Victoria Falls

Day 1

     I left Pemba for Mocuba, Zambezia. Took the morning bus to Nampula then a combination of chapas and trucks got me the rest of the way. This was my first time south of Nampula so I was a little nervous. The day before I was interrogating everyone that traveled the road before. How much was the ride? Where did you stop? How long did it take?      

      That’s always the key question in Mozambique- how long did it take?  Poor road conditions and flexible schedules can leave people stranded in places they weren’t planning on. so, how long did it take? I left Pemba at 4 am and arrived in Mocuba after dark - at some point time lost its importance.

Day 2

       As is my policy when traveling, I woke up before dawn. I made my way over to the the chapa station. What I found was an empty station with a lone chapa. The driver was sleeping in the front. As I approached he woke up and rolled down the window “Milange?”

 Me -- “Sim” Yes

 Him --“Vamos juntos. Entra” - We go together. Get in.

Me -- “Estou bem. Vou esperar afora” - I’m good. I’ll wait outside.

I waited for all of two minutes before I got impatient and walked to the road. After an eternity of twenty minutes, a truck drove by and I jumped in. Five hours later, I was at the border. I was giddy with the idea that I made the right decision. The chapa never passed us. the driver was safe and nice the whole time. It was a comfortable and beautiful ride. I was in Milange by eleven, I had time to find a restaurant, eat lunch, and relax before crossing the border.

After lunch I crossed the border (including a 200 met bribe because I forgot my yellow fever card at home) and CH met me at the border.

CH was in Malawi working on a research project for her MPH. She’d been living and working with a Malawian Nurse in Milange (on the Malawian side). Her colleagues gave us a ride to Blantyre and we stayed there for the night.

It was interesting to see the slight differences and similarities between Malawi and Mozambique. The big obvious one was the English- it was no longer my secret language when walking through the market. However, like in Mozambique most people speak the local language on a daily basis. In Blantyre it was Chichewa. English is only used for government, school, and talking to lost foreigners. What was more interesting was the variation in houses. The red brick instead of stick and mud houses that dotted the country side. It gave the country a sense of .... development? I know nothing about the quality of brinks but the style just reminded me of home. 

But, there wasn’t time to dwell on bricks or the way women wrap their children to their back (with towels?!) -- On to Harare!

Day 3

7 am bus to Harare, Zimbabwe. We took the national bus company, Zupco. It wasn’t pretty, it wasn’t clean but it left on time and the seats were in a permanent recline. The route took us through Tete Province of Mozambique, and CH got to experience the bureaucracy of Mozambique and forced to pay $70 just to drive three hours through the country.

We made it to Harare after dark, but the driver of the bus went out of his way to get us a taxi to our hostel. We crashed and the next morning we were out of there.

Day 4

Another bus, this time we got the CHIIIIIQQQUIIII (nice) Intercape bus: TV, footrest and CLEAN.  This was a short ride, only five hours. Bulawayo was bigger and more developed than I expected. We walked around, had lunch, and went food shopping. I’m glad we did because Victoria Falls was expensive. But, subsisting on peanut butter and bread is part of the adventure.

We boarded the night train to the Falls. The train is a relic from the colonial days- seemingly untouched. CH and I shared a 4 person sleeper car with two other women. One was about our age, the older a mother. She was in Bulawayo attending her son's wedding. She wore an ornate capulana dress  with the matching head wrap. She looked like a women who was used to getting her way. I marveled at her as she played Bejeweled on her tablet. 

As it got darker, we set up the bunk beds. I took my time putting my phone, kindle, toiletry bag, and hiking pack in the various compartments. I imagined the thousands of people - probably racist colonialists- that took this train. The change of power it saw. The miracle that it was still running; the fragility of it, the power of it.

Day 5

I was told that the view of Victoria Falls from the train is NOT to be missed. Eh. It was gorgeous, but I think the image I had in my mind was ... nonexistent. It was cloudy that morning so we didn't see the Falls, but waaaayyy before entering the city you could hear the rumbles of the water.

We arrived about three hours late at 11:00am. And, after arguing with the first cab driver trying to charge us $6 for a $3 ride, we made it to our hostel. I loved it. It was cute, clean and cheap. Everything a girl needs. CH and I decided to go to a night safari. It was our big splurge on the trip. 

Day 6

Six days after starting the journey, we finally made it to the falls! It was gorgeous. I could’ve spent the entire day just walking back and forth to all the look out points. But then I wouldn’t have had time to eat at all the fancy restaurants. The actual waterfall didn't take long to walk through. We waked around from maybe 30 minutes then walked along the border of Zimbabwe and Zambia. Then spent the afternoon in town - eating amazing food. CH and I didn't have a lot of money to spend so we decided to take a detour back to Harare... 

Day 7

We started the day at the Look Out Point Café, enjoyed a lazy afternoon, including a full body massage in the city and packed up our tent. Instead of spending a day at the Falls trying NOT to spend money, we decided to go to Great Zimbabwe. A days travel away but it was on the way to Mozambique/Harare. This meant another night train back to Bulawayo.

Day 8.

Train. Bus. We arrived late to Masvingo and luckily for me my travel buddy wasn’t comfortable roaming the streets of a new city looking for a cheap hostel. She splurged on a hotel. Running water, private bathroom, and a TV. Basically, Heaven. 

Day 9

We took a minibus (chapa) to the Great Zimbabwe National Park. And when I say Minibus, I mean NOT A CHAPA. Yes, it was shaped like a chapa but oh, how clean it was! We were dropped off on the edge of the Great Zimbabwe Hotel. It took about 15 minutes to walk to the entrance of the park. 

Great Zimbabwe is a collection of stone ruins that once served as the capital for an ancient city that existed from the 11^th to 14^th century. I loved the museum. It was wonderful seeing the history of Zimbabwe with little reference to colonial interference. After it’s independence from Great Britain the new government chose the name Zimbabwe from this great ruin. The people clearly take a lot of pride in this site; we saw several families and school groups on trips at the park.

I was a little sad to see that it was possible to camp and dorm at the park - but we didn't have time for that. 

Day 10

Cheryl and I went our separate ways. She went north to Harare for her flight back to the states. I went east towards Mozambique. This time I was passing through Chimoio, Province of Manica.

On the mini bus to the border town of Mutare I met a fellow Teacher Trainer. She was sweet, funny and offered me a ride from the bus station to the city center. Her car was parked at the Teacher Training Institute and I was able to get a glimpse of the school. It was like walking into a bizarre alternative universe. This is what my school could look like, with proper funding, motivation, and ability. Of course all of this comes from a glimpse. But just in that glimpse, I saw a clean school, an attentive guard, a water fountain and… AND a huge sign at the front of a building that read “Learning Disability Resource Center”. I was amazed, I had never heard of a Disability Resource center during my one and a half years in Moz.

A quick hitchhike later and I was in Chimoio by lunch time.

Day 11

I stayed the night at a fellow PCV’s house and took a day to explore Chimoio. It was nice to be speaking Portuguese again – I always have this little fear that I’m going to forget it, but I didn’t. I loved seeing another side of Mozambique, but at this point I was ready to go home.

Day 12/13

I’m tired of writing and this part isn’t that interesting. I took a 12 hour bus ride from Chimoio to Nampula. Stayed the night with a friend of a friend. The next day I went from Nampula (took a quick trip to Monapo to pick up some Tshirts) and made my way up to Pemba. Nothing special happened, just roaming through Africa.

That was it! That was my trip to Victoria Falls. I spent more time traveling on buses, trains and cars then anything else and I wouldn’t change a thing. Traveling alone tends to cause a lot of anxiety - for me and my parents. But, its reminds me of how strong I am. That's something that can't be discovered at home. 

Remember me?

Nineteen months ago I said good-bye to my friends and family. Today I received my Close-of-Service date. This has sent a minor shock wave throughout the Moz 21 group. I'm sure kayak and travelocity are seeing a spike is searches out of Maputo. I certainly added to that spike.

The date is December 11, 2015. That's at least when I'll officially be an RPCV, not the date I'll be returning to the US. That's still TBD

I've been pretty silent on the blog, so, in light of knowing when I'm leaving, here's a little bit about what I'm currently doing.

Grades are submitted and I'm working through recuperação, the week where students, who haven't learned anything for the past 13 weeks, are expected to learn everything. Magically, they do. In the United States, this is referred to as summer school.

Students using "word brochures" to practice project-based learning 

Planning a Workshop for REDES. This involves something I've always hated: talking to strangers. In portuguese! Calling drivers, hotel owners, school directors. YUCK. But, it also adds a sense of accomplishment to my day.

Still organizing the library. This will be a never ending process.

I'm at the mission every afternoon. Monday - REDES. Tuesday - Grassroots Soccer, Wednesday -Biblioteca Wiwanana (Library of Understanding).

I'm enjoying the routine. But, I feel a familiar pull ...




love love love

The obligatory Reflection post.

September 25th marked my one-year anniversary in Mozambique. I struggled through two months of training and for the past ten months I have called Pemba, the provincial capital of Cabo Delgado, my home. I figure now is as good of a time as any to reflect.

Reflect on what? I have no idea. I have had no great epiphanies. The “OMG I live in Africa” moments are frequent and random. The most recent one occurred when I was learning how to needle point with my REDES group.

Every time I sit down to write a blog, I know I will fall short of trying to explain Mozambique. You can read all the books, all the blogs and you will have very little idea of what it is like to live in Mozambique. I can explain carting water, but you can’t feel the bucket pushing onto your scalp. I can describe xima, but you won’t feel the grains between your fingers. I can photograph my young neighbor, but you can’t hear her laugh. You can look at maps, but you will never know what it’s like to stand on the sandy street and feel so disconnected from everyone around you.

I cannot explain Mozambique because I don’t even know Mozambique. There is an enormous wall mudded with languages, cultures, and history that I will never be able to scale. I will never be able to accurately communicate my experiences here because I cannot fully explain them to myself.

Before I fall down the endless pit of deconstruction, let me say one thing. I am happy. I know. Strange, right? But this is what Mozambique (or maybe PC in general) does to you. You can discuss extending for a third year or ET-ing (Early Termination) in the same breath and be completely sincere about both options.

For me, at the moment, I am happy. There are several reasons: friends, work…no bills. I have had more vacation in the last 12 months than I did between 2008-2012. However, I think the most important reason is that I don’t expect to save anyone.

I recently saw a post on FB that resonated with me. At the time I was getting frustrated with my work at the school and my secondary projects. Then this gem fell into my lap,

"If you've come here to help me, you are wasting your time. But if you have come because your liberation is bound up with mine, then let us work together." Lilla Watson

This was the reminder that I needed. I entered the Peace Corps with a very solid understanding that I was going for myself and no one else. If you are here to change or help others, you will be frustrated 99% of the time. Why?

Because most Mozambicans don't really want our help. And that's totally fair. Not to say what my work, or that of other PCVs, isn't important. But if my sole purpose for being here is to help in a completely altruistic sense of the word, then I am ignoring a lot of what this experience really is.  Being in Mozambique, for me, is about the experience: I'm learning a second (maybe a third) language; I'm cooking food I never new existed; I'm learning about a new culture. Notice those are all benefits for me, not my host country. Mozambique is giving me way more than I will ever be able to give it. As long as I can remember this, I think I'll be ok. 

So, one whole freakin’ year in Mozambique. What is there to reflect on?

Well…

- Training is hell on earth.

- It’s ok to cry.

- Mozambicans peel their oranges with a knife.

- Mozambique is beautiful.

- There’s also a lot of trash.

- Mozambicans will ask you for the shoes on your feet. And they are serious.

- Pemba is hot as balls.

- My family is the most supportive family ever.

- New Years really did happen.

- It is possible to learn a second language, and maybe a third.

- Men are assholes anywhere you go.

- But there are also some incredible men in this world, too.

- Hand-games are universal.

- Friendship is hard work.  

- It’s ok to ask for help. In any language.

- That time I cussed out a chapa driver.

- Want to get to know someone? Cook them food.

- That time a private ride turned into 4 boleias. 

- Friends surprised me for my birthday.

- I actually planned an event that went smoothly.

- I’m a cat person?

- This is my life now. 

love love love 

One Thousand and Sixty-Six

0 km, Day 1 – I tried to avoid the stares of Mozambicans on their way to the machamba as I stood on the side of the road. Usually the stares make me angry but this morning I shrug in embarrassment. Admittedly, I look like an idiot. Dressed in my best boleia outfit, my hiking pack weighing on me, I’m waving my hand at every passing vehicle. I’m hitching a ride to Montepuez. And I’m embarrassed because it is very easy to pay for a chapa on this road. However, I’m counting on my pale skin and modern clothing to get me a free ride. I didn’t make the rules.

202 km, Day 2 – It’s five in the morning and the decisions of last night are weighing heavily on my soul and eyelids. My ever-supportive travel partner, Salome, is sitting in front of a closed barraca, her head in her hands. We’ve been waiting for two hours for a ride to Balama. The goal is to make it to Lichinga, Provinicia de Niassa by the end of the day. It’s a long and difficult road, and today we are hopeful to join the short list of PCVs to travel it.

300 km, still Day 2 – A crowd of dirty, annoying children have surrounded us. We’re trapped under the only tree on the road out of Balama. During the chapa from Montepuez, I heard several people say the name of our next destination, Marrupa. I was hopeful that we’d quickly find our next ride. But as the sun rose to the middle of the sky, and the hours dragged on, my hope evaporated. Turns out that in the local language, Makua, the word for backpack is marrupa. And my bright red 45L bag was making quite the impression on my fellow travelers.

Not quite 430 km, feels like day 3 but really Day 2 – My travel buddy and I have been on the back of a pick-up truck for the past three hours. The sights are amazing, the conversation limited. Then, we pulled over for a policeman. This is pretty common. Police can pull over people without cause and ask for their ID. I’ve never had any problems but other volunteers have dealt with corruption. Bribing is common. However, all this cop wanted was a short boleia. So, the motorista turns the truck around and we take the cop back to his station. As he steps into the building a fellow passenger says, “This is the guy that stabbed his wife.” Salome and I quickly trade glances. The cop walks out of the station with an older gentleman in handcuffs. He is swiftly picked up and thrown into the back of the trunk. Silently, we continue on our drive. Only a few moments later we stop at the check point where we originally picked up the police officer. Thanks goodness. The outrageousness of sharing a ride with a convicted murder was getting to me. The policeman stands up and hands a butcher’s knife to another passenger, then climbs out. “Don’t let him run away,” He says as he disappears into a small shack on the side of the road. Now, Salome, five other passengers, a wife-murderer, and I are sitting in the back of a pick up truck. That’s when the AK-47 appears in front of me. The policia went to pick up his weapon, in order to guard the man he just left alone. My brain is having difficulty processing the situation. My eyes glance from the knife, now being held loosely in the cops right hand, the gun that is leaning against his left side, and the old man who's simply stares at his hands. The only thing I can think to do is eat a banana.

430 km, no idea what day it is- So the wife-murder detour delayed us for a bit, but the sun is still just barely peaking over the horizon. We’ve arrived at Backpack which means that Lichinga is a measly three hours away. The cobredor has assured my several times that we will make it to Lichinga by the end of the day. “Estamos Juntos!” he said. As the other passengers depart the cobredor calls over Salome and I, and he points out the closest pensão. That’s where we’ll be staying for the night. The dream of making it from Montepuez to Lichinga in one day has died.

1,066 km, Day 3 – The morning passed like a dream. We gathered our things at five and magically received a boleia from two road workers. We enjoyed the mountains and Christmas trees (Chirstmas trees!!) in a heated vehicle with leather seats. By nine am I was enjoying a hug from my friend. Worth it.

* This is the second time I wrote this post. The first was lost in my iphone, itself lost in the Niassa Province.

** There is a bit of a debate on the distance between Pemba and Lichinga. I went with the greater distance because it sounds cooler.

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