I spent four hours today and four-plus yesterday making the schedule for 22 classrooms, encompassing about 1200 students and 30 teachers. It was a fun logic puzzle, but as logic puzzles are hard to do with other people asking why you're making every move and staring at you the whole time, it was tiring.
But that's been the crux of the work this week. And now I know I have 6 turmas, about 330 students, of 10th grade Biology. I'm giving them exam preparation, I am the chief of Biology during the day session, I will be the director of one of those 6 turmas, and more importantly, none (repeat: NONE) of this is written in stone. I couldn't have asked for a better schedule and responsibilities, but it will most likely change.
I think the journal writing has fallen off lately due to a combination of factors. One is that nothing that new is going on (this is the second time around, after all), I have better outlets for stress relief and casual conversation, and I'm not taking a drug that makes me hyper-emotional. Other than that...
The kids have been overly obnoxious as of late, but I'm keeping that in check with being overly strict. They stole the handle to our outside tap, rendering it practically useless. I have little hope of getting it back, but here's hoping.
Changana is getting going again with Alfredo's lessons to Nanosh. Now he starts to initiate Changana conversations that I finish off. It'll be really fun when we end up speaking to each other in Changana - what a cool secret language to have.
I'm planning on giving my 10th graders quite a bit of work to do, mainly because I know they are capable of so much. Annie and I discussed a partnership between Vukoxa and some of my students where they volunteer their time to help out elderly caretakers who are unable to do certain things like cook, etc. I'm also going to try and get them to plant and take care of some donated plants at school. In addition, every trimester they'll have a small group project teaching the rest of their turma one subject that is necessary to know for the exams. Hopefully, this will make exam studying that much easier.
Peace
John
Saturday, February 07, 2004
1/15/2004
I sat down with Laurenco today to try and start working on the school schedule. He made a list of the teachers and seemed to realize for the first time that we're not going to have enough teachers for the students. Almost 2000 students and about 30 teachers.
The neighborhood kids have really been bothering me - annoying us at any given opportunity, without rest. I think it gets to me because they have nothing else to do all day and all night than to play and make noise outside of our house. What's wrong with this picture when thousands of Mozambicans are starving and dying of AIDS, but these healthy, able-bodied kids are doing nothing 90% of the time? And the NGOs and other aid organizations (including Peace Corps) are busy about 50% of the time? What's the message we're sending here?
Peace
John
The neighborhood kids have really been bothering me - annoying us at any given opportunity, without rest. I think it gets to me because they have nothing else to do all day and all night than to play and make noise outside of our house. What's wrong with this picture when thousands of Mozambicans are starving and dying of AIDS, but these healthy, able-bodied kids are doing nothing 90% of the time? And the NGOs and other aid organizations (including Peace Corps) are busy about 50% of the time? What's the message we're sending here?
Peace
John
1/14/2004
You know, making lists of students can be very exciting. Not.
I took a nice walk today and got lots of ideas of what to do with 10th grade classes, if I end up teaching them. And if I do, I'd most likely end up with 9 turmas, which is not a trivial amount. I would be teaching from 7 AM to 12:15 PM every day, and would have to grade about 450 papers. A challenge.
Peace
John
I took a nice walk today and got lots of ideas of what to do with 10th grade classes, if I end up teaching them. And if I do, I'd most likely end up with 9 turmas, which is not a trivial amount. I would be teaching from 7 AM to 12:15 PM every day, and would have to grade about 450 papers. A challenge.
Peace
John
1/13/2004
What's it like to be hot, all the time? You constantly drink water and feel thirsty afterward, watching the sweat bead up on unexpected places like the back of your hand, and never feel like you need to go to the bathroom. You wear as little clothing as possible, bathe two or three times a day just to feel normal, and seek out even the slightest breeze. You stick to anything and everything, avoid putting your hand on the paper you're writing and the couch you're sitting on. You dream of air conditioning, ice cold sodas, ice cream, and winter. You go to bed, soak the sheets, then wake up and already feel drained. You speak and sweat more; you move and sweat more. You do stupid things like complain about the heat and forget what day it is. You find dozens of cockroaches, flies, mosquitoes, and all other manner of beasts. At noon, everything is asleep for two hours.
Peace
John
Peace
John
1/12/2004
Who says you can't make New Year's resolutions a couple of weeks late? On the first day of the second year of school, I'm resolving to let fewer things piss me off. Specifically, those things that are simply cultural difference or frustrations that I should expect, given the circumstances. For instance, I've been sitting here for an hour and a half, doing nothing, not because there's no work to do, but because we don't know WHAT to do. I'm not angry. It's actually pretty funny. The only thing I'm worried about right now is what I'm going to teach this year, which is very much up in the air. And I'm trying to consider and make peace with every possibility so I don't get needlessly frustrated when it isn't what I wanted or expected.
I could probably sit here and write for hours, but I would start to bore myself and everyone else - an accurate reflection of my current state.
Some papers got mailed to me, and in them were a lot of variously-themed blurbs. Honor rolls, passages, obituaries, weddings, etc. Even my college's had a blurb about me going into Peace Corps. All of these blurbs are as short as possible, starting off with the relevant names and getting through the required information as quickly as possible. It's enough to make you think you really know this person and for a moment, have examined their entire life.
Especially the obits.
I never want an obituary - I say never, because people get repeat obits after 20, 50 years. I don't want people to think they can know me, that they can get a handle on who I am, from 4 sentences...or even 40. If they have to ask around and get to know others who knew me, then maybe they will feel for a few minutes what my life was like. And I feel this same way about everyone else.
I feel cheated when I read an obituary, like seeing a picture of a sunset and being told, "Now you know what Africa is like." I want to know what mistakes this person made, when their lowest moment was, what made them truly happy, what was their biggest regret...and not in a summary, but I want to know why.
Moreover, I want to avoid the trap of normalcy that so many Americans seem to just fall into. Not like that's going to happen...
Peace
John
I could probably sit here and write for hours, but I would start to bore myself and everyone else - an accurate reflection of my current state.
Some papers got mailed to me, and in them were a lot of variously-themed blurbs. Honor rolls, passages, obituaries, weddings, etc. Even my college's had a blurb about me going into Peace Corps. All of these blurbs are as short as possible, starting off with the relevant names and getting through the required information as quickly as possible. It's enough to make you think you really know this person and for a moment, have examined their entire life.
Especially the obits.
I never want an obituary - I say never, because people get repeat obits after 20, 50 years. I don't want people to think they can know me, that they can get a handle on who I am, from 4 sentences...or even 40. If they have to ask around and get to know others who knew me, then maybe they will feel for a few minutes what my life was like. And I feel this same way about everyone else.
I feel cheated when I read an obituary, like seeing a picture of a sunset and being told, "Now you know what Africa is like." I want to know what mistakes this person made, when their lowest moment was, what made them truly happy, what was their biggest regret...and not in a summary, but I want to know why.
Moreover, I want to avoid the trap of normalcy that so many Americans seem to just fall into. Not like that's going to happen...
Peace
John
1/11/2004
It's nice to be back in my house after living out of a small backpack for a week. Nice to have clean clothes, space and relative privacy!
So Zach, his parents and I went to Maputo on Wednesday to go for my physical and to tour Maputo a bit. We went out to the fish market, which is notable as a) before arriving in Mozambique, I ate approximately two fish in my life, and b) Not so long ago I was a vegetarian. More notable is that it was a great parent experience - seeing some borrowed but well-adapted culture in action.
The fish market is bustling, relatively speaking. There were dozens of banks, most of them empty at any given moment of the day, featuring shrimp, crabs, cod, sardines, clams and various others with attending women shouting in English and Portguese. The shrimp, from what I'm told, are very large and belie the name "shrimp". So we bought a kilogram for about $4 (approximately $2 a pound) and paid a bartender $2 to cook it and serve it with fries. All told, an excellent meal.
All in all, it seems that Zach's parents had a great time and enjoyed the new perspectives on African culture and Peace Corps culture that everyone gave them. Nothing radically surprising, and a great vacation.
On Friday after we had seen them off, I went back to Peace Corps for my follow-up physical. (Note: I usually don't like to talk about internal PC issues here, but I feel this is necessary and relevant to some current movements underway.) I had refused to sign an acknowledgement statement saying that I had read a warning about the anti-malarial medication, Lariam, that many of us take. We had been previously warned of its hallucinogenic and mood-depressing properties, but not as strongly as in this warning. Simply stated, the manufacturers knew that people taking Lariam had committed suicide, but did NOT know if Lariam had played any part. So I asked our medical officer about this, and he said that nobody with psychiatric histories is taking Lariam. I piped up that I do have a history (mild depression) and that I'm taking it. He reacted sharply, saying that I shouldn't be taking it. Apparently only people with a history of mental illness have committed suicide while taking Lariam. Suddenly, after a year, I was in a very high-risk category.
Well, I knew before that it wasn't helping, but I didn't know it could be THAT bad. I'll find out in about a month when it works itself out of my system and I'm regularly on another drug. I'm pretty sure, however, that it contributed to how difficult my first year was, or seemed to be.
And now I can't wait to teach again. I'm hoping it's 10th grade. I don't know what I'll do if it isn't, honestly, and I have fewer students, so that I can get to know them better. I remember meeting some of my own students last year who didn't even know, after classes were over. How can I evaluate them if I can't get to know them?
Peace
John
So Zach, his parents and I went to Maputo on Wednesday to go for my physical and to tour Maputo a bit. We went out to the fish market, which is notable as a) before arriving in Mozambique, I ate approximately two fish in my life, and b) Not so long ago I was a vegetarian. More notable is that it was a great parent experience - seeing some borrowed but well-adapted culture in action.
The fish market is bustling, relatively speaking. There were dozens of banks, most of them empty at any given moment of the day, featuring shrimp, crabs, cod, sardines, clams and various others with attending women shouting in English and Portguese. The shrimp, from what I'm told, are very large and belie the name "shrimp". So we bought a kilogram for about $4 (approximately $2 a pound) and paid a bartender $2 to cook it and serve it with fries. All told, an excellent meal.
All in all, it seems that Zach's parents had a great time and enjoyed the new perspectives on African culture and Peace Corps culture that everyone gave them. Nothing radically surprising, and a great vacation.
On Friday after we had seen them off, I went back to Peace Corps for my follow-up physical. (Note: I usually don't like to talk about internal PC issues here, but I feel this is necessary and relevant to some current movements underway.) I had refused to sign an acknowledgement statement saying that I had read a warning about the anti-malarial medication, Lariam, that many of us take. We had been previously warned of its hallucinogenic and mood-depressing properties, but not as strongly as in this warning. Simply stated, the manufacturers knew that people taking Lariam had committed suicide, but did NOT know if Lariam had played any part. So I asked our medical officer about this, and he said that nobody with psychiatric histories is taking Lariam. I piped up that I do have a history (mild depression) and that I'm taking it. He reacted sharply, saying that I shouldn't be taking it. Apparently only people with a history of mental illness have committed suicide while taking Lariam. Suddenly, after a year, I was in a very high-risk category.
Well, I knew before that it wasn't helping, but I didn't know it could be THAT bad. I'll find out in about a month when it works itself out of my system and I'm regularly on another drug. I'm pretty sure, however, that it contributed to how difficult my first year was, or seemed to be.
And now I can't wait to teach again. I'm hoping it's 10th grade. I don't know what I'll do if it isn't, honestly, and I have fewer students, so that I can get to know them better. I remember meeting some of my own students last year who didn't even know, after classes were over. How can I evaluate them if I can't get to know them?
Peace
John
1/04/2004
I worked with Nanosh this evening on what the heck he was going to teach for his first classes - which he wasn't expecting to give until next week.
But how do you introduce yourself as a teacher? I was disillusioned last year - or misinformed - and thought that the students wanted to hear all about my education and how hard I had worked. How horribly I knew African culture, specifically Mozambique. My students just wanted to know who I was, not what I had done. How old I am, brothers, sisters, other family, where I'm from, what food I like to eat, if I cook for myself, etc. And I never presented my students with a person; they had to discover me, little by little. I'll have some of the same students this year (unless I only have 8th grade), but for the new ones, I need to decide how to strike a balance between human informalities and strict rule-setting for the year.
Nanosh is allowing the students to come up with some class rules, too, so we'll see how that goes. Could be a really good idea, or could just be mediocre. That seems to be the general results of any experiment in the classroom. The key seems to be just to keep on trying while realizing that your experience isn't necessarily indicative of what other situations - class sizes, times of day, subject material - may manifest.
This year, I'm planning on basing 50% of my students' grades on testing (most teachers: 100%) and the other 50% as a combination of behavior, absences, homework grades, group-work grades, and a year-long project to help end-of-year exam studies. In order to alleviate homework grading, I'm going to assign it every day, but only randomly collect 5 students' assignments every day. We'll see, like everything else.
I find I've been talking about Phi Kap (my college fraternity) quite a bit lately. I learned so much in my experience there, about working with other people, working toward common, abstract goals, conflict resolution, humor, friendships and selflessness. It's unfortunate that people hear the word "fraternity" and have very different thoughts. In the same vein, "Peace Corps" has a very different connotation than reality.
Peace
John
But how do you introduce yourself as a teacher? I was disillusioned last year - or misinformed - and thought that the students wanted to hear all about my education and how hard I had worked. How horribly I knew African culture, specifically Mozambique. My students just wanted to know who I was, not what I had done. How old I am, brothers, sisters, other family, where I'm from, what food I like to eat, if I cook for myself, etc. And I never presented my students with a person; they had to discover me, little by little. I'll have some of the same students this year (unless I only have 8th grade), but for the new ones, I need to decide how to strike a balance between human informalities and strict rule-setting for the year.
Nanosh is allowing the students to come up with some class rules, too, so we'll see how that goes. Could be a really good idea, or could just be mediocre. That seems to be the general results of any experiment in the classroom. The key seems to be just to keep on trying while realizing that your experience isn't necessarily indicative of what other situations - class sizes, times of day, subject material - may manifest.
This year, I'm planning on basing 50% of my students' grades on testing (most teachers: 100%) and the other 50% as a combination of behavior, absences, homework grades, group-work grades, and a year-long project to help end-of-year exam studies. In order to alleviate homework grading, I'm going to assign it every day, but only randomly collect 5 students' assignments every day. We'll see, like everything else.
I find I've been talking about Phi Kap (my college fraternity) quite a bit lately. I learned so much in my experience there, about working with other people, working toward common, abstract goals, conflict resolution, humor, friendships and selflessness. It's unfortunate that people hear the word "fraternity" and have very different thoughts. In the same vein, "Peace Corps" has a very different connotation than reality.
Peace
John
1/03/2004
I'm anxious to start teaching again. I'm planning things out in my head, but as I do that, I know it's useless because everything will change. Let's see: 36 weeks of classes, minus 3 weeks for ACPs, 6 weeks when students won't show up, 3 weeks for holidays, and 3 weeks when I'll be off doing something else and that's about 21 weeks of school. And I could be teaching one or more of 8th, 9th or 10th grade, during the morning, evening or afternoon. I might have 6 turmas or 10 turmas, 300 or 500 students. I'll most likely be teaching Biology. I might have a day off every week. And all this begins in two weeks.
Every day I try and make sense of the world I've ended up in, and every day it feels like I'm waking up for the first time. I realize I'm in my bed in my room in my house in this town in Mozambique in Africa on the opposite side of the equator on the other side of the world from where I woke up the previous 24 years. And my mind climbs from that safe little place where it was so used to being, down along a tightrope surrounded by fiery pits of risk and failure, across to the other side where there's another safe little place. I truly feel like I've found that gain, and so I'm not putting as much on the line every day. At the same time, waking up into a safe little place might mean that I can actually teach this year, instead of being worried about crossing that tightrope.
Or maybe I should be realizing that this is the safest I'll be, right now, in this moment, with nothing to do and relaxed, and that I'll have to come down from this very soon in order to cross that tightrope again at the end of the year.
Peace
John
Every day I try and make sense of the world I've ended up in, and every day it feels like I'm waking up for the first time. I realize I'm in my bed in my room in my house in this town in Mozambique in Africa on the opposite side of the equator on the other side of the world from where I woke up the previous 24 years. And my mind climbs from that safe little place where it was so used to being, down along a tightrope surrounded by fiery pits of risk and failure, across to the other side where there's another safe little place. I truly feel like I've found that gain, and so I'm not putting as much on the line every day. At the same time, waking up into a safe little place might mean that I can actually teach this year, instead of being worried about crossing that tightrope.
Or maybe I should be realizing that this is the safest I'll be, right now, in this moment, with nothing to do and relaxed, and that I'll have to come down from this very soon in order to cross that tightrope again at the end of the year.
Peace
John
Friday, January 30, 2004
01/02/2004
If I keep relying on future's fortunes, I'll never discover the beauty of the present.
I do that fairly often when I think about when I will be leaving Mozambique, but it wouldn't take much to shock me into the moment.
Peace
John
I do that fairly often when I think about when I will be leaving Mozambique, but it wouldn't take much to shock me into the moment.
Peace
John
01/01/2004
Happy New Year! Hey, I come home this year!
Jenna came by and we rang in the New Year on our own terms - lacking any method of figuring out the real time - the three of us (including Nanosh) arbitrarily decided around midnight that it was midnight and we did our own countdown, then went out for drinks in full view of haphazard fireworks and sparkler displays.
More Portugal...
We found our hotel in Faro very easily, right as we got off the train. We arrived at night, Christmas Eve, and were glad we had checked to make sure the place was open. The hotel was nice, but clearly frequented by upper-middleclass tourists - probably many Americans. They had available Internet, Port samples, and an automatic bell whenever anyone entered. After our previous few hotels - quaint, old and empty - this had a completely different feel.
Eric and I ate Christmas Eve dinner at a Chinese restaurant (a good one) as it was about the only one open. We wandered around town for only a little bit, then retired.
Christmas morning was pretty lonely, as the streets were barren and it was a tourist hotspot, but in the off-season. We were still able to appreciate some historical areas and a neat fountain, but it sort of felt like the twilight zone (or a Stephen King movie). At about 2 in the afternoon, the city quickly awakened and we poked around places we had become familiar with in the preceding few hours. There was a nice downtown area with Christmas lights hanging above (as every city had, some more elaborate than others) and a red carpet marking the pathway under your feet. There seemed to be quite a few decent restaurants and I insisted that we get pizza (which was delicious). Some more fruitless wandering and we were very ready to move on from Faro the next morning.
When we arrived in Albufeira, about 30 minutes away by train (but made an hour by construction delays), we were quite confused as to whether we were actually in Albufeira. Eric asked a woman who was boarding if it were the stop we wanted, and she said it was.
In the travel books, we had read that Albufeira was a wonderful beach town, and a must-see on any tour of the Algarve. But we were staring at a very industrial railroad station that seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. Oh, well, we figured, town must be a little way off. So we started to get our bearings, and following road signs, headed to Albufeira.
Now, I'm used to the New England convention of marking directions for the center of town with the town name, even if you're already inside of it. I thought, and Eric did as well, that we were simply away from the center of town. It was warm, so I took off a layer (leaving two) and we humped our packs a couple of miles.
We started to realize that we weren't seeing beach AND we were still seeing signs for Albufeira. Worse, there seemed to be a bus system but no buses running. A couple of miles later, we were seeing buses, but also hills that we were sure led to beach.
Well, they did, but another mile and a half later! After our one-and-a-half-hour hike, we weren't winded, but not quite in the mood to price every hotel. I navigated us through town to a three-star hotel, and though it was relatively pricey, we decided things wouldn't get much better.
We started out in town, seeing Albufeira - a sort of Portuguese mini-New Orleans - toured mainly by Germans and Scandinavians - and getting continuously, hopelessly lost. It's built on hills with gently curving roads and few clear landmarks. Individually, Eric and I get lost fairly easily, but together we had Portugal down to a science. Except Albufeira. No matter what we did, we could never find where we wanted to go. Wandering in thismanner, we found a bar that served Guinness on tap. After our hike, lack of food, and thirst for a good pint, we left the bar with a very pleasant buzz and a renewed spirit for making the most of our second-to-last day. We hit the beach, I found myself in one layer for the first and only time (meanwhile, there were many Northern Europeans sunbathing), threw the Frisbee around, and appreciated why it was that the Algarve was famous. Though it was a nice beach, we both agreed that the States often affords sports much prettier.
We grabbed dinner at a touristy place, and it was a good, but clearly not carefully prepared, meal. Tourist food seems to be marked by tasting good and safe, but not going the extra mile to make sure you come back over and over again.
Afterwards, at the hotel, we decided that we had to hit the clubs. Hearing that things didn't pick up till about midnight, we bided our time until we couldn't take it anymore, and hailed a cab a few minutes into the new day. Talking with the cabbie, he let us know that the club we wanted to hit didn't get going until about 3 AM. So we went to a well-populated dance bar, tore up the floor, then at 3 (when the bar closed) moved on to the club until 5:30ish, continuing to show everyone else how Americans party (more specifically, how Eric and I party). It was a wonderful time, and something I really needed after, well, everything. Eric seemed to enjoy it equally well.
We woke up ridiculously early to take advantage of the free breakfast, surrounded by Germans. It was a strange experience, being in another country but among foreigners that weren't Americans - and homogeneously so. But now I know what other Europeans complain about when they go to an American-infested hot spot. It didn't feel like Portugal, or what we had come to expect of Portugal.
We took a taxi to the train station (smart), found our seats after waiting several hours for the train to arrive (as we had to check out of the hotel, but didn't want to wander around with our tired dancing legs), and as soon as the conductor took our tickets, we passed out. Arriving in Lisbon at night, we checked out a couple of close two-star pensaos and found one that seemed fine.
Very familiar with Lisbon, and having smelled a great Indian restaurant on the way, we had the best dinner of our trip that night, sleeping very well in spite of having to rise at 6 AM to get Eric to the airport.
Eric and I said our farewells at about 9 AM - I tried not to get sentimental as I know it will be only 11 months or so until I'm back.
Having some time to kill before checking out of the hotel, I decided to walk to the metro station close to the airport. After getting directions from a cabbie, I found myself in an open-air market (where I bought some gifts for people here) and according to the map, close to a metro station. Well, I spent the next hour close to a metro station, but not finding any. I gave up eventually and took the bus to what I knew would get me to a metro station and ended up arriving at the hotel with only 30 minutes to shower and pack up.
I strolled through Lisbon, fully loaded, for a couple hours, sitting and taking in the people and general atmosphere. Then, I took the metro out to the zoo, where I wrote the 12/28 entry, and having soaked in as much Europe, sweet-smelling, affluent and manicured as it is, I declared myself ready to go. I hopped back on the metro and found a big station close to the airport. Walking out, I realized I had stumbled on a large stadium (Campo Grande, where Sporting plays), so I budgeted myself 30 minutes more and walked inside. A brilliantly laid out stadium with bowlingm food courts and shopping made less like a mall than the outer rim of a futuristic arena, I was thoroughly impressed. It was a good final impression, and I didn't let the salty cab driver who got me to the airport, ruin it!
Apparently, Peace Corps has been in the news the last few months as being an unsafe, irresponsible organization. Though I'm not about to even touch that subject, there has been interesting commentary relating to the fact that the Peace Corps experience is a lot more watered down and less intense than it once was. Many volunteers (like many in Moz) have cellphones, Internet access, and regular media contact. Purists, as the original volunteers (and maybe even up till the 90s) can be called, denounce this as nonsense and that a volunteer isn't the same in the new millenium.
I agree.
But, likewise, the world is not the same place. Mozambique, 30 years ago, would have been somewhere where months would pass without communication, self-medication would be necessary, and all the stereotypical hardships would be present. But Mozambique, like the world, is changing. Within the last 5 years, cell phone use has become the norm and Internet Cafes are easy to find. Living a purist's experience would require living below the level of the community and interestingly, outside of the community.
The goals cannot be forgotten - we're here to help, not to suffer. And I think most every volunteer will say that the conditions - electricity, water, food, etc. - you can grow accustomed to with no problem. It's all of the factors that don't depend on money or random circumstance, such as the nature of your job, necessary emotional distance from your friends and family, mood swings, loss of familiar cultural cues, and many more things that make this experience inevitably difficult.
Maybe it's not as hard as 30+ years ago. But does that mean a volunteer should feel that they haven't accomplished as much because they haven't suffered enough? It's a very Judeo-Christian principle, and I don't buy it. I'm very concerned with how I can best help Mozambicans. If I'm suffering, then Moz will receive a half-assed job because I can't focus on what I'm supposed to do. Maybe the purists can look at their suffering as allowing the current volunteers certain luxuries so we can do our jobs that much better.
Month by month, what to look forward to:
January - New school year, mid-service conference
February - Avocado season (guacamole time)
March - Health trainees arrive and prep begins
April - See more of Moz during school break
May - Winter begins
June - Canadians leave. Health volunteers arrive.
July - Dad comes
August - City day and general debauchery
September - Birthday
October - Last classes, exam prep
November - finalizing plans, schoolwork
December - finish!
Why the emphasis on the Health volunteers? Well, they'll be learning Changana, and I should be pretty involved in that process. I feel like my Changana is not improving as fast as I'd like, but I need to still be patient.
Peace
John
Jenna came by and we rang in the New Year on our own terms - lacking any method of figuring out the real time - the three of us (including Nanosh) arbitrarily decided around midnight that it was midnight and we did our own countdown, then went out for drinks in full view of haphazard fireworks and sparkler displays.
More Portugal...
We found our hotel in Faro very easily, right as we got off the train. We arrived at night, Christmas Eve, and were glad we had checked to make sure the place was open. The hotel was nice, but clearly frequented by upper-middleclass tourists - probably many Americans. They had available Internet, Port samples, and an automatic bell whenever anyone entered. After our previous few hotels - quaint, old and empty - this had a completely different feel.
Eric and I ate Christmas Eve dinner at a Chinese restaurant (a good one) as it was about the only one open. We wandered around town for only a little bit, then retired.
Christmas morning was pretty lonely, as the streets were barren and it was a tourist hotspot, but in the off-season. We were still able to appreciate some historical areas and a neat fountain, but it sort of felt like the twilight zone (or a Stephen King movie). At about 2 in the afternoon, the city quickly awakened and we poked around places we had become familiar with in the preceding few hours. There was a nice downtown area with Christmas lights hanging above (as every city had, some more elaborate than others) and a red carpet marking the pathway under your feet. There seemed to be quite a few decent restaurants and I insisted that we get pizza (which was delicious). Some more fruitless wandering and we were very ready to move on from Faro the next morning.
When we arrived in Albufeira, about 30 minutes away by train (but made an hour by construction delays), we were quite confused as to whether we were actually in Albufeira. Eric asked a woman who was boarding if it were the stop we wanted, and she said it was.
In the travel books, we had read that Albufeira was a wonderful beach town, and a must-see on any tour of the Algarve. But we were staring at a very industrial railroad station that seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. Oh, well, we figured, town must be a little way off. So we started to get our bearings, and following road signs, headed to Albufeira.
Now, I'm used to the New England convention of marking directions for the center of town with the town name, even if you're already inside of it. I thought, and Eric did as well, that we were simply away from the center of town. It was warm, so I took off a layer (leaving two) and we humped our packs a couple of miles.
We started to realize that we weren't seeing beach AND we were still seeing signs for Albufeira. Worse, there seemed to be a bus system but no buses running. A couple of miles later, we were seeing buses, but also hills that we were sure led to beach.
Well, they did, but another mile and a half later! After our one-and-a-half-hour hike, we weren't winded, but not quite in the mood to price every hotel. I navigated us through town to a three-star hotel, and though it was relatively pricey, we decided things wouldn't get much better.
We started out in town, seeing Albufeira - a sort of Portuguese mini-New Orleans - toured mainly by Germans and Scandinavians - and getting continuously, hopelessly lost. It's built on hills with gently curving roads and few clear landmarks. Individually, Eric and I get lost fairly easily, but together we had Portugal down to a science. Except Albufeira. No matter what we did, we could never find where we wanted to go. Wandering in thismanner, we found a bar that served Guinness on tap. After our hike, lack of food, and thirst for a good pint, we left the bar with a very pleasant buzz and a renewed spirit for making the most of our second-to-last day. We hit the beach, I found myself in one layer for the first and only time (meanwhile, there were many Northern Europeans sunbathing), threw the Frisbee around, and appreciated why it was that the Algarve was famous. Though it was a nice beach, we both agreed that the States often affords sports much prettier.
We grabbed dinner at a touristy place, and it was a good, but clearly not carefully prepared, meal. Tourist food seems to be marked by tasting good and safe, but not going the extra mile to make sure you come back over and over again.
Afterwards, at the hotel, we decided that we had to hit the clubs. Hearing that things didn't pick up till about midnight, we bided our time until we couldn't take it anymore, and hailed a cab a few minutes into the new day. Talking with the cabbie, he let us know that the club we wanted to hit didn't get going until about 3 AM. So we went to a well-populated dance bar, tore up the floor, then at 3 (when the bar closed) moved on to the club until 5:30ish, continuing to show everyone else how Americans party (more specifically, how Eric and I party). It was a wonderful time, and something I really needed after, well, everything. Eric seemed to enjoy it equally well.
We woke up ridiculously early to take advantage of the free breakfast, surrounded by Germans. It was a strange experience, being in another country but among foreigners that weren't Americans - and homogeneously so. But now I know what other Europeans complain about when they go to an American-infested hot spot. It didn't feel like Portugal, or what we had come to expect of Portugal.
We took a taxi to the train station (smart), found our seats after waiting several hours for the train to arrive (as we had to check out of the hotel, but didn't want to wander around with our tired dancing legs), and as soon as the conductor took our tickets, we passed out. Arriving in Lisbon at night, we checked out a couple of close two-star pensaos and found one that seemed fine.
Very familiar with Lisbon, and having smelled a great Indian restaurant on the way, we had the best dinner of our trip that night, sleeping very well in spite of having to rise at 6 AM to get Eric to the airport.
Eric and I said our farewells at about 9 AM - I tried not to get sentimental as I know it will be only 11 months or so until I'm back.
Having some time to kill before checking out of the hotel, I decided to walk to the metro station close to the airport. After getting directions from a cabbie, I found myself in an open-air market (where I bought some gifts for people here) and according to the map, close to a metro station. Well, I spent the next hour close to a metro station, but not finding any. I gave up eventually and took the bus to what I knew would get me to a metro station and ended up arriving at the hotel with only 30 minutes to shower and pack up.
I strolled through Lisbon, fully loaded, for a couple hours, sitting and taking in the people and general atmosphere. Then, I took the metro out to the zoo, where I wrote the 12/28 entry, and having soaked in as much Europe, sweet-smelling, affluent and manicured as it is, I declared myself ready to go. I hopped back on the metro and found a big station close to the airport. Walking out, I realized I had stumbled on a large stadium (Campo Grande, where Sporting plays), so I budgeted myself 30 minutes more and walked inside. A brilliantly laid out stadium with bowlingm food courts and shopping made less like a mall than the outer rim of a futuristic arena, I was thoroughly impressed. It was a good final impression, and I didn't let the salty cab driver who got me to the airport, ruin it!
Apparently, Peace Corps has been in the news the last few months as being an unsafe, irresponsible organization. Though I'm not about to even touch that subject, there has been interesting commentary relating to the fact that the Peace Corps experience is a lot more watered down and less intense than it once was. Many volunteers (like many in Moz) have cellphones, Internet access, and regular media contact. Purists, as the original volunteers (and maybe even up till the 90s) can be called, denounce this as nonsense and that a volunteer isn't the same in the new millenium.
I agree.
But, likewise, the world is not the same place. Mozambique, 30 years ago, would have been somewhere where months would pass without communication, self-medication would be necessary, and all the stereotypical hardships would be present. But Mozambique, like the world, is changing. Within the last 5 years, cell phone use has become the norm and Internet Cafes are easy to find. Living a purist's experience would require living below the level of the community and interestingly, outside of the community.
The goals cannot be forgotten - we're here to help, not to suffer. And I think most every volunteer will say that the conditions - electricity, water, food, etc. - you can grow accustomed to with no problem. It's all of the factors that don't depend on money or random circumstance, such as the nature of your job, necessary emotional distance from your friends and family, mood swings, loss of familiar cultural cues, and many more things that make this experience inevitably difficult.
Maybe it's not as hard as 30+ years ago. But does that mean a volunteer should feel that they haven't accomplished as much because they haven't suffered enough? It's a very Judeo-Christian principle, and I don't buy it. I'm very concerned with how I can best help Mozambicans. If I'm suffering, then Moz will receive a half-assed job because I can't focus on what I'm supposed to do. Maybe the purists can look at their suffering as allowing the current volunteers certain luxuries so we can do our jobs that much better.
Month by month, what to look forward to:
January - New school year, mid-service conference
February - Avocado season (guacamole time)
March - Health trainees arrive and prep begins
April - See more of Moz during school break
May - Winter begins
June - Canadians leave. Health volunteers arrive.
July - Dad comes
August - City day and general debauchery
September - Birthday
October - Last classes, exam prep
November - finalizing plans, schoolwork
December - finish!
Why the emphasis on the Health volunteers? Well, they'll be learning Changana, and I should be pretty involved in that process. I feel like my Changana is not improving as fast as I'd like, but I need to still be patient.
Peace
John
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