If websites were portals, this blog of mine would be the cave in Indiana Jones with cobwebs, dust, and skeletons; sans jewels.
A year and a half into life in Mozambique has seen the romance cool. The honeymoon is over. I was so excited to be returning to Machanga following my trip home to the states, and indeed I am happy to be back. But, the novelty of the place has worn off. The other day after a 5 hour chapa ride that should have taken 3, I awaited the canoe as the sun set. I just wanted to get home. 25 minutes later it arrvied, but the chapa motorista left with a boy to collect his 10 metecais fare. 25 minutes passed and dusk had set. I was ready to pack it in and stay at my friends' hut when he appeared with three other men carrying a freezer which was loaded into the boat. The night was very romantic with the stars reflected in the waters and illuminating the night. I just wanted to get home. The other side, we met students returning home from break who paid extra. We had to bring them back across the river. I stayed in the canoe because well...I didn't get back until 9 at night. Mac and Safiyya must have thought I'd been swallowed by a crocodile. What was remarkable wasn't that I visited new areas of the river or saw my shadow by the light of the moon for the first time, but rather that I didn't care! I had one blah week in which I longed for nothing more then a job stapling papers and weekends to go to TGIF or somewhere else predictable with coworkers to get something deep fried and expensive. Predictability and familiarity. Still, roomate Mac and I agreed this would get old in 2 days or so and we'd be pining for adventure again.
That all being said, there's still highs. I had a volunteer visit my site and as we left I realized we'd stopped countless times to speak to students or former students, all of whom I introduced without thinking: 'This is one of my best students!' I was really impressed at the connections I'd amassed and the real fondness I feel for those students.
That's that for now. Hope you're all living well and walking lots.
Oh. And books. I need tell you of the great books I've read here. Tolstoy's Anna Karenina. Beautifully written, well constructed, vivid characters. I read 'All the King's Men,' again, great characters and beautiful writing, and some pretty heavy themes. I read Vonnegaut's Cat's Cradle. Cute and just a little tragic. I read a woman's letters from a holocaust deportment camp in Holland called Letters from Westerbrook. She still found life to be beautiful despite the awfulness about her. Her last letter thrown from the train said she and her parents left the camp singing. I read too about Percy Fawcett who cut his way through the Amazon Rainforest seeking a lost civilization. He disappeared but left countless followers who followed him into the jungle hoping to find what happened to him. It fired the imagination and impressed me with the man's courage and grit. I'm reading Tale of Two Cities by Dickens which so far has some incredible descriptions of the squalor, filth and lawlessness of Paris in late 1700s. And this weekend two Great, great movies: The Fighter with Mark Walberg, and True Grit with Matt Damon and Jeff Bridges. Fantastic. Inspiring. Now I've got to get to my writing.
Hope y'all is fine and dandy and I do hope to write again sooner then later. You all deserve something a bit more poetic and sincere.
My love and regards to you all.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Back in Moz
Hello from the other side of 2012!
We’re all in this New Year together so let’s make the best of it: Kick some butt & take some names.
I’m back in Mozambique for my second year. Got back from the states after a whirlwind trip home that covered Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s. Thanks to Peace Corps who made it all possible. Thanks to Moms & Dads who flew me down to Florida and paid for innumerable meals and movies out nevermind use of their vehicles. Thanks to Jame for insisting I need new shoes and to Dad who insisted I return to the use of underarm deodorant. And thanks for all you who made the effort to make it down to Old Saybrook to see old Micah Carbonneau.
Some highlights of the past few weeks include meeting the new roommate Mac, who in this very short year has proved to be the most positive person I’ve met thus far. He is so excited to be in Peace Corps in Machanga. To quote him: “My excitement is going to explode!”
He’s a runner like me, so already we’ve hit the roads making for an unstoppable Muzungu attraction. Our first jog out, we had in the course of a 35 minute jog over 30 people join, mostly women and children. One woman had a baby on her back bouncing. Another was was a child with a bandaged foot.
Mac is huge, blond and as friendly a public relations figure as South Carolina could produce. He is gregarious and earnest and damned determined to improve his already capable Portuguese and get a handle on the local language. (he already knows how to ask: ‘Who farted?’ in N’dau) There’s a funny story how that little gem was acquired. All that and he still gets down on himself that he’s not doing enough. That’s your typical Peace Corps Volunteer for you. So, he’s been a big inspiration.
Looking back on my trip home I’d more then a few special memories and excellent dos. I gave Jesse a few baths, we all saw the Muppet Movie together and had ourselves a Dance Party to the BeetleJuice Soundtrack: “Jump in the line! Rock your body in Time! Okay! I believe you!”
I visited the Wadsworth & New Britian Musuem of Art, did Yoga in Brattleboro, VT, skied for the first time in 10 years, and saw War Horse, Tintin, Super 8, & Hugo. Mom & I went kayaking and bicycling in Florida, I ate copious amounts of pizza, and saw more n’a few good friends including the Testermans and the Roesella’s.
Some sad news: A few days before Christmas I got word that two volunteers in Mozambique were killed in a car accident. Two other volunteers were in the car with them, one was from my group. He suffered a major concussion and back spinal injuries, and the other escaped unharmed. They had hitchhiked in the afternoon, the car was new, only the driver was going too fast and didn’t make a corner forcing a roll over. The two women aged 22 and 23 were from Mac’s group and had only been at their new sites for less then a week.
Our country director went over at my group’s mid service conference last week details of the crash and its aftermath. Their coffins were draped in the flag and each step of their flight back to the states was accompanied by a Peace Corps official. The outpouring of support from the embassy, the expat community, the staff, and volunteers has been very moving. It is a tragedy but one of the risks we take. I and other volunteers who never met these colleagues could not help but be affected. We’re a pretty big family here. And it's a period of our lives that force us to grow and rely on one another a good deal. Some of the new volunteers are quite shook up. The one volunteer who survived the crash is eager to return and I understand the mother of one of the women is eager to come to Mozambique to meet her daughter's host family and see the community where she would have served.
When I was home I was asked often what I’d do following Peace Corps. An occurrence like this strengthens my belief in the organization. It forced me to consider the purpose of my mission here: to serve others and live as they do with all inherent dangers. It is nothing compared to service in the Army where death is an expected element of service.
Back home, this being my fourth year abroad, I realized I no longer identify myself as uniquely American. I’ve had four years to identify myself with a broader community of Romanians, Mozambicans, expats, missionaries, and international service workers, and it’s compelling work. I’m less certain I want to live my life in the states, but of course everything changes.
I am trying to further investigate jobs in the Peace Corps. And still I feel compelled to work in Hartford. But, if it’s between anywhere USA and abroad, I’d likely go abroad. Of course my first consideration is work and family. Fortunately, these past years I've been home to see family once a year. I doubt I could go any longer than that. Nothing is more important then family.
Monday, December 19, 2011
Lynch Mobs and philosophical tangents
Here's an old blog that I was hesitant to post. It's called 'The Dark Side of Poverty.' Maybe you're thinking: poverty has a light side? At the end of the post, I'll share my thoughts as to poverty's 'light.'
The Dark Side of poverty: I've learned recently that in the big cities, crime is dealt with by lynch mobs. My students tell me they've all seen a lynching. Theft is crime #1. When the police do nothing, the people take justice into their own hands. Patrick traveled to South America during college and he told me they burn thieves there, so it's something rather common, I think, in unorganized parts of the world. It is horrifying, but I've been working to get an angle on it. What I gather is that I can't understand how horrifying it is to live in a world where your only possessions are clothes and food living without any protections from bullies and neer do wells. Like all evil, the evil paid in retribution pulls the good people down. Ordinary good people turn into a righteous mob ready to serve retribution with sticks, petrol, tires, and a match. It's hard to understand such rage without knowing the conditions that foster it. So, that's my limitation, the cultural barrier: class.
What reassures me is 'Normal Goodness.' Everyday people do incredible things when no one is watching. Where is the person who finding a wallet full of money returns it without thinking to take a dollar? Where is the mother who rocks her crying infant into the night, sacrificing her rest to give her child comfort? Where is the person who gives up their chair on the bus for the elderly? I think of men on the titanic who let women onto the life boats, because it was their duty to die so the women and children might live. People do right because they are good, and it are these small actions that uphold humanity and such goodness gives me immense reassurance.
Poverty's 'Light'
Oscar Wilde said: 'The poor don't know how idylic they are.'
This belief is borne out by pastoral paintings in banks and boardrooms of cows and farms, old houses, 'simpler times.'
I think there is widespread fear that our society has grown too complex or materialistic for its own good. I fear my blog may make friends and family guilty for having technological tools and guilty pleasures. It's the: 'children are starving in Africa and China,' deal.
I've tried hard to steer from that angle. Pity and guilt are more likely to atrophy will and blunt insight. Compassion and laughter on the other hand reveal our common humanity. That's what I hope you come away with from these reflections.
A less controversial persepective to take is 'simple vs. complex.' It's easier to be objective in that guise.
Some anecdotes:
An elderly woman I walked with to a Christmas stroll tripped on a new driveway's lip and bloodied herself. An ambulance and paramedics were on the scene in less then 5 minutes with a hydraulic stretcher and an ambulance with head room. Cones were set up that night and before the week was out, cement had been laid by the town to smooth the lip.
My father told a story about his dryer crapping out a year after purchase, one week after the warranty expired. He had to pay to have it repaired. Later he learned there was a class action lawsuit against the company for the common malfunction his dryer experienced. He got all his money back for the repairs from the suit.
I took a bus ride and had wifi access and a seatbelt. I navigated from Brattleboro VT to Hartford to Old Saybrook CT and was picked up by a waiting technician to drive me to my father's car's dealership.
Coordination and systems abound. Certainly they fail more often then succeed, but there are much higher standards of accountability and more efforts invested to see that success is finally reached.
Not Machanga.
There they don't get pissed off about broken dryers because they don't have dryers. There they don't navigate all across creation and need web access while en route because everyone they need to contact is in their community a walk away. They don't have seat belts in their buses because no class action lawsuit or government initiative is encouraging people to 'buckle up!' And there they don't have police or systems funded that can ensure your possessions aren't stolen. Nevermind those more pernicious crimes of molestation, sexual harrasment, and rape.
But, you don't have to pity the people 'there' or admire them. Just love them as you love the people in front of you and next to you because of the beauty and imperfection of us all. Decency is always a simple human characteristic and an enduring one and is totally divorced from location, time, and race. That's why they call it 'common decency.' It's everywhere.
The Dark Side of poverty: I've learned recently that in the big cities, crime is dealt with by lynch mobs. My students tell me they've all seen a lynching. Theft is crime #1. When the police do nothing, the people take justice into their own hands. Patrick traveled to South America during college and he told me they burn thieves there, so it's something rather common, I think, in unorganized parts of the world. It is horrifying, but I've been working to get an angle on it. What I gather is that I can't understand how horrifying it is to live in a world where your only possessions are clothes and food living without any protections from bullies and neer do wells. Like all evil, the evil paid in retribution pulls the good people down. Ordinary good people turn into a righteous mob ready to serve retribution with sticks, petrol, tires, and a match. It's hard to understand such rage without knowing the conditions that foster it. So, that's my limitation, the cultural barrier: class.
What reassures me is 'Normal Goodness.' Everyday people do incredible things when no one is watching. Where is the person who finding a wallet full of money returns it without thinking to take a dollar? Where is the mother who rocks her crying infant into the night, sacrificing her rest to give her child comfort? Where is the person who gives up their chair on the bus for the elderly? I think of men on the titanic who let women onto the life boats, because it was their duty to die so the women and children might live. People do right because they are good, and it are these small actions that uphold humanity and such goodness gives me immense reassurance.
Poverty's 'Light'
Oscar Wilde said: 'The poor don't know how idylic they are.'
This belief is borne out by pastoral paintings in banks and boardrooms of cows and farms, old houses, 'simpler times.'
I think there is widespread fear that our society has grown too complex or materialistic for its own good. I fear my blog may make friends and family guilty for having technological tools and guilty pleasures. It's the: 'children are starving in Africa and China,' deal.
I've tried hard to steer from that angle. Pity and guilt are more likely to atrophy will and blunt insight. Compassion and laughter on the other hand reveal our common humanity. That's what I hope you come away with from these reflections.
A less controversial persepective to take is 'simple vs. complex.' It's easier to be objective in that guise.
Some anecdotes:
An elderly woman I walked with to a Christmas stroll tripped on a new driveway's lip and bloodied herself. An ambulance and paramedics were on the scene in less then 5 minutes with a hydraulic stretcher and an ambulance with head room. Cones were set up that night and before the week was out, cement had been laid by the town to smooth the lip.
My father told a story about his dryer crapping out a year after purchase, one week after the warranty expired. He had to pay to have it repaired. Later he learned there was a class action lawsuit against the company for the common malfunction his dryer experienced. He got all his money back for the repairs from the suit.
I took a bus ride and had wifi access and a seatbelt. I navigated from Brattleboro VT to Hartford to Old Saybrook CT and was picked up by a waiting technician to drive me to my father's car's dealership.
Coordination and systems abound. Certainly they fail more often then succeed, but there are much higher standards of accountability and more efforts invested to see that success is finally reached.
Not Machanga.
There they don't get pissed off about broken dryers because they don't have dryers. There they don't navigate all across creation and need web access while en route because everyone they need to contact is in their community a walk away. They don't have seat belts in their buses because no class action lawsuit or government initiative is encouraging people to 'buckle up!' And there they don't have police or systems funded that can ensure your possessions aren't stolen. Nevermind those more pernicious crimes of molestation, sexual harrasment, and rape.
But, you don't have to pity the people 'there' or admire them. Just love them as you love the people in front of you and next to you because of the beauty and imperfection of us all. Decency is always a simple human characteristic and an enduring one and is totally divorced from location, time, and race. That's why they call it 'common decency.' It's everywhere.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
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
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
Friday, December 2, 2011
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.
'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.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
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.
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!
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!
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