Poetry

In portuguese,

if you want to leave a meeting,

      you don’t sair,

              you fugir,

meaning        

              to escape.

Adeptly used in the phrase,

“She escaped the curriuculum meeting.” 

There’s no confusion between Can I and May I

because there is

              Estou a pedir

meaning                 
             I am asking for

which results in

never asking for

but really

              I am informing you that I am asking for.

       Luck is sorte

and 

      sorte is child

so, naturally

in Mozambique,

a child is lucky

a child  of emakua,

                             skimokondi,

                                           chitswa,

                                                       shangaan,*

 lucky to speak the Língua Materna

that’s the

                               Mother Tongue

because

Language isn’t just the words you speak

                                                  or think.

It’s what Raises you. 

* 4 of the 43 local languages spoken in Mozambique 

We need another word for Learning

Sometimes teachers practice what experts call a “bitch-session.” This is when we sit and talk about the ican’tbelievehesaidthat moments in our day. These conversations are necessary in our profession to prevent burn-out and other deadly diseases.

Here in Mozambique I have daily bitch-sessions. This does not mean I don’t love my job or my students. I understand that we come from different backgrounds and most often these aggravating moments come from a difference in culture.

A very accurate representation of Mozambican teaching. 

However, my job is to train teachers. I have a specific and detailed explanation of what it means for a student to learn and what it means for a teacher to teach. So what happens when culture interferes with the meaning of learning? Is it now my job to teach a new culture? Or do I have to bend my own culturally-defined expectations of what it means to learn?

A couple weeks ago, a colleague and I were deep in a “bitch session” when she told me this story of teaching singular vs. plural.

A student was having the trouble turning singular English words into plural words so K wrote on the board “bola” (ball) and “bolas” (balls). K asked “O que é a differencia entre as letras desses palavras?” (What is the difference between the letters of these words?)

The students response – “Bolas é plural”  (Balls is plural).

Do you see the problem? Do you know the response K was looking for?

For more background information, K teaches English to students that might be English teachers in less that 3 years. They have passed 12^th grade and a lengthy exam to enter into a Teacher Training College. They should be fluent in Portuguese and understand basic rules of English. 

Ok - so back to the question. K was looking for the student to see the structure of the rule, to identify the letter ‘s’ as the difference between “bola” and “bolas” in order to then create the rule “+s makes plural”. The idea was to identify this rule in the speaker’s language then apply it to English.

All literate Americans know this rule. This is what we learned in first grade. K attempted several versions of her question but could not get her students to elaborate further than “Bolas is plural”. Finally, K folded and said “Esse palavra –bola- não tem “s” e esse palavra –bolas- tem “s.” (This word –ball- does not have ‘s’ and this word (balls) has ‘s’.) The student quickly agreed (because it’s obvious).

What is going on here? This is a person that speaks Portuguese fluently. That uses plural and singular on a daily basis. That can identify a singular and plural word (in Portuguese) very easily.  So, why is it that she cannot answer K’s question?

It’s because the student has gone through 12 years (or more) of education without once being asked a comprehension question.

In education circles we have something called “Bloom’s Taxonomy” it might be a triangle or circle or complicated Venn-diagram. But at it’s most basic level it is a classification of learning verbs based on complexity. 

Made by one of my students. 

At the bottom is Knowledge – this refers to verbs that require only regurgitation of facts. Examples are: memorize, say, list, match, remember, repeat.

The next level up is Understanding – this refers to understanding the big idea. Examples are: explain, describe, discuss.

Therefore, K’s student has Knowledge of plural and singular. If you write two words on the board and ask “Which one is plural?” the student will be able to answer ONLY IF this word is on a long list of words the students has memorized.

If you ask the student “Why is this word plural?” she would not be able to respond.

I’ve known for a long time that Mozambicans were trained in copying and regurgitation but, after 16 months at site, now I’m realizing this is how learning is defined.For an army of young Mozambicans, who are entering the workforce,  learning = copying sentences, repeating after the teacher, and paying for answers. There is little concept of teaching Comprehension or Application, and zero understanding of any higher-level thinking. 

I feel like I am living in the real-life version of “Flatland” by Edwin Abbot Abbot. Trying to convince my students there is another dimension to education that they have never witnessed before. But, all they have to go on is blind trust.

Does that make me the Sphere? Someone unable to imagine dimensions beyond what I already know? What am I missing here?

Love love love 

Condoms and Christmas

Friday 3am

I’m sitting on my porch with my new capulana yoga bag (with a matching headband), packed with only the essentials for my trip to Monapo, Nampula. I’m on my way to a REDES conference; my first time traveling solo in Mozambique. I’m waiting for the motorista, Javiar, who very kindly offered a boleia when he heard I was leaving. Classess were canceled and I am armed with 60 papers to read on the 8 hour bus ride. I am ready.

Notice the new head band! 

Friday 11am

I arrive in Monapo! The actual bus ride was not very eventful. I traveled on a bus similar to that of a greyhound, just imagine 50 people standing in the aisle. No sleep was had, nor papers graded. I spent most of the time trying to balance on the pleather seats (nylon capris+ pleather seats+ Mozambican roads = a slippery ride). In Namialo, I ran into three other PCVs on the way to the conference and together we boleiad to Monapo. Pretty smooth trip!

Friday 5pm

At dinner I met the rest of the group that arrived for the REDES Training. In total there were 7 PCVs and 4 Mozambicans. All here to learn about how to help young women in Mozambique.

Saturday 8am

So, what the heck is REDES? First, pronounced red-ish, it stands for Rapariga em Desenvolvimento, Educaçao e Saúde/ Girls in Development, Education, and Health. Basically, they are groups of young women that meet in order to help young girls develop positive and healthy futures. There is specific information about sex education and HIV/AIDS prevention that must be taught, but everything else depends on the unique girls that form the group. REDES can be centered around a sports team, creative arts, or a business. Whatever gives the girls positive self-esteem and motivation to attend. I have spoken with some Nuns at a local missionary about working with students that come to their after-school group. To make sure I know what the heck I’m talking about, there was a nice review of sex ed. Yes, there were pictures, condoms and a wooden dildos involved. Honestly, I’ve been to a lot of training – a LOT of training- in my day and this was one of the best. Every topic was informative and necessary. Sessions were energetic and engaging.

I, on the other hand, was not energetic or engaging. The sessions were 100% in Portuguese and that was freaking tiring. I’m a little embarrassed to say it, but I’m actually proud of how well I was able to follow the training. I expected it to be a lot worse. It just required so much attention that to contribute to the discussion was too much. For most sessions I felt as if a glass wall separated me from everyone else. Making the sound travel slowly and slurred. I only understood everything right as we were moving on to the next topic. But, I am not depressed, if anything I am more motivated then ever on improving my Portuguese. My REDES group will be lead in Portuguese, so I better figure it out soon!

Saturday 5pm

While still behind my glass wall, I see a Peace Corps car driving past the window (which, ironically, had no glass in it). There were rumors that Dr. Carlos would show up and give us all flu shots. Gotta love Peace Corps medical benefits because, not only did he come with shots, he brought packages!! The joy of receiving a package is nothing like what I have experienced before. Especially when I was still under the assumption that this package was hidden in the dark, damp cellar of the Maputo Office. I finally received my package that my father sent in December! Even though I knew all the contents of the package, I opened it like a kid on Christmas morning. Myself, and my friends, N, JR, and J all received Christmas packages. I know this is corny but the room was filled with love. Being away from home is hard. Not occasionally, not sometimes, but all the time. Every moment of every day I miss my family. It’s just a hardship that I choose to live with. So, to receive these packages, for a little bit that burden lessens; we’re reminded that we’re not forgotten.  

Sunday 8pm

The training went by quickly, and still blurred by the glass window. I was grouchy all day with a sour throat and runny nose. At lunch time I hurriedly ate in order to get as much of a nap as possible. And, unlike Saturday night, I was not elated by my Christmas package. I awkwardly left the dinner table coughing out some goodbyes and bom viagems to people I would not see again for a long time, and made my way back to J’s house. The plan was to put on my pjs and just relax. I was over Portuguese, and I was over people. Thirty minutes later, everyone showed up at J’s. You can imagine my inner-dialogue, but I ended up having some good conversation (in Portuguese) and listening to music. Finally, people started to leave and I was left with a small group of friends.

And then N said something magical, “Who wants to watch a movie and drink hot chocolate?”

Then J said, “I’ve got popcorn but I always burn it.”

Then I said, “I can make kettle corn.”

Then JR said “I’ve got Frozen.”

And, that is (not exactly, but you get the gist) how Christmas in April became The Best Christmas Ever. 

Monday 4:45am

I’m awoken by S from Namuno standing over me. “Oh shit, that was my alarm that went off.” The day before I had told S that I would get up at 4:30 and to come over whenever she was ready to leave. Oops. I’m not going to chat about the details of the travel, but just know that it was not as smooth as the first trip. I took 3 different chapas and paid 20mts more. I learned that when a child suffers from car sickness they suck on a match and rub black shit in their mouth. I did get peanuts and a banana from two nice women. I returned the favor with suckers that my parents sent from home.

Monday 4:30pm

I got back to Pemba at 3pm. I traded the gossip with K and by 4:30pm I was laying down for a quick nap before grading the papers I never graded.

Tuesday 5:30 am

A text from a friend wakes me up from the nap. It takes three different clocks to convince me that it’s 5:30 am the next day. I contemplate canceling class in order to grade the papers. But no, classes were already canceled last Friday. My students need some English.

Tuesday 8:30

I shuffled my way to class still complaining of a stuffy nose and the figurative burden of ungraded papers. Not wanting to deal with the frustrations of group work, I decided to do a listening activity for the first part of class and tell my students about REDES. I gave candy if they asked me a question. By the end of the day, I was offered help to lead a REDES group with neighborhood kids, asked to start a REDES group at the IFP, and was out of Dum-Dums. 

Not a bad day. 

Love Love Love 

Estou a Pedir uma Boleia

Ok Mom, Dad - I need you to not read this post. I love you and I don't want you to worry about me so, for your own well-being, just don't read this.

Now, for the rest of you, uma boleia is a free ride or hitchhiking. Now in the US this might be associated with kidnappings and serial killers, but here in Mozambique it's associated with air conditioning and leg room. Uma boleia can be a five minute drive to the end of the street or a two hour journey to the capital.

Whichever it is, each time is like a new social experiment. Who will pick me up? Will they be a chatter? Will they ignore me? Will they be Mozambican or foreign? Within five minutes, will they love or hate me?

I won't lie; boleia-ing isn't guaranteed to be a safe form of transportation. In Mozambique travel is always risky. Of course, there are ways to reduce risk. Mom, Dad since I know you're reading this I'll list them here: 

1. Talk with the driver before getting in the car and check for alcohol

2. Always ask where they are going instead of giving your destination

3. Say no thank you if you feel at all uncomfortable

4. (My favorite) If you're in the car and want to get out claim that Estou a fazer xixi! I have to pee! 

So yes, there is a risk but for Volunteers in small villages this is the only option to travel. And for me, when I've walked in 100 degree weather with bags full of rice and potatoes, boleia-ing is a really really nice option. So good in fact, I have not taken chapa since my first week in Pemba. 

I shouldn't give you the wrong idea.

Boleia-ing is not that common. Common among Volunteers? Yes. Common among Mozambicans? No. The fact that a Portuguese couple would take my friend and me on a two hour ride to Nampula - directly to the airport- has a lot to do with my skin color, gender, and nationality.

Should I feel guilty about taking advantage of this unfair benefit? In some ways I do. Especially when chapas - cramped, hot, smelly, and costly- are so readily available to me.

Buuuut…. did I mention the air conditioning and leg room? What are your thoughts? Am I abusing my status by taking boleias? Am I missing out on an opportunity to integrate by not using the chapa?

Can you imagine cramming into a chapa for your daily commute? I haven't actually taken a picture from inside a chapa, but this one that I found at http://www.world-around-us.ca/what-i-love-about-maputo-lisettes-top-ten/ is a perfect representation of every chapa I've ever been in. 

love love love

Asking for Help is Never Easy. Except in Portuguese.

In Portuguese when you ask for help, you don't ask for it directly. For example to ask for a pen one would say Estou a pedir uma caneta this literally translates to I am asking for a pen. I first encountered this estou-a-perdir-ing technique from my host sister, E. When I first met her she never spoke, just stared. After a week, when she saw me in the morning she would put her had out and say Da, meaning give. Then after two weeks (and she really got to know me) it was Estou a pedir caneta, Estou a pedir computador, Estou a pedir papel.

It never bothered me. I liked the attention from E and my other irmãos. When they asked for a pen and paper, we colored for an hour. When they asked for the computer, we took pictures on Photo Booth.

Like this!

I was happy to provide entertainment to my host siblings. My favorite pedir came from my youngest irmão D, "Mana Rayna, estou a pedir o luz para fazer xixi. After a few minutes of silence and a few hand motions, I turned on the bathroom light and D went xixi.

I'm getting a bit off track.

My point is that here in Mozambique asking a friend, neighbor, stranger for help is a common part of life. The American in me is dying of embarrassment and loss of pride to ask my neighbor of only three weeks for help burning my trash (more on that - I promise!). But in Mozambique, where the "unified" government is younger than I am, people have learned to support their neighbors because one day (probably tomorrow) they will also need help. And they're not going to get it from anywhere else.

This cultural norm does have a negative side. When I didn't understand E's way of greeting me, I asked my Portuguese teacher what she meant. With some discomfort, he explained that as a foreigner, I am seen as rich and therefore able to give. Give what? Anything. Everything.

More than once I have been asked for my sandals (Not my Chacos!) and the food in my hand (on it's way to my mouth). The people that ask are not beggars. They are teenagers walking down the street, old women waiting for a chapa, and annoying crianças outside my door. The way they ask is eerie and nonchalant, as if they don't expect or even care if you give them the requested item. This isn't begging, it's testing. It's as if they ask just in case you are willing to give up the shoes on your feet or the food in your mouth.

I've learned to roll my eyes at the random pedir-ing from teenagers, but when it's an older woman asking for food, I pause. How many times has she asked a stranger for help? How many times has she received it? How many times has she given it? Is she really hungry? Or is she just testing me?

Obviously, I'll never know the answer to these questions. I just hope one day I'll be just as comfortable asking the question.

love love love

What is training?

Training, formação, is what attracted me to the Peace Corps. Only ten weeks to learn a language an change the world? Sign me up! …. Seriously, how did I get this far in life?

In reality, formação can be boring, exciting, difficult, joyful, stressful, pointless, overwhelming, terrifying, and exhilarating.
The usual week begins with two - four hours of language at a classmate's house. Language is completely immersive. Our teachers only speak Portuguese with us and if we ask a question in English they stare at us like we're crazy. Our teachers also happen to be some of the best trained teachers in all of Mozambique, several have studied in South Africa. So, in reality they all speak English fluently. But for 10 weeks they pretend they can't speak a word.

Language is usually followed by two - four hours of Tech training. This is where we tackle topics like "Teaching large classes" (you just do it) and "Gender Differences in Mozambique." (They exist). These are done with the other English trainees. We all live in the same barrio, so we are able to walk. Occasionally we are visited by the Math Trainees. I'd say one of the biggest frustrations of PCT is not being able to get to know all of the trainees. Once you get to Namaacha you train for 10 hours a day with the same people that live in your barrio. The only time we see the Science trainees is during I.F.P. days. On these days everyone gets together at a local training school for teachers for large lectures from Medical, Security, and Core (general PC information). Usually, at the end of these days, I walk home positive that I will end up with AIDS, die in a knife fight. or be sent home for not wearing a seatbelt. Honestly, after working with community organizations of various sizes, I am very impressed with how thorough and organized training has been.

Every week we have two current Volunteers help facilitate training and be available to answer questions. This, by far, has been the most helpful part of PCT. Volunteers are able to give us information, advice, and stories to help shape our vague idea of what our future will be like.

Training (supposedly) finishes at 5:30 everyday. That gives me 2.5 hours to complete homework, relax, and tomar banho before dinner with the family. Not every training experience is the same, and (i've heard) that the family home stay is unique to Mozambique. This has been another facet of training that is irreplaceable. It has NOT been easy adjusting to living with a Mozambique. However, it's hard to argue against home cooked meals and guaranteed playmates. However, however, I will be glad to be at my own place (in less than a week!).

On Saturdays we usually have some sort of activity like painting a mural! These are usually over before noon (the mural was not), giving us plenty of time to walk around the neighborhood and enjoy our time in Namaacha.

So, that's the general outline of training. There's no silver bullet or magic spell to the language. Just when I think I'm improving, I get that blank stare from my host sister. It's a stare that kills any sort of pride or motivation. And just when I think I'll never get it, my Mae asks me to get her the broom and I do it without thinking.

Training moves so quickly, that I can't mull over mistakes or worries. It's a train chugging along on predetermined tracks. Climb aboard.



Love love love.

The Little Things

The last two weeks of training have been spent at Model School. For six days, eighty school age children have woken up before 7am, during their summer vacation, to listen to 51 American butcher Portuguese. What could be the benefit to all of this?

Cookies. What else?

I'm not sure how the students have felt these (quasi) two weeks, but I'm having a blast. Being in front of the classroom finally feels natural. Something has aligned in the universe and it's pointing towards a blackboard. Four other English trainees and I were assigned the ninth grade. We have all taught atleast 3 classes. Ninth grade tends to be smaller then eighth and tenth because there are no national exams for the ninth grade. So I guess my five students really like cookies. I have already become attached to them. I brag about their progress, the jokes they make, and their good behavior. I have one student that speaks fluent English; she's originally from South Africa. I asked her the first day, "Why are you here? Do you have a volunteer for a brother or sister?" " No," she replied, "I just want to learn more."

whoa.

Today was the last day of Model School. We passed back our seven question test, certificates, and more cookies to the students. Then we just got to hang out and chatted with them. Of course, my Portuguese being the way it is, I wasn't able to have the best conversations, but at the same time the students were very patient with me and we were able to talk about Namaacha, America, and where I'll be living in Mozambique. Several students really cared about their grades, even though it has no effect of their actual school grade. There was a genuine interest to learn from every student, no matter the grade they earned.

             Students reviewing their test scores. 

These test have zero affect on their actual school grades. 

Escola Modela 9a Turma A 

I hope this doesn't sound too much like bragging, but I have to mention this. Two of my students (top picture) wrote me the nicest letters! One was from the student mentioned earlier, and another from a lower-level student that I hadn't talked with outside of class. I cannot believe how thoughtful those girls are! It really shows you that you never know where, when, or how you will impact someones life.

Love love love

Small Victories

I've heard over and over again that surviving in Peace Corps is all about lowering expectations. This isn't meant to be a bad thing. What's happening is that our lofty goals of changing the world are smacked around by reality. Goals go from erasing illiteracy in Maputu to passing 70% of your 10th graders. Ya know, things that are actually possible.

For me, the biggest struggle/fear is language. I really believed that the magical Peace Corps training would have me fluent by the end of 10 weeks in a language I knew VERY little. Now, with the training almost half way over, my expectations are going to have to change. Maybe I won't be fluent by the end of 10 weeks, but I'll be able to give lessons, or at least with a script. I won't be able to talk about philosophy, but I'll ask about the weather, or maybe, I'll be able to buy food. Maybe I'll be fluent after 1 months in service. 6 months? A year?

The point is, I don't know. Fluency is this transient thing between me and happiness. Every time I think I'm progressing, I'm faced with another word I don't know, or pronunciation I keep forgetting, or conjugation I mess up.

Rather than be overwhelmed by the impossibility of fluency within 10 weeks, I'm deciding to celebrate the small stuff. For example, today I bought phone credit by myself. Usually, this is a simple process of just finding a guy wearing a yellow vest, saying "vodacom" and handing him 50 MT. BUT this time was different. I found out our neighbor sells credit, so rather than walk all the way over to the Supermercado, I can go next door. BUT it's not that simple. I've discovered that our "neighbor" is actually a small village, and there's about 5 small houses behind a large house. (Who knew?!) I'm sure you're dying to know how I pulled off this very do-able task.

First, I asked my sister what's the name of our neighbor that sells credit. Como se chama nosso vencina que vende credito?

After asking her to repeat the name, I asked if she knew if the neighbor was home and if I could visit her. Conhece si esta ale? Esta bom si eu visita?

M replied that it was fine, and after repeating the name (I've forgot it) I walked over. I passed the large fence and entered through the driveway. It looks like your average house until you pass the garage and see a stretch of cement houses; then your realize it's an entire community.

I saw a woman washing laundry. Before asking if the neighbor was here, I did the obligatory hello how are you questions. Ola, como esta? Tudo bem aqui. Obrigada. Eu estou a buscar para "Name". Eu prefero comprar credito.

The woman very clearly said "She's right here," and from behind a corner out popped the neighbor that sells credit. I had met her once before with my irmao. She came over to me and asked what I needed. Tem doscentos para Vodacom? I spoke in a complete sentence!!

I even introduced myself as we completed the transaction and went on my merry way. It was a simple conversation but I had no friend, no mae, no irmao to step in if I need them. Victory!

Love love love

P.S. Sorry for the missing accents. My teacher would not be very happy right now, but I don't know how to type them in blogspot, or word. I'm working on it :)

Engluese

I'm now in the middle of my second week in Namaacha.

Things are going as well as can be expected. I haven't had to kill my food. I haven't exposed myself to my host family. And, I haven't asked for more balls instead of tomatoes. I even feel confident that I will be speaking Portuguese by the end of my 10 weeks.

Right now it's more of a combination, English+ Portuguese= Engluese. (If you haven't figured that out.) I am very lucky to have a great teacher and to work in a small group. In fact, it's just me and one other person. I think you can guess what level I'm in from that piece of information.

When I'm not in language classes, or sitting through a large PC meetings, I'm hanging out with my host family. My Mae (mom) is a retired teacher. She is very patient with me and really tries to understand my broken Portuguese. I have two older sisters that work outside of the house; L is a teacher and C is a janitor. The two of them occasionally talk to me, but more than once our conversations have ended with "No Entendo" and we both just leave it at that.

There are also 3 younger kids in the house Lay (10), E (8) and D (5). Lay has started to speak with me more, but our conversations usually end with him asking if I have something for him. FIrst it was playing cards, then a laptop (just to see, not to have), and lastly was a soccer ball. I didn't have the last one; we haven't talked lately. I cannot understand a word that D says and whenever I speak he shrieks with laughter.

E didn't not say one word to me for the entire first week. Which of course means I made it my goal to be best friends with her before I leave. She does answer my questions now, and she even came into my room to read a book with me. Progress!!

It's hard to spend much time with my host family though. The Peace Corps schedules so much of my day it's hard to really sit and comprehend what a different world I'm in. Occasionally I'll get these small, fleeting moments when I remember I'm in Africa. That I am over 9,000 miles away from home and it will be 2 years before I can hug my mom again. Moments like when I'm waking up to the sounds of dogs barking and my Mae sweeping the yard. Or when I'm mixing cold water into the hot water heated for my bath. These moments always sneak up on me, but I'm always glad to be reminded of the dramatic change I've made. And to feel like this was the best decision to make.

I'll end with this. Please send me emails! I want to know what's going on with my friends and family. Access to the internet depends on a lot of things. For example, I now have of a modem, but my computer is about to lose it's charge. But there is only one available outlet in the house (and that's a long story). So send emails so I still feel apart of your lives!

Love Love Love

Rayna