Laurenco called me over with a quick flick of the finger. As I walked outside with him, I though about how I'd never seen anyone called with a Western hand gesture here, but leave it to him. The most even-tempered and street-smart Mozambican I have known.
I knew that this was the moment when he would either plead with me to stay for a couple more days or tell me I could leave. My frustration had gotten to such a point over the past few days that I was considering just going AWOL - promises of being done with work, etc. But as he started to speak, proudly, of how it seemed the rest of the work would end and could be handled by others, he smiled honestly and swept his hand around in the most gigantic and graceful handshake I've been a part of. I regretted later not having a few reflective words, saying only "Thank you" and "Good luck with your work." We parted quickly, and I took off to take care of errands. I probably should have said goodbye to the other teachers, but it would have been like rubbing salt in wounds well-worn.
This evening Blake and I discussed final arrangements for his things so that he can move into another house after he comes back from his holiday, starting tomorrow. We shared a bit of our plans for next yer, and Albertina and I talked a bit about the next few months. I'm pretty sure she's still quite bummed by the news of failing and her future.
I'm on the last page of my journal, the 9th now. As this marks in many ways a good dividing point - done with the first year of school, on to the 10th journal, a new housemate, and a full year of being a volunteer - I'm going to try and offer myself some closure to put the bad behind me and dwell on the good, figuring out how I can make that good even better.
I know I can change the world. Admittedly, I began almost 15 months ago, much more naive, monolingual and relatively sheltered. But I have not fundamentally changed as a person - my mother said that my perspectives would change, and they have - but I still carry a very strong desire to change the world. And I still don't know how.
END PART ONE.
Peace
John
Monday, December 29, 2003
12/10/2003
My school promised they'd let me go tomorrow. We'll see. I'm definitely not coming back until a month has passed - I need the time off for sure.
I think I've gotten called "Tober" more times in the last few days by teachers than I ever thought possible. Turns out many don't even know my name. Is it because I don't strike up conversations? I try. With some, I'm successful. Oh, well.
I just finished Upton Sinclair's "The Jungle". Good book - though it couldn't seem to make up its mind whether it wanted to be a journalistic piece, a good Odysseus-in-rags adventure, or a Socialist doctrine. I think the combination goes together like a Danish and mayonnaise. Which sounds like a horrible combination, but until you've tried it (and I have, voluntarily), you never know. I did find it interesting that the copy I have was published with a relatively scathing review (however honest and balanced) as an introduction. What better mark of the greatness of something than when it can be bound to its antithesis and be stronger because of it? Even Superman couldn't say that...
In any case, reading about someone who reached rock bottom and still came out happy (though I realize it's a nice fictional device, the reality is it did occasionally happen) made me once again fully realize the situation of many of those around me. It seems to me that I'm inextricably in the upper class, whether it be skin color, profession or nationality. I can never truly relate to those who I might visit once, and I will forever remember it as a shining moment (as happens in Sinclair's Chicago and on present-day Earth), simply because of what I represent, not who I am.
And when I hear other teachers say that they're nobody if they don't have a phone number - speaking as one just lost his phone and feels like a lower-class citizen because of it. So people who barely have enough to eat, save just enough for a phone to prove they exist. And those who don't are made to feel that they don't exist. It's disgusting. But I only feel that way because I haven't been there and I don't understand. In a culture so fixated on communication, changing the fabric of how that happens is downright godly - as a hundred years ago the West found out with land lines.
Peace
John
I think I've gotten called "Tober" more times in the last few days by teachers than I ever thought possible. Turns out many don't even know my name. Is it because I don't strike up conversations? I try. With some, I'm successful. Oh, well.
I just finished Upton Sinclair's "The Jungle". Good book - though it couldn't seem to make up its mind whether it wanted to be a journalistic piece, a good Odysseus-in-rags adventure, or a Socialist doctrine. I think the combination goes together like a Danish and mayonnaise. Which sounds like a horrible combination, but until you've tried it (and I have, voluntarily), you never know. I did find it interesting that the copy I have was published with a relatively scathing review (however honest and balanced) as an introduction. What better mark of the greatness of something than when it can be bound to its antithesis and be stronger because of it? Even Superman couldn't say that...
In any case, reading about someone who reached rock bottom and still came out happy (though I realize it's a nice fictional device, the reality is it did occasionally happen) made me once again fully realize the situation of many of those around me. It seems to me that I'm inextricably in the upper class, whether it be skin color, profession or nationality. I can never truly relate to those who I might visit once, and I will forever remember it as a shining moment (as happens in Sinclair's Chicago and on present-day Earth), simply because of what I represent, not who I am.
And when I hear other teachers say that they're nobody if they don't have a phone number - speaking as one just lost his phone and feels like a lower-class citizen because of it. So people who barely have enough to eat, save just enough for a phone to prove they exist. And those who don't are made to feel that they don't exist. It's disgusting. But I only feel that way because I haven't been there and I don't understand. In a culture so fixated on communication, changing the fabric of how that happens is downright godly - as a hundred years ago the West found out with land lines.
Peace
John
12/09/2003
About a week ago, I found out that Albertina, Blake's girlfriend, had failed. I hadn't told her because I wasn't supposed to know and it's not like you rush to tell someone they failed. Plus, the more time she has with the hope of passing, however cruel, is better than the reality of failing.
Today, I found out that she wouldn't officially find out until Friday at the earliest, so when she asked today, I said "I can get the results." Blake will be leaving soon and they need to know. She asked if I could get them today, and I asked whether she wanted to know today. She hemmed and hawed.
"Quer saber ou nao?" I asked again. I said this, dashing around doing some housework that didn't need to be done at that second. She said yes, standing in the doorway I was looking to exit through.
"Voce..."
In between "You" and "failed", a world of choices flashed through my head. At some point, I had thought about asking her which would be better - her failing and her best friend passing, or vice versa. Knowing which choice she would pick, it would break the news by putting a brighter spin on it. But contrived. And I thought about sitting her down with Blake and setting the scene. Too melodramatic. I knew I needed to be frank and honest - and she needed to hear the words, clearly and without a doubt. Blake was here, though out of earshot, and the choices they make together depend on this information. I realized that this was the best moment, and the only real way to do it. My composure up until then didn't speak to conclusions one way or another. I even, in this moment, doubted why I was giving her her results first and not her best friend's.
All this in two seconds.
And then the word leaped onto my tongue and my lips failed to contain the power and ugliness of...
"Chumbou." Failed.
Hope disappeared from her face as I explained that her best friend had passed. She sunk into the closest chair and told Blake just as plainly. No crying, that I saw. But it was just a confirmation of fears and a striking down of hope.
I don't know what the next step is for them. Blake leaves to go to the States tomorrow or the next day, coming back to finish up a project after a month. A new volunteer comes on Sunday. I go to Portugal next Friday.
I guess some transitions are harder than others.
Peace
John
Today, I found out that she wouldn't officially find out until Friday at the earliest, so when she asked today, I said "I can get the results." Blake will be leaving soon and they need to know. She asked if I could get them today, and I asked whether she wanted to know today. She hemmed and hawed.
"Quer saber ou nao?" I asked again. I said this, dashing around doing some housework that didn't need to be done at that second. She said yes, standing in the doorway I was looking to exit through.
"Voce..."
In between "You" and "failed", a world of choices flashed through my head. At some point, I had thought about asking her which would be better - her failing and her best friend passing, or vice versa. Knowing which choice she would pick, it would break the news by putting a brighter spin on it. But contrived. And I thought about sitting her down with Blake and setting the scene. Too melodramatic. I knew I needed to be frank and honest - and she needed to hear the words, clearly and without a doubt. Blake was here, though out of earshot, and the choices they make together depend on this information. I realized that this was the best moment, and the only real way to do it. My composure up until then didn't speak to conclusions one way or another. I even, in this moment, doubted why I was giving her her results first and not her best friend's.
All this in two seconds.
And then the word leaped onto my tongue and my lips failed to contain the power and ugliness of...
"Chumbou." Failed.
Hope disappeared from her face as I explained that her best friend had passed. She sunk into the closest chair and told Blake just as plainly. No crying, that I saw. But it was just a confirmation of fears and a striking down of hope.
I don't know what the next step is for them. Blake leaves to go to the States tomorrow or the next day, coming back to finish up a project after a month. A new volunteer comes on Sunday. I go to Portugal next Friday.
I guess some transitions are harder than others.
Peace
John
12/08/2003
The daughter of one of the store owners in town told me why she's not coming back to C--- school next year, no matter whether she passes the exams or not. She's clearly very intelligent, speaks Portuguese fluently and deals with difficult subjects with ease. She told me how a mathematics teacher would refuse to call on her in class, though she knew the answer (and arguably knew the material better than the teacher did) and would consistently ignore her.
Come the end of the year, though she knew the material inside and out, she got a 9 in math (equivalent of an F, a high F). The idea, whether verbalized or not, was to make her pay the teacher in order to pass. It was known she had money. But she didn't pay, so had to take an exam that she should have been exempt from in the first place - and is now afraid of failing, because of this very reason.
This is not to say that I believe this story completely or that I believe the teachers would do this - but I would be naive to think otherwise. She and many other students don't go to my school because of repeated incidents like this, and the general attitude towards my strictness seems to agree with the mood of the school.
I'm not alone, though, and there are other teachers who want to see things change. But they suffer and are few.
This sort of thing happens the world over - so can I change this one little element or is this too big of a task? And should I?
Peace
John
Come the end of the year, though she knew the material inside and out, she got a 9 in math (equivalent of an F, a high F). The idea, whether verbalized or not, was to make her pay the teacher in order to pass. It was known she had money. But she didn't pay, so had to take an exam that she should have been exempt from in the first place - and is now afraid of failing, because of this very reason.
This is not to say that I believe this story completely or that I believe the teachers would do this - but I would be naive to think otherwise. She and many other students don't go to my school because of repeated incidents like this, and the general attitude towards my strictness seems to agree with the mood of the school.
I'm not alone, though, and there are other teachers who want to see things change. But they suffer and are few.
This sort of thing happens the world over - so can I change this one little element or is this too big of a task? And should I?
Peace
John
12/07/2003
I'm now reading a book about plants and how they have essentially shaped their evolutionary fate through the actions of humans, "The Botany of Desire". It's the fourth book I've read in as many weeks, which is a torrid pace for me.
In any case, the author talks about the scientific basis behind the high of marijuana, the chemical called THC. A similar, if not identical, chemical exists in our brains and helps to filter our the humdrum of everyday life. Which isn't to say that it's a boring chemical - anything but. It makes it so that we can actually perceive the "important" things in life and not be overwhelmed by all the inconsequential things, like the color of the chair I'm sitting in, the pain in my foot, the wind at my back, etc.
It occurred to me that, among other activities, the initial stages of culture shock produce elevated "THC" levels in our brains. There being so many new stimuli, we have to filter out even more than usual, just to make sense of the world.
I came to the realization yesterday, visiting Nimi at his site for his last day there, that I wasn't looking around and saying "Wow!" at everything any more. It was...normal. And so maybe, I'm thinking, these initial stages of culture shock are caused by this elevated brain chemical level where we are naturally heightened - and then we get addicted to it. I find myself looking for new adventures, and relying on old adventures when I can't find new ones. My brain knows that, given an overwhelmingly new stimulus, it'll get that high back.
So this is the attraction of pot. This is why I don't smoke - because it satisfies an urges that can be rationalized and satisfied in other ways, more productively and more...cheaply! And then it makes it harder to get the natural high from everyday life.
Well, this is the hardest thing I've ever done in my life. Granted, I haven't made it much easier on myself, but I'm trudging through this, day by day, to prove to myself that I can do anything I put my mind to. And if I successfully convince myself of that, I can definitely convince others of that. Then I can change the world. I'm sure of that fact. I have no idea how or when - but I will.
And this isn't to fish for pity - I just need it to be known the mix of emotions that I'm going through is a reminder of what is really important. Honesty. Humor. Equality - as much as possible. Love. A good piece of bread.
I'm glad Kingston's gungho about this English school project. As I told my mom, he's the fire under my ass instead of the other way around. And it needs to be that way. You can always find other asses, but fires are quite rare.
And, finally, Michael Pollen (again, the book) talking about the hardships that Johnny Appleseed went through, "Sometimes the cause of civilization is best served by a hard stare into the soul of its opposite."
Peace
John
In any case, the author talks about the scientific basis behind the high of marijuana, the chemical called THC. A similar, if not identical, chemical exists in our brains and helps to filter our the humdrum of everyday life. Which isn't to say that it's a boring chemical - anything but. It makes it so that we can actually perceive the "important" things in life and not be overwhelmed by all the inconsequential things, like the color of the chair I'm sitting in, the pain in my foot, the wind at my back, etc.
It occurred to me that, among other activities, the initial stages of culture shock produce elevated "THC" levels in our brains. There being so many new stimuli, we have to filter out even more than usual, just to make sense of the world.
I came to the realization yesterday, visiting Nimi at his site for his last day there, that I wasn't looking around and saying "Wow!" at everything any more. It was...normal. And so maybe, I'm thinking, these initial stages of culture shock are caused by this elevated brain chemical level where we are naturally heightened - and then we get addicted to it. I find myself looking for new adventures, and relying on old adventures when I can't find new ones. My brain knows that, given an overwhelmingly new stimulus, it'll get that high back.
So this is the attraction of pot. This is why I don't smoke - because it satisfies an urges that can be rationalized and satisfied in other ways, more productively and more...cheaply! And then it makes it harder to get the natural high from everyday life.
Well, this is the hardest thing I've ever done in my life. Granted, I haven't made it much easier on myself, but I'm trudging through this, day by day, to prove to myself that I can do anything I put my mind to. And if I successfully convince myself of that, I can definitely convince others of that. Then I can change the world. I'm sure of that fact. I have no idea how or when - but I will.
And this isn't to fish for pity - I just need it to be known the mix of emotions that I'm going through is a reminder of what is really important. Honesty. Humor. Equality - as much as possible. Love. A good piece of bread.
I'm glad Kingston's gungho about this English school project. As I told my mom, he's the fire under my ass instead of the other way around. And it needs to be that way. You can always find other asses, but fires are quite rare.
And, finally, Michael Pollen (again, the book) talking about the hardships that Johnny Appleseed went through, "Sometimes the cause of civilization is best served by a hard stare into the soul of its opposite."
Peace
John
12/05/2003
A bunch of other volunteers are off enjoying themselves at the beach this weekend, but as my school is the only one still at work, I can't. There's a wedding that all the other teachers were invited to tomorrow, and another one in a couple weeks. I've been here a year and still feel like as much of a foreigner as when I got here.
In a little over a week, I'll have a new sitemate, Nanosh. I'm going to try and find my optimism again before then - though the project with Kingston is going very well. He knows it will make good money for him and other Zimbabweans, while meeting Peace Corps ideals and hitting on the coffers of people who want to give money.
Wow, in two weeks I'll be in Portugal. I don't think it's hit me - it still feels like forever, but it's really just...well, 14 days away. And, more importantly, I'll spend Christmas with someone important to me.
Yeah, like I thought, this end of the year is going by incredibly quickly. And in a month, I'm back to school...
Peace
John
In a little over a week, I'll have a new sitemate, Nanosh. I'm going to try and find my optimism again before then - though the project with Kingston is going very well. He knows it will make good money for him and other Zimbabweans, while meeting Peace Corps ideals and hitting on the coffers of people who want to give money.
Wow, in two weeks I'll be in Portugal. I don't think it's hit me - it still feels like forever, but it's really just...well, 14 days away. And, more importantly, I'll spend Christmas with someone important to me.
Yeah, like I thought, this end of the year is going by incredibly quickly. And in a month, I'm back to school...
Peace
John
12/03/2003
After doing a whole lot of nothing, we were served really poorly-fed fish and rice for lunch at school. Not being a fish person, and listening to comments like "What happened? Did you pick the ones who smoked their entire lives?" from teachers...who smoke... I decided to lunch at home. It was probably disrespectful, to leave when food was offered like that, but I don't exactly feel close to the other teachers. They almost always speak Changana with each other, asking only when it's something they think I might enjoy, if I understand. Just generally making life difficult. I've been told that many of the other teachers don't like me, on several occasions now, and maybe I'm starting to approach relationships with them with that in mind.
Kingston and I had a meeting today about the English school idea. We were pounding out details when it came down to money. I was looking at the numbers of estimated students and teachers, and we were talking about salaries. When I realized how much money Kingston wanted each student to pay per semester (about $20, which is a lot here), I mentioned how only the rich would attend and how this creates a class stratification.
"Exactly" was the reaction of both Kingston and his sister (?). They made the point that you can't have a school like this without catering to those who can afford it - otherwise, you're just teaching to the masses. After chewing over this and debating the benefits of keeping it cheap, he asked me about the classes I was giving locally. I told him how much I charged ($1 per month) and they remarked on how cheap that was - and why people don't show up regularly or in large numbers. Like anywhere else, people associate price with quality, so charging very little means it's going to be crappy instruction. As we can't make a profit, we have to donate the money, and honestly, that's easier said than done. I've still got money looking for a project. And to donate even more??
So I agreed that it was necessary, but as long as we focused on helping teach the teachers of English, I'd be happy. Idealism took a knock, but got back up.
At one point, he said, "Our school needs a name. A good, English name."
Thinking he was joking around, and meant an English college name, I said the first one that came to mind: Stanley.
"Stanley, I like it. The Stanley Institute of English. Yes, you need a good English name for when you try to get a job."
I hope there are no Stanleys around here (but there is an Ed Milton...)
Peace
John
Kingston and I had a meeting today about the English school idea. We were pounding out details when it came down to money. I was looking at the numbers of estimated students and teachers, and we were talking about salaries. When I realized how much money Kingston wanted each student to pay per semester (about $20, which is a lot here), I mentioned how only the rich would attend and how this creates a class stratification.
"Exactly" was the reaction of both Kingston and his sister (?). They made the point that you can't have a school like this without catering to those who can afford it - otherwise, you're just teaching to the masses. After chewing over this and debating the benefits of keeping it cheap, he asked me about the classes I was giving locally. I told him how much I charged ($1 per month) and they remarked on how cheap that was - and why people don't show up regularly or in large numbers. Like anywhere else, people associate price with quality, so charging very little means it's going to be crappy instruction. As we can't make a profit, we have to donate the money, and honestly, that's easier said than done. I've still got money looking for a project. And to donate even more??
So I agreed that it was necessary, but as long as we focused on helping teach the teachers of English, I'd be happy. Idealism took a knock, but got back up.
At one point, he said, "Our school needs a name. A good, English name."
Thinking he was joking around, and meant an English college name, I said the first one that came to mind: Stanley.
"Stanley, I like it. The Stanley Institute of English. Yes, you need a good English name for when you try to get a job."
I hope there are no Stanleys around here (but there is an Ed Milton...)
Peace
John
11/19/2003
Watched more lessons, talked more theory with teachers learning to teach in Mozambique for the first time. It was a good time and hard work. Tomorrow the U.S. Ambassador comes!
(AND ONCE MORE INTO THE VACATION...)
Sunday, November 9
We saw lots of other animals, including some wildebeest before leaving Kruger. We got through Customs a whole lot easier on the way out, though a problem copying down the licence plate incorrectly nearly held us up for some time.
We got into Maputo at a decent hour after dropping the car off at the airport. It was only mildly sad to see the car go.
We relaxed at the hotel for a couple hours before grabbing dinner at the pizza place. Thoroughly exhausted from Kruger and travel in general, managed a good night's sleep.
Monday, November 10th
We woke up and took a walk to get the chapa for our training site. It was a nice walk through the garden, down to the "baixa", or lower area.
The chapa was a fun experience for both of us, comfortable but cramped at the same time. When we arrived at my old house, neither Sr. Bernardo nor the kids were around. We ended up waiting an excruciating 4 hours in the heat with very little available water, until everyone arrived. When they did, we quickly presented the presents for the family and were walked to the chapa back to Maputo.
We met Ebi in Maputo and he showed us around some of the richer areas of the city. He shared his unique perspective with us over a couple of drinks.
Later, Charles, Annie and the rest of the family joined us for dinner and we stayed out quite late in Mom's last night in Mozambique. Even took a "party" chapa at one point - so called due to the booming stereo system and drunk people inside who were very happy to see us.
Tuesday, November 11
Over the course of the day, Charles' family left, we ate lunch back in town, then went back to the airport to see off his brother Julien and my mother. It was all pretty rushed (as things go here), and waving from the tarmac, it really occurred to me how short a visit it was. It's hard to describe all the feelings going through my head now and over a week ago, because it's a strange mix of sentimentality with every other emotion. Also, there's just the expectation that in a year, things will be normal again when clearly they will never be "normal" - I've changed as a person, however subtly, and that will affect everything when I go back.
Peace
John
(AND ONCE MORE INTO THE VACATION...)
Sunday, November 9
We saw lots of other animals, including some wildebeest before leaving Kruger. We got through Customs a whole lot easier on the way out, though a problem copying down the licence plate incorrectly nearly held us up for some time.
We got into Maputo at a decent hour after dropping the car off at the airport. It was only mildly sad to see the car go.
We relaxed at the hotel for a couple hours before grabbing dinner at the pizza place. Thoroughly exhausted from Kruger and travel in general, managed a good night's sleep.
Monday, November 10th
We woke up and took a walk to get the chapa for our training site. It was a nice walk through the garden, down to the "baixa", or lower area.
The chapa was a fun experience for both of us, comfortable but cramped at the same time. When we arrived at my old house, neither Sr. Bernardo nor the kids were around. We ended up waiting an excruciating 4 hours in the heat with very little available water, until everyone arrived. When they did, we quickly presented the presents for the family and were walked to the chapa back to Maputo.
We met Ebi in Maputo and he showed us around some of the richer areas of the city. He shared his unique perspective with us over a couple of drinks.
Later, Charles, Annie and the rest of the family joined us for dinner and we stayed out quite late in Mom's last night in Mozambique. Even took a "party" chapa at one point - so called due to the booming stereo system and drunk people inside who were very happy to see us.
Tuesday, November 11
Over the course of the day, Charles' family left, we ate lunch back in town, then went back to the airport to see off his brother Julien and my mother. It was all pretty rushed (as things go here), and waving from the tarmac, it really occurred to me how short a visit it was. It's hard to describe all the feelings going through my head now and over a week ago, because it's a strange mix of sentimentality with every other emotion. Also, there's just the expectation that in a year, things will be normal again when clearly they will never be "normal" - I've changed as a person, however subtly, and that will affect everything when I go back.
Peace
John
11/18/2003
(OKAYYYY...BACK TO THE VACA...)
Friday, November 7
We got to finally see Mozambique beaches, staying enough time to feel the sun and the surf, and absorb a little of the beach culture.
Clearly, the only rational decision was to head back into Maputo, the hard way...I navigated us into Maputo on a very bumpy road - to put it lightly - and we finally ended up back at the hotel. We got a couple drinks to, er, celebrate the ride in and then grabbed a nice dinner at a - the - Chinese restaurant.
I had a tofu dish that was so plentiful, we ended up eating it for dinner on...
Saturday, November 8
We traveled over the best and most expensive road in Mozambique to get to Kruger Park in South Africa. We figured out Customs, after parking and fending off random people looking for suckers to give them money. We then went to the first supermarket we found in South Africa, which was clearly looking for suckers to give them money...Not knowing the conditions to be found in Kruger, we obliged.
Eventually, we arrived at our tent in Kruger after a telling stare from the manager. My reaction was, "This is so luxurious", which of course could have applied to a well-maintained cardboard box. But honestly, two beds, a refrigerator, closet, clean sheets, new towels, a grill and an industrial fan that could easily propel the car we were driving, were greatly appreciated.
As we waited for the shipment of tinfoil to come in to the local (and only) store, we took a quick tour of our area and saw animals we would soon consider fairly dull. A wild boar of some sort, impala and giraffes were all grazing.
We returned, got tinfoil, cooked corn and tofu, made sandwiches, went on a wonderful night drive that featured a hyena, a bushbaby, an African cat, and a temporarily blinded rhino (thanks to me). Full day.
Peace
John
Friday, November 7
We got to finally see Mozambique beaches, staying enough time to feel the sun and the surf, and absorb a little of the beach culture.
Clearly, the only rational decision was to head back into Maputo, the hard way...I navigated us into Maputo on a very bumpy road - to put it lightly - and we finally ended up back at the hotel. We got a couple drinks to, er, celebrate the ride in and then grabbed a nice dinner at a - the - Chinese restaurant.
I had a tofu dish that was so plentiful, we ended up eating it for dinner on...
Saturday, November 8
We traveled over the best and most expensive road in Mozambique to get to Kruger Park in South Africa. We figured out Customs, after parking and fending off random people looking for suckers to give them money. We then went to the first supermarket we found in South Africa, which was clearly looking for suckers to give them money...Not knowing the conditions to be found in Kruger, we obliged.
Eventually, we arrived at our tent in Kruger after a telling stare from the manager. My reaction was, "This is so luxurious", which of course could have applied to a well-maintained cardboard box. But honestly, two beds, a refrigerator, closet, clean sheets, new towels, a grill and an industrial fan that could easily propel the car we were driving, were greatly appreciated.
As we waited for the shipment of tinfoil to come in to the local (and only) store, we took a quick tour of our area and saw animals we would soon consider fairly dull. A wild boar of some sort, impala and giraffes were all grazing.
We returned, got tinfoil, cooked corn and tofu, made sandwiches, went on a wonderful night drive that featured a hyena, a bushbaby, an African cat, and a temporarily blinded rhino (thanks to me). Full day.
Peace
John
11/16/2003
Jake, Nimi and I hit the town after watching the second "Lord of the Rings" with Charles and Annie.
Got up early to catch a chapa to Maputo and got on possibly the most comfortable vehicle of public transport I've ever seen. A minibus from South Africa, boasting individual seats, all fully padded, with tinted windows and nice suspension. Slept like a baby.
So I'm back at the training site to watch lessons that the new trainees are giving. Should be fun.
(YES, WE'RE BACK TO THE VACATION...)
Wednesday, November 5
I think I adequately described this day because it was a lazy, rainy day. Next.
Thursday, November 6
Scratch that. Thursday was the rainy day. (Now do you believe that I don't edit very much? Sure, my Mom helps out with errors here and there, and translating the often foreign tongue I write in, but...) We went to the main market in the town where we were staying, and we also played cards. Other than that, we basically relaxed and ate. It was a necessary rest day to prepare for an essentially long weekend. That, and it helped me put some distance between me and my school.
I've found out over the last week the effect of one of my actions while proctoring exams. It brings up a whole host of potential issues, not the least of which is my place in Mozambican society as a foreigner.
On the first day of exams, I proctored a group which contained one student who had lost her mother in a car accident, just two days before, unbeknownst to me. Her family had insisted that she continue with the exams instead of simply grieving.
This very same girl, in the middle of the exam, turned completely around in her chair, consulting with the student behind her. I stood in front of her, so that when she turned back around she could see me in front and realize what was going on. I warned her not to do that again, because I would have to take her test away.
Because it's exams, I allow for more leeway. Normally, this would have been grounds for me to take the test away. But I gave her a second chance. Another girl in the class had a cheat sheet in her pocket that I confiscated, warning her that if she did ANYTHING else, I would kick her out. She didn't.
But the one who lost her mom, did. As soon as I had finished warning her and started to walk away, she turned around in her seat again to try and get some answers. I immediately took her test away and told her to leave. She did so, relatively quietly - I say this because if you receive a zero for one exam, you fail all of them.
But I hadn't intended on giving a zero, because she didn't actually gain anything from cheating. It was punishment enough to have left early.
Unfortunately, she walked out of school past other classrooms and so othe teachers saw her walking away. I got interrogated as to why a student was kicked out, and they insisted I give her a zero.
Reluctantly, because I didn't feel she deserved it, I wrote "Fraud" on her exam.
Later in the day, the passing of her mother was relayed to me. Later in the week, the story ended up on provincial radio, serving about 1 million people. No names were used, but my students knew it was me who had kicked her out, and ultimately negated any chance at doing the exams.
Clearly, I felt like shit and I still feel bad. My logical reason side knows that it was a necessary and correct objective decision. There was no alternative, quite honestly. She cheated.
But the side of me that feels, aches. These are people who have very little, a family is destroyed, and I very haphazardly throw salt in their wounds.
Part of me wants to apologize, but part of me realizes how lost for words I would find myself. I wouldn't be sorry for what I would have to apologize for. I'm sorry she lost the nucleus of her family and her hope at replacing that light - but what I did was necessarily heartless because standardized testing is heartless. And it makes me wonder if Mozambique is really ready for an educational system that is so callous - not to say that I see an alternative.
So what I'm trying to say is that I see my role to be a product of the American educational system trying to adapt to the Mozambican system. And maybe they're just not ready; maybe this isn't the right match.
Peace
John
Got up early to catch a chapa to Maputo and got on possibly the most comfortable vehicle of public transport I've ever seen. A minibus from South Africa, boasting individual seats, all fully padded, with tinted windows and nice suspension. Slept like a baby.
So I'm back at the training site to watch lessons that the new trainees are giving. Should be fun.
(YES, WE'RE BACK TO THE VACATION...)
Wednesday, November 5
I think I adequately described this day because it was a lazy, rainy day. Next.
Thursday, November 6
Scratch that. Thursday was the rainy day. (Now do you believe that I don't edit very much? Sure, my Mom helps out with errors here and there, and translating the often foreign tongue I write in, but...) We went to the main market in the town where we were staying, and we also played cards. Other than that, we basically relaxed and ate. It was a necessary rest day to prepare for an essentially long weekend. That, and it helped me put some distance between me and my school.
I've found out over the last week the effect of one of my actions while proctoring exams. It brings up a whole host of potential issues, not the least of which is my place in Mozambican society as a foreigner.
On the first day of exams, I proctored a group which contained one student who had lost her mother in a car accident, just two days before, unbeknownst to me. Her family had insisted that she continue with the exams instead of simply grieving.
This very same girl, in the middle of the exam, turned completely around in her chair, consulting with the student behind her. I stood in front of her, so that when she turned back around she could see me in front and realize what was going on. I warned her not to do that again, because I would have to take her test away.
Because it's exams, I allow for more leeway. Normally, this would have been grounds for me to take the test away. But I gave her a second chance. Another girl in the class had a cheat sheet in her pocket that I confiscated, warning her that if she did ANYTHING else, I would kick her out. She didn't.
But the one who lost her mom, did. As soon as I had finished warning her and started to walk away, she turned around in her seat again to try and get some answers. I immediately took her test away and told her to leave. She did so, relatively quietly - I say this because if you receive a zero for one exam, you fail all of them.
But I hadn't intended on giving a zero, because she didn't actually gain anything from cheating. It was punishment enough to have left early.
Unfortunately, she walked out of school past other classrooms and so othe teachers saw her walking away. I got interrogated as to why a student was kicked out, and they insisted I give her a zero.
Reluctantly, because I didn't feel she deserved it, I wrote "Fraud" on her exam.
Later in the day, the passing of her mother was relayed to me. Later in the week, the story ended up on provincial radio, serving about 1 million people. No names were used, but my students knew it was me who had kicked her out, and ultimately negated any chance at doing the exams.
Clearly, I felt like shit and I still feel bad. My logical reason side knows that it was a necessary and correct objective decision. There was no alternative, quite honestly. She cheated.
But the side of me that feels, aches. These are people who have very little, a family is destroyed, and I very haphazardly throw salt in their wounds.
Part of me wants to apologize, but part of me realizes how lost for words I would find myself. I wouldn't be sorry for what I would have to apologize for. I'm sorry she lost the nucleus of her family and her hope at replacing that light - but what I did was necessarily heartless because standardized testing is heartless. And it makes me wonder if Mozambique is really ready for an educational system that is so callous - not to say that I see an alternative.
So what I'm trying to say is that I see my role to be a product of the American educational system trying to adapt to the Mozambican system. And maybe they're just not ready; maybe this isn't the right match.
Peace
John
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