It’s my last day before I go back to the States.
Tomorrow.
And I still only have moments of clarity, where I seem to understand what has and is happening. I got dinner in a bar last night, then wandered around looking for a pub I couldn’t find, getting an original Budweiser and explaining (and drawing) what a whale is.
¨
I’m being disgusted with tourism by eating and drinking in a hotel restaurant. I resisted, but my feet and back hurt. My inner monologue is in the third person and often Portuguese, which means I haven’t had enough conversations in English, I guess.
Back to the point. I’m really disgusted with tourism. I see thousands of people walking around, taking pictures of everything, getting souvenirs, having a decidedly European experience. I’m in a hostel where people talk about places they’ve been and will go like fishermen after a catch. And mostly with American accents. As if the world could be conquered in two weeks, two months or two years. I feel like I’m one of a very few who has some clue as to how enormous the world is, and how you don’t know a place, however small, even after two years. You can’t know a people unless you were born there and have a permanent attachment. I left because that’s what people do – because I miss everyone back “home.” And because I’m afraid of being forgotten – how do we exist if not in the minds of others? If I lived a reclusive life in the woods, born and raised by wolves, I would most likely try to advance the lives of the wolves I was among so that I wouldn’t be forgotten. The point is, that’s how we’re remembered.
Jenna and I will be on opposite ends of the earth.
I have confidence that I will find love.
I am not confident that I will find meaning in life. I know it needs to be unique -- for some reason, I’m unhappy doing something someone else is doing, mainly because they’re likely to be less religious about it.
Enough about me. What about you? What will you do, the reader of this journal, after having read and felt (hopefully) two and a half years of the life of some person who might as well be (still) thousands of miles away? Are you motivated, inspired, disillusioned, cynical, challenged, apathetic, insane because of me? Have I had some impact, tangible or not? And what are you going to do with yourself? Navigate to the next web site, ad infinitum, get back to work, go home to your family, make love and go on as if nothing happened? Why don’t you let yourself be irrevocably changed? Why don’t you go up to the store clerk, ask how he’s doing, how he feels about his job, if he’s ever experienced a different culture, and consider running away with him to a place where they can’t even pronounce your name well? Why don’t you start a homeless shelter that offers conversation and ideas instead of just soup and cots? Why don’t you cement your political ideals and run for office, promising to change everything everyone complains about – then, do it? Why don’t you reach down into that deep down somewhere and get out the very thing that scares you and just go and do it? What are you waiting for?
Soon, people in Mozambique will be expected to live about 30 years. Who says the US couldn’t suffer the same problems? Who says there are guarantees in life? That because your parents are comfortably retired in some banally warm climate you will be the same (and if you were, would you be happy?). That everybody gets theirs.
Victims – mortal – never get to voice their concerns or regrets. If they could, people would be a lot more urgently living their lives.
So what are you waiting for? Ask her. Go! Do it! Quit your job! Sell your house!
If I had any impact on your life, I hope I’ve inspired you to just do what scares you – and it scares you because it runs contrary to what’s easy and comfortable, but it offers possibilities that will make your life vastly more interesting than it ever was.
Every day, I try to do exactly that. And now I have to try and do it in the US.
Peace,
John
Monday, March 14, 2005
2.1.05
HOCKEY! Saw Petr Nedved score two goals, Ziggy Palffy and Josef Beranek get one each, and a full game with NHLers! I also wandered around Prague, seeing an art museum full of landscapes, some incredible, but most pretty blah.
Been thinking a lot, but not too productively. Tomorrow, maybe I’ll try and think productively.
Peace,
John
Been thinking a lot, but not too productively. Tomorrow, maybe I’ll try and think productively.
Peace,
John
1.31.05
Let’s try and recap.
Arrive in Heathrow (London) at some ungodly hour in the morning, something like 6am. I say ungodly because I slept on the flight at woke up at 4am, only to watch another movie and wait a while, to still not see the sun come up. Hung out in Heathrow for at most an hour before we boarded the flight for Prague. I was pretty anxious the whole time, wondering what Prague was going to be like, how I was going to take care of everything I needed to take care of, etc. And nobody on the flight was speaking Czech. The only way I knew that, of course, is because everyone was speaking English. (I actually caught a Portuguese couple in London!)
And then, the magic. Coming into the city, snow was on the ground and falling all around. The first time in three years I’ve seen that. I got off the phone, picked up my bags, consolidated the two to one bag, plopped it on to my back, then went to it. Got on a bus, to a tram (streetcar) to another streetcar, then a short walk, getting SNOWED on the whole time in some pretty nasty cold. But I had prepared – three layers on top and two on the bottom of my warmest clothes.
Got into the hotel, checked in and immediately got out to get more money, a coat and a hockey ticket, not necessarily in that order. The coat turned out to be especially urgent as I could feel myself freezing little by little, though I was holding up just fine with a fleece, longsleeve and t-shirt in freezing temperatures. I think my winter body never left me.
So I got into a clothes shop (finally!) and started a routine which was to follow (and most likely will follow for the rest of my time here.
“Dóbre den.” (Good day!)
“Mluviste anglicky?” (Do you speak English?)
“Ne.” (No)
Seeing as all I know is, “Do you speak English,” “Yes,” and “No” the conversation quickly comes to a halt right there. I learned officially “How are you?” (Jak se mas?) and “Fine, and you?” (Dobré, a té?) at a bar so that I could successfully ask someone how they were and respond, assuming they asked me the same question. Doesn’t add a lot to the conversation, though.
Good beer.
After walking quite a bit and successfully getting lost (after I bought the hockey ticket), (I can get lost inside of a shoebox, and when I get out, feel safer inside the same shoebox, which is to say I sometimes enjoy getting lost because it’s a familiar place to be), I found the same restaurant twice and decided it must be fate. It was starting to get dark, and my back was hurting, so at 4pm I sat down for dinner.
4pm? Oy.
I asked what time people usually eat. Oh, 7 to 9pm. Yup. Oh, well.
I asked the waiter what he would drink and eat. I got another half-liter of delicious draft beer and approximately one half of a pig.
To the waiter’s credit, he did ask me whether I was really hungry. I now know that question to be akin to the Mozambican response to, “Is that far from here?” In either case, a “Yes” is bad news.
Well, I finished the salad and the two skewers popping out of my pig. I dumped the gravy all over it, dipped it in horseradish and mustard and onions, and loved every bit. Had an espresso afterwards, and including tip it all cost $13. I love Prague.
So now I’m trying to get my insides warm before I crash – I’m trying to hang on for at least a couple hours before I bite it. It’s 7pm.
At 2pm, I was covered in snow, thinking that 24 hours earlier I was covered in sunlight by a pool playing catch with dogs. In Africa. Weird.
Hockey tomorrow!
Peace,
John
Arrive in Heathrow (London) at some ungodly hour in the morning, something like 6am. I say ungodly because I slept on the flight at woke up at 4am, only to watch another movie and wait a while, to still not see the sun come up. Hung out in Heathrow for at most an hour before we boarded the flight for Prague. I was pretty anxious the whole time, wondering what Prague was going to be like, how I was going to take care of everything I needed to take care of, etc. And nobody on the flight was speaking Czech. The only way I knew that, of course, is because everyone was speaking English. (I actually caught a Portuguese couple in London!)
And then, the magic. Coming into the city, snow was on the ground and falling all around. The first time in three years I’ve seen that. I got off the phone, picked up my bags, consolidated the two to one bag, plopped it on to my back, then went to it. Got on a bus, to a tram (streetcar) to another streetcar, then a short walk, getting SNOWED on the whole time in some pretty nasty cold. But I had prepared – three layers on top and two on the bottom of my warmest clothes.
Got into the hotel, checked in and immediately got out to get more money, a coat and a hockey ticket, not necessarily in that order. The coat turned out to be especially urgent as I could feel myself freezing little by little, though I was holding up just fine with a fleece, longsleeve and t-shirt in freezing temperatures. I think my winter body never left me.
So I got into a clothes shop (finally!) and started a routine which was to follow (and most likely will follow for the rest of my time here.
“Dóbre den.” (Good day!)
“Mluviste anglicky?” (Do you speak English?)
“Ne.” (No)
Seeing as all I know is, “Do you speak English,” “Yes,” and “No” the conversation quickly comes to a halt right there. I learned officially “How are you?” (Jak se mas?) and “Fine, and you?” (Dobré, a té?) at a bar so that I could successfully ask someone how they were and respond, assuming they asked me the same question. Doesn’t add a lot to the conversation, though.
Good beer.
After walking quite a bit and successfully getting lost (after I bought the hockey ticket), (I can get lost inside of a shoebox, and when I get out, feel safer inside the same shoebox, which is to say I sometimes enjoy getting lost because it’s a familiar place to be), I found the same restaurant twice and decided it must be fate. It was starting to get dark, and my back was hurting, so at 4pm I sat down for dinner.
4pm? Oy.
I asked what time people usually eat. Oh, 7 to 9pm. Yup. Oh, well.
I asked the waiter what he would drink and eat. I got another half-liter of delicious draft beer and approximately one half of a pig.
To the waiter’s credit, he did ask me whether I was really hungry. I now know that question to be akin to the Mozambican response to, “Is that far from here?” In either case, a “Yes” is bad news.
Well, I finished the salad and the two skewers popping out of my pig. I dumped the gravy all over it, dipped it in horseradish and mustard and onions, and loved every bit. Had an espresso afterwards, and including tip it all cost $13. I love Prague.
So now I’m trying to get my insides warm before I crash – I’m trying to hang on for at least a couple hours before I bite it. It’s 7pm.
At 2pm, I was covered in snow, thinking that 24 hours earlier I was covered in sunlight by a pool playing catch with dogs. In Africa. Weird.
Hockey tomorrow!
Peace,
John
1.30.05
Yesterday, I said goodbye to Jenna and Nanosh. It wasn’t the last goodbye – I saw Marcilio in Johannesburg – but it was by far the hardest. I don’t think I even understand the emotions I went through and am still going through, and will be for some time. All I have known for the last two years is poof! gone.
I had time to think about that on the bus from Maputo to Johannesburg yesterday, but they showed movies, the scenery was spectacular, and I was in and out of sleep. It’s really amazing how intensely I can get lost in thought, and how the smallest distraction can prevent me from getting there.
So it cost 200 Rand for the bus here, then 180 Rand for the taxi to my hostel. It all translates (plus food) to about $85. Still cheaper than a flight, for sure. And now I’ve got time to think, though I’m not sure I want it. What it really means is that I’ve got time to be sad or be anxious about the next few days. I’m sure I’ll keep myself occupied in Prague, after I get tickets for the hockey game I don’t want to miss and a jacket so I don’t die from the cold.
Johannesburg, from what I’ve seen, could be a city pretty much anywhere, except that everyone’s got razor wire and security guards. It’s nice, in a “I don’t want to live here” kind of way. Had a nice conversation with my taxi driver who was born and raised (and still lives) in Soweto. I told him I was interested to see it one day, but didn’t get his contact info after he had to pull out the map and have me navigate to the hostel. “I’ve been driving this taxi since 1989.” Oh, well.
So, these are my last hours in Africa, in an Afrikaner-run hostel outside of the most dangerous city in the world. Two black labs have become my best friends, along with the cook/pool boy, but that relationship is more one-way than with the dogs.
I nearly froze my ass off last night. Had to put on my fleece and keep my socks on just to sleep. Yeah, I’m going to be real cold tomorrow.
The border post put my South African entrance visa ON TOP of my Portugal stamps. Ouch. Patience.
¨
I’m in Johannesburg airport. Not without considerable cost, though. I was overweight (not personally, in terms of luggage) by 10kg, so they wanted to charge me $36 per kg over. Ha! I wasn’t laughing. So I went downstairs to the shippers and they wanted $160 for the entire 10kg. But I didn’t have an extra bag. So a guy sold me a small piece of shit for $20, and I packed it with 10kg of my crap. Then the guy told me I could put up to 19kg into it, no problem – same price. So I did! That lightened my two pieces of luggage. But I totally forgot that prior to doing all of this, one of my pieces weighed 19kg. I only remembered after checking in. Oh, well. $20 bought a rolling Samsonite with questionable zippers and a tougher time in Prague hauling around two bags instead of just one. Phooey.
I bought a cheese sandwich from a Changana woman. She was really happy to see a whitey speaking Changana. Fun stuff. And I passed a glass bin full of change in the terminal. Nothing strange, right? As I looked for the label marking the charity, I noticed there was NONE. OK, maybe it’s the $4 Guinness talking, but I’m quite convinced that Westerners not only have too much money, but we’re WAY too trusting. Hell, I might try that in the States to try and get back the $180 I spent just getting an extra 10 kilos of my accumulated African crap home.
Peace,
John
I had time to think about that on the bus from Maputo to Johannesburg yesterday, but they showed movies, the scenery was spectacular, and I was in and out of sleep. It’s really amazing how intensely I can get lost in thought, and how the smallest distraction can prevent me from getting there.
So it cost 200 Rand for the bus here, then 180 Rand for the taxi to my hostel. It all translates (plus food) to about $85. Still cheaper than a flight, for sure. And now I’ve got time to think, though I’m not sure I want it. What it really means is that I’ve got time to be sad or be anxious about the next few days. I’m sure I’ll keep myself occupied in Prague, after I get tickets for the hockey game I don’t want to miss and a jacket so I don’t die from the cold.
Johannesburg, from what I’ve seen, could be a city pretty much anywhere, except that everyone’s got razor wire and security guards. It’s nice, in a “I don’t want to live here” kind of way. Had a nice conversation with my taxi driver who was born and raised (and still lives) in Soweto. I told him I was interested to see it one day, but didn’t get his contact info after he had to pull out the map and have me navigate to the hostel. “I’ve been driving this taxi since 1989.” Oh, well.
So, these are my last hours in Africa, in an Afrikaner-run hostel outside of the most dangerous city in the world. Two black labs have become my best friends, along with the cook/pool boy, but that relationship is more one-way than with the dogs.
I nearly froze my ass off last night. Had to put on my fleece and keep my socks on just to sleep. Yeah, I’m going to be real cold tomorrow.
The border post put my South African entrance visa ON TOP of my Portugal stamps. Ouch. Patience.
¨
I’m in Johannesburg airport. Not without considerable cost, though. I was overweight (not personally, in terms of luggage) by 10kg, so they wanted to charge me $36 per kg over. Ha! I wasn’t laughing. So I went downstairs to the shippers and they wanted $160 for the entire 10kg. But I didn’t have an extra bag. So a guy sold me a small piece of shit for $20, and I packed it with 10kg of my crap. Then the guy told me I could put up to 19kg into it, no problem – same price. So I did! That lightened my two pieces of luggage. But I totally forgot that prior to doing all of this, one of my pieces weighed 19kg. I only remembered after checking in. Oh, well. $20 bought a rolling Samsonite with questionable zippers and a tougher time in Prague hauling around two bags instead of just one. Phooey.
I bought a cheese sandwich from a Changana woman. She was really happy to see a whitey speaking Changana. Fun stuff. And I passed a glass bin full of change in the terminal. Nothing strange, right? As I looked for the label marking the charity, I noticed there was NONE. OK, maybe it’s the $4 Guinness talking, but I’m quite convinced that Westerners not only have too much money, but we’re WAY too trusting. Hell, I might try that in the States to try and get back the $180 I spent just getting an extra 10 kilos of my accumulated African crap home.
Peace,
John
1.28.05
Yesterday, I got into Chokwe at 8am and said goodbye to Marcilio at 10pm – in between, I took a couple hours for meals and said goodbye to David, Oscar, people at VUKOXA, Dona Flora, Jorgito, the Macias, the Cassamos, the post office lady, Alfred, Mukenga, Miguel, Evaristo, everyone at school, students I ran into along the way, and others who I happened to see. It took the whole time because I visited everyone, stopping to talk for a while and just hang out. I made a lot of promises that I will inevitably not keep, and gave myself a lot to remember.
This morning, at 4:10am, Oscar came knocking on the door with the painting he promised me of my school. I love it. Nanosh is bringing it down to Maputo as I write this. On my trip here, I was nodding on and off, very tired, when I dreamt I had looked at my watch which said 6:30am and awoke immediately to look at my watch which said 6:57am. Fatigued. Then, a couple minutes later, I heard beyond a voice behind me, “Tio João! Tio João!” It was one of the market women who I had said bye to yesterday. She had been on the same chapa with me for two hours, but we’d both been too tired to notice. She was really happy to see me and be able to see me off, along with another lady she works with.
I got into The Base (a hostel) at 9am, and ever since, I’ve been in and out running errands – I’ve been repacking since about 4pm. Nanosh and Jenna get here in an hour or two, then we go off to one last dinner and in the morning say our goodbyes. The goodbyes yesterday were hard because I realized for the first time the friendships I had made and how much people will miss me. More importantly, how much I’ll miss them. But these two goodbyes are the last and definitely the hardest. I often regret my decision to go back home, but I know that once I get there I’ll realize why I did it. It’s hard to leave something so wonderful (with exception of racism and my school, which is going downhill) for something I once knew but is now strange. I’m home in a week.
Peace,
John
This morning, at 4:10am, Oscar came knocking on the door with the painting he promised me of my school. I love it. Nanosh is bringing it down to Maputo as I write this. On my trip here, I was nodding on and off, very tired, when I dreamt I had looked at my watch which said 6:30am and awoke immediately to look at my watch which said 6:57am. Fatigued. Then, a couple minutes later, I heard beyond a voice behind me, “Tio João! Tio João!” It was one of the market women who I had said bye to yesterday. She had been on the same chapa with me for two hours, but we’d both been too tired to notice. She was really happy to see me and be able to see me off, along with another lady she works with.
I got into The Base (a hostel) at 9am, and ever since, I’ve been in and out running errands – I’ve been repacking since about 4pm. Nanosh and Jenna get here in an hour or two, then we go off to one last dinner and in the morning say our goodbyes. The goodbyes yesterday were hard because I realized for the first time the friendships I had made and how much people will miss me. More importantly, how much I’ll miss them. But these two goodbyes are the last and definitely the hardest. I often regret my decision to go back home, but I know that once I get there I’ll realize why I did it. It’s hard to leave something so wonderful (with exception of racism and my school, which is going downhill) for something I once knew but is now strange. I’m home in a week.
Peace,
John
1.25.05
So, where was I? Oh yeah …
Well, on the morning of the 5th, I woke up at a frighteningly early 2am because I couldn’t sleep. Second floor of a hot building in a hot city, bad enough but I’ve done worse, tack on three chapas directly outside having “who can play their music the loudest” war – well, almost no sleep going on. So I just stayed up until it was time to get on the bus, left early for the bus, waited with my bag which was hauled up by some random guy who I thought was official (you’d think I’d know by now) and he asked for money. Some young Mozambicans were having fun with him and eventually gave him money to go away – I felt bad.
Bus left at 4:30am – saw baboons on the road and heard there was a crocodile. Made excellent time into Maxixe; it was about 2:30pm when we arrived. I took a motor boat across the way to Inhambane, got a needed coke, then asked the vendor where Pensão Pachiça was. Got there about 3pm, noticed Jenna wasn’t there yet, went to the market to see if she was there, no dice. Relaxed with some locals and American tourists, talking about everything, especially the romantic “meeting at a random place” story. Jenna got in a little after 5pm, while I had gone out searching again.
The next day, we went to Tofo, directly to Fatima’s backpackers and spent a wonderful three days on one of the most peaceful, serene beaches I’ve ever visited. I saw more white people than Mozambicans, but it was a necessary break nonetheless. Got lots of sun, swam in the warm Indian Ocean, and enjoyed great bar food made for beach bums.
From there, on the 9th, I headed back to Chokwe alone to find Nanosh for an hour before he left for Maputo. Blake stayed in the house that night as well, and if felt like last year. Yay. I stayed in Chokwe until the 11th, when I headed down to Maputo myself so that I could hang out with Nanosh and Jenna, and take care of other, last-minute things in the city. Got back to Chokwe with the crew on the 15th, spent the weekend there, enjoying Nanosh’s new toys and good, solid meals. Then, headed out to Hokwe on the 16th, where Jenna and I spent all last week. On Friday the 21st, we went back into Chokwe – and back into excitement. The week in Hokwe was very relaxing – if only because there’s nothing to do. I did a lot of reading. So back in Chokwe, we lived it up and went to the Palhota to enjoy excellent chicken and beers, and did a lot of home cooking. On Sunday the 23rd, Jenna and I came back to Hokwe so she could start giving lessons at school. Yesterday, I did more of the same, doing some shopping and lounging around. Tomorrow is my last day in Hokwe and early Thursday morning (27th), I go to Chokwe to say goodbye to everyone. Early Friday morning (28th), I go to Maputo to take care of final preparations for my trip home. Saturday (29th) I take a bus to Johannesburg, Sunday the 30th I take a night flight to London and on the 31st go from London to Prague. I stay in Prague through the 4th of February, when I leave for the States and get there that afternoon.
This is it.
Final thoughts?
I thought that I would be writing reams at this point, offering some conclusion to my experiences, but I still find myself focused on the next step in my travels, and not very preoccupied with the long-term future or the past two years. I guess that’s because I know it will all be put into perspective when people start asking me inane questions and I give them mutually unsatisfying answers. Or maybe it will all come together in the flight from London to JFK. But I feel like, once again, if I somehow try to put the last two years in a box, I will cheapen it and label it an “experience,” something that can be ignored and only referred to when necessary, as opposed to a directional shift in my life. At this point, I feel that coming home is a shift in the wrong direction, but a necessary one. I know I’ll find some way to pick up where I left off – here, not there. But that last point scares me, because I have so many good friends in the States who I don’t want to lose – and I don’t want to be so far away from my parents again. So I think I need to find something that balances all of these – fame and fortune are secondary, of course!
But, really, the one thing I know I have learned beyond a doubt is that people are more important than experiences. I had lots of cool experiences on my trip, but the time I’m spending with Jenna an d Nanosh now, and the time I will spend with everyone back home, is vastly more important. And though I see a duty to the world as my destiny and my desire, I won’t let it get in the way of friends and family. I never thought I’d learn a lesson so independent of the experiences I’ve had here. But I guess that could be a final thought.
Peace,
John
Well, on the morning of the 5th, I woke up at a frighteningly early 2am because I couldn’t sleep. Second floor of a hot building in a hot city, bad enough but I’ve done worse, tack on three chapas directly outside having “who can play their music the loudest” war – well, almost no sleep going on. So I just stayed up until it was time to get on the bus, left early for the bus, waited with my bag which was hauled up by some random guy who I thought was official (you’d think I’d know by now) and he asked for money. Some young Mozambicans were having fun with him and eventually gave him money to go away – I felt bad.
Bus left at 4:30am – saw baboons on the road and heard there was a crocodile. Made excellent time into Maxixe; it was about 2:30pm when we arrived. I took a motor boat across the way to Inhambane, got a needed coke, then asked the vendor where Pensão Pachiça was. Got there about 3pm, noticed Jenna wasn’t there yet, went to the market to see if she was there, no dice. Relaxed with some locals and American tourists, talking about everything, especially the romantic “meeting at a random place” story. Jenna got in a little after 5pm, while I had gone out searching again.
The next day, we went to Tofo, directly to Fatima’s backpackers and spent a wonderful three days on one of the most peaceful, serene beaches I’ve ever visited. I saw more white people than Mozambicans, but it was a necessary break nonetheless. Got lots of sun, swam in the warm Indian Ocean, and enjoyed great bar food made for beach bums.
From there, on the 9th, I headed back to Chokwe alone to find Nanosh for an hour before he left for Maputo. Blake stayed in the house that night as well, and if felt like last year. Yay. I stayed in Chokwe until the 11th, when I headed down to Maputo myself so that I could hang out with Nanosh and Jenna, and take care of other, last-minute things in the city. Got back to Chokwe with the crew on the 15th, spent the weekend there, enjoying Nanosh’s new toys and good, solid meals. Then, headed out to Hokwe on the 16th, where Jenna and I spent all last week. On Friday the 21st, we went back into Chokwe – and back into excitement. The week in Hokwe was very relaxing – if only because there’s nothing to do. I did a lot of reading. So back in Chokwe, we lived it up and went to the Palhota to enjoy excellent chicken and beers, and did a lot of home cooking. On Sunday the 23rd, Jenna and I came back to Hokwe so she could start giving lessons at school. Yesterday, I did more of the same, doing some shopping and lounging around. Tomorrow is my last day in Hokwe and early Thursday morning (27th), I go to Chokwe to say goodbye to everyone. Early Friday morning (28th), I go to Maputo to take care of final preparations for my trip home. Saturday (29th) I take a bus to Johannesburg, Sunday the 30th I take a night flight to London and on the 31st go from London to Prague. I stay in Prague through the 4th of February, when I leave for the States and get there that afternoon.
This is it.
Final thoughts?
I thought that I would be writing reams at this point, offering some conclusion to my experiences, but I still find myself focused on the next step in my travels, and not very preoccupied with the long-term future or the past two years. I guess that’s because I know it will all be put into perspective when people start asking me inane questions and I give them mutually unsatisfying answers. Or maybe it will all come together in the flight from London to JFK. But I feel like, once again, if I somehow try to put the last two years in a box, I will cheapen it and label it an “experience,” something that can be ignored and only referred to when necessary, as opposed to a directional shift in my life. At this point, I feel that coming home is a shift in the wrong direction, but a necessary one. I know I’ll find some way to pick up where I left off – here, not there. But that last point scares me, because I have so many good friends in the States who I don’t want to lose – and I don’t want to be so far away from my parents again. So I think I need to find something that balances all of these – fame and fortune are secondary, of course!
But, really, the one thing I know I have learned beyond a doubt is that people are more important than experiences. I had lots of cool experiences on my trip, but the time I’m spending with Jenna an d Nanosh now, and the time I will spend with everyone back home, is vastly more important. And though I see a duty to the world as my destiny and my desire, I won’t let it get in the way of friends and family. I never thought I’d learn a lesson so independent of the experiences I’ve had here. But I guess that could be a final thought.
Peace,
John
Thursday, March 03, 2005
1.4.05
Today I got almost nowhere. Got up at 4am, caught the boat to take us across, got a chapa immediately to get to Inchope, the turnoff for the south of the country. And waited. From 10:30am to 3:15pm, I waited for something. There was one car, but it was going to a city short of where I wanted for a price I understood to be too much. Of course, I’ve been kicking myself ever since.
So now I’m in Beira, a city where they clearly don’t like white people all that much. You regularly get called “white,” “chief,” “patrão” … you name it. Insulted, basically, for being such an outsider. I paid $12.50 for a piece of shit room, $22.50 for a ride I should pay almost half that for, and almost paid $1 more for dinner than necessary. But because I’m white, I got a life that saved me $2.50. Not even, but close enough.
So I’m leaving at 4:30am, with hopes to be in Maxixe at 3 or 4pm, Inhambane an hour later. Here’s hoping.
Peace,
John
So now I’m in Beira, a city where they clearly don’t like white people all that much. You regularly get called “white,” “chief,” “patrão” … you name it. Insulted, basically, for being such an outsider. I paid $12.50 for a piece of shit room, $22.50 for a ride I should pay almost half that for, and almost paid $1 more for dinner than necessary. But because I’m white, I got a life that saved me $2.50. Not even, but close enough.
So I’m leaving at 4:30am, with hopes to be in Maxixe at 3 or 4pm, Inhambane an hour later. Here’s hoping.
Peace,
John
1.3.05
OK. So this is funny. I took two buses today, starting at 5am and ending at 8pm to get to Caia, which is the bridgeless, hotelless, hostelless, pensão-less, rest house-less Zambezi river crossing. I’m sleeping inside my tent on a reed mat which is on wood supports inside a mud hut, a couple hundred meters from the river. It’s hot.
I hooked up with a Maputo-an called Silva to do the whole room-finding and dinner. Good conversation, he seems nice enough.
Tomorrow, I cross the Zambezi in a “small boat” that “every once in a while” tips over into crocodile-infested waters. Goodbye, Peace Corps rules.
I had an eighteen month-old girl on my lap for about three or four hours of the trip, sleeping away. It was wonderful.
Peace,
John
I hooked up with a Maputo-an called Silva to do the whole room-finding and dinner. Good conversation, he seems nice enough.
Tomorrow, I cross the Zambezi in a “small boat” that “every once in a while” tips over into crocodile-infested waters. Goodbye, Peace Corps rules.
I had an eighteen month-old girl on my lap for about three or four hours of the trip, sleeping away. It was wonderful.
Peace,
John
1.2.05
The night in Cuamba was actually pretty nice, except for the fact that at 11pm, a drunk woman woke up the Malawian man who was in charge and said in drunk Portuguese, a language the Malawian has only a very basic grasp of, that the train was only doing work right now and I’d have to get onto it nice and early to get a seat, which I already knew. But he interpreted it as meaning that the train was leaving NOW so I needed to start getting ready RIGHT AWAY, which freaked me out until I got to talk to this drunk woman and I reassured him it was OK.
So then at 2:40am, I woke up for good to get on board the train that left at 5am. It was perfect planning as I got a good seat (unfortunately by a window that had no glass, so when it rained, I got rained on). I saw some of the most beautiful mountains – rocky, often triangular exposures that came from seemingly nothing, framing villages and breaking up the inevitable monotony of 12 hours on a train. The train was busy – lots of men were doing the market shopping, meaning that at every stop, they would get tomatoes, onions, peanuts, mushrooms, etc. running on and off as quickly as possible. They get excellent prices because it all comes directly from the farmer, and they often use the same people so that these people are prepared for when the train comes and only stops for a minute or two. So you’re sitting among chickens and hanging produce, not to mention all the bags and small children. People asked me, “Why take third class? It’s much better in first or second.” Well, you miss out on life – so much of it is all around you in third class, and it is just as important to seeing the country as the scenery is.
So I arrived in Nampula at 3pm, got my bag, and got off the train. Then, for about 10 minutes, pushed my way through a crowd I can only describe as mob-like, and got myself to open air. I called Evaristo, whose house I’m in now, and we met at a restaurant close to the station. He brought me to his house, I got cleaned up and fed, then we walked around the local neighborhood and some surrounding neighborhoods for a while.
From what I’ve seen, Nampula is a mixed city. It’s got a lot to see and do, but all of the architecture is colonial (the only new structures are being built on the outskirts of the city) and it doesn’t really have a tangible center. The city feels more like a collection of neighborhoods than a single entity.
So, tired, Evaristo and I stayed up until midnight, through the rain and bad TV programming, to say we saw 2005. I retired to my tent, as they don’t have another mosquito net for me, and slept soundly until the sun was too much.
Yesterday, we saw an art gallery, makeshift and without electricity, but an excellent gallery of native Makonde art. They use a wood called “pau-preto” which is light on the outermost layers (about 1 – 1 ½ inches) and black on the inside. It’s a stunning effect when both layers are maintained in the sculpture.
In the afternoon, we went with his five year-old son (he’s also get seven and eight year-old daughters who are going to be terrors when they hit 13) named Evans out to where he’s building a second house. The plan is to rent out this first house while he lives in the nicer and more open second house, with hopes to build a third from the money made off the first. It’s an ingenious plan here, as you can make enough money to build a new house for just a year’s worth of rent.
We saw, from his house, a close-up of the mountain that I’d seen earlier. It’s a small mountain, climbable in an hour or less, that houses the radio station at the very top. But they took down the antenna, so all is left is a yellow house which looks very pretty sitting on top of the world.
Evaristo and I came back through town, seeing the only military academy in Mozambique, and it was quite impressive. Dozens of buildings, regally spread about and obviously rigorously maintained, with barracks surrounding, full of newly pregnant woman.
We got to sleep quickly after dinner, after I spoke with a friend who’s living in a house out back about traveling to Maputo. I’m realizing my trip is coming to a close, but noy before I see the beaches of Inhambane in the last chapter, as it were. Of course, getting there will take two to three days, so it will be as much of an adventure. No border crossings, however, which tend to complicate matters.
Peace,
John
So then at 2:40am, I woke up for good to get on board the train that left at 5am. It was perfect planning as I got a good seat (unfortunately by a window that had no glass, so when it rained, I got rained on). I saw some of the most beautiful mountains – rocky, often triangular exposures that came from seemingly nothing, framing villages and breaking up the inevitable monotony of 12 hours on a train. The train was busy – lots of men were doing the market shopping, meaning that at every stop, they would get tomatoes, onions, peanuts, mushrooms, etc. running on and off as quickly as possible. They get excellent prices because it all comes directly from the farmer, and they often use the same people so that these people are prepared for when the train comes and only stops for a minute or two. So you’re sitting among chickens and hanging produce, not to mention all the bags and small children. People asked me, “Why take third class? It’s much better in first or second.” Well, you miss out on life – so much of it is all around you in third class, and it is just as important to seeing the country as the scenery is.
So I arrived in Nampula at 3pm, got my bag, and got off the train. Then, for about 10 minutes, pushed my way through a crowd I can only describe as mob-like, and got myself to open air. I called Evaristo, whose house I’m in now, and we met at a restaurant close to the station. He brought me to his house, I got cleaned up and fed, then we walked around the local neighborhood and some surrounding neighborhoods for a while.
From what I’ve seen, Nampula is a mixed city. It’s got a lot to see and do, but all of the architecture is colonial (the only new structures are being built on the outskirts of the city) and it doesn’t really have a tangible center. The city feels more like a collection of neighborhoods than a single entity.
So, tired, Evaristo and I stayed up until midnight, through the rain and bad TV programming, to say we saw 2005. I retired to my tent, as they don’t have another mosquito net for me, and slept soundly until the sun was too much.
Yesterday, we saw an art gallery, makeshift and without electricity, but an excellent gallery of native Makonde art. They use a wood called “pau-preto” which is light on the outermost layers (about 1 – 1 ½ inches) and black on the inside. It’s a stunning effect when both layers are maintained in the sculpture.
In the afternoon, we went with his five year-old son (he’s also get seven and eight year-old daughters who are going to be terrors when they hit 13) named Evans out to where he’s building a second house. The plan is to rent out this first house while he lives in the nicer and more open second house, with hopes to build a third from the money made off the first. It’s an ingenious plan here, as you can make enough money to build a new house for just a year’s worth of rent.
We saw, from his house, a close-up of the mountain that I’d seen earlier. It’s a small mountain, climbable in an hour or less, that houses the radio station at the very top. But they took down the antenna, so all is left is a yellow house which looks very pretty sitting on top of the world.
Evaristo and I came back through town, seeing the only military academy in Mozambique, and it was quite impressive. Dozens of buildings, regally spread about and obviously rigorously maintained, with barracks surrounding, full of newly pregnant woman.
We got to sleep quickly after dinner, after I spoke with a friend who’s living in a house out back about traveling to Maputo. I’m realizing my trip is coming to a close, but noy before I see the beaches of Inhambane in the last chapter, as it were. Of course, getting there will take two to three days, so it will be as much of an adventure. No border crossings, however, which tend to complicate matters.
Peace,
John
12.30.04
Only made it to Cuamba. Rain has been on and off the past two days, making road travel – especially on dirt roads like I had all the way here – quite tricky. So I’m waiting for a train to take me to Nampula while I listen to a thunderstorm pound my tin roof in a pensão somewhere in Cuamba.
It’s beautiful here – no tar roads, some original Portuguese architecture, everyone speaks Portuguese, the mountains are all visible and fog-capped, and it’s the middle of nowhere, in a big city. It’s great. I’m even getting a hot dinner cooked for me!
Train tomorrow: 3am. Ouch.
Peace,
John
It’s beautiful here – no tar roads, some original Portuguese architecture, everyone speaks Portuguese, the mountains are all visible and fog-capped, and it’s the middle of nowhere, in a big city. It’s great. I’m even getting a hot dinner cooked for me!
Train tomorrow: 3am. Ouch.
Peace,
John
12.29.04
Chapa #1: Tete City, 6:30am
Arrives in Zobue, Mozambican border crossing, at 9am
Walk 5km to Malawi side, cross at 10:30am
Chapa #2: Border crossing in Malawi, 11:30am
Chapa #3 (Bus): Matope, 12:30pm
Breaks down.
Chapa #4: Between Matope and Balaka, 2:30pm
Chapa #5: Balaka, 3:00pm
Gets me into Balaka. You figure it out.
Chapa #6: Mangochi turnoff, 3:30pm
Gets me into Mangochi.
Chapa #7: Mangochi, 4:45pm
Breaks down. Flat tire. No fuel.
So I’m about 8km from the Mozambican border, and after a beautiful night ride through the mountains, I’m in a tent at a rest stop which cost me $1. All watched me set up the test. I’m going to ride on the back of a bicycle to get to the border tomorrow. It’s 10:30pm.
Peace,
John
Arrives in Zobue, Mozambican border crossing, at 9am
Walk 5km to Malawi side, cross at 10:30am
Chapa #2: Border crossing in Malawi, 11:30am
Chapa #3 (Bus): Matope, 12:30pm
Breaks down.
Chapa #4: Between Matope and Balaka, 2:30pm
Chapa #5: Balaka, 3:00pm
Gets me into Balaka. You figure it out.
Chapa #6: Mangochi turnoff, 3:30pm
Gets me into Mangochi.
Chapa #7: Mangochi, 4:45pm
Breaks down. Flat tire. No fuel.
So I’m about 8km from the Mozambican border, and after a beautiful night ride through the mountains, I’m in a tent at a rest stop which cost me $1. All watched me set up the test. I’m going to ride on the back of a bicycle to get to the border tomorrow. It’s 10:30pm.
Peace,
John
12.28.04
Christmas and day after Christmas went to Clarence’s place, spending time also with others around town, saying goodbye, etc. Had great talks with Clarence about life and politics.
Haven’t shaved since I left!
Yesterday, went to Harare in the morning and spend the afternoon there with Oscar, seeing one of the nicest places (if not the) in Africa that I’ve been to. Really a well laid-out city. This morning, I left Harare for the border in a very comfortable coach, and five hours later I was across the Mozambican border, on a chapa for Tete, speaking Portuguese again. Got into Tete at about 3:30, found Akisha, and hung out for the night. Tomorrow, the long trip starts for Nampula – probably two days of traveling. Car, bus, train … should be another adventure!
Peace,
John
Haven’t shaved since I left!
Yesterday, went to Harare in the morning and spend the afternoon there with Oscar, seeing one of the nicest places (if not the) in Africa that I’ve been to. Really a well laid-out city. This morning, I left Harare for the border in a very comfortable coach, and five hours later I was across the Mozambican border, on a chapa for Tete, speaking Portuguese again. Got into Tete at about 3:30, found Akisha, and hung out for the night. Tomorrow, the long trip starts for Nampula – probably two days of traveling. Car, bus, train … should be another adventure!
Peace,
John
12.25.04
Spent day with Clarence, talking about everything … present, past, future. Wondeful guy. Visited Sanford, a drunk soldier who reiterated that I could go to him ANYTIME and he’s THERE, about fifteen times. And offered me a bunk at a Harare military base.
Got a Shona book!
Christmas is “let’s get drunk!” day.
Peace,
John
Got a Shona book!
Christmas is “let’s get drunk!” day.
Peace,
John
12.24.04
Went to the Great Zimbabwe yesterday, and it definitely was amazing. These incredibly built stone structures, ruined by colonialists eager to show the world that Africans weren’t capable of anything.
Yet what was most shocking was that, despite being home to all national symbols (the soapstone bird is, on the flag, the conical tower is replicated everywhere), Oscar and I were two of a handful of people visiting yesterday. We walked into the Great Enclosure, the museum, and several other ruins alone. We walked up and down trails to the hill complex without accompaniment. We were the only ones to see a family of baboons cross the path from forest to forest. Nobody comes to the Great Zimbabwe, relatively speaking. I realize it was a weekday, but close to a holiday, school’s out, etc. and there’s almost nobody around. Why? Money. Everyone says they’d love to go, and maybe they were there once a long time ago, but they don’t because just to travel there – cheaply – cost Oscar and I about $45, money that most Zimbabweans can’t possibly afford to spend. And we’re relatively close!
Well, today I’m headed out to a nice mountainous area to spend the night and Christmas. On Sunday, I’ll probably go to Harare and stay Monday, leaving Tuesday for Tete, Wednesday for Malawi, Thursday for Nampula. Spend Friday in town, Saturday at Ilha de Moçambique, Sunday to Gurue, Monday to Beira … busy!
It’s Christmas Eve. 9pm. Firecrackers are going off outside a silent house. Thinking of Christmas Eve gets me thinking about when I was a little kid, staying up late because I couldn’t get to sleep, opening the present my parents left for me in order to satiate my desire for new stuff. But the feeling of being together and enjoying a day where all that is done is cooking, eating and sitting around – comfortably – in stark contrast with the last three I’ve had. All by phone, counting this one. Mozambique, Portugal, now Zimbabwe. I hope the next one brings me back here. It’s definitely the loneliest time to be away from family.
But I wanted this adventure for every part of me. It’s something I needed to do. To prove to myself that I could, and to really try and get an idea of what this “Africa” thing is. I’m not about to say that I know it – I only have an idea of one part of Africa, but I feel like that idea is a well-formed one. And the more that I experience different cultures the more I realize my own. That my own is changing all the time as I see bits and pieces of other lives that I like. And so my culture is unique, and it’s not here and it’s not there. So what am I going to do with this? Where do I go from here?
Everyone says that something gives – you go one way or the other. Well, I will never be “American” (in the sense of being “African”), as if I ever were. I will not be labeled. I will be me, whatever that is. I’ve been writing notes to myself lately, to remind myself of what I might like to do when I get home: Social studies teacher, actor, social worker, math teacher, landscaper … the list goes on. But what irks me inside is that none of it seems quite right. I’m realizing that it matters less what you do than how you do it – meaning, life.
I read these stories of people who had convictions when they were young, then got “caught up” in jobs and families and the fire died out. They said they regretted their decisions, and that they wish they had retained some of their activism.
I fear.
I fear becoming one of those people who’s wishing they did when they didn’t. Regret, above everything else, is my greatest fear. I tremble at the thought of it. Because I know I have one chance to see the mountain landscape, to take that train ride, to tell someone I love them. And so it’s fear of regret that keeps me going. And this fear is around every corner when I think about the next step. Every possible path holds regret come success or come failure. And so it halts me, it makes me think, “There must be something perfect.”
Pragmatically, I know there isn’t. But that doesn’t stop me from wishing that when I open up the want ads one day, everything will come together. I wish.
Yet there is … [got interrupted!]
Peace,
John
Yet what was most shocking was that, despite being home to all national symbols (the soapstone bird is, on the flag, the conical tower is replicated everywhere), Oscar and I were two of a handful of people visiting yesterday. We walked into the Great Enclosure, the museum, and several other ruins alone. We walked up and down trails to the hill complex without accompaniment. We were the only ones to see a family of baboons cross the path from forest to forest. Nobody comes to the Great Zimbabwe, relatively speaking. I realize it was a weekday, but close to a holiday, school’s out, etc. and there’s almost nobody around. Why? Money. Everyone says they’d love to go, and maybe they were there once a long time ago, but they don’t because just to travel there – cheaply – cost Oscar and I about $45, money that most Zimbabweans can’t possibly afford to spend. And we’re relatively close!
Well, today I’m headed out to a nice mountainous area to spend the night and Christmas. On Sunday, I’ll probably go to Harare and stay Monday, leaving Tuesday for Tete, Wednesday for Malawi, Thursday for Nampula. Spend Friday in town, Saturday at Ilha de Moçambique, Sunday to Gurue, Monday to Beira … busy!
It’s Christmas Eve. 9pm. Firecrackers are going off outside a silent house. Thinking of Christmas Eve gets me thinking about when I was a little kid, staying up late because I couldn’t get to sleep, opening the present my parents left for me in order to satiate my desire for new stuff. But the feeling of being together and enjoying a day where all that is done is cooking, eating and sitting around – comfortably – in stark contrast with the last three I’ve had. All by phone, counting this one. Mozambique, Portugal, now Zimbabwe. I hope the next one brings me back here. It’s definitely the loneliest time to be away from family.
But I wanted this adventure for every part of me. It’s something I needed to do. To prove to myself that I could, and to really try and get an idea of what this “Africa” thing is. I’m not about to say that I know it – I only have an idea of one part of Africa, but I feel like that idea is a well-formed one. And the more that I experience different cultures the more I realize my own. That my own is changing all the time as I see bits and pieces of other lives that I like. And so my culture is unique, and it’s not here and it’s not there. So what am I going to do with this? Where do I go from here?
Everyone says that something gives – you go one way or the other. Well, I will never be “American” (in the sense of being “African”), as if I ever were. I will not be labeled. I will be me, whatever that is. I’ve been writing notes to myself lately, to remind myself of what I might like to do when I get home: Social studies teacher, actor, social worker, math teacher, landscaper … the list goes on. But what irks me inside is that none of it seems quite right. I’m realizing that it matters less what you do than how you do it – meaning, life.
I read these stories of people who had convictions when they were young, then got “caught up” in jobs and families and the fire died out. They said they regretted their decisions, and that they wish they had retained some of their activism.
I fear.
I fear becoming one of those people who’s wishing they did when they didn’t. Regret, above everything else, is my greatest fear. I tremble at the thought of it. Because I know I have one chance to see the mountain landscape, to take that train ride, to tell someone I love them. And so it’s fear of regret that keeps me going. And this fear is around every corner when I think about the next step. Every possible path holds regret come success or come failure. And so it halts me, it makes me think, “There must be something perfect.”
Pragmatically, I know there isn’t. But that doesn’t stop me from wishing that when I open up the want ads one day, everything will come together. I wish.
Yet there is … [got interrupted!]
Peace,
John
12.22.04
It took almost five hours to get out of Beitbridge this morning, and so when we arrived in Masvingo, Oscar and I just walked around town for a while, saw some beautiful mountains, took some pictures, found a rest house and got some dinner. So tomorrow we’ll see the Great Zimbabwe and then head back to Beitbridge.
Zimbabwe is truly a beautiful country, heavily influenced and appreciated by the British. I can see so many similarities between British and Zimbabwean countryside – it’s really a little bridge back into Western society.
Well, I got sunburned from our walk, so I’m about to pass out …
Peace,
John
Zimbabwe is truly a beautiful country, heavily influenced and appreciated by the British. I can see so many similarities between British and Zimbabwean countryside – it’s really a little bridge back into Western society.
Well, I got sunburned from our walk, so I’m about to pass out …
Peace,
John
12.21.04
I woke up this morning frustrated. I listened to the woman next door filling up water buckets and pouring them out into other buckets. Laundry, no doubt. I thought about the dinner I ate last night, cooked by the lone woman staying in the house I’m in. The movies – lots -- I’ve watched over the past few days, practically in a vegetable state. The fact that the most impressive thing I’ve done is fetch two avocadoes from a tree, with the husband of the wife who works, cleans and cooks, watching. It may be guilt, all of this, but it may be that I’m slowly being reborn.
Before I left, I took simple pleasures from my life piecemeal, and replaced them with more responsible ones. I did all this before knowing why I was doing it. When I arrived in Mozambique, I was in some of the best mental and physical shape of my life. It felt wonderful. I still look back to the middle of 2002 and seek that same peacefulness.
Because the last two years has temporarily ruined me. But it’s not due to any vice I have – it’s because I never quite eradicated all the vices I had. I never knew why I was doing it in the first place! And I missed some of the mental issues – like, looking to movies and television for escape (of course, only when necessary – you must understand my sarcasm here) and so when my mental pipes get blocked up, I look for the easy out. And after two years of an experience – er, of life! --- that I’m still trying to get my mind around, the mental pipes were blocked up.
And so I need to remove and artificial barriers (“I never want to work in computers again,” “I will never eat U.S. meat again,” “I must have a noble job”) before I can get my mind around it. When one uses never and must, one is saying that some part of life is intrinsically immutable – which isn’t right. Everything changes. I change every day. I have changed since I started writing this entry. So limiting that change, handcuffing it, produces conflict in life. When change happens internally, without being manifested externally, and you deny that change, there is a twisting and turning that stops you in your tracks.
And then it all falls down. If I say to not have any hard and fast rules to how I live, and it changes all the time, how can I ever know what I think?
Reset.
Banana and bread sandwich. Wheat bread. Fresh banana, from where bananas come from. The pen moving along the paper. Crow in the sky. Water boiling. Kids playing. Dishes rattling. Person scuffling. Silence in between. The silence occupies more space than any one of these things, like poorly used packing material. Poorly used, because packing material, unlike silence, should be sparingly used.
Peace,
John
Before I left, I took simple pleasures from my life piecemeal, and replaced them with more responsible ones. I did all this before knowing why I was doing it. When I arrived in Mozambique, I was in some of the best mental and physical shape of my life. It felt wonderful. I still look back to the middle of 2002 and seek that same peacefulness.
Because the last two years has temporarily ruined me. But it’s not due to any vice I have – it’s because I never quite eradicated all the vices I had. I never knew why I was doing it in the first place! And I missed some of the mental issues – like, looking to movies and television for escape (of course, only when necessary – you must understand my sarcasm here) and so when my mental pipes get blocked up, I look for the easy out. And after two years of an experience – er, of life! --- that I’m still trying to get my mind around, the mental pipes were blocked up.
And so I need to remove and artificial barriers (“I never want to work in computers again,” “I will never eat U.S. meat again,” “I must have a noble job”) before I can get my mind around it. When one uses never and must, one is saying that some part of life is intrinsically immutable – which isn’t right. Everything changes. I change every day. I have changed since I started writing this entry. So limiting that change, handcuffing it, produces conflict in life. When change happens internally, without being manifested externally, and you deny that change, there is a twisting and turning that stops you in your tracks.
And then it all falls down. If I say to not have any hard and fast rules to how I live, and it changes all the time, how can I ever know what I think?
Reset.
Banana and bread sandwich. Wheat bread. Fresh banana, from where bananas come from. The pen moving along the paper. Crow in the sky. Water boiling. Kids playing. Dishes rattling. Person scuffling. Silence in between. The silence occupies more space than any one of these things, like poorly used packing material. Poorly used, because packing material, unlike silence, should be sparingly used.
Peace,
John
Friday, February 25, 2005
3 weeks back ...
Well, technically it's Friday and it's three weeks that I've been back in the States. I feel like it's been a WHOLE lot longer than that as all of the old routines and memories have come back so easily. I feel almost like I've lost all of the habits I had in Africa in terms of talking with people and just in general taking life so moment-by-moment. I want to stop using the computer and the TV and all of that. Actually, I think I'm making progress. I toured some of the parts of Canton and Collinsville that I haven't been back to for quite a while today. I took a walk in the reservoir, and bought myself a Spanish book to seriously study. What I really need to do is finish the job search, which I'm closing in on. I've pretty much settled on teaching, and there's this great fellows program in place in NYC, DC and Miami. So I'm applying to these programs, and hopefully I'll get accepted to at least one of them and be able to teach later this year. Once that's done, I'll be able to actually focus on what's important, spend less time on the computer, less time watching TV and movies, and more time just being.
I think I needed this time, though, just to let my body catch up and do all those things for which it was in withdrawal. But I'm running out of excuses for being lazy, and I'm feeling like I'm slipping into a depression. Which everyone says is "normal" ... screw that. It may be perfectly normal, but I refuse to slip into it. I'm going to remain active until it gets warm enough so that I can get my bike out and be a bike freak again. That will make me feel a LOT better. I may get a laptop and a cellphone so that I can be mobile and not feel so tied down. But then again, I don't have that much money! We'll see.
So what's the plan? Keep on with jobs until I feel pretty assured that I've got something, do some temporary work if need be, visit people, get in shape (which is actually very important to staying sane), and try to be a good son and friend. I feel like that's not enough, but I'll find more to keep me busy.
Peace,
John
I think I needed this time, though, just to let my body catch up and do all those things for which it was in withdrawal. But I'm running out of excuses for being lazy, and I'm feeling like I'm slipping into a depression. Which everyone says is "normal" ... screw that. It may be perfectly normal, but I refuse to slip into it. I'm going to remain active until it gets warm enough so that I can get my bike out and be a bike freak again. That will make me feel a LOT better. I may get a laptop and a cellphone so that I can be mobile and not feel so tied down. But then again, I don't have that much money! We'll see.
So what's the plan? Keep on with jobs until I feel pretty assured that I've got something, do some temporary work if need be, visit people, get in shape (which is actually very important to staying sane), and try to be a good son and friend. I feel like that's not enough, but I'll find more to keep me busy.
Peace,
John
12/19/04
I cooked some meat tonight and my hands still reek of it. Though it was quite good. Just hope I cooked it well enough -- we'll find out by morning, I suppose.
Mainly just lied around today and watched movies. I'm getting my fill for sure. Zimbabwe is turning out to be quite relaxing and a half-way to the States. I don't think that I'll go and see Victoria Falls, but I'm definitely going to go to the Great Zimbabwe and also see a little of Harare, the capital.
I'll call allison on Thursday to see if she'll be at site next week -- if not, I'll just give myself an extra day to get to Nampula.
Peace,
John
Mainly just lied around today and watched movies. I'm getting my fill for sure. Zimbabwe is turning out to be quite relaxing and a half-way to the States. I don't think that I'll go and see Victoria Falls, but I'm definitely going to go to the Great Zimbabwe and also see a little of Harare, the capital.
I'll call allison on Thursday to see if she'll be at site next week -- if not, I'll just give myself an extra day to get to Nampula.
Peace,
John
Thursday, February 24, 2005
12/18/04
[N.B. I wrote this entry as a series of brief notes to myself, which I almost never do. I'm expanding it now into something a little bit more ... literary. Also, I have changed names of people and places as Zim's government is a little sensitive about people reporting anything on local conditions.]
So, on Wednesday at 2pm we found ourselves BACK in Chokwe as the chapa had to turn around. No water crossing for us. So we all went to the train station, to catch the train that was supposed to leave at 6pm. I asked at 5pm, and they said 7pm. I asked at 6pm and they said 10pm. Yada yada. So me and the Zims huddled together and we dozed for most of the evening, until about 12am (Thursday) when we bought tickets for the train. It arrived at 1am, and then began the chaos.
We had been waiting with approximately 200-300 other people, most with a TON of cargo loaded into waiting train cars. Many market woman returning to their homes in the north of Gaza, some Zimbabweans headed back home after buying and selling goods that are much more affordable than in their own country. And so the train arrived FULL from Maputo (it took 12 hours to get from Maputo, a trip that takes 3 hours in a car or chapa). That meant we had to all squeeze on. This required a mad dash as soon as the train arrived, in the dark, through puddles of who knows what, just to find a car that you could hang off of until people made enough space inside just to stand in wall-to-wall humanity. I laughed out of necessity the entire time. I was smiling because it was one of those moments where I knew I was having a wonderful experience and could afford to recognize it.
12 hours later, we arrived in Chicualacuala. We departed Chokwe at 2am, as it took an hour to load everything. I spent the night very close to my locked bag, with nothing in my pockets, luggage key in my sock, money in my other shoe, random change and train ticket in my hat. I was bundled up as there were no doors or windows to protect from the wind. I tried sleeping standing up unsuccessfully, then managed to push enough people inches away from me to squat down and try and get some sleep, but to no avail as an ankle or leg was always turned the wrong way. After a while, I stood back up as it was more comfortable and essentially kept this pattern until the late morning, when I just stood up from sheer exhaustion! At a few stops, me and the Zim husband would jump out of the train and take a breather, talking about the differences between Mozambique and Zimbabwe. And complaining about the conditions. But it was all funny. Well, now, but maybe not at the time.
So we arrived at the border at 1pm Thursday and after navigating to the actual crossing, waiting for the immigration official (who I knew and helped me out), I crossed into Zimbabwe at 3pm. I got on a bus, hoping to be in Bulawayo by nightfall so that I could find somewhere to sleep there. Believing it was a three hour ride, I knew I was cutting it close.
Well, there are no surprises. It ended up leaving at 6pm, just to be stopped by border police. I fell asleep on the crowded bus next to a woman who was twice my size and eating food that smelled SO good. I had thrown away food just an hour into the train ride because it was crowding me and everyone else. Now I was regretting that. I vowed to be more opportunistic with food from now on. I woke up at 12:30am Friday as we were taking a long break to let the driver rest. We had already stopped to fix the engine and a flat. We weren't yet in Bulawayo. I bought some much needed food, made friends with a young Zim Humphrey who helped me out. On his advice, I realized there was no point in stopping in Bulawayo and bought a ticket to get me into Harare. We passed Bulawayo at 2am.
At 10am on Friday we arrived in Harare. Humphrey took me to his neighborhood, introduced me to a few friends, then at my urging got me to a bus to take me to Beitbridge. I was very thankful, but impatient as I desperately needed a full sit-down meal, shower, and bathroom. I hadn't pooped since Wednesday morning. I had successfully constipated myself.
I got on the Beitbridge bus at 11:30am, and it left almost right away. It was quite a nice bus, like American buses, but no bathroom. I knew I was close, even though I had gone way out of may going to Harare. Though it was the only relatively safe way to get there. I don't suggest travelling at night, however. That was quite the hair-raising experience. It was better than trying to find a place to stay in the middle of the night in a strange town in a strange country all alone with a big bag.
I got into Beitbridge about 4pm and a man who I met on the bus showed me to the right combi (Zim chapa) to get me to Valley 10, Oscar's village. At 4:30pm Friday, after consulting with another friendly man, I got to Oscar's house and finally sat down. I went into town with Oscar and a friend, we got fast food pizza and walked around town for a bit (seeing all the Christmas lights) before heading back home for a wonderful night's sleep in chilly Beitbridge in a queen bed in a room in my own!
Today, Saturday, I watched movies at Oscar's house, went into town, got sadza (xima in Moz, or polenta in US) for lunch, saw the flea market, did some internet, came back to the house to watch more movies, met with an older artist who bought us some traditional beer that looks like puke and tastes marginally better. And he gave us more movies to watch. You can say I went on a binge!
Peace,
John
So, on Wednesday at 2pm we found ourselves BACK in Chokwe as the chapa had to turn around. No water crossing for us. So we all went to the train station, to catch the train that was supposed to leave at 6pm. I asked at 5pm, and they said 7pm. I asked at 6pm and they said 10pm. Yada yada. So me and the Zims huddled together and we dozed for most of the evening, until about 12am (Thursday) when we bought tickets for the train. It arrived at 1am, and then began the chaos.
We had been waiting with approximately 200-300 other people, most with a TON of cargo loaded into waiting train cars. Many market woman returning to their homes in the north of Gaza, some Zimbabweans headed back home after buying and selling goods that are much more affordable than in their own country. And so the train arrived FULL from Maputo (it took 12 hours to get from Maputo, a trip that takes 3 hours in a car or chapa). That meant we had to all squeeze on. This required a mad dash as soon as the train arrived, in the dark, through puddles of who knows what, just to find a car that you could hang off of until people made enough space inside just to stand in wall-to-wall humanity. I laughed out of necessity the entire time. I was smiling because it was one of those moments where I knew I was having a wonderful experience and could afford to recognize it.
12 hours later, we arrived in Chicualacuala. We departed Chokwe at 2am, as it took an hour to load everything. I spent the night very close to my locked bag, with nothing in my pockets, luggage key in my sock, money in my other shoe, random change and train ticket in my hat. I was bundled up as there were no doors or windows to protect from the wind. I tried sleeping standing up unsuccessfully, then managed to push enough people inches away from me to squat down and try and get some sleep, but to no avail as an ankle or leg was always turned the wrong way. After a while, I stood back up as it was more comfortable and essentially kept this pattern until the late morning, when I just stood up from sheer exhaustion! At a few stops, me and the Zim husband would jump out of the train and take a breather, talking about the differences between Mozambique and Zimbabwe. And complaining about the conditions. But it was all funny. Well, now, but maybe not at the time.
So we arrived at the border at 1pm Thursday and after navigating to the actual crossing, waiting for the immigration official (who I knew and helped me out), I crossed into Zimbabwe at 3pm. I got on a bus, hoping to be in Bulawayo by nightfall so that I could find somewhere to sleep there. Believing it was a three hour ride, I knew I was cutting it close.
Well, there are no surprises. It ended up leaving at 6pm, just to be stopped by border police. I fell asleep on the crowded bus next to a woman who was twice my size and eating food that smelled SO good. I had thrown away food just an hour into the train ride because it was crowding me and everyone else. Now I was regretting that. I vowed to be more opportunistic with food from now on. I woke up at 12:30am Friday as we were taking a long break to let the driver rest. We had already stopped to fix the engine and a flat. We weren't yet in Bulawayo. I bought some much needed food, made friends with a young Zim Humphrey who helped me out. On his advice, I realized there was no point in stopping in Bulawayo and bought a ticket to get me into Harare. We passed Bulawayo at 2am.
At 10am on Friday we arrived in Harare. Humphrey took me to his neighborhood, introduced me to a few friends, then at my urging got me to a bus to take me to Beitbridge. I was very thankful, but impatient as I desperately needed a full sit-down meal, shower, and bathroom. I hadn't pooped since Wednesday morning. I had successfully constipated myself.
I got on the Beitbridge bus at 11:30am, and it left almost right away. It was quite a nice bus, like American buses, but no bathroom. I knew I was close, even though I had gone way out of may going to Harare. Though it was the only relatively safe way to get there. I don't suggest travelling at night, however. That was quite the hair-raising experience. It was better than trying to find a place to stay in the middle of the night in a strange town in a strange country all alone with a big bag.
I got into Beitbridge about 4pm and a man who I met on the bus showed me to the right combi (Zim chapa) to get me to Valley 10, Oscar's village. At 4:30pm Friday, after consulting with another friendly man, I got to Oscar's house and finally sat down. I went into town with Oscar and a friend, we got fast food pizza and walked around town for a bit (seeing all the Christmas lights) before heading back home for a wonderful night's sleep in chilly Beitbridge in a queen bed in a room in my own!
Today, Saturday, I watched movies at Oscar's house, went into town, got sadza (xima in Moz, or polenta in US) for lunch, saw the flea market, did some internet, came back to the house to watch more movies, met with an older artist who bought us some traditional beer that looks like puke and tastes marginally better. And he gave us more movies to watch. You can say I went on a binge!
Peace,
John
15/12/04
2 hours from Chokwe. Stopped. Dirt road. Washed out. We're looking to see if we can ford it or if we can make a trade with a car on the other side to take us to Chicualacuala. The "search party" is returning right now to let us know what the decision is. Saving grace is that it's pretty out here and I'm translating for some Zimbabweans who are travelling with us. I hope my next entry finds us closer to Zim!
Peace,
John
Peace,
John
12/13/04
I'm really neglecting the journal, but I realize that I'm doing it now because I don't want to have to catch up. So suffice it to say that I finished up all the schoolwork, saw Jenna off, then came back to Chokwe to spend a little more time with Nanosh and Chokwe folk in order to prepare for Maputo, then went to Maputo from Tuesday to Saturday where I got ripped off for $100, then came back to Chokwe. I'm still there right now and have been organizing my trip to Zimbabwe and beyond ever since. This first leg might prove to be the most difficult in terms of politics. If all goes well, I should be fine, as I've arranged it. But you never know in Zimbabwe, because the wrong person might think you're doing the wrong thing there. Which very well might be the case.
You see, Zimbabwe's economy is currently suffering because of the president's stifling economic policy of kicking white farmers off their land and replacing them with blacks. But the blacks don't have the equipment or the same know-how to handle these industrial farms, so the economy is spiralling downward. At the banks, I can buy $5,000ZIM for $1US. On the street it's double. And the highest issued note is $1000ZIM, or the equivalent of one dime. Bread costs about $3500ZIM. So to remedy this, the government has started to issue special notes that can be pulled back in at any time of $5000, $10,000 and $20,000ZIM. This, from a currency that wasn't far from the dollar (1 to 1) not so long ago.
And tonight I have been speaking with one of the secretary-generals for the opposition MDC party, who has promised me a visit with the foreign minister of the party, a well-travelled woman named Priscilla. I'm going to have to be quite careful if I do meet her, however. The whole situation is very reminiscent of apartheid-era South Africa. This secretary-general was beaten unconscious and left for dead by the current regime. I figured that was why his English was so slow and deliberate.
But it sounds like if I don't get made out to be a politico for the West all will be fine. I just have to be careful.
It's Monday and I leave on Wednesday. Almost all the gaps have been filled in, except for my visit with Allison. I haven't told her about it, mainly because I can't but also because it's Christmas time and if she's not there, I don't want her to feel guilted into being there. For that reason I may or may not go to Zambia. I will probably call first ...
If not, I can just skip out from Zimbabwe back into Mozambique, but that seems a lot less adventurous.
It's 1AM. Still haven't tried to get any sleep.
I know I can do this trip, but it'll be on of the hardest of my life.
Peace,
John
You see, Zimbabwe's economy is currently suffering because of the president's stifling economic policy of kicking white farmers off their land and replacing them with blacks. But the blacks don't have the equipment or the same know-how to handle these industrial farms, so the economy is spiralling downward. At the banks, I can buy $5,000ZIM for $1US. On the street it's double. And the highest issued note is $1000ZIM, or the equivalent of one dime. Bread costs about $3500ZIM. So to remedy this, the government has started to issue special notes that can be pulled back in at any time of $5000, $10,000 and $20,000ZIM. This, from a currency that wasn't far from the dollar (1 to 1) not so long ago.
And tonight I have been speaking with one of the secretary-generals for the opposition MDC party, who has promised me a visit with the foreign minister of the party, a well-travelled woman named Priscilla. I'm going to have to be quite careful if I do meet her, however. The whole situation is very reminiscent of apartheid-era South Africa. This secretary-general was beaten unconscious and left for dead by the current regime. I figured that was why his English was so slow and deliberate.
But it sounds like if I don't get made out to be a politico for the West all will be fine. I just have to be careful.
It's Monday and I leave on Wednesday. Almost all the gaps have been filled in, except for my visit with Allison. I haven't told her about it, mainly because I can't but also because it's Christmas time and if she's not there, I don't want her to feel guilted into being there. For that reason I may or may not go to Zambia. I will probably call first ...
If not, I can just skip out from Zimbabwe back into Mozambique, but that seems a lot less adventurous.
It's 1AM. Still haven't tried to get any sleep.
I know I can do this trip, but it'll be on of the hardest of my life.
Peace,
John
11/30/04
[I apologize for the delay ... I've been quite lazy lately. If you would like to comment on any of the posts, you can click the "Comments" link on the bottom of each entry. Fun!]
I'm sitting outside in a much welcome windstorm after a hot morning that nearly made me sick again, like yesterday. But it didn't, and my last day of work was quick and suitably subtle. Over the past three months, essentially, I've been preparing for this moment, this transition. There are many reasons why I've written so little, not the least of which being that life has gotten fairly routine and though my day-to-day life may be interesting to others it stopped being so interesting to me -- and the little changes that only I notice as significant seem to be important. But really, a lot HAS happened. I rushed to finish up the 12th grade chemistry curriculum, giving several extra sessions in which my teaching really came together in terms of using practical examples. I've discovered how much other teachers really do appreciate me, whether it be for just working hard or for actually helping the students and other teachers. I've prepared students (about 350) for exams that they did fairly well on.
Peace,
John
I'm sitting outside in a much welcome windstorm after a hot morning that nearly made me sick again, like yesterday. But it didn't, and my last day of work was quick and suitably subtle. Over the past three months, essentially, I've been preparing for this moment, this transition. There are many reasons why I've written so little, not the least of which being that life has gotten fairly routine and though my day-to-day life may be interesting to others it stopped being so interesting to me -- and the little changes that only I notice as significant seem to be important. But really, a lot HAS happened. I rushed to finish up the 12th grade chemistry curriculum, giving several extra sessions in which my teaching really came together in terms of using practical examples. I've discovered how much other teachers really do appreciate me, whether it be for just working hard or for actually helping the students and other teachers. I've prepared students (about 350) for exams that they did fairly well on.
Peace,
John
Monday, February 14, 2005
11/6/04
We're pretty depressed here. Can't really believe that Bush won again and what that means for the world. People here are just as confused -- why would we elect him again after everything he's done? It makes no sense. So we're sitting here in Chokwe trying to figure out what to do with our American lives.
I'm considering going to Canada and becoming a math teacher. Of course, I'm half considering coming back here to do the same thing.
We just finished up the Chemistry exam and I think my students did well -- it was easy and I had prepared them for most everything that they saw on the test. What's still up in the air is the Biology test and how my students respond to it.
And if I correct Chemistry or Biology. I really don't want to go to Xai-Xai (3 hours away) just so I can correct tests for students with whom I've spent only have a year. I'd much rather stay here and correct tests of those with whom I've taught for two years now. I'm having serious discussions with Prof. Matavel about these issues because he seems to think that my opinion matters not. Maybe it's because he realizes that I can do whatever I please and he really has no recourse.
In the meantime, though, I'm relaxing and ... [N.B. 11/30 I didn't finish my sentence!]
Peace,
John
I'm considering going to Canada and becoming a math teacher. Of course, I'm half considering coming back here to do the same thing.
We just finished up the Chemistry exam and I think my students did well -- it was easy and I had prepared them for most everything that they saw on the test. What's still up in the air is the Biology test and how my students respond to it.
And if I correct Chemistry or Biology. I really don't want to go to Xai-Xai (3 hours away) just so I can correct tests for students with whom I've spent only have a year. I'd much rather stay here and correct tests of those with whom I've taught for two years now. I'm having serious discussions with Prof. Matavel about these issues because he seems to think that my opinion matters not. Maybe it's because he realizes that I can do whatever I please and he really has no recourse.
In the meantime, though, I'm relaxing and ... [N.B. 11/30 I didn't finish my sentence!]
Peace,
John
10/23/04
I said bye to my 8th graders today. It wasn't really emotional at all. I don't think we ever really connected -- I was just too busy.
Nanosh saw a guy dragging a girl along behind him, clearly involuntarily on her part, as they were heading out to the fields [just outside Chokwe]. He asked him if she wanted to be going along with him, and she responded that she really didn't. He got the name of her family out of her and tried to contact one of them to no avail. The guy couldn't care less. Nanosh was beat up about it, but it just seems so normal now. And I hate that. It's as if I've lost hope, that fearless idealism that endears you to many while making inevitable enemies of a few. I feel like I subscribe too strictly to the idea that change cannot be a 180 degree turn but a little nudge in the direction things were already going. The great leaders have all ridden waves and it makes sense. Not that I'm looking to be a great leader.
I think I need to reclaim my idealism. It's still in me, but has taken a beating. Over the past couple days, I read "The Life of Pi" and it was a wonderful story. I don't know that it brings up a whole lot of philosophical questions, but it's fun and a good read. As we all feel like Pi at some point, drifting along and alone as the cliche goes, I suppose it hits in universal nerves. Especially as I'm about to go through the loneliest part. Leaving everything that has transformed me over the last two years. And going back to the place where I can ride the waves of change and see if they are waves I want to ride. Realizing that life has no pause button, that everything is 2 1/2 years older than when I left.
I'm giving test prep now in school, and it's sad. This is my last chance to finalize my contributions here and really put some closure into my experience here.
Peace,
John
Nanosh saw a guy dragging a girl along behind him, clearly involuntarily on her part, as they were heading out to the fields [just outside Chokwe]. He asked him if she wanted to be going along with him, and she responded that she really didn't. He got the name of her family out of her and tried to contact one of them to no avail. The guy couldn't care less. Nanosh was beat up about it, but it just seems so normal now. And I hate that. It's as if I've lost hope, that fearless idealism that endears you to many while making inevitable enemies of a few. I feel like I subscribe too strictly to the idea that change cannot be a 180 degree turn but a little nudge in the direction things were already going. The great leaders have all ridden waves and it makes sense. Not that I'm looking to be a great leader.
I think I need to reclaim my idealism. It's still in me, but has taken a beating. Over the past couple days, I read "The Life of Pi" and it was a wonderful story. I don't know that it brings up a whole lot of philosophical questions, but it's fun and a good read. As we all feel like Pi at some point, drifting along and alone as the cliche goes, I suppose it hits in universal nerves. Especially as I'm about to go through the loneliest part. Leaving everything that has transformed me over the last two years. And going back to the place where I can ride the waves of change and see if they are waves I want to ride. Realizing that life has no pause button, that everything is 2 1/2 years older than when I left.
I'm giving test prep now in school, and it's sad. This is my last chance to finalize my contributions here and really put some closure into my experience here.
Peace,
John
Thursday, February 10, 2005
I'm back!
As of Friday the 4th, I have returned to the USA! It's still quite surreal, as I can't believe that it's 2005, I've been in Africa for 2+ years, and the next step is still in the works.
I've watched a television advertisement for a machine that injects different scents into your house on a 30-minute rotating basis. I've been served on by waitresses who are peppier than the small dog my father has now. I've been asked by "sales associates" where my super-saver card is, and been offered more choices than I believe I've ever had before. Or ever noticed. People reek of money and patriotism. But they still hit the sales and lament high gas prices. There's a strong undercurrent in peoples' lives that reflects their general unhappiness. That, no matter how much they have, they want more. People want to be pitied.
I noticed this last aspect before I left the States, but I think it's ballooned. The average American would LOVE to be pitied in front of millions of viewers for their hard-luck story. How many stories does it take to realize everyone has one? Reality shows just drive home the point. And everything is "reality". Special features on a DVD, new low-cost documentaries on everything from dressing nicely to airlines, the nightly news, SportsCenter ... I would add more to the list, but I can't handle doing any more research right now. It all revolves around television, which is no coincidence.
When people aren't in front of the television, they're living out their carefully sculpted lives, which lack the "reality" that television replaces. What's real? I feel like this life isn't real. I don't have a car, so I've been walking around town, which is actually quite a challenge. I decided to take a different route and ended up on a state highway. There was no sidewalk and so I trudged through snow and mud for about a mile. But I loved it. It was practically virgin soil! I've asked random people how they're doing, and there's no response. Why? Because "how are you?" is just a saying, not a question. Why would any stranger really want to know?
I'm well aware how cliche this reaction is. It is exactly what I was told to expect, and then I was told it would go away as I reacclimated to life here.
Well, pardon my cursing, but fuck it. I found what was REAL in life when I got out of the States, and I'm not about to lose that just because I'm back. I don't think me and the US of A are inherently incompatible -- in fact, it's quite the opposite. I believe we make the best of dance partners, and I'm leading. I think people have gotten so far away from actually living that there's room for someone who is trying to do just that.
There are thousands of people who are really living here in the States. I know that. People who don't have blinders on made of fear and debt which block out the world that would otherwise be. It's easy to see my return as an end, but I'm here and I'm continuing my life. And I'm not letting the person I am, the person I've always been, get in the way of it.
I know that quite a few people read this blog for a lot of different reasons -- but if it's because you're looking for something more alive than what you have, turn off your computer, turn to a loved one, go talk to a neighbor you've never spoken with, write that poem you've always wanted to write, pick up the instrument you put down years ago with a new passion -- do something that scares you and know that it scares everyone to do those things. The people who seem to be doing them all the time just know that it's worth the fear and insecurity.
In any case, I've still got quite a few entries I'll be typing up over the next few days and then I'll actually be keeping up in real time!
Peace,
John
I've watched a television advertisement for a machine that injects different scents into your house on a 30-minute rotating basis. I've been served on by waitresses who are peppier than the small dog my father has now. I've been asked by "sales associates" where my super-saver card is, and been offered more choices than I believe I've ever had before. Or ever noticed. People reek of money and patriotism. But they still hit the sales and lament high gas prices. There's a strong undercurrent in peoples' lives that reflects their general unhappiness. That, no matter how much they have, they want more. People want to be pitied.
I noticed this last aspect before I left the States, but I think it's ballooned. The average American would LOVE to be pitied in front of millions of viewers for their hard-luck story. How many stories does it take to realize everyone has one? Reality shows just drive home the point. And everything is "reality". Special features on a DVD, new low-cost documentaries on everything from dressing nicely to airlines, the nightly news, SportsCenter ... I would add more to the list, but I can't handle doing any more research right now. It all revolves around television, which is no coincidence.
When people aren't in front of the television, they're living out their carefully sculpted lives, which lack the "reality" that television replaces. What's real? I feel like this life isn't real. I don't have a car, so I've been walking around town, which is actually quite a challenge. I decided to take a different route and ended up on a state highway. There was no sidewalk and so I trudged through snow and mud for about a mile. But I loved it. It was practically virgin soil! I've asked random people how they're doing, and there's no response. Why? Because "how are you?" is just a saying, not a question. Why would any stranger really want to know?
I'm well aware how cliche this reaction is. It is exactly what I was told to expect, and then I was told it would go away as I reacclimated to life here.
Well, pardon my cursing, but fuck it. I found what was REAL in life when I got out of the States, and I'm not about to lose that just because I'm back. I don't think me and the US of A are inherently incompatible -- in fact, it's quite the opposite. I believe we make the best of dance partners, and I'm leading. I think people have gotten so far away from actually living that there's room for someone who is trying to do just that.
There are thousands of people who are really living here in the States. I know that. People who don't have blinders on made of fear and debt which block out the world that would otherwise be. It's easy to see my return as an end, but I'm here and I'm continuing my life. And I'm not letting the person I am, the person I've always been, get in the way of it.
I know that quite a few people read this blog for a lot of different reasons -- but if it's because you're looking for something more alive than what you have, turn off your computer, turn to a loved one, go talk to a neighbor you've never spoken with, write that poem you've always wanted to write, pick up the instrument you put down years ago with a new passion -- do something that scares you and know that it scares everyone to do those things. The people who seem to be doing them all the time just know that it's worth the fear and insecurity.
In any case, I've still got quite a few entries I'll be typing up over the next few days and then I'll actually be keeping up in real time!
Peace,
John
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
10/6/04
Thinking about the long trip home, but keeping myself busy. I actually had some free time tonight, to myself. What a strange feeling. The first thing I’m going to need to do is to figure out what I want to do with my free time again. It’s strange how one forgets that.
Thinking about going to Prague on my way back to the States so that I can catch a hockey game with some NHL players. I wonder how hard it is to get tickets now …
Peace,
John
Thinking about going to Prague on my way back to the States so that I can catch a hockey game with some NHL players. I wonder how hard it is to get tickets now …
Peace,
John
10/20/04
I am almost completely done with teaching classes. Really, all I have left is some test preparation and administrative work. It’s strange to think that I’ve come to the end of things and it’s ending with a whimper.
We started calculating who passes in order to go to the exams today, and my math skills were not just used, they were downright necessary. I was calculating averages of 3, 4, 9 numbers in my head using all sorts of shortcuts it took forever to explain to the math teacher. If it hadn’t been for my calculating, we wouldn’t have gotten half as much done.
Only two weeks until the presidential elections, and I feel like I’m so far from that crap that it couldn’t make a difference, but I know that this one DOES make a difference. I can’t decide, I can’t even fathom, how I want to live on returning to the States. It’s so far off. Mentally.
I’ve got less than two months of being a volunteer. Then I say bye to Chokwe and move on, somehow, with my life.
Peace,
John
We started calculating who passes in order to go to the exams today, and my math skills were not just used, they were downright necessary. I was calculating averages of 3, 4, 9 numbers in my head using all sorts of shortcuts it took forever to explain to the math teacher. If it hadn’t been for my calculating, we wouldn’t have gotten half as much done.
Only two weeks until the presidential elections, and I feel like I’m so far from that crap that it couldn’t make a difference, but I know that this one DOES make a difference. I can’t decide, I can’t even fathom, how I want to live on returning to the States. It’s so far off. Mentally.
I’ve got less than two months of being a volunteer. Then I say bye to Chokwe and move on, somehow, with my life.
Peace,
John
9/28/04
6am – I’m up, it’s pretty chilly and already light out. I can tell I slept well, which is good because I need it on a Tuesday.
6:10am – Killed security lights, put water on for bath, took a poop. Watched spiders dance around in bathroom for a while, while avoiding the omnipresent ants.
6:50am – Showered, shaved, fed, brushed, time for my first class in ten minutes.
7:25am – In first class, going well but a little noisy
7:55am – First lesson went well, but COLD!, second under way – really need to take a pee
8:38am – First exam prep done, it’s a lot of info, but they seem like they can do it
9:21am – Loud class at first, but they calmed down. This is because they didn’t have the first two classes. Really, it was the third class in a row I gave today where I was the first teacher who they saw. Really need to take a pee now.
10:33am – Just gave a quiz prep and now I’m about to give it. Empty bladder makes for happy John. Sat with Prof. Joana and calculated that I have 10 more hours of work in school than any other teacher.
11:29am – Good quiz, relatively no cheating. Now it’s off to have some lunch.
12:32pm – Got myself fed again, read an old Newsweek, tried to psych myself up for the afternoon lessons.
1:33pm – Finished 6th class of day, about STDs to my 8th graders. Started feeling slightly tired, but only because the 8th graders don’t really participate. Now I’m waiting to go to the room next to me and be done until tonight.
2:21pm – I came up with a metaphor for being faithful and avoiding STD’s. Let’s say someone pours four pots of water, one of them scolding water. You can choose to put your hand in all of them one time each or put your hand in the same one over and over again, which do you choose? They understood that you should dip your hand in the one, realizing the chances of getting burned are lower whereas in the first case you definitely WILL get burned.
2:38pm – Organized the 11th grade quizzes (52 of them) and am now going home to correct them.
5:42pm – Finished correcting the quiz, had dinner, talked with a couple Zimbabweans who came by, bought a batik from them, not I’m preparing for night class.
6:46pm – Gave a test prep for the night 11th graders and about to give the test. The day kids did quite well, so I’m anticipating a relatively problem-free test. It’s about now that I usually start getting tired, but it’s been improving lately. We’ll see what happens.
8:48pm – The test gave only a couple of problems – at the beginning there was a woman who did not want to sit where I wanted her to and so I told her, if she didn’t, I’d throw her out. I did, and it turned out that she also had a cheat sheet. I’ve been doing busy work here since then, in school. I’ve got another twenty minutes until my last class of the day begins – another 90-minute lesson. Now I’m feeling tired and my back is starting to hurt.
11:06pm – Did the lesson, gave a correction for the previous test and a preparation for the final. Came back, cleaned up, now I’m off to bed … finally. Quite tired, but it’s a good kind of tired.
Peace,
John
6:10am – Killed security lights, put water on for bath, took a poop. Watched spiders dance around in bathroom for a while, while avoiding the omnipresent ants.
6:50am – Showered, shaved, fed, brushed, time for my first class in ten minutes.
7:25am – In first class, going well but a little noisy
7:55am – First lesson went well, but COLD!, second under way – really need to take a pee
8:38am – First exam prep done, it’s a lot of info, but they seem like they can do it
9:21am – Loud class at first, but they calmed down. This is because they didn’t have the first two classes. Really, it was the third class in a row I gave today where I was the first teacher who they saw. Really need to take a pee now.
10:33am – Just gave a quiz prep and now I’m about to give it. Empty bladder makes for happy John. Sat with Prof. Joana and calculated that I have 10 more hours of work in school than any other teacher.
11:29am – Good quiz, relatively no cheating. Now it’s off to have some lunch.
12:32pm – Got myself fed again, read an old Newsweek, tried to psych myself up for the afternoon lessons.
1:33pm – Finished 6th class of day, about STDs to my 8th graders. Started feeling slightly tired, but only because the 8th graders don’t really participate. Now I’m waiting to go to the room next to me and be done until tonight.
2:21pm – I came up with a metaphor for being faithful and avoiding STD’s. Let’s say someone pours four pots of water, one of them scolding water. You can choose to put your hand in all of them one time each or put your hand in the same one over and over again, which do you choose? They understood that you should dip your hand in the one, realizing the chances of getting burned are lower whereas in the first case you definitely WILL get burned.
2:38pm – Organized the 11th grade quizzes (52 of them) and am now going home to correct them.
5:42pm – Finished correcting the quiz, had dinner, talked with a couple Zimbabweans who came by, bought a batik from them, not I’m preparing for night class.
6:46pm – Gave a test prep for the night 11th graders and about to give the test. The day kids did quite well, so I’m anticipating a relatively problem-free test. It’s about now that I usually start getting tired, but it’s been improving lately. We’ll see what happens.
8:48pm – The test gave only a couple of problems – at the beginning there was a woman who did not want to sit where I wanted her to and so I told her, if she didn’t, I’d throw her out. I did, and it turned out that she also had a cheat sheet. I’ve been doing busy work here since then, in school. I’ve got another twenty minutes until my last class of the day begins – another 90-minute lesson. Now I’m feeling tired and my back is starting to hurt.
11:06pm – Did the lesson, gave a correction for the previous test and a preparation for the final. Came back, cleaned up, now I’m off to bed … finally. Quite tired, but it’s a good kind of tired.
Peace,
John
9/22/04
I performed with the HIV/AIDS group at school, with our new director and Nanosh looking on. Oh yeah, and about 300 students. It was official AIDS day here, and as a result we got off of classes.
The new director was sworn in on Monday and he visited all of the students on Tuesday. By virtue of teaching morning, afternoon and night I got to personally see him speak 3 times, twice in my classroom. He’s progressive, optimistic, soft-spoken and nice. If he had been my director these past two years, I feel like my time here might have been completely different. Also, like the outgoing director, he is a Chemistry teacher. To my old director, that meant that he give a month of classes to two turmas and then stop under the guise of having too many responsibilities. I haven’t talked with Joao (the new guy) yet, but I feel like he won’t do that. The 11th and 12th graders might even have a chemistry teacher next year!
The exam contents came out today, giving everyone a good idea of what the exams are going to be like. I’ve already planned out group projects and lessons in preparation for these exams. It’s nice to have such concrete goals all of a sudden. We’ll see how it goes.
It’s been cold here lately, as a result of a random weather front that came in on Sunday. Luckily, on Saturday I escaped to the beach and had a wonderful time baking in the calm, clear, warm water and the sun’s rays. It’s nice to remind oneself that such things exist and joy can be so cheap. (Specifically, $2 in transportation because I got rides partway.)
Peace,
John
The new director was sworn in on Monday and he visited all of the students on Tuesday. By virtue of teaching morning, afternoon and night I got to personally see him speak 3 times, twice in my classroom. He’s progressive, optimistic, soft-spoken and nice. If he had been my director these past two years, I feel like my time here might have been completely different. Also, like the outgoing director, he is a Chemistry teacher. To my old director, that meant that he give a month of classes to two turmas and then stop under the guise of having too many responsibilities. I haven’t talked with Joao (the new guy) yet, but I feel like he won’t do that. The 11th and 12th graders might even have a chemistry teacher next year!
The exam contents came out today, giving everyone a good idea of what the exams are going to be like. I’ve already planned out group projects and lessons in preparation for these exams. It’s nice to have such concrete goals all of a sudden. We’ll see how it goes.
It’s been cold here lately, as a result of a random weather front that came in on Sunday. Luckily, on Saturday I escaped to the beach and had a wonderful time baking in the calm, clear, warm water and the sun’s rays. It’s nice to remind oneself that such things exist and joy can be so cheap. (Specifically, $2 in transportation because I got rides partway.)
Peace,
John
9/13/04
I just got done with a wicked day – not worth recounting why, but I had about 5 minutes of rest between 6am and 5pm and tomorrow is busier. It’s the 7th week and this madness starts to wind down the 11th week, so it’s just a matter of keeping myself going without getting stressed out. Walking slowly, keeping ahead in lesson plans, correcting, etc., saying no to extra things and not worrying about it, being in the moment …
I’m looking at a write-in ballot because it’s likely my real ballot won’t come in time – who’s Nader’s running mate this year?
Peace,
John
I’m looking at a write-in ballot because it’s likely my real ballot won’t come in time – who’s Nader’s running mate this year?
Peace,
John
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