When I was in high school I hung out with a bunch of boys in a band. I admit, I had [read: have] a thing for musicians.
As much as I love going to see live music, I think my favorite part about being “friends of the band” is that I was also included in low key “jam sessions.” This is where the magic happened. An off-handed comment became the name of a hit song, a video game theme song became the background for another. Though I was a part in the sense that I was around and participated in the “process” I was never part of a band. I was never part of the “jam.”
Which is why, I am now proud to say I have been leading a new series of jam sessions for Mozambican ladies.
Okay, we don't have a drummer, or a bassist, or a guitar, or any instruments for that matter. What we do have is lots of fruit, a bunch of empty jars, and Cereijo.
Our jam sessions are a bit more literal.
I came to Cereijo, some time last year about starting a food processing project with Mozaic's nutrition team. After some years of work, the nutrition team had become a bit jaded with Mozaic's work, for a number of reasons, most unimportant at this point. They explained that if they have a project that motivated their work with the community, they would be more likely continue doing house visits and expanding the program to include more people.
At first I resisted this request. Activistas are often volunteers, and as I volunteer I thought it was important for the nutrition team to see the value of their work despite receiving a subsidy. They were helping vulnerable populations in the areas of food security and nutrition, wasn't that enough motivation?
But after a number of conversations, it became clear that that was not enough motivation. Cereijo, a friend of Geraldo's who has extensive knowledge in agriculture had always said he would be happy to work with me, gave me lots of ideas for ways to tie in the food security and nutrition aspect into a fun and worthwhile project for the team. Jam, dried fruits and vegetables, and other healthy food preservation techniques.
The ladies love it. Our jam sessions are a few hours each week and we are very productive. So far we have made over fifty jars of jam, preserving mangos, pineapples, papaya, and banana to be used during other parts of the year when these fruits no longer exist. They have come up with a business plan, that includes exporting the jam to some of Mozaic's partner churches in South Africa (where they can earn a much higher profit) as well as selling the jam locally. We are thinking of ways to divide the work and the profits, and it is a wonderful learning experience for the women. Yesterday one of the team came to me and asked if I would want to work with her teaching the jam techniques to another group she works with. This group is in the process of opening a bakery in Manjacaze and she had the great idea of selling the jam at the bakery.
Income generation projects seem to be all the rage among Peace Corps volunteers in Mozambique. Many activista groups complain of the same lack of motivation due to a lack of funding. In the US, volunteerism is a huge part of our culture. But we can afford to do work without getting paid.
Despite their popularity, income generation projects have a huge failure rate. There are a number of reasons for this. One, many of the projects resemble existing businesses and services in a community, there is too much competition and no variety. For example, chicken projects are extremely popular among Mozambicans, but how many chickens does one town really need? Especially when so many people in town just raise their own chickens. I have spoken a number of times about the tomato ladies, all sitting in the same part of town, all selling tomatoes. No broccoli in sight.
Jam, on the other hand, is only sold in special stores in the markets. The jam you can buy in most towns in Mozambique is mostly sugar and lacks any real flavor. It is called, “Jamo – Fruto Variado.” The jam I have been making with the nutrition team is packed with flavor and low in sugar. With each type that we make, we talk about the value of the fruit and the ladies are starting to catch on that less sugar is more. We also talk about how important it is to preserve these fruits now, when they are in excess, so that we can consume them later.
In coming months, we hope to dry vegetables, make flour from mandioca (yucca), and I would love to maybe even do some baking lessons with the ladies (imagine how well a peanut butter cookie or a chocolate brownie would sell next to all those bland fried dough ball things). Eventually, I would love to see this project grow-perhaps these women can each teach their own group of women the techniques we are using. The process of making jam makes it easy to teach hygiene and nutrition, and these concepts are very important for many of our beneficiaries. Furthermore, if the project continues to be successful in generating income, there is room to include more women in the making of the jam to also benefit from the new income.
Though we do not yet have any groupies, we do have a waiting list for our jam. I cannot say that my desire to truly take part in a jam session has been fulfilled, but I love being able to say, “oh I can't on Tuesday, I have a jam session.”
Friday, February 17, 2012
it could always be worse.
If you have not read “It Could Always be Worse.” Go to your local bookstore, find the children's section, and read it. It is one of my Mom's favorites and it translates incredibly well. I tell it to kids in Manjacaze often, and I think the lesson is one that we unfortunately learn again and again.
The weekend after the cyclone, I was supposed to head to Maputo for a conference. However, just as I was leaving, I got a message that the road had been flooded.
I know I complain about transportation in Mozambique a lot, but to me a flooded road meant it might be a bit slow. The road to Manjacaze floods all the time, and is still “passable” and this is the main road in Mozambique, heading right to the capital. There was just no way that the road was completely unpassable.
But about ninety kilometers from Maputo, Macia, a regular truck stop town, was filled with buses of all sizes. Buses coming down from Nampula, Quelimane, and Beira, had been stopped in Macia. Hundreds of people sat in the shade of the buses and opportunists sold mangos to the stranded travelers. I called a volunteer who lived in Macia to stay with her for the night.
As did three other volunteers heading down for the conference. That night we all spent together, excited to be reunited with all our friends the next day. We just did not believe that this road would lay unfixed any longer, how could a country function without access to its capital?
But the next day, it was clear that the road was not going to be fixed that day, or the next, or perhaps for a week.
We weighed our options and decided rather than take a boat across the flooded road (the boats were apparently way over-filled and did not seem like a great idea) and decided to take the train.
The train runs from Maputo to Zimbabawe and back again and goes passed where the floods ended (the road was flooded because a dam to the west had been opened, the train was far enough south that it was unaffected but no roads followed the train's route). One of the volunteers had taken the train and warned us that it is by no means a comfortable endevour, but we decided it was worth it, and as long as we were together we would be fine. The distance from Chokwe (where the train left) to Maputo, would have taken about four hours tops in a car, how bad could it be?
We left at around 9 PM and were assured at the train station that the train was not going to stop to load and unload cargo as it usually did, this was a train especially for all of the stranded passengers trying to get to Maputo.
We should have known better than to believe the men at the train station. Ten hours after we left, we pulled into the station in Maputo, sweaty, tired, and annoyed we arrived at our hotel around 7 AM, just
in time for breakfast before the conference.
Needless to say, I was once again reminded of the challenges of traveling in Mozambique, just when I think I have the system figured out, something happens and I get to learn it all over again. On the way back, I decided to take a chapa back rather than bolea (the road was fixed after six days), and I had never felt so comfortable in a chapa.
It could always be worse.
The weekend after the cyclone, I was supposed to head to Maputo for a conference. However, just as I was leaving, I got a message that the road had been flooded.
I know I complain about transportation in Mozambique a lot, but to me a flooded road meant it might be a bit slow. The road to Manjacaze floods all the time, and is still “passable” and this is the main road in Mozambique, heading right to the capital. There was just no way that the road was completely unpassable.
But about ninety kilometers from Maputo, Macia, a regular truck stop town, was filled with buses of all sizes. Buses coming down from Nampula, Quelimane, and Beira, had been stopped in Macia. Hundreds of people sat in the shade of the buses and opportunists sold mangos to the stranded travelers. I called a volunteer who lived in Macia to stay with her for the night.
As did three other volunteers heading down for the conference. That night we all spent together, excited to be reunited with all our friends the next day. We just did not believe that this road would lay unfixed any longer, how could a country function without access to its capital?
But the next day, it was clear that the road was not going to be fixed that day, or the next, or perhaps for a week.
We weighed our options and decided rather than take a boat across the flooded road (the boats were apparently way over-filled and did not seem like a great idea) and decided to take the train.
The train runs from Maputo to Zimbabawe and back again and goes passed where the floods ended (the road was flooded because a dam to the west had been opened, the train was far enough south that it was unaffected but no roads followed the train's route). One of the volunteers had taken the train and warned us that it is by no means a comfortable endevour, but we decided it was worth it, and as long as we were together we would be fine. The distance from Chokwe (where the train left) to Maputo, would have taken about four hours tops in a car, how bad could it be?
We left at around 9 PM and were assured at the train station that the train was not going to stop to load and unload cargo as it usually did, this was a train especially for all of the stranded passengers trying to get to Maputo.
We should have known better than to believe the men at the train station. Ten hours after we left, we pulled into the station in Maputo, sweaty, tired, and annoyed we arrived at our hotel around 7 AM, just
in time for breakfast before the conference.
Needless to say, I was once again reminded of the challenges of traveling in Mozambique, just when I think I have the system figured out, something happens and I get to learn it all over again. On the way back, I decided to take a chapa back rather than bolea (the road was fixed after six days), and I had never felt so comfortable in a chapa.
It could always be worse.
when life gives you lemons.
On the first Saturday of every month in Omaha summers the tornado alarm sounds just to test to make sure it is still working. Other cities have similar “preparedness” tests. These tests are important, they make us feel better about the possibility of a coming natural disaster. Americans, often, go above and beyond many preparedness measures, stocking up canned food and bottled water in the case of an incident.
Mozambicans have a different approach.
Two weeks ago, two major cyclones hit in Mozambique, one in Gaza and the other further north in Quelimane area.
Though we had discussed the possibility of cyclones during training, I had never been too concerned about it. I was at work on a Monday morning when Dando hit.
It was a dark, rainy day, but not at all out of the ordinary for January. But around noon, the wind started to pick up. The energy went out and the cell network failed and I decided to head home. I made some tea and sat with a book on my hammock in my kitchen. Not fifteen minutes later, I heard a loud crack and saw the huge cashew tree in front of my kitchen fall to the ground, a little more than ten feet from my head.
I got up and looked at the situation. It was pouring and I was locked in the kitchen. The tree landed right in front of the door, blocking the entrance. I climbed over it and got a machete to cut off some of the branches so I could slide underneath it. Then I went back to my book.
It was not until the next day that I realized the significance of that big tree falling. I went for a run when it looked like I would have a short break between the rains. Trees had fallen throughout town. People were outside hanging up belongings on clothes lines that had gotten went due to flooding inside. Others were desperately trying to find some sort of solution to a destroyed roof.
In the states after a big storm, people wait around until the tree-chopper-dude can come and handle the mess in the yard. Snow-blowers and wood-chippers facilitate the clean up. In Mozambique, a machete and a hand saw do the trick, and the morning after the storm, you would not have found anyone sitting around. Everyone helped clean up the mess. Neighbors got together and attacked one fallen tree at a time until, after a few days, the roads were more or less passable and the sun was back out. When you asked how people were doing after the storm, people barely complained, with one exception. Anyone who had a big tree fall in their yard did not complain about the damage, or the hard work that the fallen tree made for them. Almost everyone I spoke to complained about the loss of “nosso sombra, pah!” In Manjacaze, a good shade tree is just as valuable, if not more valuable, than most of the structures that people build. Without shade there are no afternoon naps, no community meetings, no place to wait in line for your turn at the water pump.
While the loss of many of the big shade trees set in, people handled the situation. The storm did some good damage, but the town was able to recover quickly. The afternoon after the worst of the wind, a car drove through the neighborhoods with a man yelling that there was a possibility for more wind. The “town crier” was a bit late, the second part of the storm was relatively quite mild, but maybe next time the crier will warn us before the storm.
Maybe he should practice on Saturday mornings.
Mozambicans have a different approach.
Two weeks ago, two major cyclones hit in Mozambique, one in Gaza and the other further north in Quelimane area.
Though we had discussed the possibility of cyclones during training, I had never been too concerned about it. I was at work on a Monday morning when Dando hit.
It was a dark, rainy day, but not at all out of the ordinary for January. But around noon, the wind started to pick up. The energy went out and the cell network failed and I decided to head home. I made some tea and sat with a book on my hammock in my kitchen. Not fifteen minutes later, I heard a loud crack and saw the huge cashew tree in front of my kitchen fall to the ground, a little more than ten feet from my head.
I got up and looked at the situation. It was pouring and I was locked in the kitchen. The tree landed right in front of the door, blocking the entrance. I climbed over it and got a machete to cut off some of the branches so I could slide underneath it. Then I went back to my book.
It was not until the next day that I realized the significance of that big tree falling. I went for a run when it looked like I would have a short break between the rains. Trees had fallen throughout town. People were outside hanging up belongings on clothes lines that had gotten went due to flooding inside. Others were desperately trying to find some sort of solution to a destroyed roof.
In the states after a big storm, people wait around until the tree-chopper-dude can come and handle the mess in the yard. Snow-blowers and wood-chippers facilitate the clean up. In Mozambique, a machete and a hand saw do the trick, and the morning after the storm, you would not have found anyone sitting around. Everyone helped clean up the mess. Neighbors got together and attacked one fallen tree at a time until, after a few days, the roads were more or less passable and the sun was back out. When you asked how people were doing after the storm, people barely complained, with one exception. Anyone who had a big tree fall in their yard did not complain about the damage, or the hard work that the fallen tree made for them. Almost everyone I spoke to complained about the loss of “nosso sombra, pah!” In Manjacaze, a good shade tree is just as valuable, if not more valuable, than most of the structures that people build. Without shade there are no afternoon naps, no community meetings, no place to wait in line for your turn at the water pump.
While the loss of many of the big shade trees set in, people handled the situation. The storm did some good damage, but the town was able to recover quickly. The afternoon after the worst of the wind, a car drove through the neighborhoods with a man yelling that there was a possibility for more wind. The “town crier” was a bit late, the second part of the storm was relatively quite mild, but maybe next time the crier will warn us before the storm.
Maybe he should practice on Saturday mornings.
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