I’m ever writing down blog topics, but I find myself in my rare opportunity to access the World Wide Web without my list. I’ll attempt to hit some targets from memory.
The first two events stand out in sharp relief.
1. Tragedy & the inevitable comparisons of unequal access to health facilities
The afternoon began with my learning of a friend’s baby, born dead. She was large and past due. We all awaited its birth. My first thoughts were for her health. Is she alive? She is. Thank goodness. I went straightaway to her. This woman was friends of a good friend of mine. We've become closer since. She is in good economical standing compared to others in the community. A shop owner with many employees. Yet, here she was, like everyone else in Machanga – deprived access to machines or medicine that could have forestalled this ‘act of God.’ Which is how she took it. “God did not want me to have this child. I have three children and that’s enough, isn’t it?” she asked me hopefully. “Maybe next time I will die too. I am lucky.” Such grace and acceptance is maybe at times in short supply in the US because solutions are closer at hand. We understand that culpability means systems improve. Her attitude however, compensates for circumstances outside her control. Her family and the community circled around her and I tried too to add my compassion to share in her and her husbands’ loss.
I told her after fetching her phone credit from town I could not meet her again until the following day. I had a dinner guest. Later that night, asking a friend for carrots, he tells me Gestor, my night's guest, had been in a terrible motorcycle accident, badly injuring both his legs. He had been brought into the hospital 5 minutes after I’d left. As I ate the dinner I'd prepared us, I looked across the table and felt dread. I've since visited him in Beira & learned he will be able to walk again but not for some time. When I visited Gestor, his wife was giving him a sponge bath in bed. One could argue, that nurses should have that responsibility, but I found her care touching.
The lack of conditions here are more or less equally felt. Maybe that is why, instead of resentment or spite, there is acceptance of God’s will. Which, in the short term, is a salve to suffering, if not detrimental to things getting better in the long term.
2) Travel to Beira and silly transport.
I know I always talk of travel – but I garner funny sights to share. On my packed 6am-4pm bus ride home last time,the woman beside me got pooped on by a cute, drooling, diaperless baby. She wiped it off her shoe uncomplainingly and the cobrador helped her.
I saw 2 goats strapped onto the back of a bicycle. I only turned my head when I heard one of the goats terrible plea. I saw it a moment before it was gone, its' mouth open and crying loudly. What an odd sight! It recalls to memory the sight of four chickens hanging upside down from a kid's bicycle handles. Priceless. They carry chickens as readily as we do backpacks. In the chapas as we get settled in, they squak in defiance, accustomed to having their freedom to run around. Like the rest of us, they usually settle in and cease their noisome protests.
Today. Today was filled with diverse experiences.
Catholic Church: A big big church for the ordination of a priest. 5 hours of incense and speeches broken up (thankfully) by a soulful chorus, African drums,and women in matching capalanas and headscarves softly gesturing and shuffling forward in unison. The ceremony was punctuated by heartfelt ululations (yiyiyiyiyiy!) from the chorus and warm gestures from the priests colleagues. The priests made a long procession and one after the next, kissed the palms of those three newly ordained and took them in large embrace. The music and their joy was so infectious that the ceremony's tedium was peeled back to reveal the sanctity of the occasion, the apex of 10 years’ education, the beginning of a career of service, a taste of the compassion their vocation exists to inspire.
After another 45 minutes of waiting around, I went to the yaht club to meet a friend. The YAHT Club! Later me and my friend went to have drinks with pilots who told me about pilot things. Later, ignored in conversation I went off to listen to the jazz pianist who was playing, largely ignored. He played unaccompanied, set to buttons that had recorded certain beats. The last he improvised bent with a secret smile on his lips and his upright back showed to this viewer, he wasn't playing for the 5 bucks he earned from the night's performance.
The night before, I'd learned a volunteer friend of mine is also a jazz pianist. How we all hide away our passions, and often, once living them, are ignored. But then again, we don't have our passions for anyone but ourselves.
After that, Cybelle and I, on a whim, stopped at a church service in an outdoor (small size) stadium. I wanted to see the enormous cake she said would be served to commemorate their 10th anniversary. What shocked me instead of huge cake was my witnessing for the first time, humans: ‘catch the spirit.’ I watched, both slightly concerned as one woman shaking so fell on an overturned chair. Really, if they’re going to rouse people into states where they may fall over, they should put down mattresses. That would be fun.
The cameraman found my white, studious face and projected it on the big screen. Everyone loves to be on the big screen. While the priest exhorted the crowd to ‘Raise your hands!’ I folded mine. (the camera quickly moved on not to return) Instead I concentrated on his words. Most of which I mainly agreed with. But, to show that passion in front of others is not my way. The more you show your righteous feeling, the greater I imagine would be the shame when you fall from it. I know, there's no shame in honest transgression, human frailty. It's just not my way.
The evening ended with their serving an enormous cake, large enough to feed a stadium. The church encourages lots of good things: to give instead of receive, to dream, to live independently, to live in brotherhood. Their style for me is culture shock. What they’d experience I imagine, seeing a mosh pit at a heavy metal show or a field full of hippies clouded in a blue haze of smoke. We are all alive with praise for living in our own ways.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Friday, July 22, 2011
Some Anecdotes & Observations
Ufah.
Here I am.
Ok. This time I come awfully prepared. I have topics for y’all pre-selected.
1. Toys. Kids make the darndest toys here. And it’s colonial era and modern mixed together. The old hoop and stick? Still quite popular! Only, it’s a metal bicycle hoop or rubber tire. Tops? Great fun! They spin them off string tied to stick. They use little blocks of wood as cell phones. Use soda cans and bend wire to make trucks, or put bottle caps on containers to make cars. Quite inventive. And they’re awfully unsupervised. You’ll see a 1 year old hanging off a 4 year olds’ back. Packs of the littlest kids, all it seems, taking care of each other. 5 and 6 year olds the babysitters. You see a 3 year old walking by himmself. Where? You don’t know. And kids work here. 4th graders, 5th graders, 6th graders...selling phone credit or pushing your canoe.
2. Status Symbols in Mozambique: the other teachers invest in such things as: motorbikes for tooling about town, big freezers, tvs, nice shoes, expensive phones, and maids to help cook and clean. I avoid most of those costs and save quite a bit of money as a result. It's wierd being surrounded by poverty and looking over the guy in front of you in some aluminum taxi can of death fingering a fancy blackberry phone.
3. Tried sugarcane. Bought a tall piece. Seeing me fumble with it, trying to tear with my teeth the thick rind, a grandmother stepped in and with expert incisors ripped into it like a professional panda. It hurt my teeth just watching her. Then she handed it to me laughing. It’s quite pulpy and sweet. I chomped and spat as we crossed by canoe, quite charmed at having been suddenly adopted.
4. One night I was pumping water under the usual domey sky. These two teenagers close by were giggling, huddled over a cell phone. Strange sounds carried. Yes, it sounded a lot like pornography. But they were laughing. Can they watch videos on their phones? Is it possible it is what it sounds like? They were just yucking it up! Kids. And technology! Remade the world's economic reality. And brought our vices to project on tiny screens. Look how crazy those white people are!
5. One day at the market a woman asked me about how I arrived in country. I told her how I stayed with a host family to learn Mozambican ways, such as washing clothes by hand. She asked: how do you do it in your country? I answered: ‘Oh, with machines to wash them! Then, we take them out and put them into another machine to dry!” I thought she'd be rather impressed. Instead, she answered incredulous: ‘You don’t have the sun there?”
6. Patrick protested when he saw our bike mechanic club a poor chameleon to death. “You know, in the States people will spend over 100.00 dollars to buy one of those,” he said. Confused, the mechanic asked: “To eat?”
7. I know I’ve spoken before about jogging, but not necessarily about scaring little kids. It’s almost better then when the kids cheer and run alongside me. They’re sitting there in the dirt, look up, and their reaction is priceless. I imagine their thought is something like. ‘Whoa.’ Before the tuck tail and run as fast as they can up the path and around their house to hide. I am finally the friendly monster I’d always hoped to be.
8. Sometimes I feel I’m in the (non existent) Mozambican postcard: for instance, taking a canoe ride across the river with a sky filled with stars. Then, I feel I’m clear on the other side the planet. Then, other times, feels I’m just around the block. Like when I see everyday, NY (Yankees) hats on everyone. Or I love NY. Or a CT little league baseball jersey. I told the clerk - I’m from there! She said: ‘Buy it.’ I said- it has a huge mustard stain on it! I’ve seen UCONN shirts and crass American humor: ‘Tis the season to get hammered.’ There’s hand made tshirts from summer camp, pep boys shirts, even a UPS shirt on one of my students. It’s like Mozambique is the little brother that inherited the clothes we grew out of .
9. I know I may well describe a real dearth of conditions here, but really, Mozambican laugh so much. Much more then Americans, Romanians, or any other people I’ve ever met. They sometimes get loud and shout. Like when I told them they had to take another test because everyone cheated on their final exam. They were ready to burn me in effigy. The next day, I see one of the most pissed of my students: “Hi Mr. Micah!” I’d like to think this is due to my irrepressible likeability, or maybe even begrudging respect for nailing their cheap attempts at duping me. But really, it’s just that Mozambicans don’t stay mad! It’s not in their national make up.
10. Last one. One of the best parts of travel is hearing the funny sounds different cultures make to show emphasis. This last anecdote you’ll have to hear. I can’t quite describe it. In Romania, ‘Hey Man!’ Is ‘BAH MUHHH!’ Here, when people wish to express incredulity, they say: ‘SHEE!’ They also like to say things are little: “Little, little, little!!!” and their voice gets as tiny as they can make it. What most of us grossly dislike however, is the unintelliglbe: ‘Uh.’ ‘Uh,’ depending on its’ inflection can me ‘Uuh’ (yes) or ‘Uh.’ (no). There’s also a lot of nose clearing that goes on, but I forgive them that. They are a Kleenex-less society. Not to mention a cheeseless society. I mentioned that before, I think.
So, there’s some anecdotes for you to masticate. (I mean chew on). Like cud!
Warm Regards,
mIcah
Here I am.
Ok. This time I come awfully prepared. I have topics for y’all pre-selected.
1. Toys. Kids make the darndest toys here. And it’s colonial era and modern mixed together. The old hoop and stick? Still quite popular! Only, it’s a metal bicycle hoop or rubber tire. Tops? Great fun! They spin them off string tied to stick. They use little blocks of wood as cell phones. Use soda cans and bend wire to make trucks, or put bottle caps on containers to make cars. Quite inventive. And they’re awfully unsupervised. You’ll see a 1 year old hanging off a 4 year olds’ back. Packs of the littlest kids, all it seems, taking care of each other. 5 and 6 year olds the babysitters. You see a 3 year old walking by himmself. Where? You don’t know. And kids work here. 4th graders, 5th graders, 6th graders...selling phone credit or pushing your canoe.
2. Status Symbols in Mozambique: the other teachers invest in such things as: motorbikes for tooling about town, big freezers, tvs, nice shoes, expensive phones, and maids to help cook and clean. I avoid most of those costs and save quite a bit of money as a result. It's wierd being surrounded by poverty and looking over the guy in front of you in some aluminum taxi can of death fingering a fancy blackberry phone.
3. Tried sugarcane. Bought a tall piece. Seeing me fumble with it, trying to tear with my teeth the thick rind, a grandmother stepped in and with expert incisors ripped into it like a professional panda. It hurt my teeth just watching her. Then she handed it to me laughing. It’s quite pulpy and sweet. I chomped and spat as we crossed by canoe, quite charmed at having been suddenly adopted.
4. One night I was pumping water under the usual domey sky. These two teenagers close by were giggling, huddled over a cell phone. Strange sounds carried. Yes, it sounded a lot like pornography. But they were laughing. Can they watch videos on their phones? Is it possible it is what it sounds like? They were just yucking it up! Kids. And technology! Remade the world's economic reality. And brought our vices to project on tiny screens. Look how crazy those white people are!
5. One day at the market a woman asked me about how I arrived in country. I told her how I stayed with a host family to learn Mozambican ways, such as washing clothes by hand. She asked: how do you do it in your country? I answered: ‘Oh, with machines to wash them! Then, we take them out and put them into another machine to dry!” I thought she'd be rather impressed. Instead, she answered incredulous: ‘You don’t have the sun there?”
6. Patrick protested when he saw our bike mechanic club a poor chameleon to death. “You know, in the States people will spend over 100.00 dollars to buy one of those,” he said. Confused, the mechanic asked: “To eat?”
7. I know I’ve spoken before about jogging, but not necessarily about scaring little kids. It’s almost better then when the kids cheer and run alongside me. They’re sitting there in the dirt, look up, and their reaction is priceless. I imagine their thought is something like. ‘Whoa.’ Before the tuck tail and run as fast as they can up the path and around their house to hide. I am finally the friendly monster I’d always hoped to be.
8. Sometimes I feel I’m in the (non existent) Mozambican postcard: for instance, taking a canoe ride across the river with a sky filled with stars. Then, I feel I’m clear on the other side the planet. Then, other times, feels I’m just around the block. Like when I see everyday, NY (Yankees) hats on everyone. Or I love NY. Or a CT little league baseball jersey. I told the clerk - I’m from there! She said: ‘Buy it.’ I said- it has a huge mustard stain on it! I’ve seen UCONN shirts and crass American humor: ‘Tis the season to get hammered.’ There’s hand made tshirts from summer camp, pep boys shirts, even a UPS shirt on one of my students. It’s like Mozambique is the little brother that inherited the clothes we grew out of .
9. I know I may well describe a real dearth of conditions here, but really, Mozambican laugh so much. Much more then Americans, Romanians, or any other people I’ve ever met. They sometimes get loud and shout. Like when I told them they had to take another test because everyone cheated on their final exam. They were ready to burn me in effigy. The next day, I see one of the most pissed of my students: “Hi Mr. Micah!” I’d like to think this is due to my irrepressible likeability, or maybe even begrudging respect for nailing their cheap attempts at duping me. But really, it’s just that Mozambicans don’t stay mad! It’s not in their national make up.
10. Last one. One of the best parts of travel is hearing the funny sounds different cultures make to show emphasis. This last anecdote you’ll have to hear. I can’t quite describe it. In Romania, ‘Hey Man!’ Is ‘BAH MUHHH!’ Here, when people wish to express incredulity, they say: ‘SHEE!’ They also like to say things are little: “Little, little, little!!!” and their voice gets as tiny as they can make it. What most of us grossly dislike however, is the unintelliglbe: ‘Uh.’ ‘Uh,’ depending on its’ inflection can me ‘Uuh’ (yes) or ‘Uh.’ (no). There’s also a lot of nose clearing that goes on, but I forgive them that. They are a Kleenex-less society. Not to mention a cheeseless society. I mentioned that before, I think.
So, there’s some anecdotes for you to masticate. (I mean chew on). Like cud!
Warm Regards,
mIcah
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Time, Travel, Dreams, Memory
I’m back, I’m back, I’m back.
Time, Travel, Dreams, Memory
I arrived in Mozambique in October. I’ve been in Machanga since December. That works out to 10 months in country, and 7 months at site. Coming into the big city today, I was struck by the apartments. After all this time, my eye is accustomed to the mud and straw roof houses that surround our school. Little things remind me that I am not at home.
We pass 6/7, more phone towers. Two of them had smokey cooking fires next to them and women pounding corn. A few cars on the road, and my director exclaimed: ‘lots of traffic Sunday!’ A car races ahead – my thought: ‘What a hurry!’
Travel
Taking a car into Beira is a luxury. Space to stretch my legs. I’m amazed that I missed the chapa – (the bush taxi). My first trip to Beira I was plauged with Scabies attempting to drug myself with allergy medication to numb the itching. Cramped in with 20 other people, & little room (an airline seat is spacious in comparsion) , I dozed in and out of sleep, hot and uncomfortable. Upon arriving in Beira, seems when I went to take a piss in the straw outhouse (where to pee with no hole in the ground?), someone stole my phone. The ride back from Beira too was cramped, but thankfully my belly was uncomfortable making my scabies a secondary problem. So, I started off hating Chapas.
But then I got my systems in place that made travelling more comfortable: travel light: lots of underwear to change, one pair of pants (wearing them), one coat (to sit on), one book, a journal, and toothbrush. that’s it. The chapas are loud, but everyone is amiable. I see that the cobrador who is in charge of collecting money and assigning seats has an infinitely hard job and will have back pains the rest of his life –but, his is an honest living. I am hustled in there, with the babies, the corn, the chickens, the cheery talkative drunks, the blaring music. It’s very African, and the spirit is high.
A short episode.
We stop to pick up some four standing on the side of the road. Sound of the door sliding open. Looking down, I see the man has no shoes. His shirt hangs off his shoulders in tatters. But, this is a cheerful departure and their poverty is right now no concern. He is handing off packages. She is getting loaded in with a giant sack of corn meal and a baby. The older brother has his eyes to the window peering in, saying goodbye to baby brother. I look over the seat in front of me. The drunken man in front of me is engrossed in a racing game on his touch screen phone. The cobrador is chomping on a corn cob that gets tossed out the door. The music is blaring, the bass thumps, the door slides shut and we are racing again; slalomming potholes in our solo race. It’s so old and new and African and I’m in it, changed by it, & now, complicit.
Dreams
I have odd dreams, some caused undoubtedly as a side effect from my weekly malaria meds, but some due to home sickness. I dreamed I returned home to comfort my dog as he died. I dreamed I arrived home just in time for my friend’s wedding – a parade from the airport, and me without my costume (my imagining the great time I would miss), hugging my father after he had a leg amputated. Dreams of my passed grandmother. Dreams of my nephew. I dreamed I toured Obama’s bedroom and saw his bed and closet and felt it incorrect that he and his family in the White House have no privacy.
Memories
Being away makes past good memories shine, emotions of years settle into recognizable forms, and values come out in strong contrast.
These bared emotions time’s brought into focus leaves me with a strange unspoken feeling of what my life has been. This poem describes it.
Behind the curtain it is / all the world’s poets have attempted to describe / all the world’s artists in hue and curve sought to capture /authors have tried telling it through the behaviour and meaning in a story’s arc/wise men have enfolded it into parables/ The mother holds her baby to her chest trying to be close to which she loves so dear. Behind the curtain, it smiles, laughing to itself, holding its sides laughing more, silently, barely able to breathe. They don’t know. They don’t know. I am not that. I am not that. Oh, I am more. Oh, they can’t even imagine all that I am, all at once.
I’m just talking about all of you who are reading this who may think of me sometimes as I think of you, as you think of those we share in common and those whom you’ve only told me about. My grandmother, my grandfather, those who have passed, those times we spent drinking coffee practicing the art of conversation, those silly fights healed by the platelets of love that always heal. It’s the understanding we’ve always had, and the life you’re living now that I don’t know, and the one I’m living that you don’t know. It’s the faults and qualities you recognize in me when we meet again telling you, oh, it’s still Micah, and, oh, he’s changed, it’s not this whom I once knew.
It’s the remembering of good times, and the trying to remember other times. What did we talk about? It’s the stumbling upon good times forgotten. It’s reading books and some days later recalling a line that fits what it is I’m trying to understand. It’s taking glasses to my past, trying different prescriptions. Which is better? Number 1? Number 2? Number 1? Number 2?
It’s new friends telling me what I felt but didn’t know(good advice!). It’s being overwhelmed by the amount of memory I’ve stored up. It’s the opportunity to read yet, books, voices from bodies long since deceased that have spoken to millions but never before to me. It’s living in southern africa, but traveling through pages in trains through blizzards from Moscow to St. Petersburg with Anna Karenina. It’s 1800-something.
It’s those things.
And it’s realizing, 10 months is really a very long time!
Friday, June 24, 2011
Mozambique Letter #4
Hello! Hello.
It seems that the gulf between here and there grows with each passing day making it harder and harder to summarise things. And yet, here is a chance to tell you all, I'm in front of a computer screen at last, so here goes a spontaneous composition.
Am indeed ankle deep in this Mozambique stuff now.
I'm halfway through the second semester of three in teaching 11th grade English. This week, took off on Tuesday, with my colleague agreeing to cover my Thursday classes. I left for tourist heaven: Vilanculos, with my good bud Priscilla. It's Priscilla's last month in country before she leaves our town of Machanga for her home in Sao Paulo, Brazil. She is a Mennonite Volunteer living at a girls' dormitory in Machanga. Machanga's quite small and we're the two muzungus there. Besides circumstances, we've built a really nice friendship! Time is forever widening the gulf of circumstances between us - family and friends, but fortunately, there are always new souls, kindred spirits that come into the picture. And what a blessing they are. I am happy to introduce her to beautiful Vilanculos and to Camila who is another volunteer and friend living here. Camila and I have really hit it off as well, so I was really happy for these two to meet one another and for us to spend glorious time here, eating, watching movies, and so forth. Every time I come here I end up having dinner with someone from Argentina, Spain, France...Always interesting company. And Camila's home is beautiful. She and I have similar attitudes about food, that it a communal aspect of friendship and comfort. In short, it's always great fun coming here.
Yesterday was Priscilla's birthday. We paid 2000 mets. (70 dollars?) to take a boat out with two nice couples, on out to the islands around Vilanculos. There is a reef around one such island that we went snorkleing in. After a great meal made on the boat and served on shore, and Priscilla learned to relax in the water (her first time snorkeling) it was glorious. I felt I was inside the aquarium with the water flow and all. Every look down into the water revealed a new kind of fish. And there's one I saw in the guidebook! Three colors! I floated into a giant school of them, and their indifference made me feel like a large fish, in strange incognito. Strange how such delicate flowers grow on the hard corral. I got a circular cut on my arm (a souvenir) that bled bright red. Where else can one get a circular cut? I told Priscilla I feel like in Machanga I'm pretending to be poor and here I felt I was pretending to be rich. The company dispelled this feeling. The two couples and crew greatly added to the adventure. One was a cute couple from the Canadian Rockies. He is a mountain guide and she a cook for geological expeditions in the Ukon. They asked me what Romania was like, and after gushing about it for some minutes I finished. "Thank you!" I said. Being here, I really haven't had a chance to speak about my time in Romania. My friends there became extended family and the country thusly became very dear to me. An opportunity to speak about it was a great relief. I was writing some letters to friends there some months back and finished realized for some hours I was there in Romania with them. It's amazing how imagination, technology, and mail can have that effect. And yet, as the days pass by, children grow up. My cousins' kids will be 10 before I've had 2 conversations with them. My nephew is already a toddler, those infant years behind him. So, while we remain connected, and imagination and cell phones shrink distances, there is still the chasm of distance that leads my path further from the home and the friends I know. But, enough nostalgia and contemplation. Back to our trip.
The other two were a German couple who had spent 6 years living in Virginia and the last 6 in South Africa. He was a Science teacher there. One of their children was born there and has thus dual citizenship.
It's amazing how much of the world has a connection to 'my' country.
So, best wrap this up.
About the snorkeling: it was like being a star floating among constellations. The fish seemed drugged in their responses to what was surely an alien invader. As I bumped and scraped against the corral trying to make like a jet flying (all of one yard underwater) amongst deep corral canyons, I realized how ridiculous and ill suited I was made for this terrain.
About Machanga and school: kids are learning. Rediscovering levity as I get comfortable in my teaching style. I've been playing games again as I used to with my kindergardeners in Romania. Everyone it seems loves games and candy. It's especially helpful with my night class. They get awfully antsy as the sun sets and it helps to have something active for them to do.
I'm hoping to take a cue from Prisicilla and move into the dorm on campus and eat what they eat/ live their conditions some. Really, isolated as I am in the teacher's compound, I feel comparatively wealthy, which is not my aim. With the boys, I'll be eating corn meal and beans everyday and have less privacy, but as trade off, greater integration, comaraderie, and hopefully initiative to see projects through that benefit them.
I'll let you know how it goes when next I check in.
Until then,
yours sincerely,
M.C.
Friday, June 10, 2011
Mozambique Letter #3
Mozambique Letter #3
Ok...Hope you all got the photo links below available on my facebook page. All taken during Oct. -Dec. in Pre Service Training, time spent with my fantastic host family.
http://www.facebook.com/media/set/fbx/?set=a.10150167754442490.307739.510787489&l=c687f78f0e
http://www.facebook.com/media/set/fbx/?set=a.10150167748662490.307735.510787489&l=72db557cf5
http://www.facebook.com/media/set/fbx/?set=a.10150167712482490.307725.510787489&l=428a9e14ce
Since then, my camera and laptop have died. Sorry, but little I can do.
Well, what news, recollections, word play might I shoot out at this late hour?
Recollections from the month behind me.
1. Finally spent a weekend at the dormitory. They eat corn meal polenta with beans everyday. I asked one of my students as we passed - ¨rice and beans for dinner it seems!¨ His response: (in perfect English) "Everyday the same fucking thing!" It was tolerable for one meal. I can~t imagine it for lunch and dinner everyday of the week. Until this past week, they~ve been eating in the dark with no light bulbs for the cafeteria. At least the stars are pretty. On the upshot, they really appreciated my staying there. I headed with them in the morning out to the matu to chop wood and carry back. On Friday nights they play music and dance in the courtyard until it~s 9pm curfew and lights out. They~re very good dancers, cheering each other on.
2. Had a great time sharing games with the kids. They~re doing a talent show every Sunday now - which is essentially glorified Karioke, but you can~t hear their voices over the soundtrack. But, they dance and everyone cheers them on as they bustamove. People come up and put money in their pockets or fling packeted condoms at them that they got for free from the hospital. I heard about football players using condoms to hold their socks up. Rest assured. Mozambicans have access to condoms. Afterwards, I~m leading games - like hoops on bottles, frisbees at targets, knock the cans and limbo. The kids would answer a true or false question about AIDS and get to play. If successful, a candy their prize. Even something small and symbolic like this means a lot to them. These kids are very ready for a good time. Really, Mozambicans in general don~t get angry, and if they do, they~re always one break away from a laugh.
3. This past week was an all around success. I had one day that left me feeling like super volunteer. Up at 5 am to jog for 30 min. Home to sweep and mop out the dust. Pushups. Jumping rope. Meditation. To the garden to attack the enormous termite mound. Inside combs, like in a hive. I saved them. People asked - what for? I shrugged my shoulders - I don~t know! But they~re very cool. I had an audience as I whacked away at this five foot thing. Really, you don~t need to do much to attract an audience here. Later that day I got my peanuts (plentiful here) and sought out a neighbor with mortar and pestle. For 45 minutes worked at pilaring peanut flour. This requires sifting too. I am the integration king. And yes. It~s women~s work.~ Why don~t you get a woman to do that stuff for you? my neighbor asks? But, I did not come here to have servants. With no dependents, no maid, no money spent on beer, and little travel, my costs are low and I am left feeling in this poor community quite wealthy. I am going to try and start eating at the dormitory more and putting my money back into the school. With the kids I feel integrated; appreciated. The teachers have their own lives and duties. In the teachers community I can spend the whole day in my house, quite isolated. A visit can be bothersome. But, with the kids, I feel like I~m where I should be. We~ll see where this goes, but it~s already showing promise in my burgeoning relationships with my students.
4. Great classes. Getting my mojo back. In Romania in front of kindergarten classroom audiences I was a circus ringmaster, clown, and acrobat rolled into one English Teaching Machine. The children laughed. Applauded. I gave them stickers and candy and they loved me for it. On the streets, riding my bicycle they would call out, kids throughout many neighborhoods. Now I teach 20 year olds. Classes of 64/69. You can understand if I~ve lost some of my tap dancing confidence. Now that I know many of their names and can call them out when they~re running their yap when I~m trying to talk, I~ve regained some of that composure. I~m more cocksure. I can kid now that I can scold (effectively). Outside of class I~m having fun conversations with the high achievers and now, some of the lower achievers too. I~m beginning to reach more and more and it takes time.
Last one.
5. Food. No cheese, but coconut milk and papayas and peanuts galore. Everything is awesome with coconut milk in it. You grate the thing then pour warm water over the gratings and squeeze, squeeze, squeeze. Sooo good. Use it to cook in whatever. It~s good on wood shavings. Trust me. This past two weeks made tomato peanut curry with coconut milk and another night pasta with spicy peanut and garlic sauce. Mmm. Food. 11 year old Frisbee playing savant, Nandu who despite being the Superintendant~s son goes most nights without dinner, has learned if he hangs out long enough at my place, I~ll feed him. My revenge is I~ll teach the kid Englishuwhile I cook and maybe send him on an errand here and there. Good kid, that Nandu. And just nasty on the frisbee field. The kid doesn~t talk much, preferring pantomime when possible, but get him on the frisbee field and the kid~s all business taking on others twice his height and leaving them in the dust. Seriously. He~s better then me.
So. That~s the large and small of it.
Other anecdotes to come as they occur and internet access makes itself available.
So close this 140 am mass email. And off I to sleep.
Night all. Goodnight Jesse.
luv,
Micah
Ok...Hope you all got the photo links below available on my facebook page. All taken during Oct. -Dec. in Pre Service Training, time spent with my fantastic host family.
http://www.facebook.com/media/set/fbx/?set=a.10150167754442490.307739.510787489&l=c687f78f0e
http://www.facebook.com/media/set/fbx/?set=a.10150167748662490.307735.510787489&l=72db557cf5
http://www.facebook.com/media/set/fbx/?set=a.10150167712482490.307725.510787489&l=428a9e14ce
Since then, my camera and laptop have died. Sorry, but little I can do.
Well, what news, recollections, word play might I shoot out at this late hour?
Recollections from the month behind me.
1. Finally spent a weekend at the dormitory. They eat corn meal polenta with beans everyday. I asked one of my students as we passed - ¨rice and beans for dinner it seems!¨ His response: (in perfect English) "Everyday the same fucking thing!" It was tolerable for one meal. I can~t imagine it for lunch and dinner everyday of the week. Until this past week, they~ve been eating in the dark with no light bulbs for the cafeteria. At least the stars are pretty. On the upshot, they really appreciated my staying there. I headed with them in the morning out to the matu to chop wood and carry back. On Friday nights they play music and dance in the courtyard until it~s 9pm curfew and lights out. They~re very good dancers, cheering each other on.
2. Had a great time sharing games with the kids. They~re doing a talent show every Sunday now - which is essentially glorified Karioke, but you can~t hear their voices over the soundtrack. But, they dance and everyone cheers them on as they bustamove. People come up and put money in their pockets or fling packeted condoms at them that they got for free from the hospital. I heard about football players using condoms to hold their socks up. Rest assured. Mozambicans have access to condoms. Afterwards, I~m leading games - like hoops on bottles, frisbees at targets, knock the cans and limbo. The kids would answer a true or false question about AIDS and get to play. If successful, a candy their prize. Even something small and symbolic like this means a lot to them. These kids are very ready for a good time. Really, Mozambicans in general don~t get angry, and if they do, they~re always one break away from a laugh.
3. This past week was an all around success. I had one day that left me feeling like super volunteer. Up at 5 am to jog for 30 min. Home to sweep and mop out the dust. Pushups. Jumping rope. Meditation. To the garden to attack the enormous termite mound. Inside combs, like in a hive. I saved them. People asked - what for? I shrugged my shoulders - I don~t know! But they~re very cool. I had an audience as I whacked away at this five foot thing. Really, you don~t need to do much to attract an audience here. Later that day I got my peanuts (plentiful here) and sought out a neighbor with mortar and pestle. For 45 minutes worked at pilaring peanut flour. This requires sifting too. I am the integration king. And yes. It~s women~s work.~ Why don~t you get a woman to do that stuff for you? my neighbor asks? But, I did not come here to have servants. With no dependents, no maid, no money spent on beer, and little travel, my costs are low and I am left feeling in this poor community quite wealthy. I am going to try and start eating at the dormitory more and putting my money back into the school. With the kids I feel integrated; appreciated. The teachers have their own lives and duties. In the teachers community I can spend the whole day in my house, quite isolated. A visit can be bothersome. But, with the kids, I feel like I~m where I should be. We~ll see where this goes, but it~s already showing promise in my burgeoning relationships with my students.
4. Great classes. Getting my mojo back. In Romania in front of kindergarten classroom audiences I was a circus ringmaster, clown, and acrobat rolled into one English Teaching Machine. The children laughed. Applauded. I gave them stickers and candy and they loved me for it. On the streets, riding my bicycle they would call out, kids throughout many neighborhoods. Now I teach 20 year olds. Classes of 64/69. You can understand if I~ve lost some of my tap dancing confidence. Now that I know many of their names and can call them out when they~re running their yap when I~m trying to talk, I~ve regained some of that composure. I~m more cocksure. I can kid now that I can scold (effectively). Outside of class I~m having fun conversations with the high achievers and now, some of the lower achievers too. I~m beginning to reach more and more and it takes time.
Last one.
5. Food. No cheese, but coconut milk and papayas and peanuts galore. Everything is awesome with coconut milk in it. You grate the thing then pour warm water over the gratings and squeeze, squeeze, squeeze. Sooo good. Use it to cook in whatever. It~s good on wood shavings. Trust me. This past two weeks made tomato peanut curry with coconut milk and another night pasta with spicy peanut and garlic sauce. Mmm. Food. 11 year old Frisbee playing savant, Nandu who despite being the Superintendant~s son goes most nights without dinner, has learned if he hangs out long enough at my place, I~ll feed him. My revenge is I~ll teach the kid Englishuwhile I cook and maybe send him on an errand here and there. Good kid, that Nandu. And just nasty on the frisbee field. The kid doesn~t talk much, preferring pantomime when possible, but get him on the frisbee field and the kid~s all business taking on others twice his height and leaving them in the dust. Seriously. He~s better then me.
So. That~s the large and small of it.
Other anecdotes to come as they occur and internet access makes itself available.
So close this 140 am mass email. And off I to sleep.
Night all. Goodnight Jesse.
luv,
Micah
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Doings of late and a bit of venting
I've not been able to write in my journal of late, and in a way I feel like I've been looking in anyways with the ever changing schedule I keep.
I had a good week and want to share. Being in Peace Corps, I have lots of leeway to define my schedule. At times, I pressure myself to be busy, busy, busy. I think to myself: I could be doing more ECO Clubs, I could be taking on more English courses, I could be visitingthe village outside town and the hospital. It's something of a habit of mine: putting too much on my plate. But, motivation runs everything and I'm not a TEFL volunteer (Teaching English as a Second Language) so, why overburden myself with classes? I get to define my schedule, so why not use this to my benefit!
Many of my in the works projects are bearing fruit. This presentation at the American Corner Library fulfilled a long term goal. While in Cluj, I had lots of time with Sean, my former site mate. We ate Indian food he'd prepared, went to interesting coffee shops, and met up with other volunteers and friends. One night we met up at a mansion with many Americans. An interesting mix! Gays and Christians! At the clubs were groups of foreign volunteers. Being overseas you come into contact with all kinds of interesting groups - and our foreignness brings us together. I've never met so many Christians - American included - since coming out here. I've met Mormons, Pentecostals, visiting groups of Baptists and more. Not having known many Pentecostals and 'Non-demoninationals' before, I had only media stereotypes to work off of - and the stereotypes (as they often tend to be) were more negative then positive. I'm a bit embarrassed I've had so little contact before now.
So, while in Cluj I was able to visit the Gay Club. Nearly empty! But this allowed me time to finish a play I'd written and am now directing for a high school drama competition! I met today for the third time with my high school troupe and it's been lots of fun. It's really a great opportunity.
I had some great classes this week - out at the church and with the kindergartens. I envisioned a project to fund for the church. I work mostly with a woman named Carmen there. I've been training her to teach English. The kids are all very poor but very cute. Their community is very lucky for their Church. Theirministry is really alive - feeding the kids, giving after school programs, bible study, opportunity to learn instruments, sing, etc. These kids home lives are often very difficult. I'm lucky that I can help them with English. Kids without means to have a private tutor at home quickly fall behind here. So, starting them early and giving the teenagers extra help is important.
The Church driveway is mud and the backyard is also sticky mud. There are some pitiful looking play equipment there. I'm hoping we can get that backyard paved. Asking how much it would cost, Carmen estimated about 500 lei. It's not a large yard - about 10 x 8 yards. 500 lei is about 300 dollars. The driveway would be about double that. So, for about 700/800 dollars we could get the back and the driveway paved. This would save on cleaning when kids come and provide a place to play. Right now the community has no paved place to play. The bathroom is an outhouse with no lights. Carmen said they'd need tiles. I've really taken to the kids and to Carmen who is a real saint for the work she does there. I too, tutor Sergio the church's pastor in English and he too is a great guy. I hope I can help them. I'd love to leave the church with a finished play space and a properly outfitted bathroom.
It's an interesting contrast here. I work with these hyper fluent (in English) middle class teenagers in town, and then there's kids and adults who go through the dumpsters down my street. Teenagers who don't know how to spell their name. And they live in the same neighborhood as teenagers who can put computers together, dress fashionably, and will be successful college graduates: engineers, computer technicians, etc.
I'm happy for being part of the church to have some positive constructive contact with poor people and Gypsies (Roma) in particular. I have all but given up trying to educate my friend about stereotypes and simply settled to saying: 'Don't say it around me.'
Last night, her 5 year old teased us calling us: 'Gypsies!' I can't stand to hear this kid being taught this is okay. She explained to me: when he doesn't want to go to school I tell him: 'do you want to be one of those kids who goes through the garbage can? Those uneducated kids?' She (and almost everyone) constantly say things: 'Don't talk with your mouthful like a Gypsy.' 'I was all dirty, like a Gypsy.' 'I stole this thing from you, like a Gypsy.'
Such things are said with Gypsy friends around. My friend who makes such comments has a Gypsy colleague and Roma students. She doesn't go out of her way to be mean to anyone and there's one student of hers who she'll give food and odd jobs to. But then, she'll turn around and say: 'I think if I was a Gypsy and I married a Romanian, I would be proud.' (And if the marriage were to another Gypsy, this would not also be worthy of pride?)
This friend of mine is great in countless ways, is my best friend here in town, feeds me and my friends, is a good mother, is a great person. But hers and Romania's racism drives me absolutely crazy. Being in a different country, another culture really forces you to be open-minded and to fight judging others. Racism everywhere is ugly. Racists can be good people. Roma People have to be the ones to change and direct their destiny first. Their movement is very young. So...best to simply leave it to God.
So, after Cluj I had a great time with my meditation circle with friends Sorin and Adriana. Also in attendance - good friend Juba (Hungarian) and Carolyn (American.) I took a ride with Juba from Cluj. When I arrived at his place, I got the Romanian treatment. First was some bread and cheese and jelly which I filled up on not having breakfast. Then came soup. (uh-oh!) Already full and I'm at the beginning of a 3 course meal! This isn't the first time this has happened to me. But really! Would you ever drop in on someone unexpectedly and find yourself being treated to a three course meal of homemade food? This is the kind of thing I'll so miss of course with my friends who are for me, the face of Romania.
I had a good week and want to share. Being in Peace Corps, I have lots of leeway to define my schedule. At times, I pressure myself to be busy, busy, busy. I think to myself: I could be doing more ECO Clubs, I could be taking on more English courses, I could be visiting
Many of my in the works projects are bearing fruit. This presentation at the American Corner Library fulfilled a long term goal. While in Cluj, I had lots of time with Sean, my former site mate. We ate Indian food he'd prepared, went to interesting coffee shops, and met up with other volunteers and friends. One night we met up at a mansion with many Americans. An interesting mix! Gays and Christians! At the clubs were groups of foreign volunteers. Being overseas you come into contact with all kinds of interesting groups - and our foreignness brings us together. I've never met so many Christians - American included - since coming out here. I've met Mormons, Pentecostals, visiting groups of Baptists and more. Not having known many Pentecostals and 'Non-demoninationals' before, I had only media stereotypes to work off of - and the stereotypes (as they often tend to be) were more negative then positive. I'm a bit embarrassed I've had so little contact before now.
So, while in Cluj I was able to visit the Gay Club. Nearly empty! But this allowed me time to finish a play I'd written and am now directing for a high school drama competition! I met today for the third time with my high school troupe and it's been lots of fun. It's really a great opportunity.
I had some great classes this week - out at the church and with the kindergartens. I envisioned a project to fund for the church. I work mostly with a woman named Carmen there. I've been training her to teach English. The kids are all very poor but very cute. Their community is very lucky for their Church. Their
The Church driveway is mud and the backyard is also sticky mud. There are some pitiful looking play equipment there. I'm hoping we can get that backyard paved. Asking how much it would cost, Carmen estimated about 500 lei. It's not a large yard - about 10 x 8 yards. 500 lei is about 300 dollars. The driveway would be about double that. So, for about 700/800 dollars we could get the back and the driveway paved. This would save on cleaning when kids come and provide a place to play. Right now the community has no paved place to play. The bathroom is an outhouse with no lights. Carmen said they'd need tiles. I've really taken to the kids and to Carmen who is a real saint for the work she does there. I too, tutor Sergio the church's pastor in English and he too is a great guy. I hope I can help them. I'd love to leave the church with a finished play space and a properly outfitted bathroom.
It's an interesting contrast here. I work with these hyper fluent (in English) middle class teenagers in town, and then there's kids and adults who go through the dumpsters down my street. Teenagers who don't know how to spell their name. And they live in the same neighborhood as teenagers who can put computers together, dress fashionably, and will be successful college graduates: engineers, computer technicians, etc.
I'm happy for being part of the church to have some positive constructive contact with poor people and Gypsies (Roma) in particular. I have all but given up trying to educate my friend about stereotypes and simply settled to saying: 'Don't say it around me.'
Last night, her 5 year old teased us calling us: 'Gypsies!' I can't stand to hear this kid being taught this is okay. She explained to me: when he doesn't want to go to school I tell him: 'do you want to be one of those kids who goes through the garbage can? Those uneducated kids?' She (and almost everyone) constantly say things: 'Don't talk with your mouthful like a Gypsy.' 'I was all dirty, like a Gypsy.' 'I stole this thing from you, like a Gypsy.'
Such things are said with Gypsy friends around. My friend who makes such comments has a Gypsy colleague and Roma students. She doesn't go out of her way to be mean to anyone and there's one student of hers who she'll give food and odd jobs to. But then, she'll turn around and say: 'I think if I was a Gypsy and I married a Romanian, I would be proud.' (And if the marriage were to another Gypsy, this would not also be worthy of pride?)
This friend of mine is great in countless ways, is my best friend here in town, feeds me and my friends, is a good mother, is a great person. But hers and Romania's racism drives me absolutely crazy. Being in a different country, another culture really forces you to be open-minded and to fight judging others. Racism everywhere is ugly. Racists can be good people. Roma People have to be the ones to change and direct their destiny first. Their movement is very young. So...best to simply leave it to God.
So, after Cluj I had a great time with my meditation circle with friends Sorin and Adriana. Also in attendance - good friend Juba (Hungarian) and Carolyn (American.) I took a ride with Juba from Cluj. When I arrived at his place, I got the Romanian treatment. First was some bread and cheese and jelly which I filled up on not having breakfast. Then came soup. (uh-oh!) Already full and I'm at the beginning of a 3 course meal! This isn't the first time this has happened to me. But really! Would you ever drop in on someone unexpectedly and find yourself being treated to a three course meal of homemade food? This is the kind of thing I'll so miss of course with my friends who are for me, the face of Romania.
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