“I had no idea that things like papaya were actually good for me.” The comment from Mama Dina, one of my favorite “Plant of the Week” class participants, remains my favorite feedback on the classes.
For the last month, we have focused on a different plant each week and had a short lesson on the plant, its nutritional value, medicinal value, and how to cultivate it here in Manjacaze.
My first class, papaya, was only four people. Though I was disappointed, I was excited to have people show up at all (it was a rainy day, which often means anything that was set to happen is expected to be canceled). We had a great time talking about the nutrients in papaya and you can use it on wounds, for diarrhea, and how you can use the roots to treat bad coughs.
After the session, Mama Dina suggested that I should repeat the class the next week, since so many people had not come. I asked if she thought more people would come the next week, and she said she would make sure they did.
At church that Sunday, Dina announced that everyone should come to my classes because they could really learn something. I was so flattered. It’s often hard for the women at the church to take me seriously. At 24 years old, I am still not married and have no children. What can I teach them? Mama Dina's comments got me excited for that week's session.
When Thursday came around, I made a couple of big posters and hung them on the poles in the church (the church is under construction and has no walls). By 12:30, fifteen participants had congregated, and we started our lesson. I started off with a general nutrition lesson. We talked about food groups and why it is important to try to eat a variety of foods each day. I gave each person a drawing of a food and asked them to put it in the right food group. We then had a great discussion about why foods like fish and eggs were not base foods (carbohydrates) but that they were high in protein which was very good for the immune system, etc. People took notes! I couldn't believe it. Everyone thought what I was saying was important enough to write down.
After the first part of the lesson, we returned to the papaya session. I let Mama Dina and Mama Melita help me teach it, as they had both been present the week prior. It was so fun to see them talk about the things we talked about the week before.
We had a great discussion about papaya, about why vitamin A is important for children and about why women are vulnerable to iron deficiency.
After the session, Mama Lusida, who had been translating to changana for me, asked if she could have a copy of my notes, as she had been too busy translating to write anything down. I told the class that the posters would be hung up in the office and they should come by anytime to look at them and we could talk about the plants again. Everyone thanked me and promised to show up the next week.
For the next week, I wanted to have a couple of prizes. I asked Gerhard for some coconut plants to give out to people who answered questions right. We started the class off brainstorming different plates that included each of the food groups from the week prior. Anyone who answered questions right during this review got a coconut. When we then talked about how valuable coconuts were, Francisco raised his hand and asked why everyone didn’t get a plant. I explained it was a prize for people who had studied. He promised to study for the next week.
I hope to continue the classes, but I am also looking to do them with a few different audiences. I am working on a few sessions for the hospital and am going to spend a week with a primary school nearby. I also think I am going to do a few sessions in the market. Mama Dina thinks this will work well, since people are already there to buy things, I should convince them to buy things they take fore-granted. I just like the idea of talking about food right in the market. Its like nutrition information on packages, Mozambican style.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
so I slapped him.
There are few days that go by that I do not get marriage proposals. Usually they come in the form of the men who work at the construction shop near my house yell “Hello, girl. I am fine. Take me home with you.” So romantic.
Usually I can shrug these things off. Its easy when its an annoying man yelling at me from a bar. I can yell something equally ridiculous and the whole bar will laugh. Sometimes when people “estou a pedir” (translates to “I am asking”) my telephone number, I respond I am estou a pedir-ing a hippopotamus before I give my number. Usually the man is so surprised he lets me leave.
Sometimes though, you get trapped. The worst is being stuck on a chapa with a man who thinks it is his right to hit on you for the duration of the ride. Because the bus is cramped anyway, there is little you can do.
A couple of weeks ago, I was heading back from Xai Xai after picking up a few things for my office. It had been a long day and I was not in the mood to deal with anyone. As I arrived at the chapa stop, a bus for Manjacaze was just pulling away. Just my luck. I had to wait for the next one to fill up, which often takes over an hour.
Silver lining, I got to pick my seat first. I am partial to the front seat. You only have to talk to one other person, you have a window, and you are guaranteed no chickens on your lap. I put my bag on the seat and went to get a coke.
When I returned a man, who smelled like his afternoon had been spent at a bar, told me he was going to sit by me. Just the way the man spoke should have been a red flag to me, but I said okay and continued drinking my cold beverage. A younger guy came by and we joked about how this older guy was annoying and I asked if he wanted to sit in front and switch seats with me. He laughed, but told me to keep my seat, I had been there first and I should have a good seat.
He was right. When the bus finally pulled away, the drunk man expected that I was going to sit in the middle. This is a common problem. For whatever reason, Mozambican men think the middle seat is no place for a man. Always trying to break gender barriers, I always argue this point and explain that since I was there first, the man can sit in the middle or wherever he wants, but I am sitting by the window. Usually the driver will support me on this, but on this particular day, the driver just laughed and let me deal with it.
Eventually the man got in the middle seat. He started talking to me about how beautiful my hair was (mind you I had been shopping in 90 degree heat, my hair was lots of things at this moment, but beautiful was not one of them). I told the man I was tired and that I just wanted to rest. He responded (in English now) that we were fine, friends and he was not going to give me stress. I put in my headphones.
This is when things started to really turn. This guy put his arm around me and I told him he could not do that. He continued to do it and I continued to move out of the way. Then he had the audacity to put his hand on my leg. I was furious. I moved his hand and told him if he touched me again that I would slap him.
Now, I should add here that this tactic of warning someone about what is to come I learned from my brother. I think the man, like me as a kid, thought the warning was empty. When he put his hand back on my leg, I turned around and slapped him across the face.
The entire chapa laughed. I should add here that I had not kept my feelings about this man to myself. I had been vocalizing my frustrations and the full chapa had failed to help me out. When they all laughed I realized no one was going to help me. I had an hour left on this bus next to this annoying man and I had nowhere to go.
The man turned to me after I slapped him and asked if I was playing with him. He had not taken my assault seriously. To prove I had not offended him, he told me “we are fine, you are testing me” and put his hand back on my leg. At this point, I turned to the driver and asked for his help. The driver said it was not his problem, that he was just a driver. The rest of the bus, now completely engaged in my battle, continued to watch and not help me.
Finally, I turned around to the bus. “God knows.” I said. “No one here is innocent. I am battling this man and no one is helping, and God knows you are not helping me.”
The bus fell silent. The man laughed and put his arm around me. Finally, the young man, from the bus stop, said, “leave this girl alone.” The man, though dejected, gave me a little space and did not speak to me the rest of the ride.
Usually I can shrug these things off. Its easy when its an annoying man yelling at me from a bar. I can yell something equally ridiculous and the whole bar will laugh. Sometimes when people “estou a pedir” (translates to “I am asking”) my telephone number, I respond I am estou a pedir-ing a hippopotamus before I give my number. Usually the man is so surprised he lets me leave.
Sometimes though, you get trapped. The worst is being stuck on a chapa with a man who thinks it is his right to hit on you for the duration of the ride. Because the bus is cramped anyway, there is little you can do.
A couple of weeks ago, I was heading back from Xai Xai after picking up a few things for my office. It had been a long day and I was not in the mood to deal with anyone. As I arrived at the chapa stop, a bus for Manjacaze was just pulling away. Just my luck. I had to wait for the next one to fill up, which often takes over an hour.
Silver lining, I got to pick my seat first. I am partial to the front seat. You only have to talk to one other person, you have a window, and you are guaranteed no chickens on your lap. I put my bag on the seat and went to get a coke.
When I returned a man, who smelled like his afternoon had been spent at a bar, told me he was going to sit by me. Just the way the man spoke should have been a red flag to me, but I said okay and continued drinking my cold beverage. A younger guy came by and we joked about how this older guy was annoying and I asked if he wanted to sit in front and switch seats with me. He laughed, but told me to keep my seat, I had been there first and I should have a good seat.
He was right. When the bus finally pulled away, the drunk man expected that I was going to sit in the middle. This is a common problem. For whatever reason, Mozambican men think the middle seat is no place for a man. Always trying to break gender barriers, I always argue this point and explain that since I was there first, the man can sit in the middle or wherever he wants, but I am sitting by the window. Usually the driver will support me on this, but on this particular day, the driver just laughed and let me deal with it.
Eventually the man got in the middle seat. He started talking to me about how beautiful my hair was (mind you I had been shopping in 90 degree heat, my hair was lots of things at this moment, but beautiful was not one of them). I told the man I was tired and that I just wanted to rest. He responded (in English now) that we were fine, friends and he was not going to give me stress. I put in my headphones.
This is when things started to really turn. This guy put his arm around me and I told him he could not do that. He continued to do it and I continued to move out of the way. Then he had the audacity to put his hand on my leg. I was furious. I moved his hand and told him if he touched me again that I would slap him.
Now, I should add here that this tactic of warning someone about what is to come I learned from my brother. I think the man, like me as a kid, thought the warning was empty. When he put his hand back on my leg, I turned around and slapped him across the face.
The entire chapa laughed. I should add here that I had not kept my feelings about this man to myself. I had been vocalizing my frustrations and the full chapa had failed to help me out. When they all laughed I realized no one was going to help me. I had an hour left on this bus next to this annoying man and I had nowhere to go.
The man turned to me after I slapped him and asked if I was playing with him. He had not taken my assault seriously. To prove I had not offended him, he told me “we are fine, you are testing me” and put his hand back on my leg. At this point, I turned to the driver and asked for his help. The driver said it was not his problem, that he was just a driver. The rest of the bus, now completely engaged in my battle, continued to watch and not help me.
Finally, I turned around to the bus. “God knows.” I said. “No one here is innocent. I am battling this man and no one is helping, and God knows you are not helping me.”
The bus fell silent. The man laughed and put his arm around me. Finally, the young man, from the bus stop, said, “leave this girl alone.” The man, though dejected, gave me a little space and did not speak to me the rest of the ride.
a trip out of town
A few weeks ago, Peace Corps had a medicinal plants conference. I work a lot teaching medicinal uses of different plants to our beneficiaries, so I was excited to learn about how to make different salves, syrups, teas, and herbal baths. Plus, as Peace Corps Volunteers, we always look forward to conferences. I know I will stay in a hotel with a shower. I get to see my friends and I get to shave my legs. I have a few days where I do not have to worry about my leaking roof and I can turn on an air conditioner if I want.
This conference I went to last month was, perhaps, my favorite conference yet. The volunteers participating were all good friends of mine, and I hadn't seen a lot of them in a while. Best though, was watching all the Mozambicans at the conference.
Each Peace Corps Volunteer got to bring one counterpart from his or her community. The idea was to bring someone who could help you disseminate the information from the conference one we arrived back at site. I was bringing Mama Louisa. When I told her about the trip, she had many questions. Did she need to bring a blanket? Would there be food there? Could she bring her daughter? I told her that she needed to leave Geralda at home, but that everything would be provided to her when we got there. She did not seem to believe me, but agreed to participate.
The conference took place in Namaacha, Peace Corps Mozambique’s training headquarters. About an hour an a half from Maputo, Namaacha was quite a trek for a number of people. It was the first time some of the participants had left their provinces, ridden on a plane, or been to their nation's capital.
The first night, we had a great time showing our counterparts how to turn on the shower (for many of them, they had never stayed in a hotel before), how to ride in an elevator, and how to use the air conditioning if they wanted it. At dinner, the buffet impressed all of us (there was chocolate pudding for dessert, you can bet I had seconds), and the conference organizers explained we should sit down with our counterparts to discuss the goals we had for the week.
I met Mama Louisa in her room after dinner. We talked about what she wanted to learn that week and what things we wanted to share with the group. As we talked, she kept looking into the mirror. In the hotel rooms were big, full length mirrors. As we talked, the mirror was right in her view, and like I did as a kid, she could not focus on anything but her reflection. I then realized that apart from the hand mirror I had seen in her house, she had probably never found herself in front of a mirror, trying to have a conversation. I could relate, it is really hard to focus on someone else when you can look at yourself making ridiculous faces.
The conference went really well. Mama Louisa was excited to get back and share with everyone what she had learned. We got a lot of resources and ideas for different projects we could start in the community. I think, though, she was equally excited to brag about the hotel we stayed in and the fact that she had been waited on the whole week. Pastor Ricardo, Louisa's husband seemed a bit jealous and asked if he could come to our next conference.
This conference I went to last month was, perhaps, my favorite conference yet. The volunteers participating were all good friends of mine, and I hadn't seen a lot of them in a while. Best though, was watching all the Mozambicans at the conference.
Each Peace Corps Volunteer got to bring one counterpart from his or her community. The idea was to bring someone who could help you disseminate the information from the conference one we arrived back at site. I was bringing Mama Louisa. When I told her about the trip, she had many questions. Did she need to bring a blanket? Would there be food there? Could she bring her daughter? I told her that she needed to leave Geralda at home, but that everything would be provided to her when we got there. She did not seem to believe me, but agreed to participate.
The conference took place in Namaacha, Peace Corps Mozambique’s training headquarters. About an hour an a half from Maputo, Namaacha was quite a trek for a number of people. It was the first time some of the participants had left their provinces, ridden on a plane, or been to their nation's capital.
The first night, we had a great time showing our counterparts how to turn on the shower (for many of them, they had never stayed in a hotel before), how to ride in an elevator, and how to use the air conditioning if they wanted it. At dinner, the buffet impressed all of us (there was chocolate pudding for dessert, you can bet I had seconds), and the conference organizers explained we should sit down with our counterparts to discuss the goals we had for the week.
I met Mama Louisa in her room after dinner. We talked about what she wanted to learn that week and what things we wanted to share with the group. As we talked, she kept looking into the mirror. In the hotel rooms were big, full length mirrors. As we talked, the mirror was right in her view, and like I did as a kid, she could not focus on anything but her reflection. I then realized that apart from the hand mirror I had seen in her house, she had probably never found herself in front of a mirror, trying to have a conversation. I could relate, it is really hard to focus on someone else when you can look at yourself making ridiculous faces.
The conference went really well. Mama Louisa was excited to get back and share with everyone what she had learned. We got a lot of resources and ideas for different projects we could start in the community. I think, though, she was equally excited to brag about the hotel we stayed in and the fact that she had been waited on the whole week. Pastor Ricardo, Louisa's husband seemed a bit jealous and asked if he could come to our next conference.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
a luncheon and a lesson plan
Some of the people reading this blog may remember how frustrated I was a few months ago when I really wanted to be working, but all I seemed to be doing was becoming a pro at cracking open coconuts and eating mangos without looking like a slob. While I can call those two activities successes, my first few weeks in Manjacaze have been much more productive, if you are measuring productivity based on work tasks. This post is rather lengthy, as I have not had access to a computer/internet. If you are like me and have no patients for long blog posts, I would just skip to the last two paragraphs.
I think it might be helpful to give a bit more detail about what Mozaic does (as I am still learning myself, this will be an ongoing process). Mozaic is a network of South African churches that works in different Mozambican communities building capacity for church leadership as well as in the areas of agriculture and nutrition. It probably does not surprise any of you that my work is mostly focused on the nutrition rather than on building leadership capacity of local pastors (but who knows, maybe my years in USY have prepared me to be a great church teacher. I just don’t know if the Mozambican pastors would have as much fun dancing during the kaddish as I did. Worth looking into…)
Anyway, Mozaic’s nutrition project faces some serious challenges, most of which can be traced back to the weather. Gaza is very hot and dry and the soil is very sandy. No matter how many agriculture seminars you attend, you cannot change the fact that this complicates plant growth. To that end, Gerhard has identified a number of perennial plants and fruit trees that are high in nutrition and miraculously grow year-round in this sandy soil. Chaya, moringa, katuk, cranberry hibiscus, and garlic chives are a few that we are working on getting people to incorporate into their everyday diets. Getting people to try new things (aka behavior change) is definitely not the easiest thing, especially when it comes to a diet that has been almost unchanged for decades. Some of our beneficiaries, however, have seen how well the plants grow and have started to use them, sometimes even when other options are available in the market.
In addition to learning a lot about plants and trying to greenify my thumbs, I have spent the last few weeks talking with Gerhard and various people from the church to try to identify what sorts of things Mozaic might like me to work on. My first week here, Gerhard took me to see a dried up garden at the hospital. The hospital garden had great space, but also was getting way too much sun. Almost everything that we had planted (we being Mozaic, the garden was initially dug last year) had died during the dry, hot months of Febuary, March, and April. As we were looking in at the garden, we met a woman named Felicidade. We explained who I was and I added that I would be very excited to work with the hospital in the future, if she thought there was a place for me. It turns out that Felicidade is the hospital’s nutritionist, and she was fairly excited at the prospect of working with us.
That weekend, Gerhard and I arranged a lunch for Felicidade, Pastor Ricardo and his wife Louisa (the two leaders from the church in Manjacaze who I work most closely with, Louisa is in charge of the nutrition project and will be my counterpart throughout most of my projects), and a man named Sereigo, a local agriculture guru who is wasting away working for Save the Children where he is paid well but not really using his expertise. The six of us sat down to talk about the future of Mozaic in Manjacaze and about how, ideally, Mozaic would start working on more projects in the greater community. We had a nice lunch of m’chaya (so named after matapa, a traditional Mozambican dish, but this one was made with chaya) and a salad made with cranberry hibiscus and moringa. After lunch, we took a tour of the garden, and Felicidade looked genuinely impressed to see that some of the plants had not died and even asked to take some cuttings home. At that point we knew we had sold her and planned to re-work the hospital garden the coming week.
The next week, another group from South Africa came and was able to help us plant the hospital garden. We filled the garden with moringa and chaya and added beds of chives and katuk. Some brilliant person (yours truly) thought it might be a good idea to plant these perennials first and let them grow a bit to provide some shade to the area. Then, once the plants are growing and producing leaves, we can return and plant vegetables (I should give some credit to the permagardening training that I had last fall, but I really feel the genius idea was my own). We plan to continue monitoring the garden and I am hoping to come back and work with the women who cook for the patients to talk with them about how to prepare the plants in a nutritious way.
To keep up our connection with the hospital, I have been going everyday this week to watch palestras that the local activistas put on everyday at 7. Though the palestras are mainly in Changana (which I really need to and intend to learn), I think the opportunity to meet the activistas has been great. Everyday is a different group of six, and each day the group seems excited to be talking with people about HIV prevention and care. A lot of health volunteers are placed with an organization called ICAP (I honestly forget what this stands for but it’s a project out of Columbia’s School of Public Health), and I am pretty sure these activistas are also ICAP funded. I hope to look more into this and maybe work with this group in the future. Yesterday I had a great time with two older ladies who were talking with people waiting to get HIV tests about how to use condoms. Though the women they were talking with blushed at the idea of a female condom, the activistas knew all about it and showed the women how to use them. After their demonstration, I explained how you can use a papaya to do the demonstrations and the ladies were totally impressed.
The other big project I am working on is starting up a “Plant of the Week” class at Mozaic’s training Center. (I actually forgot to mention, Mozaic is just finishing a beautiful training center where people will be able to come and stay for week-long seminars. The first seminar was held two weeks ago, despite little things not being finished. In the next couple months we hope to put some last final touches on the place and make it something like a community center. In my mind it will eventually be like a Visitor’s Center at a National Park, with lots of things to look at and read about and learn from. We have a great garden outside that we are going to make placards for, so people will be able to walk around and learn about the plants that do grow well here in Manjacaze. We are also hoping to get funding for a fooze ball table, but that might be years down the road.) Last Sunday, I met with Mozaic’s beneficiaries and we spoke about the challenges they have in the area of nutrition and agriculture. After our discussion, I suggested that we start up a seminar series about different plants and agriculture techniques that might help address some of their problems. With Louisa’s help, the group agreed on a day for our first class, and I have spent the past few days brainstorming what we can have as our first subject. While we are going to start the seminars for the direct beneficiaries of our project, we hope to eventually expand and invite members of the community. In my head, sometimes the seminars will be technical (like learning how to make a drip irrigation system) and sometimes they will be a bit lighter (like how to make really delicious brownies without an oven). We will see how it all works out.
On a more personal note, I am really growing to like Manjacaze. It is great to be able to walk down the street and recognize the kids or to go to the market and walk right to the lady who gives you the best deal on tomatoes. I am starting to meet people and have become very close with a girl named Celest, who works for Mozaic doing mostly administrative things. She took me to my first ever Mozambican wedding a couple weeks ago, and though all I did was sweat it was a fun ceremony and we had a great time. She told me she wanted also wanted big wedding and I told her she better have it within two years so that I can go!
I have also started playing soccer somewhat regularly. I am pretty decent on defense, and though my team never wins, we always have a great time. Last week we decided to take the whole team out for ice cream afterwards, but the ice cream machine wasn’t turned on. 25 cokes later, everyone was happy and I went home with only a few bruises on my legs. Maybe by the end of the two years my team will eventually win.
I think it might be helpful to give a bit more detail about what Mozaic does (as I am still learning myself, this will be an ongoing process). Mozaic is a network of South African churches that works in different Mozambican communities building capacity for church leadership as well as in the areas of agriculture and nutrition. It probably does not surprise any of you that my work is mostly focused on the nutrition rather than on building leadership capacity of local pastors (but who knows, maybe my years in USY have prepared me to be a great church teacher. I just don’t know if the Mozambican pastors would have as much fun dancing during the kaddish as I did. Worth looking into…)
Anyway, Mozaic’s nutrition project faces some serious challenges, most of which can be traced back to the weather. Gaza is very hot and dry and the soil is very sandy. No matter how many agriculture seminars you attend, you cannot change the fact that this complicates plant growth. To that end, Gerhard has identified a number of perennial plants and fruit trees that are high in nutrition and miraculously grow year-round in this sandy soil. Chaya, moringa, katuk, cranberry hibiscus, and garlic chives are a few that we are working on getting people to incorporate into their everyday diets. Getting people to try new things (aka behavior change) is definitely not the easiest thing, especially when it comes to a diet that has been almost unchanged for decades. Some of our beneficiaries, however, have seen how well the plants grow and have started to use them, sometimes even when other options are available in the market.
In addition to learning a lot about plants and trying to greenify my thumbs, I have spent the last few weeks talking with Gerhard and various people from the church to try to identify what sorts of things Mozaic might like me to work on. My first week here, Gerhard took me to see a dried up garden at the hospital. The hospital garden had great space, but also was getting way too much sun. Almost everything that we had planted (we being Mozaic, the garden was initially dug last year) had died during the dry, hot months of Febuary, March, and April. As we were looking in at the garden, we met a woman named Felicidade. We explained who I was and I added that I would be very excited to work with the hospital in the future, if she thought there was a place for me. It turns out that Felicidade is the hospital’s nutritionist, and she was fairly excited at the prospect of working with us.
That weekend, Gerhard and I arranged a lunch for Felicidade, Pastor Ricardo and his wife Louisa (the two leaders from the church in Manjacaze who I work most closely with, Louisa is in charge of the nutrition project and will be my counterpart throughout most of my projects), and a man named Sereigo, a local agriculture guru who is wasting away working for Save the Children where he is paid well but not really using his expertise. The six of us sat down to talk about the future of Mozaic in Manjacaze and about how, ideally, Mozaic would start working on more projects in the greater community. We had a nice lunch of m’chaya (so named after matapa, a traditional Mozambican dish, but this one was made with chaya) and a salad made with cranberry hibiscus and moringa. After lunch, we took a tour of the garden, and Felicidade looked genuinely impressed to see that some of the plants had not died and even asked to take some cuttings home. At that point we knew we had sold her and planned to re-work the hospital garden the coming week.
The next week, another group from South Africa came and was able to help us plant the hospital garden. We filled the garden with moringa and chaya and added beds of chives and katuk. Some brilliant person (yours truly) thought it might be a good idea to plant these perennials first and let them grow a bit to provide some shade to the area. Then, once the plants are growing and producing leaves, we can return and plant vegetables (I should give some credit to the permagardening training that I had last fall, but I really feel the genius idea was my own). We plan to continue monitoring the garden and I am hoping to come back and work with the women who cook for the patients to talk with them about how to prepare the plants in a nutritious way.
To keep up our connection with the hospital, I have been going everyday this week to watch palestras that the local activistas put on everyday at 7. Though the palestras are mainly in Changana (which I really need to and intend to learn), I think the opportunity to meet the activistas has been great. Everyday is a different group of six, and each day the group seems excited to be talking with people about HIV prevention and care. A lot of health volunteers are placed with an organization called ICAP (I honestly forget what this stands for but it’s a project out of Columbia’s School of Public Health), and I am pretty sure these activistas are also ICAP funded. I hope to look more into this and maybe work with this group in the future. Yesterday I had a great time with two older ladies who were talking with people waiting to get HIV tests about how to use condoms. Though the women they were talking with blushed at the idea of a female condom, the activistas knew all about it and showed the women how to use them. After their demonstration, I explained how you can use a papaya to do the demonstrations and the ladies were totally impressed.
The other big project I am working on is starting up a “Plant of the Week” class at Mozaic’s training Center. (I actually forgot to mention, Mozaic is just finishing a beautiful training center where people will be able to come and stay for week-long seminars. The first seminar was held two weeks ago, despite little things not being finished. In the next couple months we hope to put some last final touches on the place and make it something like a community center. In my mind it will eventually be like a Visitor’s Center at a National Park, with lots of things to look at and read about and learn from. We have a great garden outside that we are going to make placards for, so people will be able to walk around and learn about the plants that do grow well here in Manjacaze. We are also hoping to get funding for a fooze ball table, but that might be years down the road.) Last Sunday, I met with Mozaic’s beneficiaries and we spoke about the challenges they have in the area of nutrition and agriculture. After our discussion, I suggested that we start up a seminar series about different plants and agriculture techniques that might help address some of their problems. With Louisa’s help, the group agreed on a day for our first class, and I have spent the past few days brainstorming what we can have as our first subject. While we are going to start the seminars for the direct beneficiaries of our project, we hope to eventually expand and invite members of the community. In my head, sometimes the seminars will be technical (like learning how to make a drip irrigation system) and sometimes they will be a bit lighter (like how to make really delicious brownies without an oven). We will see how it all works out.
On a more personal note, I am really growing to like Manjacaze. It is great to be able to walk down the street and recognize the kids or to go to the market and walk right to the lady who gives you the best deal on tomatoes. I am starting to meet people and have become very close with a girl named Celest, who works for Mozaic doing mostly administrative things. She took me to my first ever Mozambican wedding a couple weeks ago, and though all I did was sweat it was a fun ceremony and we had a great time. She told me she wanted also wanted big wedding and I told her she better have it within two years so that I can go!
I have also started playing soccer somewhat regularly. I am pretty decent on defense, and though my team never wins, we always have a great time. Last week we decided to take the whole team out for ice cream afterwards, but the ice cream machine wasn’t turned on. 25 cokes later, everyone was happy and I went home with only a few bruises on my legs. Maybe by the end of the two years my team will eventually win.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
is that a borehole youre digging or are you just happy to see me?
I drove into Manjacaze with Ofelio, the dearest of Peace Corps staff who always seems to get stuck doing things that I highly doubt were in his job description. We had been driving for two days, all the way south from Chimoio, through Inhambane province, into Gaza until we reached the turn off to Manjacaze.
Coming from the north, the road into Manj left me happy Peace Corps invested in 4-wheel drive vehicles. After about 45 minutes on the bumpy dirt road, we passed a sign indicating we had reached the “Municipio de Manjacaze.” “You are going to live in a municipality!” Ofelio told me. “This is a big place!” Unsure that “big” was the word Ofelio meant, we road into town to wait for Gerhad (Geraldo) at the gas station. The center of Manjacaze had a single gas pump, a market, and a post office. Ofelio and I drove around a bit before meeting Geraldo and saw that the town was also equipped with a bank and another gas station (this one with more than one pump and a convenience store), a bakery, a variety of small shops, and an old train station. We waited for Geraldo under a big cashew tree and lamented about how much hotter Gaza was than Chimoio.
From the shady cashew tree, we followed Geraldo to his house. He had warned me that a group of South Africans were with him on a mission trip for the week, but to not be overwhelmed. I got out of the car to be greeted by 25 excited volunteers, just back from a morning of digging a well in one of Mozaic’s beneficiary’s houses.
The following week flew by. I was kept busy by the visiting group, and any spare moment I tried to talk with Geraldo about Mozaic and what it is he wanted me to work on in the coming months. The visiting group worked in a number of beneficiaries houses, planting different plants, erecting fences, and working on a well. Unfortunately, the drill bit for the well got lodged in the sand and the group spent a lot of time trying to just get the drill bit back out of the sand. Unsuccessful, the borehole debacle became somewhat of the joke of the week.
But the failed well did not keep the group from having a great time. We visited a pre-school in the nearby town of Chokwe (“nearby”, read: two hours drive). We helped the pre-school by laying out a vegetable garden that the kids can get food from year round. We also played with the kids and tried to teach them a little about nutrition. As I helped translate for the group, I was so excited to feel needed, even just for translating. Though I had only been in Manjacaze a few days, I was being utilized. I was not just sitting beneath a mango tree (though don’t get me wrong, some of my fondest Dondo moments were beneath that tree), but I was talking with kids about nutrition, I was helping a group of volunteers with their work, I was getting my hands dirty planting perennials that will feed people in this sandy region all year round. The more I worked, the more I was excited to be in Manj, the more excited I was to be able to work with this organization and in this communitiy.
The week ended with an exciting futbol game, which we obviously lost, but not for lack of trying. The "South Africans" (in quotes because I was also part of the team!) lost 0-4 to the Mozambicans. Important note: I do not think anyone on the Mozambican team was over 16 years old, we should have gotten some kind of handicap.
Throughout the week, I was luckily able to learn a bit more about what Mozaic does. Mozaic works in Manjacaze as well as some other rural communities in the areas of agriculture/conservation farming, nutrition, and health. While the agriculture project is well established in the community, Geraldo hopes to build the nutrition project to get people more excited and committed to using the nutritious plants he has helped them cultivate. He has identified a number of important plants, especially perennial varieties that are packed with nutrition and are easy to use. Now it is just a matter of getting people to use them.
In the next coming weeks I will focus on learning about what Mozaic has done in Manjacaze and the other communities in which we work. I will be working closely with a few volunteers from the local church (Mozaic partners with local churches to carry out its work) who act as activistas in the community. I am really excited to work with the volunteers and even more excited to be working with Mozaic. We are going to try to put together weekly seminars on different plants and agriculture techniques, and eventually I also want to start up cooking classes. There is so much potential for growth with Mozaic and the whole team is excited to support new projects.
People say everything happens for a reason. I think I was meant to be here in Manjacaze. Despite the stress of the last couple weeks, I feel like there is good work for me to do here with Mozaic and I am excited to explore what that work will look like and figure out ways that I can help Mozaic’s mission.
As an added bonus, the town of Manjacaze just received an ice cream machine. What more can I ask for?
Coming from the north, the road into Manj left me happy Peace Corps invested in 4-wheel drive vehicles. After about 45 minutes on the bumpy dirt road, we passed a sign indicating we had reached the “Municipio de Manjacaze.” “You are going to live in a municipality!” Ofelio told me. “This is a big place!” Unsure that “big” was the word Ofelio meant, we road into town to wait for Gerhad (Geraldo) at the gas station. The center of Manjacaze had a single gas pump, a market, and a post office. Ofelio and I drove around a bit before meeting Geraldo and saw that the town was also equipped with a bank and another gas station (this one with more than one pump and a convenience store), a bakery, a variety of small shops, and an old train station. We waited for Geraldo under a big cashew tree and lamented about how much hotter Gaza was than Chimoio.
From the shady cashew tree, we followed Geraldo to his house. He had warned me that a group of South Africans were with him on a mission trip for the week, but to not be overwhelmed. I got out of the car to be greeted by 25 excited volunteers, just back from a morning of digging a well in one of Mozaic’s beneficiary’s houses.
The following week flew by. I was kept busy by the visiting group, and any spare moment I tried to talk with Geraldo about Mozaic and what it is he wanted me to work on in the coming months. The visiting group worked in a number of beneficiaries houses, planting different plants, erecting fences, and working on a well. Unfortunately, the drill bit for the well got lodged in the sand and the group spent a lot of time trying to just get the drill bit back out of the sand. Unsuccessful, the borehole debacle became somewhat of the joke of the week.
But the failed well did not keep the group from having a great time. We visited a pre-school in the nearby town of Chokwe (“nearby”, read: two hours drive). We helped the pre-school by laying out a vegetable garden that the kids can get food from year round. We also played with the kids and tried to teach them a little about nutrition. As I helped translate for the group, I was so excited to feel needed, even just for translating. Though I had only been in Manjacaze a few days, I was being utilized. I was not just sitting beneath a mango tree (though don’t get me wrong, some of my fondest Dondo moments were beneath that tree), but I was talking with kids about nutrition, I was helping a group of volunteers with their work, I was getting my hands dirty planting perennials that will feed people in this sandy region all year round. The more I worked, the more I was excited to be in Manj, the more excited I was to be able to work with this organization and in this communitiy.
The week ended with an exciting futbol game, which we obviously lost, but not for lack of trying. The "South Africans" (in quotes because I was also part of the team!) lost 0-4 to the Mozambicans. Important note: I do not think anyone on the Mozambican team was over 16 years old, we should have gotten some kind of handicap.
Throughout the week, I was luckily able to learn a bit more about what Mozaic does. Mozaic works in Manjacaze as well as some other rural communities in the areas of agriculture/conservation farming, nutrition, and health. While the agriculture project is well established in the community, Geraldo hopes to build the nutrition project to get people more excited and committed to using the nutritious plants he has helped them cultivate. He has identified a number of important plants, especially perennial varieties that are packed with nutrition and are easy to use. Now it is just a matter of getting people to use them.
In the next coming weeks I will focus on learning about what Mozaic has done in Manjacaze and the other communities in which we work. I will be working closely with a few volunteers from the local church (Mozaic partners with local churches to carry out its work) who act as activistas in the community. I am really excited to work with the volunteers and even more excited to be working with Mozaic. We are going to try to put together weekly seminars on different plants and agriculture techniques, and eventually I also want to start up cooking classes. There is so much potential for growth with Mozaic and the whole team is excited to support new projects.
People say everything happens for a reason. I think I was meant to be here in Manjacaze. Despite the stress of the last couple weeks, I feel like there is good work for me to do here with Mozaic and I am excited to explore what that work will look like and figure out ways that I can help Mozaic’s mission.
As an added bonus, the town of Manjacaze just received an ice cream machine. What more can I ask for?
Monday, March 7, 2011
moving south.
I am a pretty light sleeper. So when I woke up to two men jumping out of my window, I was pretty surprised that I had not heard them come in.
More surprised, however, that I had not heard them steal my valuables right off my bed. Pretty sneaky banditos.
After being surprised and annoyed about the fact that my computer was gone (and that I was only half-way through season 3 of Dexter), I sat down to realize that I also did not have a phone, and it being 2:30 in the morning, I had no way to contact Peace Corps or anyone from ASVIMO to sit with me or help me handle the situation. So I waited. At the time, I did not know what else I could do, but I spend the next few hours thinking about my options and about how I could have stopped the situation. The guys had cut the grates off my window (I think they must have done this another day and I just had not noticed) and climbed in. I had been in the process of fixing my windows so they would close and lock, and if I ever wished I had been more proactive about something, this was the moment.
Anyway, I sat there and thought about the situation until it was light enough to feel safe outside of my house. I went for a run, and if there is anything that makes you run fast, its the prospect of finding the guy who had the nerve to break into your house. I was a volunteer, after all. I was here to help this community, not get robbed by it.
It was not until after I had showered and was talking to my neighbor that what had happened really set in. As I explained to my neighbor, I just burst into tears. Crying is not something Mozambicans do in public, so she was justly surprised as she agreed that stealing from others "nao e vida."
Around 6:30, I decided to see if anyone was at ASVIMO yet. Most of my neighbors do not have phones, so I would have to wait until one of my counterparts arrived to call Peace Corps and explain what had happened. Luckily, we were starting March food distribution that day, so Esperanca had come in early to prepare a few things. As she nonshelantly asked how I had slept, I started crying again (I don't know why I could not keep it together, but I couldn't), and she sat me down and had me explain. She then called Gimo who called the local police to come to talk with me. I was able to track down the Peace Corps emergency number and explain what had happened.
The morning from then on out happened very quickly. Peace Corps communicated with Gimo and decided that Dondo, and its proximity to Beira, was not a safe place for me. Break ins are very common among volunteers in Mozambique, but break ins in which the person actually enter the house are very uncommon. Anyway, by mid afternoon, there was a Peace Corps car waiting to pack up my house and take my to the office. I refused to put everything in the car, convinced that I could negotiate with Peace Corps to let me stay in Dondo. I locked all of my things, save the charger for the computer (which they had not stolen, joke is on you!), and clothes for a few days, in the warehouse at ASVIMO and promised my activistas I would be back by Monday.
When I arrived in Chimoio, at the Peace Corps office, it was clear that I would not be going back. Peace Corps had already officially closed my site due to security reasons, and I would no longer be working in Dondo. I really had spent the last three months becomming a part of the community of Dondo, and especially of my bairro, Mafarinha. I hated the prospect of leaving. If for no other reason because this community clearly had people who were living in a state of desperation.
But nothing could convince Peace Corps to let me stay. The next week, I returned to Dondo and had to explain to my neighbors that I would not be coming back. It was really hard to say goodbye, especially to the women next door and to the activistas I had worked with. It does not really make sense to just leave when your house is broken into. If that happened in the states, you would get a better security system or a taller fence. Explaining to my community that though I wanted to help, the community was not safe enough for me was very hard. Especailly since I was not convinced. But I gave each of the kids a hug and the women my regards, and I drove away.
A few days later, I heard from Peace Corps that they had found me a new site in Gaza province, in the south. My new town is called Manjakaze and I will be working with a South African NGO called Mozaic. The work with Mozaic seems very interesting and after speaking with the director of the organization I am really excited to get to move down and start working. I will be working on building capacity for the organization on their nutrition and food security projects.
I do not have many more details at this point, but I will keep everyone as up to date as I can.
On a lighter note, packing up my house in an hour was quite an adventure (as some of you who have lived with me or helped me pack in the past know, try as I can, I somehow always tend to accumulate a lot of things, especially compared to most Mozambicans). George and Maria helped me, and I hope they know how much I appreciated their help. Throughout the whole packing up, anything from the states, Maria would hold up and ask what it was for. She tasted soy sauce for the first time and thought my Burt's Bees shampoo smelled great. When she found my deodorant, she asked what it was for, and after I told her it was to smell good, she asked how to use it. I showed her how and she was totally impressed. I told her she could take the stick (Tom's lavender hops deoderant is so delightful) and her entire face lit up.
I am pretty sure Maria will be the best smelling person in Mozambique.
And I am positive that I will miss her.
More surprised, however, that I had not heard them steal my valuables right off my bed. Pretty sneaky banditos.
After being surprised and annoyed about the fact that my computer was gone (and that I was only half-way through season 3 of Dexter), I sat down to realize that I also did not have a phone, and it being 2:30 in the morning, I had no way to contact Peace Corps or anyone from ASVIMO to sit with me or help me handle the situation. So I waited. At the time, I did not know what else I could do, but I spend the next few hours thinking about my options and about how I could have stopped the situation. The guys had cut the grates off my window (I think they must have done this another day and I just had not noticed) and climbed in. I had been in the process of fixing my windows so they would close and lock, and if I ever wished I had been more proactive about something, this was the moment.
Anyway, I sat there and thought about the situation until it was light enough to feel safe outside of my house. I went for a run, and if there is anything that makes you run fast, its the prospect of finding the guy who had the nerve to break into your house. I was a volunteer, after all. I was here to help this community, not get robbed by it.
It was not until after I had showered and was talking to my neighbor that what had happened really set in. As I explained to my neighbor, I just burst into tears. Crying is not something Mozambicans do in public, so she was justly surprised as she agreed that stealing from others "nao e vida."
Around 6:30, I decided to see if anyone was at ASVIMO yet. Most of my neighbors do not have phones, so I would have to wait until one of my counterparts arrived to call Peace Corps and explain what had happened. Luckily, we were starting March food distribution that day, so Esperanca had come in early to prepare a few things. As she nonshelantly asked how I had slept, I started crying again (I don't know why I could not keep it together, but I couldn't), and she sat me down and had me explain. She then called Gimo who called the local police to come to talk with me. I was able to track down the Peace Corps emergency number and explain what had happened.
The morning from then on out happened very quickly. Peace Corps communicated with Gimo and decided that Dondo, and its proximity to Beira, was not a safe place for me. Break ins are very common among volunteers in Mozambique, but break ins in which the person actually enter the house are very uncommon. Anyway, by mid afternoon, there was a Peace Corps car waiting to pack up my house and take my to the office. I refused to put everything in the car, convinced that I could negotiate with Peace Corps to let me stay in Dondo. I locked all of my things, save the charger for the computer (which they had not stolen, joke is on you!), and clothes for a few days, in the warehouse at ASVIMO and promised my activistas I would be back by Monday.
When I arrived in Chimoio, at the Peace Corps office, it was clear that I would not be going back. Peace Corps had already officially closed my site due to security reasons, and I would no longer be working in Dondo. I really had spent the last three months becomming a part of the community of Dondo, and especially of my bairro, Mafarinha. I hated the prospect of leaving. If for no other reason because this community clearly had people who were living in a state of desperation.
But nothing could convince Peace Corps to let me stay. The next week, I returned to Dondo and had to explain to my neighbors that I would not be coming back. It was really hard to say goodbye, especially to the women next door and to the activistas I had worked with. It does not really make sense to just leave when your house is broken into. If that happened in the states, you would get a better security system or a taller fence. Explaining to my community that though I wanted to help, the community was not safe enough for me was very hard. Especailly since I was not convinced. But I gave each of the kids a hug and the women my regards, and I drove away.
A few days later, I heard from Peace Corps that they had found me a new site in Gaza province, in the south. My new town is called Manjakaze and I will be working with a South African NGO called Mozaic. The work with Mozaic seems very interesting and after speaking with the director of the organization I am really excited to get to move down and start working. I will be working on building capacity for the organization on their nutrition and food security projects.
I do not have many more details at this point, but I will keep everyone as up to date as I can.
On a lighter note, packing up my house in an hour was quite an adventure (as some of you who have lived with me or helped me pack in the past know, try as I can, I somehow always tend to accumulate a lot of things, especially compared to most Mozambicans). George and Maria helped me, and I hope they know how much I appreciated their help. Throughout the whole packing up, anything from the states, Maria would hold up and ask what it was for. She tasted soy sauce for the first time and thought my Burt's Bees shampoo smelled great. When she found my deodorant, she asked what it was for, and after I told her it was to smell good, she asked how to use it. I showed her how and she was totally impressed. I told her she could take the stick (Tom's lavender hops deoderant is so delightful) and her entire face lit up.
I am pretty sure Maria will be the best smelling person in Mozambique.
And I am positive that I will miss her.
Friday, February 11, 2011
january food distribution
Two weeks ago, I was visiting some of ASVIMO’s beneficiaries with Maya, one of our activistas. Maya was very patient and translated the conversations he was having for me (most of our beneficiaries speak only Sena, the local dialect) and also translated any questions I had. Of the twelve families we visited, nine complained of being hungry.
After our visit, I asked Maya if he thought we should increase the amount of food each of our beneficiaries receives (each families that is visited by our activistas receives a monthly food subsidy, a program run through ASVIMO with the help of the World Food Program). Maya responded that maybe we should increase the amount each person gets, but what is more important is that the food is delivered each month.
Someone went on vacation in January, and no one in Dondo received any food.
ASVIMO provides food to over 2,000 people in the District of Dondo. In January, those 6,000 people did not receive anything. On the 25th of January, a truck from the World Food Program (WFP) showed up at our office. The truck was stacked with food for the months of both January and February, and the representative from the WFP apologized for not having come earlier. Though it would be a huge undertaking for us to organize food for two months, the representative really should have apologized to our beneficiaries who had been hungry all month.
With hundreds of 50 kg bags of beans and corn (which will be pounded, usually by hand, by women into a powder and then used to make xima, a filling rice substitute), I helped the activistas organize for the distribution last week.
I never thought I would say this, but I miss Microsoft Excel.
Each beneficiary is registered by our activistas on a list. Some activistas keep this list fairly organized in a notebook or folder and others have five or six sheets of paper with hundreds of names written haphazardly with numbers next to them signifying ages and family members.
Somehow, these lists all had to be transferred onto an official document that would be turned in both to the Mozambican Social Services and to the WFP. This document, mind you, is only as official as the emblem in the upper left hand corner. It is just a word document with a table that requires you to manually insert each name, the amount of food to be received, and the date it will be received. There was no automatic numbering system, no alphabetizing of names to make the process of distribution easier, no sum function to easily report back to the WFP how much we had leftover or still needed to receive.
I could have easily copied the emblem onto a new document and done the whole thing in excel, but that would not be very sustainable. Plus, I would have to interpret the previously mentioned sheets of names, and I would certainly make every Dominga a Domingo and assume Joao Jose is a complete name though his full name is truly Joao Jose Jose, son of Joao Jose.
Since Monday, I have been sitting with each activista, typing in each name of beneficiaries as the activista makes a card by hand which will be given to the beneficiary and serve as a kind of receipt. With one flash drive (I tried putting my bosses flash drive in my computer and was immediately met with seizure on the part of my computer), one other person who knows how to type, and thousands of names, I have spent the entire week helping to create these documents.
On Wednesday morning, I joined my co-workers in our large gazebo (at our office, we have this covered gazebo-like building which is where I spend most of my workdays), which had been turned into a food distribution site. Three neighborhoods worth of beneficiaries sat in the shade nearby, and waited for us to be ready to give them their food. First, people came to my table, with the handwritten cards we had made during the previous week. I found their name on the database list and had them sign that they received their food (for most people, this meant a thumb print, but for the people who could write, it was really fun to see how excited they were to write their name, especially older women, a demographic of which few can write, being able to write was clearly a source of pride). After they had “signed,” the beneficiaries went to George, one of the boys who works at ASVIMO, was standing in the center of about 100 of the 50 kg bags of corn, about a foot of corn on the ground below him, with a bucket that with each scoop into the sea of corn gave the beneficiary 5 kgs. Tio Nhemba (who now I understand his name, nhemba is the local term for red beans) was the man of the hour, measuring out beans on our brand new scale and then giving them to our patient beneficiaries. Each child receiving food got 15 kg of corn and 2 kg of beans. Each “doente” (sick person) received 75 kg of corn and 15 kg of beans. Some people came prepared with bikes (rare) or wheelbarrows (very rare), but most people hoisted their provisions on their head and walked home. It should be reiterated here that people were coming to our location from three neighborhoods in Dondo, a fairly spread out town. Some people were carrying 50 kg bags of corn on their heads for close to 15 miles!
After three days of distribution, we were excited to be done. George was covered in “poera” (corn dust) and exhausted, the woman who sells popsicles near our office was out, and I had been given more mangos than I knew what to do with (older doentes, especially women tend to arrive with gifts, and this time of year, these gifts are in the form of mangos).
Though it was exhausting work, it was well worth it when you saw how thankful people were to be receiving food. Older women would take my hand and say how glad they were that I was there helping out (this is my own interpretation, most of them speak only Sena and I am only just learning, they could have been saying I was a total moron and smell like Beira), then they would wrap their beans in their capulana, put the satchel on their head, and march home.
Next month they will be back, and they will be just as happy to wait in the shade all day as I interpret our activistas handwriting.
After our visit, I asked Maya if he thought we should increase the amount of food each of our beneficiaries receives (each families that is visited by our activistas receives a monthly food subsidy, a program run through ASVIMO with the help of the World Food Program). Maya responded that maybe we should increase the amount each person gets, but what is more important is that the food is delivered each month.
Someone went on vacation in January, and no one in Dondo received any food.
ASVIMO provides food to over 2,000 people in the District of Dondo. In January, those 6,000 people did not receive anything. On the 25th of January, a truck from the World Food Program (WFP) showed up at our office. The truck was stacked with food for the months of both January and February, and the representative from the WFP apologized for not having come earlier. Though it would be a huge undertaking for us to organize food for two months, the representative really should have apologized to our beneficiaries who had been hungry all month.
With hundreds of 50 kg bags of beans and corn (which will be pounded, usually by hand, by women into a powder and then used to make xima, a filling rice substitute), I helped the activistas organize for the distribution last week.
I never thought I would say this, but I miss Microsoft Excel.
Each beneficiary is registered by our activistas on a list. Some activistas keep this list fairly organized in a notebook or folder and others have five or six sheets of paper with hundreds of names written haphazardly with numbers next to them signifying ages and family members.
Somehow, these lists all had to be transferred onto an official document that would be turned in both to the Mozambican Social Services and to the WFP. This document, mind you, is only as official as the emblem in the upper left hand corner. It is just a word document with a table that requires you to manually insert each name, the amount of food to be received, and the date it will be received. There was no automatic numbering system, no alphabetizing of names to make the process of distribution easier, no sum function to easily report back to the WFP how much we had leftover or still needed to receive.
I could have easily copied the emblem onto a new document and done the whole thing in excel, but that would not be very sustainable. Plus, I would have to interpret the previously mentioned sheets of names, and I would certainly make every Dominga a Domingo and assume Joao Jose is a complete name though his full name is truly Joao Jose Jose, son of Joao Jose.
Since Monday, I have been sitting with each activista, typing in each name of beneficiaries as the activista makes a card by hand which will be given to the beneficiary and serve as a kind of receipt. With one flash drive (I tried putting my bosses flash drive in my computer and was immediately met with seizure on the part of my computer), one other person who knows how to type, and thousands of names, I have spent the entire week helping to create these documents.
On Wednesday morning, I joined my co-workers in our large gazebo (at our office, we have this covered gazebo-like building which is where I spend most of my workdays), which had been turned into a food distribution site. Three neighborhoods worth of beneficiaries sat in the shade nearby, and waited for us to be ready to give them their food. First, people came to my table, with the handwritten cards we had made during the previous week. I found their name on the database list and had them sign that they received their food (for most people, this meant a thumb print, but for the people who could write, it was really fun to see how excited they were to write their name, especially older women, a demographic of which few can write, being able to write was clearly a source of pride). After they had “signed,” the beneficiaries went to George, one of the boys who works at ASVIMO, was standing in the center of about 100 of the 50 kg bags of corn, about a foot of corn on the ground below him, with a bucket that with each scoop into the sea of corn gave the beneficiary 5 kgs. Tio Nhemba (who now I understand his name, nhemba is the local term for red beans) was the man of the hour, measuring out beans on our brand new scale and then giving them to our patient beneficiaries. Each child receiving food got 15 kg of corn and 2 kg of beans. Each “doente” (sick person) received 75 kg of corn and 15 kg of beans. Some people came prepared with bikes (rare) or wheelbarrows (very rare), but most people hoisted their provisions on their head and walked home. It should be reiterated here that people were coming to our location from three neighborhoods in Dondo, a fairly spread out town. Some people were carrying 50 kg bags of corn on their heads for close to 15 miles!
After three days of distribution, we were excited to be done. George was covered in “poera” (corn dust) and exhausted, the woman who sells popsicles near our office was out, and I had been given more mangos than I knew what to do with (older doentes, especially women tend to arrive with gifts, and this time of year, these gifts are in the form of mangos).
Though it was exhausting work, it was well worth it when you saw how thankful people were to be receiving food. Older women would take my hand and say how glad they were that I was there helping out (this is my own interpretation, most of them speak only Sena and I am only just learning, they could have been saying I was a total moron and smell like Beira), then they would wrap their beans in their capulana, put the satchel on their head, and march home.
Next month they will be back, and they will be just as happy to wait in the shade all day as I interpret our activistas handwriting.
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