29/01/13

            Today was a wonderful day. I am teaching math and English in “bridge school,” which is aimed at accelerating slightly older kids through grades 6 and 7 so they can begin high school the following year. I don’t understand yet exactly how kids end up in this program, but I was surprised and impressed by how good my students are. I have only 11 of them and they all have reasonable baseline knowledge, show up on time, and do what I tell them. After teaching classes of 50 kids, half of whom didn’t want to be there, in Mozambique, this is unbelievably enjoyable. In the afternoons we have an educational enhancement program for the primary school kids. The purpose is to improve their English and math skills, but in a distinctly non-classroom setting. So basically I get to combine two of my favorite things—a summer camp atmosphere with learning! Today we discussed the alphabet and played a game where the kids have to arrange the letters in the correct answer. The kids got really into it and seemed to enjoy the activity, though I wish I could do it in smaller groups.

            Afterwards I was loitering near the playground speaking to kids when one of my students from bridge school came over and launched into a monologue in English about how much he loves bologna and how much energy he has. This was really incredible because most primary school kids here avoid speaking English at all costs. I can tell so many of them want to speak to me so badly, but don’t simply because they feel they don’t have the English to do so.

            There is a brand new baby here who is only 2 years old and sick. Aside from being noticeably hungry when she first arrived, she is heartbreaking in her interactions with other people. She rarely ever makes eye contact and, though it’s apparent she recognizes face, she doesn’t fixate on them. It’s very clear that she learned a long time ago that human interactions would not benefit her in any way, so she stopped having them. It literally feels like someone has stomped on my chest when I look at her and realize that she’s never felt loved before.

            She was brought up at a meeting today, people were discussing her lack of eye contact and interaction with others. I was relieved because I often feel that Mozambicans and Swazis think I am overreacting to things like this. I was glad to see other people concerned too. 

26/01/13

            The kids came back Monday and, for someone like me who loves kids, especially the energetic grimy kind, everything became even better. We are waiting until Monday to start any of the educational projects I will be working with, so this week has been mostly preparations and then sitting on my porch getting climbed all over by dirty little children.

            This morning was the guardians meeting, where the guardians of the children at the hostel (for Americans, this place would be called an orphanage, but in Swazi culture family ties are incredibly important, so this word is avoided and special efforts are made to maintain the children’s relationships with their families), come for a meeting with the staff here. It was all in Siswati, but still interesting to watch, and I got to read the minutes (in English) afterwards.

            Mozambique has one of the highest HIV/AIDS rates in the world, currently being reported at 11.5% (when I joined Peace Corps in 2009 it was reported at 16%). But in Swaziland during that same time period it has gone from 33% to 31%. HIV was a constant part of our lives in Mozambique, but it is even more so here. One thing I am struck by is what I perceive as a more open culture. Perhaps this is due to the higher prevalence rate, so you are more likely to be around people who are HIV+. Perhaps this isn’t true of all Swaziland, but only where I am living now. At the orphanage where I lived in Mozambique there were two HIV+ girls, but this secret was closely guarded from other girls in the orphanage, students at school, and people in the community. Here, everyone knows who the 25+ positive kids are. Their having HIVs is discussed as openly as the fact that some kids failed English last year, are deaf, are having behavioral issues, or come from bad family situations. I do appreciate this openness and, in this accepting environment at least, I think it’s far better for everyone, both positive and negative. 

23/01/13

            On Sunday there was a retreat for all Childcare staff at the mission, so the tutors who help out with certain students, or in afternoon and evening studies with all hostel kids; the aunties who are kind of like my dorm mom in boarding school; the few other more administrative people in childcare, including Sister Barbara who is the head; the other volunteer; and me. It was a time for us to reflect on the past year, to consider how what we’re doing truly matters, and to mentally prepare for the year ahead of us. Sister Barbara asked us how, in 2012, we saw that we had been acting as Christ’s hands, mouth, and body on earth. Well this will be easy, I thought to myself. For grad school application essays I spent the past four months enumerating and describing all of my accomplishments as the Malaria Activities Coordinator and in the previous year as the REDES National Financial Director. But, while all of that work was good and necessary work, as I reflected more thoroughly, none of it struck me as God’s work. I started writing and after I had filled an entire page, I reread it and was surprised to find that I wrote nothing about my professional accomplishments, I only wrote about my personal relationships with other people. About the girl who started college in Maputo last year, so I was supposed to collect receipts from her every so often. But when it quickly became clear that she was scared and lonely (she is from a tiny, very bush town that’s 700km from Maputo), I brought her her favorite fruit that she mentioned she missed, I visited her dorm room and walked around campus with her, seeing her classroom buildings and dining hall. It was clear that she valued being able to proudly show off this new life to someone, but that her family would never be able to make the trip down. I wrote about the girl who washed our clothes for us. How I would always talk to her about school and when she found out she had passed she called me five times in a row to tell me (I was in a bus and couldn’t answer, but I just about had a heart attack, I thought someone had died), how we gave a large portion of our clothes and things to her when we left Namaacha. I wrote about spending time with the girls in the orphanage (back in Inharrime), just talking to them about school, stroking their heads, hugging and kissing them, caring about what they said—things that can’t always happen in an orphanage with 70+ girls and 10 adults. I wrote about how my REDES girls would ask me to call them on a weekly basis and would always be excited to tell me when they were doing well in a school subject. It was a wonderful moment of clarity for me to be reminded what really matters at the end of the day. 

18/01/13

            After feeling so triumphant about my sleeping abilities the previous night, jetlag got the best of me last night. I woke up at 2am and couldn’t fall back asleep until after 5am. The good news is that I got some reading done, essential since I apparently packed 17 books to read during these four months. Really Scooter?

            This afternoon I was asked if I wanted to try driving for the first time—a driver had just come back from the weekly shopping trip, so I was going to drive him home, then bring the car back. While at home I had borrowed a neighbor’s stick shift to practice driving it a bit. I had learned to drive stick originally when I was 16, but after we got rid of our pickup truck I hadn’t driven one in probably 6 years. I knew that driving here would involve two fun changes: stick for the first time in many years, as well as driving on the left side of the road. I successfully drove us up to the health center to drop some items off, then one more stop at a person’s house. As the driver came back to the car it started to rain. He says “we must drive quickly because soon the roads will become too muddy.” I laugh because it’s such an African thing to say, plus how quickly will that happen anyway? Within another minute it begins to pour so hard I can barely see the road. And to answer my question: almost instantly. Suddenly stick shift and the fact that I’m sitting on the right side of the car become irrelevant—I’m more worried about seeing the road in front of me (did I mention that the sun went down instantly in the last 10 minutes? The black clouds may have had something to do with it) and sliding off into the bushes. In order to keep the windshield from fogging completely over we have to turn the heat on full blast and, rain or no, it’s summer here and freaking hot. We crack our windows but can’t open them too much without getting soaked. I make it all the way to his house, a couple miles down the road, but by this point he’s decided he’s not going to send me back alone, so we wait for another truck with two people to come get me and this truck. In the 20 minutes it takes them to come get me the roads get unbelievably worse as it continues to pour. Driven back by one of the volunteers, I’m assured that this is the worst driving he’s seen, and driving right now has nothing to do with a stick shift or the opposite side of the road. “Oh, the driver wanted me to tell you to be careful not to go off the road to the left side, because it’s a big ditch and you’ll never get the car out” I inform him helpfully. We get almost all the way back, we can see the mission ahead and we relax a little. Just as conversation moves to non-weather/driving related topics for the first time, lightning strikes directly to the right of our car, so close and loudly that we both jump to the left as if to dodge it. I return to my house to find the power is out and I’m assured that it probably won’t return until tomorrow at the earliest. Oh Africa, how I have missed you!

17/01/13

            I arrived safe and sound in Swaziland yesterday! At the Johannesburg airport I needed to catch a bus to Swaziland and had no idea where to do that, so I walked over to the police stand. My interactions with policemen in Africa haven’t always been fantastic, but I didn’t have any other options so I gave them a big smile and hoped for the best. They gave me directions so I thanked them and started to walk away when one of the policemen said, “here I’ll show you” and began walking in front of me. When we arrived at the bus terminal—a logical conclusion for where one might catch a bus—he spoke to the man working there. That man said that the only bus he knew for Swaziland didn’t actually leave from the bus terminal, but from in front of the domestic departures. Naturally. So the policeman walked me back across the street and upstairs to domestic departures. He spoke to the man there who knew the bus I was looking for and confirmed that this was where it stopped. Then without even asking for a bribe, the policeman walked away—I was impressed. When the bus arrived I ran over to talk to the driver. I was supposed to have booked and paid for the bus in advance, but I hadn’t because leaving America had snuck up on me so quickly. I smiled and sweet-talked him and promised I would pay upon arrival in Mbabane, and soon we were on our way.

After the many hours of travel I was able to sleep about 11 hours straight through the night. This morning at 10am I sat in on my first meeting with the education team. We began discussing the first item on the agenda, an after-school math and English program. One woman suggested that the program really needed a committed director to be successful this first school term. “How about Scooter?” suggested someone else. And thus it was decided that I will oversee this project during the first school term while I am here, while training an understudy to take over once I leave. Why wade in slowly, just jump right in!

15/01/13

            Happy New Year! I write from London’s Heathrow airport, on my way back to Africa, only this time to Swaziland. I hope everyone had wonderful holidays. During the approximately one month I had back in the States, I enjoyed catching up with family and friends, eating lots of good food, and many of the other wonders that America offers, like movie theaters, public skating, and snow. Now back to Swaziland for three-to-four more months, so look forward to hearing about the adventures I have there!

            One thing I forgot to write about before the holidays. A few days before I left, Anna gathered my hair in a ponytail and cut off as much as possible, while still leaving enough for me to pull back. I then offered this hair to my host mother as a gift. Mozambican women love braiding real hair into their own as extensions. Some PCVs have even been able to finance post-Peace Corps travels by selling their hair! Although my black hair isn’t the most exciting (as opposed to brunette or, better, blonde or red), my host mom was still thrilled and actually almost cried. Totally worth the headache of bucket-bathing such long hair during the last few months!

14/12/12

            Yesterday I was taking the elevator in the building in New York City where I’m staying. The door opened to a middle-aged man and his mother already on the elevator, so I greeted them “good morning” and got on. The man greeted me warmly back and then asked me where I am from. Well I have absolutely zero idea how to answer this question and got extremely flustered. “Do you mean where do I live? Or where I grew up? Or what my heritage is?” He was probably equally confused by my discombobulated response, so he settled on heritage. After I answered he told me, “I just wanted to say that I really appreciated you saying good morning to us.” He explained that he’s from Eastern Europe from a culture that values greeting others, but he’s often disappointed by how few people respond to him here in New York. I excitedly explained to him that I spent the past three years living in Mozambique in a similar culture, so I also appreciate greeting others. We chatted for a few minutes about our experiences because wishing each other good days. That’s one of the things I thought I would miss most about Mozambique/Africa—those momentary but wonderful connections you make with strangers who you’ll never meet again.

            I’m posting this from a bus, on my way from NYC to Boston. Wireless on a bus? America is blowing my mind. 

11/12/12

I'll be back soon enough!

            After a layover at the incredibly shiny Heathrow airport, I landed safely in New York City last night! Actually it was late afternoon but apparently it’s winter and far from the equator here, so the sun was already down. Oh brave new world! I’ve already gotten to eat some delicious food (Mexican!), indulge in some guilty pleasures (McDonald’s breakfast and a Twix bar), see friends from high school and college, and run into someone I knew on the street! I’m amazed by the bright lights everywhere—Christmas decorations and otherwise—and all the multitudes of well-dressed people. I’m surprised that everyone just waltzes around casually holding their big smartphones to their heads without worrying someone might snatch it. And I was under the impression that Americans and New Yorkers especially were rude, but I’m pleasantly surprised by how many people have smiled and greeted me back! 

08/12/12

            Anna, Val, and I arrived safe and sound in Johannesburg at 4am this morning and have been spending the day with the wonderful John and Yvette. For those of you who have been with me for the past two or three years, they used to own Tsene Lodge, our little paradise on earth. It’s been great to see them again and know that even after the terrible situation, they have begun to make, and find themselves happy in, a new life for themselves here.

Now that I am no longer a PCV I am free to traipse about Johannesburg as I please (deemed too dangerous, it’s off-limits for PCVs except in transit). After all of the terrible things I have heard about it, and my limited interactions that were mostly restricted to the downtown areas around the bus station and airport, I have gotten to see a whole new side today that is really quite nice. Organic markets, African crafts, farms, and nurseries. Tomorrow night I fly out and I will land in New York City on Monday!

07/12/12

            I am now officially an RPCV—a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer! After arriving three long years ago in October 2009, I am finally no longer a PCV and moving on to the next part of my life. Below: Jordan, Valerie, Anna, and I—the last four standing from Moz 14. Now that we have all COSed, Moz 14 is officially done with PC/Mozambique.

            Tonight I take the bus to Johannesburg, where I will get to visit some old friends until I fly out on Sunday night. It’s hard to wrap my mind around, but on Monday afternoon I will land in New York City! I will hop from there to Boston, to Toronto, to Chicago, to Madison, to my hometown, to Ohio, to Chicago, and back to my hometown again before I fly back here to Africa. That will be one adventure, and then on January 16^th begins the next one—my short stint in Swaziland!

05/12/12

            I’m down in Maputo this week for my COS (Close Of Service) processing. Lots of forms to fill out, and final medical check-ups before we are officially done!

            A few things from the past few months I never got a chance to write about. Back two months ago when I was writing grad school applications all the time, I had spent the entire weekend shut in the Peace Corps office working on applications. Early afternoon Sunday I decided that I deserved a break, so I went home, grabbed my book, sat on the porch and propped my feet up, and settled in for a relaxing few hours. This lasted about 5 minutes before I heard a pounding at my gate and children calling out “big sister Anata!” A handful of neighborhood kids had gathered at my gate and asked me to give them an English lesson. So before I knew it, I had about 13 kids sitting on the concrete slab inside our yard and I was conducting an impromptu English lesson. Not quite the relaxing afternoon I had envisioned, but a nice one nonetheless.

            Once when Anna was returning to Namaacha from a trip I took a book and went out to the main road to meet her and help with her bags. As she got off the chapa I greeted her with a big hug, then she went around back to get her bags. A man on the chapa said “oh, I don’t get a hug too?” I might get asked this 4 or 5 times a day, so I shook my head at him and thought nothing of it. “Don’t you remember me? I’m your cousin” he said. He told me who his parents are—Anna’s host parents—and reminded me that he had met me when I was visiting with my dad the day after Baby Anata was born. “Wait, so you are Anna’s brother?” I asked, pointing across the street to where she stood…talking to her 11 year old host brother. “Oh, that’s my brother!” he said. He explained that he had been living in Maputo and had never actually come to Namaacha while Anna lived with his family, so he had never met her, he only knew me from when I came back to visit. It was funny because they had sat almost next to each other the whole chapa ride, but it was me he recognized, not his own “sister.”

            One day Anna and I were walking home from the Peace Corps office through Namaacha. We passed a group of high school girls and said hi to them. They said hi back, and one gave us a particularly big smile, maybe you could even call it a knowing smirk. “How do we know her?!” Anna and I asked each other, and it was clear that she knew us. This drove us crazy for a few days until I a light bulb went off in my head and I went back to the photos from the 2011 REDES southern region conference at Barra beach last year. And there she was, smiling in pictures of the “blue group,” representing her REDES group from Namaacha at the regional conference. It still blows me away on a regular basis what a small country this is!

03/12/12

            Today I officially left Namaacha and came to Maputo to begin my COS (Close of Service) process. On Friday, after three whole years, I will officially become a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer (RPCV—some people call it “Recovering” Peace Corps Volunteer). And I think the timing is perfect. I’m not too jaded, I don’t hate Mozambique and I wasn’t itching to leave. At the same time I am 100% happy about leaving (okay, maybe 99%. I am sad to leave Baby Anata). Yesterday I had no mixed feelings as I walked away from my house and neighborhood children calling out to me, nor when I boarded my chapa. I was purely excited—excited to close this amazing chapter of my life, excited to go back to the states and see all the people I miss dearly, excited for all the fantastic things America offers (so basically food), and excited to move on to the next step in my life! 

30/11/12

            My site—meaning my school in Inharrime—is not being replaced by a PCV this year. Apparently the school said they didn’t want someone, and the PCV who replaced me (but ended up leaving after the accident) was treated so poorly that Peace Corps was hesitant to place anyone there. It’s frustrating because it all basically boils down to one personality and it sucks that one person can prevent what would otherwise be a fantastic situation. I loved my school—I loved my students, my colleagues, and the many extracurricular activities I did there, and I know I was loved by many. I loved living at the orphanage with the girls and I know they loved me. It’s also a slap in the face that the school, or this one person, couldn’t see all the good and hard work I did there, and would say they didn’t want another PCV, presumably because of me.

            The other day I stopped by my host family’s house to say hi. One of my aunts was in town, so she offered me a beer and I got roped into staying. Baby Anata (who is unconditionally obsessed with me now) came over and reached for my cup. I laughed and shook my head at her, “trust me, you wouldn’t like it.” “Oh no, give her some, she totally likes it!” my host mom said. So I skeptically held my glass out to her and yep, my namesake loves beer!

            When we first moved into our house we had a lot of trouble with the neighborhood kids. They would provoke our dog by throwing rocks at it, they would try to provoke us, and they would sneak into our yard when we weren’t there and steal fruit. But slowly we were able to kill them with kindness and get them to see us as real people who live in their neighborhood, not some weird white people. Now they always ask before climbing up on our roof to get papayas, even though the way onto the roof is from outside our yard, they stop by to say hi, and whenever we leave the house we are greeted by a chorus of “Hi! Hello! Good morning!” until we are out of sight or until one of our exasperated adult neighbors yells at them all to shut up. We knew all their names and they greeted us by name—Aunt Ana and Aunt Anata. Life was good, and then school break happened. The family structure is fairly fluid here, so it’s normal for kids to live with extended family during the school year in order to attend classes, or for kids to go pass the holidays with extended family. So suddenly the child make-up of the neighborhood changed overnight and we are back to heathens who don’t know or respect us. “Our” kids have stayed true, running up to tell us about all the naughty kids who climbed on our roof while we were out, but all the other little jerks have been provoking us and the dog non-stop.

            The other morning I was returning from a run and saw two of “our” kids playing outside our gate. As I approached I took out my headphones to greet them. I hadn’t heard it, but apparently a kid farther away had called me mulungu. I had to stifle a laugh as one of “our” kids said, in an impatiently exasperated tone, “she’s NOT mulungu, this is Aunt Anata, yeesh!” 

21/11/12

            I had a few questions about whether we were ever able to buy energy for our house—yes we were thankfully. That afternoon we talked to one of the Peace Corps drivers in Namaacha who suggested we talk to one of the other Peace Corps drivers in Maputo to see if he could buy it there. Turns out he was doing work in Gaza province about 150km away, so I admitted defeat and prepared to settle in for a weekend without electricity. But then he told me to text him the code for our electricity box. He was able to find a cousin who was in the vicinity of the electricity place who he texted our code to, his cousin bought 100 Meticais worth of electricity and texted the code to him, then he texted the code to us and presumably paid his cousin later, then we paid him back the following week. Things are rarely ever simple here, but all’s well that ends well!

            On Tuesday and Wednesday of last week we visited Cabrini Ministries in St. Philip’s, Swaziland, where we will be working January-April of next year. It gave us a chance to meet future colleagues, see how and where we would be living, and get a more concrete idea of what our work will be. A mere 100km from where we currently live, it’s a completely different world. The language is different, both the official language (English vs Portuguese) and the local native language (SiSwati vs Changana). The customs and family structures are different. And the superficial level of “civilization” is much higher in Swaziland, there are trash cans, western cafes, and the supermarkets could almost be in America. Also the HIV/AIDS rate jumps a solid 15%. The trip was a really great opportunity for us to get a feel for what our life will be like soon. It also made me less sad about leaving here, because I am now looking forward to Swaziland, the next step in my life. 

18/11/12

            Today was a truly wonderful day. Sad that it will be one of my last ones here, and like this.

            When Julia was here visiting me she jokingly referred to me as the “pied piper” once because anywhere I went at the orphanage, I was followed by a throng of children. This morning I stopped by my host family’s house to pick up the kids for church. All the windows and doors were still shut, so after knocking a few times and not hearing any movement in the house, I went on to church alone. I was a little disappointed because it’s one of the last times I would get to go to mass with them, but I settled into to my usual pew alone and closed my eyes to pray. I felt a movement behind me and peeked back to see a girl from our neighborhood sitting next to me. A few minutes later I opened my eyes again and there were two more girls sitting with us. By the time I finished and sat back my row had six little girls sitting in it, and two more had spilled into the row in front of us. One of the girls was the little one who used to sit on my lap during mass at the beginning of the year when I was feeling incredibly homesick for all my girls back in Inharrime. She’s still just as cute, but now far too large to be sitting on anyone’s lap.

            In the morning Anna and I hung out with a PCV who was visiting from Inhambane province and some of the trainees. Then in the early afternoon some more trainees came over for our weekly cooking—this week’s theme was Mexican. Great food and fun and interesting people.

            I just finished reading “Reading Lolita in Tehran,” which I highly recommend everyone read. This quote on page 336 really spoke to me during this bittersweet transition time: “You get a strange feeling when you’re about to leave a place, like you’ll not only miss the people you love but you’ll miss the person you are now at this time and this place, because you’ll never be this way ever again.”