Movin' On Up.....

Every Monday and Thursday Almasse arrives at 7:00am. He timidly com licensas at the door.

“Good morning Almasse! How are you?!... Ok, today after your done cleaning the quintal, could you ummm…. cart water? Then we also need you to wash some towels and clothes. And, uhhh… if you have enough time… could you, please, burn the lixo? Is that ok? “

I’ve started annoying myself with all of the niceties and uhs and ums.

Almasse is our empregado. I can’t bring myself to use the word maid… but housekeeper doesn’t really explain it either. Empregados in Mozambique do everything. They clean the yard, wash clothes, cart water, cook dinner, babysit, run errands. You get the idea. Word choice aside, what I’m having trouble wrapping my head around is the fact that I have an empregado.

I, me, Rayna, I have a maid, butler, housekeeper. This isn’t right. I am firmly part of the working class. I come from a coupon-cutting, month-to-month, used=new-to-us type of mentality. My family shopped at thrift stores long before it became a hobby for hipsters and we certainly do not pay people to do things we could do ourselves.

Here in Mozambique, I am no longer a working class hero. I am now part of the upper class. PCVs usually don’t like to look at it this way because we are given roughly $250/month as our stipend.  This is a lot less then our Mozambican teacher counterparts. It’s just enough for food, communication, and travel. At the end of the month I’m counting the meticais left until pay day. But, compared to most Mozambicans, I am living the good life. And people who have a good life, have an empregado.

There are a few things I tell myself to feel better about abandoning my blue-collared shirts.

First, I’m providing a job for someone. We met Almasse when he was selling vegetables door-to-door. Little by little, we got to know him. He lives with his mother and nephew. He likes using English phrases like “Excuse me” and “good bye”. Before us, his only source of income was from selling vegetables from his uncle’s machamba.   

Second, there is so much to do! We teach and have secondary projects. To do housework – Mozambican housework- drains my energy and time. Dishes, cooking, sweeping, mopping, washing, washing, washing. EVERYTHING IS DIRTY!! There is no way to keep up with it all. I specifically came to Mozambique to teach. I love what I do and I want to invest my time and energy into planning, preparing and grading. So, why not provide employment to a hardworking individual and focus my energy where it’s needed?

Third, it stimulates the economy! Hmm…well, this might be a repeat of number one. But that just means it’s really important!

So that’s that. I have an empregado.

Something I don't do anymore. 

Love love love 

Malaria Madness!

So I missed Malaria Awareness Month (April) but my counterpart for my REDES group wanted to focus on malaria so for our small group of girls it's MALARIA MADNESS time! 

Here's a link to the WHO info graph about Mozambique and malaria. http://www.who.int/malaria/publications/country-profiles/profile_moz_en.pdf?ua=1 

The summary is that there is a ton of misinformation and complacency that leads to lots of people dying from a preventable disease. It's sad and, if you think about it too hard, anger-inducing. 

A little about my REDES group. There are 12 girls between the ages of 10 and 13 and are in third to seventh grade (if they actually go to school). Their primary language is Imakua. All of them speak basic Portuguese, which is just enough to greet people and convince their teachers they know what's going on. They are regular attendees of an after-school program at the mission where we hold the meetings but half of the are Muslim. 

This group is really the only thing that keeps me going. I love getting to know these girls and am really proud of the progress we've made as a group in such a short time. 

Here's a little of what we've been doing :) 

Lesson 1: What is malaria? What are the symptoms? 

I drew pictures of symptoms. Headaches, fever, chills, vomiting, and diarrea are all symptoms of malaria. A rash, itchiness, coughing and a sore throat are NOT symptoms. 

 

 

Before going through what were symptoms, we had the girls guess by placing the pictures in the correct category (Symptoms vs Not symptoms of malaria). Right away we realized that the girls do not know what malaria is. It's so common for people to have malaria that everything was assumed to be a symptom of malaria. That's when Esmenia had the girls do gestures for all of the ones that were symptoms. It was hilarious watching 10 girls imitate diarreaha!! I was impressed (andalso a little jealous) by the idea. 

At the end of the lesson all of the girls were able to list (and mimic) all 5 symptoms from memory. 

Lesson 2: What should you do of you get malaria?

For this one, I came up with 10 steps to do if you have malaria. 

1. Show symptoms. Sentir sintómos.

2. Go to the hospital. Ir a hospital. 

3. Get tested. Faz análise. 

4. Get a positive result. Recebe resulta positiva. 

5. Go to the pharmacy. Ir a farmácia.

6. But medicine. Comprar o medicamento.

7. Take medicine. Tomar o medicamento. 

8. Finish the medicine. Acabar o medicamento. 

9. Rest and drink water. Descansar e

Beber água! 

10. Feel better! Sentir melhor! 

We discussed why each step was important. Especially, immediately going to the doctor, not taking medicine before getting a result, and finishing all the medicine. Again I saw Esménia step up to the plate and clearly, creatively explain everything to the kids. 

The girls were given a step and had to draw out the event. We walked around and encouraged the girls to draw as much detail as possible. The end result was pretty awesome!! 

Finally, we ended the day by assigning the girls a different step (represented by their peer's drawing), mixing them up, and putting themselves back in order. 

Lesson 3: Review! 

The lovely Angela, a health volunteer, told me about a relay race she did with her REDES group and I loved the idea. It involved reading facts about malaria, but how could I do that with my kids? As you may have noticed everything we do is visually based, but I can only take so much drawing!! So, we did a relay race but instead of picking up facts they picked up images. Round one was symptoms and round two was you think you have malaria steps. I spent the whole day drawing miniture versions of the symptoms and steps. The end result was a really fun day and I am really convinced that my girls know their stuff. There are more pictures on Facebook but here's a quick run down. 

1. The girls are splint into two teams of 5. One member of each team must run to a chair that has a pile of symptoms. 

2. They run to the next chair that has two boxes labels "symptoms" or "not symptoms". They choose which box to put the symptom and run back to tag the next team member.

3. The winner is the group that had the most correctly placed symptoms in the shortest  amount of time. 

Round two worked the same way except instead of symptoms there were steps and instead of boxes there was a time line. 

So that's what we've done so far. Next, we'll talk about avoiding the disease.Esménia  also brought up the idea of putting on a play for the other kids at the missionary! 

I'll be sure to keep you updated! 

Love love love 

The first and (hopefully) last visit to a Hospital in Mozambique

First, I’m ok. I wasn’t injured or hurt. I did, however, have Dengue fever. The worst symptom was a fever that only lasted 3 days. Things could have been a LOT worse. I’m very grateful for the access to medical care; all things considered Peace Corps does a great job of getting us the help we need.

However, if I never have to step foot into a hospital in this country again, I’ll die a happy person. 

Ok, I feel bad being so negative. The doctors and nurses here are trying their best to comfort and aid the people of Pemba with limited resources, education, and experience.

The hospital at Pemba is a good size. It might be considered small in America, but in Mozambique it’s big and modern. There’s a waiting room and everything! As I walked into the waiting room the first thing I noticed was how clean it was (phew!) and the second is how bare it is. The waiting room has about five chairs for the thirty people that are inside – there’s another 20 outside. There’s no paintings or decoration on the wall, just a muted yellow. I speak to the guy at the window; I tell him I have a consulta con Doctora Suzanna. He seems surprised and says I can go through the doors.

 I walk through and see a bright hallway. To the left are what seem like more waiting rooms, and on the right are patient rooms: six beds each and, just like the waiting rooms, bare. No large machines, no drawers, no counters, no desks. There is one station that has the nurses tools and a trashcan. This is on wheels and moved around when the nurse needs to draw blood. 

After walking down the hall, I realize I don’t know where I’m going. I ask the first nurse I see where I can find Dra. Suzanna. The nurses are mostly male; I only see 1 female nurse while I’m there. They are dressed in white slacks, and a white button down with the same yellow color at the edge of their short sleeves. I’m immediately asked if I have Dra. Suzanna’s number. That’s just how it works I guess. There’s no line, no office. Just, “You got her number?”

I call Dra. Suzanna and she tells me to continue walking down the hall where I find her talking with a patient. She has another nurse grab a chair for me while she finishes. 

As I sit in the hallway watching the nurses walk back and forth, I try and figure out what’s different. In all honesty, it seems to have everything a hospital should. In November, I visited a hospital in a Carapira, Province of Nampula. This hospital was four buildings with the word “Hospital”  written on it. That’s about all that made it an actual hospital. However, Pemba is clean with doctors, nurses, janitors; waiting rooms, beds, and chairs. It looks like a hospital, but there is something that just feels different. After about ten minutes of waiting, I notice how calm everyone is. No one seems to be in a rush. The nurses walk leisurely down the hallway. They pause to great one another, they chat, they move on. The doctors speak with the patients in quiet voices. Family members sit quietly nearby. There’s no loud chatter, no TVs, no beeping machines, no PA system.  No nurses are running to save patients, no doctors shouting medicine dosages and commands. It’s just… quiet.

Eventually, I speak with Dra. Suzanna and get blood drawn for a malaria test. I can’t help but be nervous; I’ve never liked needles. It certainly does not help when the nurses tie that rubber band around my arm and pull on it until my arm is blue. Even with the rubber band pinching me, the nurse had a hard time finding a vein. Hovering over my skin, debating where to poke me. By the time the nurse decides where to stick his medium of torture in my arm, I’m breathing loudly. The nurse asks if I’m afraid.

 Duh. 

He finally pokes me, and I do the one thing I’m not supposed to do, I look. The nurse pulls back the syringe and no blood comes out! Uh… that’s not supposed to happen. I sit there while he digs around under my skin for what seems like FOREVER. As I’m trying to figure out how to say “I’m dizzy” in Portuguese he pulls out the needle and I just lay down on the dirty sheet.

“Precisa descansar?” Do you need to rest?

“Sim. ” Fuck you.

After a few moments, I start to feel better and got to experience a uniquely Mozambican experience. The nurse that just almost killed me begins flirting with me.

“So how long will you be in Mozambique?”

“Two years.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a teacher.”

“An English Teacher?”

“Yes.” 

“I want to learn English.”

“That’s nice.”

“Can you teach me?”

“No.”

“Can I come visit you?”

“Nope, my director won’t let me have visitors.”

“Your director is not right. How will you meet people?”

“I can get Malaria.”

At that point he left me alone.

Turns out I didn’t have malaria. I had to have my blood drawn two more times in order to find out I had Dengue fever. As much as I wanted to kill the nurse, the doctor was very kind and explained everything slowly and clearly. Dra. Suzanna wrote out a prescription (on a scratch piece of paper that had test results on the back – No HIPA here!) and I was on my merry way.

Side note: I left the hospital without paying a dime and a generic prescription only cost 5mts or roughly 17 cents.

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 

Educaçao - or lack thereof

Nerd Alert! If you know me at all (which of course you do because you’re reading this) you know that I have a tendency to nerd out a bit. So this post will not be about the beaches or beers or festas. It’s going to be about school.

Similar to the United States, Mozambique has twelve grades divided between Primary School (1^st – 7^th grade) and Secondary School (8^th-12^th grade). Primary school is mandatory and free, however families are responsible for buying uniforms, notebooks and pencils. Secondary school is not mandatory and a small fee is required.

The primary school attendance rate for both boys and girls is roughly 77%. After seventh grade this number drops to 22% for girls, and 25% for boys. 

Of the even fewer number that graduate from secondary school, are my students.

My school is an IFP – Instituto Formaçao dos Professores – It’s a Teacher Training Institute. However, it is not a University. To enter the IFP, students need to pass 10^th grade, an entrance exam, and an interview. Several students may graduate from 12^th grade, but it’s not necessary.

Our school is a three year program- the first two years are spent doing general studies plus pedagogical theory and the third is a practicum. At the end of the three years they earn a 10+3 degree. It’s not the equivalent of a high school diploma, but many consider it more important because it is a certificate that makes them eligible to teach primary school.

That’s right, teachers for 1^st- 7^th grade do not have to set foot in a University.

I expected most teachers not to have degrees: class sizes are too big and there aren’t enough qualified teachers to go around. However, I did not expect this to be an accepted government policy.

I think at this point I’m just going to keep my opinion about this policy to myself. I don’t know Mozambique well enough yet. Maybe it is possible to educate an entire country with only a 10^th grade education…

Maybe I am too idealistic…

Love love love

Teacher Rayna 

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