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. 

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 

Capital Y - Yogi

Yesterday, Mozambique had elections but I’m going to talk about yoga.

In case you’re interested here are some articles about Moz and the recent elections. I’m hardly an expert on the matter. 

The Economist “Boom and Ballot” – At the very end talks about Mozambique’s debt. Did not know about that! 

ABC News - There was some violence yesterday, which is sad, but none of it was near me (Mom).

Mozambique Political Press Bulletin is a small, independent news organization in Mozambique. It provides the clearest, most up-to-date political reporting that I have ever read, ever. Real Journalism is not a myth.

Ok, but more importantly, I’m in the middle of an amazing yoga-thon. Nothing fancy, I just do sun salutations every morning followed by a shoulder stand for however long I can stand it. 

The more I do yoga the more I ask myself, am I a yogi? I’m not really sure what the qualifications are to be one. Yes, I love yoga. I love that it requires all of my attention. I love that it balances me both externally and internally. I love that I can be angry before a yoga class and after I just want to hug everyone. 

Being in Mozambique has strengthened my attachment and challenged my commitment to yoga. It's the best way for me to escape the daily chaos and really be in the moment. Buuuuut, I have some doubts that I qualify as a capital Y- Yogi. It’s not so much things I don’t do, but what I am doing (Yes, I  rephrased this sentence to avoid “do do”).

Here’s a list of things I do that I’m pretty sure yogi’s DON’T do.

1.   Use a timer. Check it every 5 minutes.

2.   Sit in my yoga clothes and look at inspirational quotes to get motivated for about 20 minutes.

3.   Stand in mountain pose. Inhale. Exhale. Check my phone.

4.   Forget what foot I’m supposed to use for the next lunge.

5.   Loose balance in backward bend. Not backward bend on one foot, just simple backward bend.

6.   Adjust my ponytail to the top of my head when I move to floor poses.

7.   Practice in a such a narrow spot that I have to rotate every time I lower my arms.

8.   Stop in the middle of a series to stretch my calves. Tight calves are sooooo annoying.

9.   Sneak glances at my phone. Still no messages.

10.        Day dream about the french fries I’m going to make after this.

11.        Tell myself I have to hold shoulder stand for the duration of whatever song comes on next. I hope it's a short one! 

12.        Text my friend “Did my yoga for today J!” during shavasana. 

13. Google the spelling of "shavasana" 

 As much as I joke, I know that by arriving at my mat everyday I’m actually doing enough. I am also really happy to be at a place where I know enough about yoga and enough about my body so I don’t need a yoga video to keep me going.  Just me and my practice

Well, that and the buddy system.

This totally makes me more yogi, right? 

This photo was not my idea but a big confidence booster. Check out those heels!  

This photo was my idea and an well-needed ego check.  Not quite there. 

Love love yoga