life one year ago and life one year from now, because that's what I really have to hold onto. One year ago I was eating meals with Diamentino in my new house, talking with and getting to know many people, in between studying 3-4 hours every day, the language I was to teach in.
Today, I'm perfectly comfortable in that house, city and country that was still so new, and next year at this time, I'll be leaving it, to eventually do something I'm not yet familiar with and have skills and accomplishments that I am familiar with. Which raises the question, what the hell am I going to do?
I've often thought of being a social worker, high-school teacher, actor, and more, but none of those seem to have a stranglehold on my desires. It's as if I feel I can't make a decision until something grabs me and doesn't let go - because I know I'll put my all into it and be happy doing so. Can I balance all that I want to do into this? Probably not. So I have to find something I want to do that is less than perfect and make peace with that.
There's still so much to decide.
Sunset seems to be the clearest reminder that we live on a rock spinning several thousand miles per hour, as the sun disappears from view in a matter of moments and a day suddenly ends. Given how long the day lasts, it seems strange that our star would want it to end so quickly - but now that we know exactly what's going on, it seems that the earth is in a hurry to keep things moving, for it has to leave half of its surface in the dark.
I tried to really feel gravity today. It sounds like a strange mephloquine-induced state, but walking downhill at one point, I felt it. It was irresistible as my foot was attracted to the ground, step after step.
I guess I've had a lot of time to think lately, which is good. Before, I was decompressing by being busy and winding down. I'm getting to the stage where I can sit down with nothing to do for several hours and not be bored or feel like I should be doing anything. Because I know I've done a lot and I will do a lot. And it's very Western to evaluate myself in terms of what I do rather than the relationships I have.
I walked into an Ethiopian restaurant this afternoon, unaware of what to expect. I said "Hi" to the waiter and explained this, asking what he would get, etc. We talked about how good piri-piri is and a few other things. Every time he came over, we added a little to the conversation, and by the end, I felt like the 10 metacais tip (about 40 cents) was ridiculous. I think he knew it too, but was glad to have conversed with me (as I, him) and took this from the meal. Maybe he'll even recognize me the next time.
By the same token, on Wednesday I met someone from Jake's site who had apparently met me at a party there. He opened the conversation with "You don't remember me, do you?" and I had to admit that I didn't.
This happens a lot.
Where I met him was a busy party with 100-200 people, most of whom I'd never met and didn't end up talking to.
This, too, happens a lot.
But as I was one of the few white people, recognizable as we are, both at the party and in town, I stand out. And I don't quite understand why people don't understand that point - but it's behind the very question.
I think I'll look back on this time wiht necessary sentimentality, especially when it comes to being a big fish in a small pond.
Over the past two days in Maputo, I've randomly seen three people I already knew, or who just happened to know me. I tried to buy cashews from a vegetable stand, then 50 feet later (at out of earshot), a cashew vendor sought me out.
So what's going to hit me about Portugal? I've tried to anticipate as little as possible, but I already know that being in the first world will be quite strange.
Peace
John
We ended up eating dinner at a friend of mine's house - again unwittingly - and being forced to get pleasantly drunk. It was forced, of course, because I was planning on getting up at 5 AM the next morning. As it had been quite late getting in the night before, I woke myself up a little past 6, drank a ton of water and got on the bus for Maputo. I doubt Nanosh woke up before I got into Maputo yesterday.
(By the way, his name is pronounced NAN-ush.) THIS IS MOM -- actually, what I filled in as a "u" is really the upside down "e", which I can't type in.
One of the things that truly surprised me about his arrival is how much it's changed my relationships with others here - instantaneously - and how much I have to learn from him.
There's something about freshly arriving in a strange place that brings extra optimism and energy. There's a certain necessary naivete that is wonderful to see, for someone who's lost most of that. I'm really not that curious about where I live, the people I know. But I think he's showing me that I should be.
Also, since the way people treat me has changed, I suppose realizing that Blake's essentially out of the house and I'm the key to getting to know the Americans now, getting to know others is infinitely easier.
Hopefully, that will continue when I get back, too.
So now I'm sitting on the most expensive street in Maputo, staring at the unfortunately brown bay. I've been running around the city, trying to change my meticais into Euros, which is easier said than done. This being the holidays, practically nobody has any, and yesterday I only managed to find one quarter of what I needed. I went to about two dozen cambios, and finally found it today. Though I was preoccupied the entire time with how much money I had on me, it was a good way to see more of the city. It's got a ton of potential and some already well-developed and fun areas, but the culture is so incredibly different than in the rest of the country, that it's not so much a capital as it is a bridge to the rest of the world. I suppose it won't be as shocking to leave after being here for two days. But the temperature (in Portugal) is going to kill me.
On Wednesday, it got to 110 F. It wasn't that unbearable for me. But I'm going to be in weather that will not even get to half that. I've packed everything warm that I own, and I'm planning on using my capulana pants as long underwear. It's gonna be somethin'...
My thoughts often come back to life one year ago and life one year from now, because that's what I really have to hold onto. One year ago I was eating meals with Diamentino in my new house, talking with and getting to know many people, in between studying 3-4 hours every day, the language I was to teach in.
Today, I'm perfectly comfortable in that house, city and country that was still so new, and next year at this time, I'll be leaving it, to eventually do something I'm not yet familiar with and have skills and accomplishments that I am familiar with. Which raises the question, what the hell am I going to do?
I've often thought of being a social worker, high-school teacher, actor, and more, but none of those seem to have a stranglehold on my desires. It's as if I feel I can't make a decision until something grabs me and doesn't let go - because I know I'll put my all into it and be happy doing so. Can I balance all that I want to do into this? Probably not. So I have to find something I want to do that is less than perfect and make peace with that.
There's still so much to decide.
Sunset seems to be the clearest reminder that we live on a rock spinning several thousand miles per hour, as the sun disappears from view in a matter of moments and a day suddenly ends. Given how long the day lasts, it seems strange that our star would want it to end so quickly - but now that we know exactly what's going on, it seems that the earth is in a hurry to keep things moving, for it has to leave half of its surface in the dark.
I tried to really feel gravity today. It sounds like a strange mephloquine-induced state, but walking downhill at one point, I felt it. It was irresistible as my foot was attracted to the ground, step after step.
I guess I've had a lot of time to think lately, which is good. Before, I was decompressing by being busy and winding down. I'm getting to the stage where I can sit down with nothing to do for several hours and not be bored or feel like I should be doing anything. Because I know I've done a lot and I will do a lot. And it's very Western to evaluate myself in terms of what I do rather than the relationships I have.
I walked into an Ethiopian restaurant this afternoon, unaware of what to expect. I said "Hi" to the waiter and explained this, asking what he would get, etc. We talked about how good piri-piri is and a few other things. Every time he came over, we added a little to the conversation, and by the end, I felt like the 10 metacais tip (about 40 cents) was ridiculous. I think he knew it too, but was glad to have conversed with me (as I, him) and took this from the meal. Maybe he'll even recognize me the next time.
By the same token, on Wednesday I met someone from Jake's site who had apparently met me at a party there. He opened the conversation with "You don't remember me, do you?" and I had to admit that I didn't.
This happens a lot.
Where I met him was a busy party with 100-200 people, most of whom I'd never met and didn't end up talking to.
This, too, happens a lot.
But as I was one of the few white people, recognizable as we are, both at the party and in town, I stand out. And I don't quite understand why people don't understand that point - but it's behind the very question.
I think I'll look back on this time wiht necessary sentimentality, especially when it comes to being a big fish in a small pond.
Over the past two days in Maputo, I've randomly seen three people I already knew, or who just happened to know me. I tried to buy cashews from a vegetable stand, then 50 feet later (at out of earshot), a cashew vendor sought me out.
So what's going to hit me about Portugal? I've tried to anticipate as little as possible, but I already know that being in the first world will be quite strange.
Peace
John
Tuesday, January 27, 2004
12/14/2003
Nanosh arrived. We ate a veritable feast prepared by the neighbors, including a great cake, then saw a little of town, including a bar.
It was damn hot today - almost f...ing hot - 41 degrees C. That translates to about 107 F. No wind.
Peace
John
It was damn hot today - almost f...ing hot - 41 degrees C. That translates to about 107 F. No wind.
Peace
John
12/13/2003
I'm currently reading Michener's "Space", a weird semi-fiction of the early mission to discover space and much more of his characters who are involved in this adventure.
The neighbors baked a cake and biscuits today for Nanosh's arrival. We made a couple of banners for him, and the plan tomorrow is to buy a chicken and do some old-fashioned cookin'!
After the girls were done making biscuits, they meticulously cleaned the reed mat and floor around where they were cooking, only after doing all the dishes. I said that they really didn't have to, but knew insisting was useless. And, really, I understand why now.
People around here have enough to live, and little else. Their leisure is occupied with being with other people, sometimes doing something, but mostly just being there. And so when there's an opportunity to do something ritualistic, like cooking, it brings forth the ritual of cleaning, rituals because they are so necessary.
I actually felt embarrassed about how much dirt ended up coming up off the floor. I've got too much stuff to occupy me, so I don't clean as often as I should.
In any case, the point is that the world many Mozambicans know is a world with lines and limits. They are masters of what is inside those borders, and very curious, if not ignorant, of what is outside. This, of course, exists in any poorer, rural setting in the world. But when a university-educated American comes in and doesn't have a good grasp of what's inside Mozambican borders, but an understanding of what's outside - it's necessarily alienating. It seems to be a truism that how you deal with that gap marks how well you will integrate into a community.
My mind is quite often sailing off into space, as it did tonight. Michener's words put me into a trance as I stared up at the stars. I sped my mind up to be out there, millions of miles away, in the middle of nowhere, just to realize that I was still very close to hime. And I looked at home with the same eye, and saw myself walking very slowly over a small spherical object with millions of other people, inconsequentially.
I've gone along this line of thinking hundreds of times before, from a pretty early age, to no good conclusions. The problem is that I can visualize the vastness and I can reason about it, but not at the same time. My very finite mind can only handle one infinite thing at a time.
And so now I'm thinking that this very spiritual idea of the incomprehensibility of our very surroundings is very much within the borders of a Mozambican. I think they have come to peace with it, before I started thinking seriously about it. But that doesn't mean I can't refuse to make peace with something so unknown. It's a very pleasant thorn in my side.
Peace
John
The neighbors baked a cake and biscuits today for Nanosh's arrival. We made a couple of banners for him, and the plan tomorrow is to buy a chicken and do some old-fashioned cookin'!
After the girls were done making biscuits, they meticulously cleaned the reed mat and floor around where they were cooking, only after doing all the dishes. I said that they really didn't have to, but knew insisting was useless. And, really, I understand why now.
People around here have enough to live, and little else. Their leisure is occupied with being with other people, sometimes doing something, but mostly just being there. And so when there's an opportunity to do something ritualistic, like cooking, it brings forth the ritual of cleaning, rituals because they are so necessary.
I actually felt embarrassed about how much dirt ended up coming up off the floor. I've got too much stuff to occupy me, so I don't clean as often as I should.
In any case, the point is that the world many Mozambicans know is a world with lines and limits. They are masters of what is inside those borders, and very curious, if not ignorant, of what is outside. This, of course, exists in any poorer, rural setting in the world. But when a university-educated American comes in and doesn't have a good grasp of what's inside Mozambican borders, but an understanding of what's outside - it's necessarily alienating. It seems to be a truism that how you deal with that gap marks how well you will integrate into a community.
My mind is quite often sailing off into space, as it did tonight. Michener's words put me into a trance as I stared up at the stars. I sped my mind up to be out there, millions of miles away, in the middle of nowhere, just to realize that I was still very close to hime. And I looked at home with the same eye, and saw myself walking very slowly over a small spherical object with millions of other people, inconsequentially.
I've gone along this line of thinking hundreds of times before, from a pretty early age, to no good conclusions. The problem is that I can visualize the vastness and I can reason about it, but not at the same time. My very finite mind can only handle one infinite thing at a time.
And so now I'm thinking that this very spiritual idea of the incomprehensibility of our very surroundings is very much within the borders of a Mozambican. I think they have come to peace with it, before I started thinking seriously about it. But that doesn't mean I can't refuse to make peace with something so unknown. It's a very pleasant thorn in my side.
Peace
John
12/12/2003
BEGIN PART TWO
As I write this, two minutes after finishing "PART ONE", dogs are howling, the temperature is letting up, and general silence has prevailed - internally. I still think heavy thoughts, but I can easily dilute them with bright promises of a wonderful year ahead. On Sunday, I welcome a new volunteer in town. I will do the same in a nearby town, then head to Maputo to go to Portugal so I can pass Christmas with Eric. Then, soon after, I will start to plan the second school year, and I will discover much about this world that I thought I'd cornered and figured out.
Bring it on.
Peace
John
As I write this, two minutes after finishing "PART ONE", dogs are howling, the temperature is letting up, and general silence has prevailed - internally. I still think heavy thoughts, but I can easily dilute them with bright promises of a wonderful year ahead. On Sunday, I welcome a new volunteer in town. I will do the same in a nearby town, then head to Maputo to go to Portugal so I can pass Christmas with Eric. Then, soon after, I will start to plan the second school year, and I will discover much about this world that I thought I'd cornered and figured out.
Bring it on.
Peace
John
Thursday, January 15, 2004
12/04/2003
Why don't I talk about exactly what I'm doing at school? Well, here's a sample of what occupies me for an ENTIRE day.
All of the students' grades are recorded in several places. First of all, there is a "livro de turma", or classroom book, which contains their grades and personal information. Secondly, there are large pieces of paper called "pautas" which have every trimester and final grade for the year in each of the 10 subjects, for 50+ students. Behavior and transfers are noted as well as whether the student passes the year (a 50% pass rate is average for my school). For 10th grade, when they take the exams, their 8th and 9th grade marks must be put on the pautas as well. And everything is in triplicate, first written in pencil, then over again in pen. An average turma will have 50 students, each student with 10 disciplines, 4 marks for the year, the two previous year's marks, and the average over the three years (which can span a full decade, in reality), giving 70 grades, plus 3 behavior grades and the final result. 74 items per student times 50. Quick math gives me 3700 marks, once in pencil and once in pen, three times...
So it was discovered that there were errors in some of the pautas last week. This week, we have been rewriting them. Which involves reading everything off to someone writing, then confirming what was written down. It's downright mind-numbing.
Peace
John
All of the students' grades are recorded in several places. First of all, there is a "livro de turma", or classroom book, which contains their grades and personal information. Secondly, there are large pieces of paper called "pautas" which have every trimester and final grade for the year in each of the 10 subjects, for 50+ students. Behavior and transfers are noted as well as whether the student passes the year (a 50% pass rate is average for my school). For 10th grade, when they take the exams, their 8th and 9th grade marks must be put on the pautas as well. And everything is in triplicate, first written in pencil, then over again in pen. An average turma will have 50 students, each student with 10 disciplines, 4 marks for the year, the two previous year's marks, and the average over the three years (which can span a full decade, in reality), giving 70 grades, plus 3 behavior grades and the final result. 74 items per student times 50. Quick math gives me 3700 marks, once in pencil and once in pen, three times...
So it was discovered that there were errors in some of the pautas last week. This week, we have been rewriting them. Which involves reading everything off to someone writing, then confirming what was written down. It's downright mind-numbing.
Peace
John
12/02/2003
I corrected about 100 exams today, taught two English lessons to a grand total of 6 people, from 11 to 61 years old, and wore my special Zimbabwean-capulana suit. It's a mix of several hues of blue, gold and white patterned with elephants, giraffes and other animals. I received many compliments on it.
My mind keeps drifting to playing sports - generally, organized and insular activities that I can wrap my mind around. I'm pretty sure it's just that I'm trying to avoid dealing with real, day-to-day complications and how to make peace with my situation.
Peace
John
My mind keeps drifting to playing sports - generally, organized and insular activities that I can wrap my mind around. I'm pretty sure it's just that I'm trying to avoid dealing with real, day-to-day complications and how to make peace with my situation.
Peace
John
12/01/2003
I'm frustrated.
A teacher discovered that an entire room of students blatantly copied directly from one another on a national exam, and she did nothing about it - it was something funny, I guess.
A man who beats his wife bullies his would-be accusers into paying HIM money.
About 3 people in Mozambique understand why I'm here. I'm not one of them.
I'm correcting exams that teachers get paid extra for - so where's the money going that doesn't go to me? To the people who told me to do the work?
It's a rare moment in the day when I feel respected. Rarer still from a stranger.
But the main problem seems to be, and I've clearly put a lot of thought into this, that I can see very easily the other point of view. That is, I feel like I can now put myself in a Mozambican's shoes and understand why I'm treated (and other Americans are as well) the way I am. I see the string of abuses and disrespect. In fact, this frustrates me more, because I just want people to realize that I'm not here to give handouts and make life "easier". I want to help make Mozambicans' lives better, which doesn't mean improving their quality of life today.
Kingston, drunk, mentioned to me today how many teachers at school don't like me, but a few really DO like me. And it seems to hinge on how strict I am and if they agree with that. Kingston things that the ones who don't like me made it through school by cheating and barely making it, so they get patriotic - in a sense - and xenophobic. All of a sudden it becomes a race issue (in the nationalistic sene) and strong emotions are involved with race issues.
And though I am told I would lose my idealism, I think that if I did - if I dropped my principles - I would be of no help, whether Mozambicans want it or not, whether they use it or not.
Peace
John
A teacher discovered that an entire room of students blatantly copied directly from one another on a national exam, and she did nothing about it - it was something funny, I guess.
A man who beats his wife bullies his would-be accusers into paying HIM money.
About 3 people in Mozambique understand why I'm here. I'm not one of them.
I'm correcting exams that teachers get paid extra for - so where's the money going that doesn't go to me? To the people who told me to do the work?
It's a rare moment in the day when I feel respected. Rarer still from a stranger.
But the main problem seems to be, and I've clearly put a lot of thought into this, that I can see very easily the other point of view. That is, I feel like I can now put myself in a Mozambican's shoes and understand why I'm treated (and other Americans are as well) the way I am. I see the string of abuses and disrespect. In fact, this frustrates me more, because I just want people to realize that I'm not here to give handouts and make life "easier". I want to help make Mozambicans' lives better, which doesn't mean improving their quality of life today.
Kingston, drunk, mentioned to me today how many teachers at school don't like me, but a few really DO like me. And it seems to hinge on how strict I am and if they agree with that. Kingston things that the ones who don't like me made it through school by cheating and barely making it, so they get patriotic - in a sense - and xenophobic. All of a sudden it becomes a race issue (in the nationalistic sene) and strong emotions are involved with race issues.
And though I am told I would lose my idealism, I think that if I did - if I dropped my principles - I would be of no help, whether Mozambicans want it or not, whether they use it or not.
Peace
John
11/29/2003
The past 2 days I've been reading quite quickly, a book called "April 1865". It's an excellent novel about the making of America via the Civil War. How racial barriers were overcome, people overcame violence and learned how to live with each other again.
And it's mirrored the last two days of local melodramatics.
Yesterday, I came home to find Artimisa, Albertina's half-sister, skinny and distraught, sitting down in our living room. Her husband had just beaten her, and being four months pregnant, she wasn't going to put up with it (again). She came to find her sister.
So Blake, Albertina, Artimisa, the Canadians and I all went to her house to get her clothes so she could escape. We knew her husband was on his way, so we tried to move things along.
Artimisa had a key to the house, so I stood outside while Albertina helped out inside. The others stayed around the car. Before long, the husband rode up on his bicycle, passing his resting father who had been sleeping on the ground outside due to the heat.
When he entered the house, I did too, to make sure he wouldn't get violent - it didn't seem like he would, given the company, and also since he had asked permission to enter the house.
When he got in, he started to ask what was going on. Albertina explained that her sister was packing her bag with clothes so that she could leave. He stood between Artimisa, her bag and the door, effectively preventing her from leaving. Charles entered the house, grabbed the bag, and the husband started to follow. Artimisa squeezed through the opening and Albertina and I kept her outside. The husband got the bag back and in the room - we agreed that enough was enough and we'd just get out of there, getting clothes from elsewhere.
The husband didn't relent, though, and continued to yell after us "What's the problem? What do you have to do with this?" Blake stood up to him and grabbed his shirt, saying that hitting women IS our problem. We calmed him down before it got messy and drove off.
Today, Artimisa seemed to be much more relaxed and eating somewhat better. She looked through my pictures several times, and I could tell she was trying to get her mind elsewhere.
Her brother came and together with Albertina, they went to her family's house about 30 minutes away. Their mother told Artimisa that this is the last time she'd help (this is a recurring pattern), and if she went back to him, there would be no home to go back to (with her mother). She laid down the law.
And then the husband did the same for us. After threatening to do so, he went to the police, saying that we stole money and physically harrassed him. He delivered a sheet of paper, officially stamped but riddled with spelling and grammatical errors, that said we had to answer the charged at 8:30 PM. The clock read 7:30 PM.
So Blake got the neighbor to watch the house and I went to the Canadians to see if they wanted to go with us. Albertina was formally charged (though her name was incorrect as was her place of residence) with Blake being "requested" to be present, as her "husband".
Charles and Annie had visitors from Maputo, who were more than willing to join us, so the five of us left for the police station while Blake and Albertina met up with Dinho, Albertina's older brother.
We met at the station at 8:30 and waited 10 minutes for the husband and his young friend (who had also been outside last night during the struggle). The officer first asked what his story was, then ours. Dinho, being of the coolest head, spoke for us.
That is, after he translated. Though the husband speaks Portuguese just fine, he chose to speak Changana after being prompted by the officer "You can speak in whatever language you feel comfortable in." And what if it had been English? German? Zulu? It was clear that they wanted to exclude us as much as possible, making things difficult. I held my tongue. We all did.
And what Dinho translated was that we had stolen money, entered his house without his permission, and beat him up.
What happened over the next half hour was out-and-out intimidation. The officer asked us our story. Then questioned the validity of it, asking for specifics, and judging why "white people who don't have anything to do with this" were involved. He asked where the wife was - we said she had stayed away because he had beaten her. The officer brushed this off, as acceptable. He confirmed that we had entered the house without the husband's permission - yet when we asked what the law was concerning a woman's right to let in whom she pleases, the response was clearly that the law says one thing and practice says another. The woman has no right to let anyone enter the house, but not in so many words. Annie said we were looking out for Artimisa's safety, but it fell on very deaf ears. The entire debacle was very deliberately run in an attempt to muscle us into coughing up money to the police and her husband - there was even a threat that because the "forced entry" and "assault" were criminal matters, thatit would be tried as a criminal case. And the sum money - 7 million Met ($280) - was never properly accounted for. The officer was told it was in the bag, but both parties agreed that the bag had never left the house. Accepted without a word.
And tomorrow there's a summons for Artimisa to come and speak her mind.
Peace
John
And it's mirrored the last two days of local melodramatics.
Yesterday, I came home to find Artimisa, Albertina's half-sister, skinny and distraught, sitting down in our living room. Her husband had just beaten her, and being four months pregnant, she wasn't going to put up with it (again). She came to find her sister.
So Blake, Albertina, Artimisa, the Canadians and I all went to her house to get her clothes so she could escape. We knew her husband was on his way, so we tried to move things along.
Artimisa had a key to the house, so I stood outside while Albertina helped out inside. The others stayed around the car. Before long, the husband rode up on his bicycle, passing his resting father who had been sleeping on the ground outside due to the heat.
When he entered the house, I did too, to make sure he wouldn't get violent - it didn't seem like he would, given the company, and also since he had asked permission to enter the house.
When he got in, he started to ask what was going on. Albertina explained that her sister was packing her bag with clothes so that she could leave. He stood between Artimisa, her bag and the door, effectively preventing her from leaving. Charles entered the house, grabbed the bag, and the husband started to follow. Artimisa squeezed through the opening and Albertina and I kept her outside. The husband got the bag back and in the room - we agreed that enough was enough and we'd just get out of there, getting clothes from elsewhere.
The husband didn't relent, though, and continued to yell after us "What's the problem? What do you have to do with this?" Blake stood up to him and grabbed his shirt, saying that hitting women IS our problem. We calmed him down before it got messy and drove off.
Today, Artimisa seemed to be much more relaxed and eating somewhat better. She looked through my pictures several times, and I could tell she was trying to get her mind elsewhere.
Her brother came and together with Albertina, they went to her family's house about 30 minutes away. Their mother told Artimisa that this is the last time she'd help (this is a recurring pattern), and if she went back to him, there would be no home to go back to (with her mother). She laid down the law.
And then the husband did the same for us. After threatening to do so, he went to the police, saying that we stole money and physically harrassed him. He delivered a sheet of paper, officially stamped but riddled with spelling and grammatical errors, that said we had to answer the charged at 8:30 PM. The clock read 7:30 PM.
So Blake got the neighbor to watch the house and I went to the Canadians to see if they wanted to go with us. Albertina was formally charged (though her name was incorrect as was her place of residence) with Blake being "requested" to be present, as her "husband".
Charles and Annie had visitors from Maputo, who were more than willing to join us, so the five of us left for the police station while Blake and Albertina met up with Dinho, Albertina's older brother.
We met at the station at 8:30 and waited 10 minutes for the husband and his young friend (who had also been outside last night during the struggle). The officer first asked what his story was, then ours. Dinho, being of the coolest head, spoke for us.
That is, after he translated. Though the husband speaks Portuguese just fine, he chose to speak Changana after being prompted by the officer "You can speak in whatever language you feel comfortable in." And what if it had been English? German? Zulu? It was clear that they wanted to exclude us as much as possible, making things difficult. I held my tongue. We all did.
And what Dinho translated was that we had stolen money, entered his house without his permission, and beat him up.
What happened over the next half hour was out-and-out intimidation. The officer asked us our story. Then questioned the validity of it, asking for specifics, and judging why "white people who don't have anything to do with this" were involved. He asked where the wife was - we said she had stayed away because he had beaten her. The officer brushed this off, as acceptable. He confirmed that we had entered the house without the husband's permission - yet when we asked what the law was concerning a woman's right to let in whom she pleases, the response was clearly that the law says one thing and practice says another. The woman has no right to let anyone enter the house, but not in so many words. Annie said we were looking out for Artimisa's safety, but it fell on very deaf ears. The entire debacle was very deliberately run in an attempt to muscle us into coughing up money to the police and her husband - there was even a threat that because the "forced entry" and "assault" were criminal matters, thatit would be tried as a criminal case. And the sum money - 7 million Met ($280) - was never properly accounted for. The officer was told it was in the bag, but both parties agreed that the bag had never left the house. Accepted without a word.
And tomorrow there's a summons for Artimisa to come and speak her mind.
Peace
John
11/23/2003
It seems that I have trouble traveling and writing at the same time. Long time between entries for quite a while now - but a lot is being accomplished.
On Thursday, I watched more lessons. It's interesting watching future teachers give their first lessons and making the same mistakes that I made, then be eager to hear what it is that they did wrong and could do better. Similarly, it's wonderful to get ideas and be motivated to try new things from the very same people who think and feel that they don't know how to teach.
One of the Michael's (there are 4 of them) taught a lesson as "Futureman Will", teaching - of course - the future tense. He had a full costume and act all prepared for the day, complete with enthusiasm. Chioma made a dietary "wheel" from paper and inserted the names of nutritious foods into the wheel with the help of students. Jason brought his students outside to make a DNA double-helix in three dimensions, from students joining hands. Courtney similarly brought his students outside, but as he's an English teacher, they acted out several action verbs, like run, jump, throw and catch. Jing (?) have a lesson on likes and dislikes, and had the students use the information in about 5 different ways (3 more than I thought were possible). Makes me really wonder why we don't have a midservice teaching training to share experiences and actually give lessons in front of each other.
On Friday, the class I was watching was full of students who wanted another English lesson during a free period that they had. So I gave a short lesson and realized how uncreative it really was. I should definitely start planning lessons again, instead of being content with the fact that I'm there and I can make it up as I go along. It's a good experience, for sure, to be able to walk in and teach, but not that I've over-planned and under-planned, I should try to find the balance in between.
After giving a session on gender equality in the classroom, we gave the trainees s'mores which they thoroughly enjoyed - it's amazing how one bag of marshmallows can suffice for 39 lost Americans. Later, we went out to the bars and celebrated the end of the first week of teaching for the trainees. I think their group is a lot less close than our group is - but then again, is that relaly the point of being a volunteer? It's an interesting question that's always up for debate.
At about 2:30 in the morning, we met a fairly important man in the British volunteer organization VSO. He talked with us for quite a while, while we wondered why he was out at such an hour.
SPeaking of famous people, we even met Mia Coutos (a famous author), who gave a session on Mozamican history. It was a wonderful experience and I even got to pick his brain for about 20 minutes. He's wonderfully articulate in English, and had a lot to say about how the political system in Mozambique is shaped and why it is that way. He answered questions for the volunteers who were there who had been wondering about these things for quite a while. But as Mozambicans tend to be fairly quiet about political matters, you take advantage of the opportinities you get.
Oh, and our medical officer, while telling us that pot is illegal here as it is in the US, freely offered that yes, it is a great stress reliever. Fantastic...
On Saturday, three hours after going to bed, I woke up to go to Maputo to get Chris so that we could go to Phillip's goodbye party. We talked the whole way, but it was a fairly uneventful trip. Except my seat wasn't very well fastened. It was a seat that folded over to let people behind through, and it served much more than its function as it was completely detachable. The owner of the chapa told me it wasn't necessary to remove the seat in order to let people pass, but I insisted I hadn't meant to remove it. So I gave it to Chris who looked just as lost as to what to do with a seat.
In addition to having to constantly be monitoring my seat, we ended up stopping a tremendous amount of times - including at 2 gas stations. We would, over the course of the next two rides, stop at two more gas stations. This is not normal!
Saturday, we went to Phillip's party which took me a while to get into after taking an hour nap, but eventually was dancing the night away. At one point, I started chasing a little kid around because he had "provoked" me, giving me a little love tap on the butt. We ran around a group of dancers for about a minute until I decided to go in the other direction and I grabbed him. I spun him in circles until we fell down, directly onto an immature pineapple tree. Everyone, including us, was laughing too hard to be in pain. Chris started exchanging hats with random people giving them a once-in-a-lifetime thrill. A friend of Phillip's had written and then performed a poem for everyone. Zach danced.
So I got into town today about 5 PM on a quite uncomfortable ride, sandwiched between the door and three people on a bench made for 3 (me being the fourth), and in front of me about 10 people in a one-square-meter space.
Yes, it feels like home.
Peace
John
On Thursday, I watched more lessons. It's interesting watching future teachers give their first lessons and making the same mistakes that I made, then be eager to hear what it is that they did wrong and could do better. Similarly, it's wonderful to get ideas and be motivated to try new things from the very same people who think and feel that they don't know how to teach.
One of the Michael's (there are 4 of them) taught a lesson as "Futureman Will", teaching - of course - the future tense. He had a full costume and act all prepared for the day, complete with enthusiasm. Chioma made a dietary "wheel" from paper and inserted the names of nutritious foods into the wheel with the help of students. Jason brought his students outside to make a DNA double-helix in three dimensions, from students joining hands. Courtney similarly brought his students outside, but as he's an English teacher, they acted out several action verbs, like run, jump, throw and catch. Jing (?) have a lesson on likes and dislikes, and had the students use the information in about 5 different ways (3 more than I thought were possible). Makes me really wonder why we don't have a midservice teaching training to share experiences and actually give lessons in front of each other.
On Friday, the class I was watching was full of students who wanted another English lesson during a free period that they had. So I gave a short lesson and realized how uncreative it really was. I should definitely start planning lessons again, instead of being content with the fact that I'm there and I can make it up as I go along. It's a good experience, for sure, to be able to walk in and teach, but not that I've over-planned and under-planned, I should try to find the balance in between.
After giving a session on gender equality in the classroom, we gave the trainees s'mores which they thoroughly enjoyed - it's amazing how one bag of marshmallows can suffice for 39 lost Americans. Later, we went out to the bars and celebrated the end of the first week of teaching for the trainees. I think their group is a lot less close than our group is - but then again, is that relaly the point of being a volunteer? It's an interesting question that's always up for debate.
At about 2:30 in the morning, we met a fairly important man in the British volunteer organization VSO. He talked with us for quite a while, while we wondered why he was out at such an hour.
SPeaking of famous people, we even met Mia Coutos (a famous author), who gave a session on Mozamican history. It was a wonderful experience and I even got to pick his brain for about 20 minutes. He's wonderfully articulate in English, and had a lot to say about how the political system in Mozambique is shaped and why it is that way. He answered questions for the volunteers who were there who had been wondering about these things for quite a while. But as Mozambicans tend to be fairly quiet about political matters, you take advantage of the opportinities you get.
Oh, and our medical officer, while telling us that pot is illegal here as it is in the US, freely offered that yes, it is a great stress reliever. Fantastic...
On Saturday, three hours after going to bed, I woke up to go to Maputo to get Chris so that we could go to Phillip's goodbye party. We talked the whole way, but it was a fairly uneventful trip. Except my seat wasn't very well fastened. It was a seat that folded over to let people behind through, and it served much more than its function as it was completely detachable. The owner of the chapa told me it wasn't necessary to remove the seat in order to let people pass, but I insisted I hadn't meant to remove it. So I gave it to Chris who looked just as lost as to what to do with a seat.
In addition to having to constantly be monitoring my seat, we ended up stopping a tremendous amount of times - including at 2 gas stations. We would, over the course of the next two rides, stop at two more gas stations. This is not normal!
Saturday, we went to Phillip's party which took me a while to get into after taking an hour nap, but eventually was dancing the night away. At one point, I started chasing a little kid around because he had "provoked" me, giving me a little love tap on the butt. We ran around a group of dancers for about a minute until I decided to go in the other direction and I grabbed him. I spun him in circles until we fell down, directly onto an immature pineapple tree. Everyone, including us, was laughing too hard to be in pain. Chris started exchanging hats with random people giving them a once-in-a-lifetime thrill. A friend of Phillip's had written and then performed a poem for everyone. Zach danced.
So I got into town today about 5 PM on a quite uncomfortable ride, sandwiched between the door and three people on a bench made for 3 (me being the fourth), and in front of me about 10 people in a one-square-meter space.
Yes, it feels like home.
Peace
John
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