Next year, I go home.
Still sounds like a long time, but I know it will fly by. And I still know I want to be here. 'Cause this is cooler than anything my friends back home are doing (thanks, Dennis).
Last night was pretty crazy. There were fireworks going off everywhere and nowhere at the same time. People were dancing and singing, drinking and setting off explosives. Pretty standard for a new year, but I holed myself up just the same, waiting for D. He never showed because it was just too dangerous last night. So I listened to the radio do the countdown and hear everyone cheer all around my house. It was eerie because I couldn't see anyone, but they were yelling from their houses, other streets, etc. I watched an improvised fireworks demo coming from the neighbor's lawn, then got some much needed rest.
I've started my own workout regimen, doing isometric pyramids of a sort. I start off doing 30 pushups, crunches, tricep pushups and lifts, rest for a bit, then do 25 of each, 20, etc., until I do 5. When I find somewhere to do pullups, I'll work my way up to doing halfsies (30 pushups = 15 pullups). Anyway, this gets me mighty tired, being only the third day. But it wakes me up in the morning and justifies taking an ice-cold bucket bath.
Going back to the whole fireworks thing...
I was reminded about last July 4th (US Independence Day) when a bunch of us climbed up on top of a campus building which is situated on the top of a large Cleveland hill. From there, we could see all the fireworks shows from about a 10-mile radius. It was really gorgeous, because you could just see random sprouting of exploding colors. You could choose to watch one show or just look for the highlights of the best show going on. Every once in a while, you'd hear a closer explosive, but it was on the whole quite peaceful. Everyone on the roof (with the exception of about half an hour) was quite and enjoying the night.
Why am I reminded of this? Because it was the complete opposite of last night. I couldn't see anything going on, but I was in the middle of everything all the noise being made. And I felt very lonely and sentimental, flipping through my pictures. Then I thought about the fact that people in the States were just preparing to celebrate the new year, being 7 hours behind. This, more than the void of communication, more than knowing that my life is changing and my friends' lives are changing, made me feel a long way away. Even at the same moment, I can't assume that we might be having the same or similar experiences/feelings.
Soon enough, I'll be knee-deep in lesson planning, AIDS education and community work. But it seems like it can't happen soon enough.
I have a pretty big list of things I keep meaning to talk about in the journal. One of these is the dexterity of women being ablt to carry things on top of their heads, the strength to pound peanuts and other things for quite a while, and then relaxing by breast-feeding while walking to the market.
Well, not quite, but pretty close.
It's pretty incredible to watch the women (and some children and men) carry large things on their heads. Things such as 12' long bundles of wood, multiple rice sacks, etc. Very large things that could never be carried in the arms of one person.
The beauty of this method is that it redistributes the weight of the item to the strongest muscles in your body - your neck and legs. The back is used in its natural position, and carries very little of the weight. I've even seen a woman carry a backpack on her head, in full knowledge of the "proper" manner, but knowing it was easier on her head.
The big hangup for people, what is most amazing, is the balance. Once you see the technique from its early stages, though, it's less amazing as it is elegant.
A cloth is usually used on top of the head to act as a cushion and shim. If the item is heavy, which it often is, one or two other people grab the item and lift it on to the head of the crouching woman. She then redistributes the weight with her hands to the perfect position, then slowly sets out at a good pace. She takes very flat steps, letting her hips do the work that our knees usually do. Likewise, her neck moves back and forth to account for the changes in momentum from her hip movements, which are slight. Back-to-front momentum is all but eliminated and there is almost no need to compensate with the neck. When carrying water, often an arm will be tucked under the back because of the shifting center of gravity. Girls start out pretty young carrying smaller items, and by the time they have their own family, it's second nature.
It's elegant because there's no tension in the movements - there's a oneness with the ground and the object being carried, giving the illusion that the human in between is a fluid medium in between the two.
On the opposite end of elegance, but still well within its realm, is the process of "pilar"ing, or pounding food to a fine grain. A large wooden drum and a rounded, heavy stick is used. Sometimes, two women or a woman and child will team up, each with a large....log. The will pound in a similar strain as lumberjacks with an axe, for a minute at a time. They achieve a rhythm that is simultaneously eerie and captivating. The elegance is in how strong these women are - all the while remaining proud of their work without thinking it exceptional.
And in case there was any doubt as to their necessity in the house besides cooking, lugging groceries, being a human food processor, greeting guests and selling things at market - they sit down to chat and a baby comes out of nowhere (often tied in back with a capulana) reaching for its breakfast, aka the breast. Boobs come flying out anywhere, anytime at the child's discretion. And this is downtime for the woman...and in its own way, elegant.
I think I figured out why we stud our native tongue, English. Here it's necessary to know two languages or more to be successful in business or to hold down almost any job. People don't ever study their native tongue formally, but they do study their second language (or, more specifically, their European language) very formally to learn it, but usually not like we study English.
Yet our language abilities are as rich as those of people here. We delve so much more deeply into English and create new English so rapidly and regionally, that in many ways we speak several forms of English. We don't have a native tongue like Africans do, so when we wish to be intimate or personal with someone, we speak in our own dialect and we laugh at those who don't...even though it's still English.
Not that I'm any genius for discovering why we study English, but I often wonder why we have to. It's just that the language we speak is so dense and in other cultures could easily be represented by different languages.
Why Mozambicans don't study their native tongue is a political matter that I can't stray into, but suffice it to say that wars have been fought over language.
One of the great things about introducing a new language to a culture is how they mold the language to fit their culture. Unfortunately, I'm no expert in Portuguese, but I'm intrigued by one word in particular - passear. It means to walk by or stroll, but is used in a way that cannot be translated by one English word. So among the volunteers, we call what we do "passear-ing" - taking a walk with no purpose other than to stop and talk to people and do whatever comes up.
Now, I have no idea if this sort of thing is practiced in other Portuguese-speaking countries, but I know that in the US, it's much less commonly practiced. We often take walks, but rarely just take walks to stop and talk with people. Usually, we want to do some thinking or just get away. The passear is an intentional socialization, not meant to get away, but meant to seek others out as it may happen.
It's a wonderful thing to do, to passear, and it can really bring communities closer. I suggest you try it.
Both my parents called today, which was somewhat --- normal. We had regular patterns of conversation and it felt like I was in college again. A very strange college with an intense Portuguese curriculum and practical self-sufficiency, along with professors that show up at whatever time, whenever they feel like it.
It was mentioned how my writing has improved to the point of being enjoyable in its own right. Of course, this raises expectations for my writing (for myself), so I'll state right here and now that it will sometimes downright suck, out of necessity. Because if I don't have poor writing days, then you won't be able to tell which are the good ones.
Some writers strive just to change their style to keep the reader alert. No, I appeal to a much lower standard. I vary the amount my writing is intolerably incomprehensible. So in case you get wrapped up in something that seems genius and too heady, take a step backwards and realize that there is in fact verbal diarrhea spewing from my pen and it should be absorbed only for the sake of being relieved to find truly tolerable text in the following day's entry.
In all seriousness, this is still just a journal and I still struggle with adequately relaying my emotions and experiences. It can only improve through practice and feedback, so feel free to ask what may seem like dumb questions (for instance, "Where do you usually buy food?) because in my situation, there really is no such thing as a dumb question. In school in the States, there are most definitely dumb questions, and I could usually be counted on to bring several of them up. So feel free.
And may this year be peaceful.
Please.
Peace
John
