Well, I ought to have begun this blog as my bus pulled out the station, but now we're already on the highway, no time to be nostalgic for my father's city of Hartford. I'm already passing the dump.

I'm writing you from a situation that couldn't be further from my Mozambican experience. I sit on a greyhound bus heading to Vermont with a notebook laptop plugged in accessing the bus' wireless system.

I went through all the brochures boasting Hartford's cultural wealth. I ran into a guy who I may have known at one point from days in the Center. He's on hard times, but didn't ask for help which I was expecting. He said it's expensive to live everywhere. I told him: 'not everywhere.' I spend 10 dollars a week on food .

Coming home, I hear talk about the economy's weakness. I lament that people are out of work. I'm still very cushioned from the slings and arrows of fortune. Poverty is of course a question of perspective. I hesitate to draw any comparisons between the 'hard times' here and those I've seen abroad. I hope I'll always remember that no matter how lost I feel in the future that there are those with much less.

Otherwise, home's all right. Hope you all are gearing up for the holidays and enjoying the love of family and friends as we move into the holiday season.

My wishes of health and serenity to you all.

mc

Part III Back Home

Part III Return to the good ol' USA

'In Romania, I've learned to live with lowered standards. In Mozambique, I've learned to live without.'

This is a line I've used a few times, and it's a statement I'm testing this trip home. How much can I preserve my viewpoint and adopted way of life surrounded by all that America is?

Catching connecting flights, I began to notice more and more passengers speaking English. Kind of like noticing the water temperature slowly change.

I've decided it is hard to travel and look well groomed. Travelers are unkempt people. It's too difficult trying to walk out the pages of GQ magazine onto a plane with all your crap in tow. I struck upon a nice costume for traveling. . I'd bought a giant basket the shape of those hats worn in Vietnamese rice paddies. The easiest way to carry it was on my head. Everyone from the kids on the street I passed in Vilanculos, sweating, hauling my butt to the airport on foot, to the women hawking credit card subscriptions in Atlanta, loved the hat. All you need then, is something slightly ridiculous. On my trip back to Africa, maybe clown shoes?

Last trip home I was trying only to get ready for the next step. This trip home I'm hoping to actually reach out to friends. But, not been able to since Jame, Cristy, and nephew Jesse are in town.

There are the predictable highlights: cheese, pizza, & coke. A muppets movie with popcorn and killing machines with the lobby's video game 'Terminator Salvation.' My parents organized a party for family and family friends that was like stepping onto a hug carousel. Other highlights include last night's giving my nephew a bath and listening to Al Green for the first time in 3 years.

Adjustments: walking into the Stop & Shop I noticed the potato chip bags have gotten bigger. The bakery there is filled with delectable treats. The shelves were arm deep, stacked with cans, cookies, plastic things, ice cream, nuts, chocolate....I'm flabbergasted that our economy can support this much stuff. How does this store not go out of business having so much capitol tied up into cupcakes and bread stuff that goes bad after a day and 1/2? I can see how there's an obesity epidemic. There's just too much good food around and it's too cheap! I wanna get fat too!

It seems that forces, like those reacting to Environmental Dangers, are gathering, educating people about nutrition, organic options, etc. but it's not happening fast enough.

In Machanga, I don't have a refrigerator: no milk, no cheese, no meat, no problem. With all my condiments, my kitchen compared to other Mozambicans, is intense. Mine, in comparison to kitchens here is a rusty old chevette. I'm cooking dinner for my neighbor this Sunday, and opening her fridge to peruse, she stated: 'I have nothing.' But, oh wow, she had so much!

Also, there's the getting used to driving everywhere. Yesterday I went for an hour and a half walk to staples. That felt good. It would have been a 10 minute round trip drive. Let me tell you, I'm glad I walked. Even though my folks live on kind of a jetty without a lot of traffic, I was still passed by cars every few minutes. Visiting the local gas station, passing the reflective shiny speed signs, getting passed by more cars, entering Staples where there's so much more stuff...I was struck by just how complex life is here. I passed on the way some marshes. Saw some berries I've missed until now and some lumber and other detritus. Those natural systems are awful complex, but our complex systems are pushing them off to the side.

One developing so much faster, changing faster then the other.

Part II Tofu Revelation

Part II Diving with Whale Sharks

So school's ended and I had me some three weeks to go where the wind blows. This took me to spending more 'n a few days with volunteers I'd not seen since October's training. We volunteers are a good crowd of kids who love to eat and watch tv shows n' movies. Lots are into drinking but I'm finding I have more interests in common with my fifth grade self then 20 somethings. Popcorn, soda and a movie or tv show promises great entertainment. I don't have a laptop at site so most of my entertainment at home is jogging, art, or reading.

So my friend invited me to go with her & her friend to dive with the whale sharks. These two ladies both go by the name Camila. One is Puerto Rican. She's curvy, smart; ambitious. The other's a Georgia peach, an artist: tall, classy, & very sweet.

We make it to Tofo, racing to make the boat taxi across the sound. Our first chapa breaks down twice. It's quite hot. We flag down an air conditioned ride with an Africaaner. Most of these guys I see are over 50 and shaped like barrels. It turns me racist-I get to thinking all white people are unattractive and Black Mozambicans (who are almost always slim and muscled) beautiful.

This guy was friendly enough (especially for picking us up). We had some interesting discussion. When you meet any whites from South Africa, you can assume their attitudes towards blacks bear traces of the racist apartheid government that lasted into the 90s. About Blacks he said: "I'm Boer. They have their space, I have mine." He's trying to build a hotel but has to wade through lots of bureaucracy to obtain permits. He is in for the long haul however. His stories of working with officials showed he had tolerance and some understanding. That kind of interaction for mutual gain promises the continued development of race relations. Or maybe I'm just intuiting too much. Camila talked to us both about Bovine tuberculosis. Like I said: she's smart.

We crossed using a boat that had a cage on top it, covered by a tarp to keep us dry. No escape hatch. If you are looking for transport safety, Africa is not the continent for it. The Embassy official who visited our training group told us: "Be smart. If you catch a ride hitchiking, find a place where you can jump and roll." This is one area where I am all about Strong Government imposing rules to the benefit of all.

In Tofo we hit the bar scene where lots of unkempt 20 something backpackers danced to the worst DJing. I wrote a poem for the party. I think a party is an excuse for joy. Joy must be felt sincerely. A good party is a sincere party.

Two of the best parties I ever attended were also the geekiest. One was the prom at the special education school I worked for (theme: Oscar Night). the second was in Romania with Hungarian teachers, the median age 55 partying out in a cafeteria. Both parties, a jubilant, sober dance floor. Fierce.

Here's my poem:

Tofo Revelation

The poet's philosopher stone
turns the focused energy: a joy of parties bursting at the seams
stomped church floors with bursting voice of choir
and solitary spinsters alone in their kitchen with the radio loud
dandcing themselves over the broken linoleum
It takes out of the night
collected from the dust of cars racing through
cutting it like a knife
the man 'hind the wheel crazy for the music
that's stirred his soul something sincere

That stone turns that energy
to make some special gas
that powers nuclear generators
steam engines, lamborghinies,
the cameras at Emmy Award Ceremonies and all the bulbs' flash

Runs for years on years
leaving no residue or pollution.
Dilutes only in the feeling amongst the people
as some vauge sentiment
that the world's all right.

I went diving with the whale sharks. They have no teeth, eating only algae or krill. They're spotted. The guy was great at dropping us right in front them. You see only a huge mouth coming at you and have to hustle to get out the way.

The art market was incredible but I was short on funds. I will return.

Part I Mangoes from Umbilical Cords

All right. Seems this blog'll be three parts.

Part #1: 6 hr. trip to Beira diary
Part #2: Whale Shark Diving (& a poem)
Part #3: Return to the USA

As always I'll try and keep it succinct. ;)

1. Beira. I've hated this long ass journey since having to take it while desperately seeking medication to treat the scabies attack that had turned my body to that of a sunburned lizard. The packed conditions then seemed less then charming. This particular morning, I lucked out and was taking the comparatively spacious bus. Despite it being 530am the driver began blasting rock and roll hits like Bryan Adams. He told me it should make me feel at home. This long journey always puts me in touch with the experience of living in a different country. Apart from food, road/train/boat/& plane trips are great ways of reading a culture, the best reason to travel.

Here's an excerpt from my journal...some of it illegible for the bumping.

545am:

Like the rain, the music comes
whether I like it or not
the notes work on me, like scalpels on
an anesthetized patient

The termite mounds
the houses the color of earth
the mango trees promise fruit

the confident smile of the pregnant mother
concentrated on the life inside her

the upside down chickens
the papaya trees no longer look ridiculous
and black muscles
stand out through tatter windows

the sky gave us rain the other day
salving the ground
the women open it with their hoes

Dogs with ribs jump out from in front of the bus - a pathetic look on their face: "Why me?"
mangoes hang from umbilical cords
once they were too many
now they're a gift

baby goats like toys
papaya trees seem dignified
banana groves isolated and shocked, parched
termite mounds as tall as the banana trees

the house's baby blue door
musters all the color it can
women sitting in the house's yard, gathered, enduring

The respectable gentleman in blue button down coat
Newsboy cap and red sunglasses sits across from me
The elderly husband smacks his young (2nd wife?)'s arm
Her breast hangs out for her crying infant to take
He wears a baseball cap with confederate flag and motto: 'Get R Done.'
His child looks at me wide eyed
drinking in the muzungu (that's me)

a baboon in a bare tree high up, distant
a baboon large as a dog turns to the bus' honk
bored, probably thinking about food

boy selling goat kebabs
a half side of goat hoisted to the high window, rejected
We pass a sign for the 'God Exists' pharmacy
Our bus is surrounded by vendors
Surely the white man will buy something!

Inequality

I'm but a day away from my flight home to the states. I've learned to travel light here. I've a week's worth of clothes in my backpack, some poetry and spiritual readings make for light weight reading material, and the rest is my wire artwork and a coconut palm broom. That's good cuz I'm down to my last 200 mets and think I'll be huffing it to the airport and back instead of a 300 met taxi ride.

It's a momentous thing to be at the one year mark of my service. I left site with my duffle bag balanced on my head, sweating a storm, jumping streams and passing cattle, waiting for canoes, greeting locals. There's a feeling of accomplishment there.

In Mambone across the river I stayed with Saffiya and Kate. We encountered a giant scorpion spider with fangs like tusks. I ate unripe mangoes that tasted like lemons and we talked about life her side the river.

A neighbor of hers was found recently in the river, murdered. Another friend passed away from AIDS some days before that. Then yesterday I got word that my student's 1 year old daughter died in the hospital after fighting full body burns for a month and a half - some kind of allergic reaction, not caused as I first thought by hot water or fire.

Celeste, her mother, is a modest, beautiful, slender woman who travels each day to school by canoe to get to school. I've worked hard to motivate her to learn and had her over my place a few times for tutoring. I gave her vaseline along with advice on burn treatment out of my 'Where there is no Doctor,' guide, but now I see it wasn't superficial burns but something much more serious. The child wasn't eating for a time. Saffiya had visited her in the hospital a few times and last week said she was getting better. Now the family is dealing with her death. It's just awful to think of.

Two weeks ago, my best friend from Romania, her brother, an active basketball coach, fell into a coma following a brain anyeresum. They operated and it seemed he was doing better, but a week later he passed.

This was a family I spent three Christmas dinners with. Emi and Iulia and her mother would all play guitar and sing in their cramped kitchen. Their family is just wonderful. Emi encouraged me to play basketball with him. Afterwards he was all compliments despite my inexperience and insecurity. He touched many kids lives in Ocna and was incredibily energetic. I can clearly imagine the cemetary down the road where so many will have gathered for his funeral. The day of the dead, people leave candles and flowers and in the nighttime you can see the hill illuminated. It's beautiful. I regret I'm not there amongst the mourners sharing in the Huiculescu's grief.

I've come to Mozambique to get away from the Internet and have been successfully isolated from the world's trials and tribulations. When the tsunami hit Japan for example, I didn't read or hear much about it. I only learned about it through a friend. But, here crime and death seem to come closer at hand. Here, a bad case of malaria in three days can kill an otherwise healthy 23 year old. Here a child dying in birth is a too real possibility.

Speaking with a student, he asked if I was married yet or had children. When I responded that though I was old to be single for a Mozambican, for an American 31 isn't too old to yet be with family. He remarked: we Mozambicans marry young. And we die young. Hard to know what to say about such uncomfortable truths. Mozambicans are a fit group of people. Incredibly so. But poverty makes them vulnurable.

So...that's what I'm ending on.

I've been awful lucky to travel and relax during these weeks off, and perhaps I'll write more about that once I'm back in the states with more time to discuss that.
But for now, I'm just sad.

How does the water smell? or Micah vs. Boy's Dormitory

In the words of Little Richard: "A whop bob a loo bop, a whop bam boom."

The length of time between when I last wrote you all, all the dry changing of events, all the new insights, all the considered blog topics passed over...it's hard to find a transitive opening statement, and so, as always some kind of nonsense helps put everything in order. Because, really, does any of it matter?

I'll try to shrink wrap my life's experriences, day to day, and life directions and observations into the smallest possible format.

1. Glee. I watched it all night. Great fun. How far we've come that a same sex kiss on prime time tv isn't the news breaking stuff of five or ten years ago. It's immensely gratifying to see someone like you represented in mainstream media.

2. School's over! Only this last semester do I really feel comfortable. I'm not great yet, but not terrible. It's been a learning experience.

3. English Theatre Competition: We took 2nd place & Best Actor! It's one of the best things I've done in service thus far. Peace Corps Volunteers are great. The whole event went super well because everyone is willing to jump in and help out. At the end everyone came onstage to dance. The stage shook with stomping feet and it was a sense of joy shared by all. Free tshirts, new dictionaries, soda, chicken, a hotel stay...placing in the competition is good, but the kids love the event even if they don't. I squeezed into the back of a pickup truck with 15 other kids for the 6 hour ride home. Got a little sunburned. We stopped and picked up lizard roadkill to cook later.

4. The cafeteria: for the last three and a half weeks of school I've been supervising lunch and dinner. When Abel or John aren't there supervising it can sometimes feel like Lord of the Flies. A lot of the systems they had at the beginning of the year seem to have broken down this last semester. I've tried to help out by getting the students to stand in lines, bring the tables and chairs inside, to get them to push chairs in, etc. Simple stuff, but considering the circumstances it feels revolutionary.

5. The dormitory: I've tried helping out too with problems of discipline - getting wood, fighting... If the kids don't gather wood saturdays there's no fuel to cook and they all miss out on a meal. I've taken to instituting push ups and the like to get kids to correct their behavior. The headmaster sometimes uses corporal punishment in the dormitory, so I'm hoping to show that with greater accountability, consistency, and imagination discipline can be achieved without violence.


So...if my blog is a fishbowl, there are some flakes scatterred for you, on the water's surface. The environment in this emails narrow confines are as expansive, and the food about as nutricious or substantive, though slightly colored. I'm sorry you are all goldfish in my analogy. Would you prefer 'chum' and you are all ravenous, terrible, though magnificent Great White Sharks? And my blog is just some of the water in the sea, hinting at its vastness? So be it. You are all Great White Sharrks.

I hope this finds you all well, receiving my greatest wishes for your day to unfold in the best possible way.

Love,

mIcah

Boobs, Up there, My Best Dance Party

Hello Good Family & Friends,

My distance from you all I can only mitigate by this thin thread of communication. And it’s a thin thread indeed.

However! I’ve secured, with some wrangling, my home leave ticket and month + vacation time home! Thank you, thank you Peace Corps! 2000.00 ticket and more then a month’s worth of vacation? Not bad. Not bad at all.

I will be back Nov. 23 for Thanksgiving and staying until a day or two after New Year’s! Can’t wait to see you all.

Ok. So, this blog I’m prepared with topics. Here’s at them:

Boobs.

They are out and nourishing children. Everywhere and often. We all start off that way, yet drinking it from a carton makes more sense to us these days then that original fount! But here, no. I attended a conference recently, my first that had a small baby in attendance, with mother. His head was round like a cabbage. A very cute kid. She came to accept her diploma at the end with him there nursing. Absolutely Awesome!

Lunar Eclipse

My friend gave me a heads up as dusk fell. I grabbed the handheld scope Patrick left behind and went door to door telling people to come out and see. The telescope was a big hit. I had to help them balance it, but their reactions to seeing moon close up was great. “BIG!!!” One kid ran away after looking he was so shocked. It was spontaneous and one of those ‘Peace Corps Moments.’

Up There

I’ve said before how everything gets thrown up on the head, here. It’s their trunk. To date I’ve seen a 20” TV screen on a woman’s head, a plastic table upturned and balanced as the man rode his bicycle, one hand keeping it secure. I’ve seen boat motors on shoulders, giant tubs with about 15 ceramic pots wrapped up, 5 gallon jugs of water, 45 lb. sacks of flour or rice. They do this at any age, walking through mud barefoot, often with a baby on their back. You may see a mother with a 5 gallon bucket on her head and her 6 year old with a gallon jug on her head. The kids too do double duty carrying their little brothers and sisters on their backs. What’s best though is when it’s something small. A medium sized pumpkin, a compact umbrella, or their hoe as they make their way to their ‘machamba.’, They even put their purses up there. I’ve carried some things this way (a pot of soup!), and it really is easier then carrying with your arms, giving the weight over to your back.

My most fun night
During training I stayed with a host family. What a great family. Lots of brothers who all like to laugh and play cards and blast Rick Ross. (If you don’t know who that is, consider yourself lucky). If you do, then you know “He’s the biggest boss that you’ve met thus far.” My favorite night, we had a dance party. Just four of us. Playing Michael Jackson’s Greatest Hits. Dancing with my little host sister, 6, Joao, Armando. UB40. The Police. We just broke it down and it was such great fun. The bare bulb. The stone walls, spinning my little host sister and just sweating up a storm.

So, I’ll end here leaving a short blog for once. Leaves me with some topics for the future.

Hope you’re all well and enjoying what remains of summer.

Sincerely,

M.C.