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.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
the accident
When you are a Peace Corps Volunteer, or any ex-pat living and working in the “developing world,” you take a number of risks. Its a risk when you decide to not brush your teeth with filtered water. Its a risk when you sometimes purposefully miss your malaria prophylaxis. Its a risk when you swim in that fresh water river with your friends when you know it may be ridden with schisto. Its a risk when you eat that salad despite the fact you know that the kitchen probably did not clean the vegetables. Its a risk when you neglect to wear sunscreen on a day you are out doing home visits.
When I was studying at BU, one of my professors, Bill Bicknell, began to talk to us about these risks. I remember him saying that despite all the infections, diseases, ailments, and discomforts we may, and probably will have, our greatest risk was getting into cars.
When I got to Mozambique, that point seemed totally true. Its not just that the roads are bad, but its that the roads are bad, the cars are falling apart, and the drivers are rarely licensed. I have gotten in cars where no one sits in the front seat because the radiator gets so hot you cannot sit down. I have gotten in cars where the doors fall off. I get in cars that are over packed and are left with a blind spot bigger than the road itself. I fly down roads with huge potholes and often get out with bumps on my head because there are no seat belts to hold me in place as I am jostled as much as the goat sitting next to me.
Its a risk I take. Its a risk we all take. And until last week that was all it was. A risk. But it was not real.
Until last week.
When I heard about the accident it was so surreal. I had just boleaed, hitch hiked, from another beach a few days prior exactly like this group of volunteers did. We all do. Many of us prefer open back trucks; they are airy, spacious, and give you a chance for a ride without having to explain who you are for the thousandth time that week. The fact that we all take those rides makes the accident so surreal. So surreal but also so sobering.
The details of the accident are still a bit unclear, but the five volunteers involved apparently realized partway through their ride that this risk was greater than they were comfortable with. After asking the driver to slow down, they finally asked him to stop, but he, like so many Mozambican motoristas did not seem to care at all.
The tire in the truck blew out, scattering the volunteers as the truck flipped. Two volunteers, who had only arrived at site the previous week, sustained too great of injuries, and never made it to the hospital. The other three volunteers were immediately medivaced to South Africa where they received care.
Lena was new to Chibuto. She had a big smile and was willing to poke fun at her subtle Wisconsin accent. You could tell immediately that she was excited to be in Mozambique, to learn and try something new. To see the world.
Alden was opening an education site in Chissano. Her first weekend there she stayed around to help proctor exams, a particularly undesirable job. We all gave her a hard time for already being taken advantage of by her school director. She was just so eager to be a part of her new life in Mozambique.
Derek, Mary, and Mark are still recovering in South Africa. It is unclear if they will return as volunteers, but needless to say they have the support of every Moz Volunteer, past and present.
The other volunteers in the new swear in group have lost two of their sisters. Lena and Alden had only been at site a little over a week. After the ups and downs of training, I remember how close I was to to many of my colleagues, and I cannot imagine how difficult it has been for them to lose two beautiful women as they have.
We are all sobered by the events this month. The risks we take are real risks. They have real consequences. And while the consequences are often steps away, sometimes they are lurking nearby.
My heart goes out to the families and friends of Lena and Alden. Having had the opportunity to meet both of them briefly, I cannot start to express my sympathies but I hope you know you have the support of the entire Peace Corps Mozambique family.
When I was studying at BU, one of my professors, Bill Bicknell, began to talk to us about these risks. I remember him saying that despite all the infections, diseases, ailments, and discomforts we may, and probably will have, our greatest risk was getting into cars.
When I got to Mozambique, that point seemed totally true. Its not just that the roads are bad, but its that the roads are bad, the cars are falling apart, and the drivers are rarely licensed. I have gotten in cars where no one sits in the front seat because the radiator gets so hot you cannot sit down. I have gotten in cars where the doors fall off. I get in cars that are over packed and are left with a blind spot bigger than the road itself. I fly down roads with huge potholes and often get out with bumps on my head because there are no seat belts to hold me in place as I am jostled as much as the goat sitting next to me.
Its a risk I take. Its a risk we all take. And until last week that was all it was. A risk. But it was not real.
Until last week.
When I heard about the accident it was so surreal. I had just boleaed, hitch hiked, from another beach a few days prior exactly like this group of volunteers did. We all do. Many of us prefer open back trucks; they are airy, spacious, and give you a chance for a ride without having to explain who you are for the thousandth time that week. The fact that we all take those rides makes the accident so surreal. So surreal but also so sobering.
The details of the accident are still a bit unclear, but the five volunteers involved apparently realized partway through their ride that this risk was greater than they were comfortable with. After asking the driver to slow down, they finally asked him to stop, but he, like so many Mozambican motoristas did not seem to care at all.
The tire in the truck blew out, scattering the volunteers as the truck flipped. Two volunteers, who had only arrived at site the previous week, sustained too great of injuries, and never made it to the hospital. The other three volunteers were immediately medivaced to South Africa where they received care.
Lena was new to Chibuto. She had a big smile and was willing to poke fun at her subtle Wisconsin accent. You could tell immediately that she was excited to be in Mozambique, to learn and try something new. To see the world.
Alden was opening an education site in Chissano. Her first weekend there she stayed around to help proctor exams, a particularly undesirable job. We all gave her a hard time for already being taken advantage of by her school director. She was just so eager to be a part of her new life in Mozambique.
Derek, Mary, and Mark are still recovering in South Africa. It is unclear if they will return as volunteers, but needless to say they have the support of every Moz Volunteer, past and present.
The other volunteers in the new swear in group have lost two of their sisters. Lena and Alden had only been at site a little over a week. After the ups and downs of training, I remember how close I was to to many of my colleagues, and I cannot imagine how difficult it has been for them to lose two beautiful women as they have.
We are all sobered by the events this month. The risks we take are real risks. They have real consequences. And while the consequences are often steps away, sometimes they are lurking nearby.
My heart goes out to the families and friends of Lena and Alden. Having had the opportunity to meet both of them briefly, I cannot start to express my sympathies but I hope you know you have the support of the entire Peace Corps Mozambique family.
patience is a virtue, but so is understanding the functions of "right click"
Those of you who know me, know that I am not the most patient person. In high school it used to drive me crazy how long Dena, my younger sister, used to take to shower before school. I do not like waiting around for things to happen, and I am usually busy doing three or four things at once.
In Mozambique, you are lucky if you do three or four things in a week.
Things move much slower here. Its really not a bad thing, but it took some getting used to. When I make a meeting for 10 AM, I am no longer surprised when we don't start until 11:30 or 12. I know see the value in the kibitzing I do in that “waiting time.”
In Mozambique people take time to talk about the weather, how their fields are faring, and gossip about the neighbors. Its considered rude to walk past someone you know and not stop to say hello. And I have grown to love it. Some of my favorite interactions each day happen underneath a shady tree when I run into someone in the road. Then, if that conversation makes me ten minutes late, no one seems to mind. I am learning to appreciate the day for what it is and to stop being in a rush all the time.
Despite what I consider to be great strides in my patience, I still have a long way to go.
The greatest test of my patience so far has been a series of computer classes I started teaching last month.
I teach to two different groups. My REDES girls come in in the afternoons and I teach to a few of the Mozaic team and church members a couple times a week in the mornings.
My favorite Mozaic student was Mama Fatima, who is the wife of one of the Pastors in our network. Fatima is the mother of three beautiful children, the youngest of which is only about six months. I think she just liked that she had the opportunity to get out of the house everyday and do something a little different. She would bring her youngest son, and with him either strapped to her back or propped on her lap, we was content to “type” for hours.
I was able to install a typing program on the computers. The program prompts you to type a word and then times how long it takes you and how accurate you were. Each level adds different letters and characters and becomes a bit more difficult. Fatima would sit and work with this program all morning. One day I looked over her shoulder and realized that she did not care at all how accurate her typing was. She said she liked how it felt to tap the keys. She was sitting for hours typing gibberish. She was doing about 35 words per minute but only had about 2% accuracy. When I explained that she was supposed to try to type the words on the screen, she said that she knew but she liked doing it this way.
To her the class was much more about the prospect of something different every few days than it was about learning computers.
I think its this prospect that really made me excited about teaching computers, despite the test of my patience.
At my first lesson with my REDES girls, I had a short passage I wanted the girls to practice typing, then save in a folder that they create for themselves on the desktop. When Etelvinha, one of my favorite, most dedicated REDES girls, sat down and pushed the start key like a touch screen when I told them to click start, I knew I needed to take a step back.
You take for-granted how much you know about computers. I am anything but tech savvy, but I know how to turn on a computer, to hold and use mouse, and am familiar most of the basic functions of the computer's software.
I was starting at square one with my girls. Etelvinha, Fatima, and Neuzia came in almost everyday before the holidays, other girls did not come in as regularly, but were also excited to have the chance to play on the computer. They were happy to practice using the mouse in a paint program, play solitaire, and try to pass different levels in a typing program. While at times, teaching the difference between a right click and a left click made me want to pull my hair out, and sometimes ended in a mysterious malfunction of the entire machine which I still am unsure how they managed so many times, seeing the girls get better and better at typing was really fun. It was also fun for them to be able to sit down at the computer and open “their” folder, filled with paint documents cluttered with hearts and smilies and long letters that had no punctuation at all (punctuation is at the end of the typing program and we have not quite gotten there yet).
What is exciting about teaching computers to this group of girls is the fact that knowing the basic functions of a computer puts them among a small percentage of Mozambicans who can boast that. Knowing how to create and save documents is a marketable skill that will help these girls find themselves in a position where they can do something other than sell cookies in the market or work hard in the machamba all day.
And that prospect is worth my frustrations when I explain for the tenth time how to shut down the computer.
In Mozambique, you are lucky if you do three or four things in a week.
Things move much slower here. Its really not a bad thing, but it took some getting used to. When I make a meeting for 10 AM, I am no longer surprised when we don't start until 11:30 or 12. I know see the value in the kibitzing I do in that “waiting time.”
In Mozambique people take time to talk about the weather, how their fields are faring, and gossip about the neighbors. Its considered rude to walk past someone you know and not stop to say hello. And I have grown to love it. Some of my favorite interactions each day happen underneath a shady tree when I run into someone in the road. Then, if that conversation makes me ten minutes late, no one seems to mind. I am learning to appreciate the day for what it is and to stop being in a rush all the time.
Despite what I consider to be great strides in my patience, I still have a long way to go.
The greatest test of my patience so far has been a series of computer classes I started teaching last month.
I teach to two different groups. My REDES girls come in in the afternoons and I teach to a few of the Mozaic team and church members a couple times a week in the mornings.
My favorite Mozaic student was Mama Fatima, who is the wife of one of the Pastors in our network. Fatima is the mother of three beautiful children, the youngest of which is only about six months. I think she just liked that she had the opportunity to get out of the house everyday and do something a little different. She would bring her youngest son, and with him either strapped to her back or propped on her lap, we was content to “type” for hours.
I was able to install a typing program on the computers. The program prompts you to type a word and then times how long it takes you and how accurate you were. Each level adds different letters and characters and becomes a bit more difficult. Fatima would sit and work with this program all morning. One day I looked over her shoulder and realized that she did not care at all how accurate her typing was. She said she liked how it felt to tap the keys. She was sitting for hours typing gibberish. She was doing about 35 words per minute but only had about 2% accuracy. When I explained that she was supposed to try to type the words on the screen, she said that she knew but she liked doing it this way.
To her the class was much more about the prospect of something different every few days than it was about learning computers.
I think its this prospect that really made me excited about teaching computers, despite the test of my patience.
At my first lesson with my REDES girls, I had a short passage I wanted the girls to practice typing, then save in a folder that they create for themselves on the desktop. When Etelvinha, one of my favorite, most dedicated REDES girls, sat down and pushed the start key like a touch screen when I told them to click start, I knew I needed to take a step back.
You take for-granted how much you know about computers. I am anything but tech savvy, but I know how to turn on a computer, to hold and use mouse, and am familiar most of the basic functions of the computer's software.
I was starting at square one with my girls. Etelvinha, Fatima, and Neuzia came in almost everyday before the holidays, other girls did not come in as regularly, but were also excited to have the chance to play on the computer. They were happy to practice using the mouse in a paint program, play solitaire, and try to pass different levels in a typing program. While at times, teaching the difference between a right click and a left click made me want to pull my hair out, and sometimes ended in a mysterious malfunction of the entire machine which I still am unsure how they managed so many times, seeing the girls get better and better at typing was really fun. It was also fun for them to be able to sit down at the computer and open “their” folder, filled with paint documents cluttered with hearts and smilies and long letters that had no punctuation at all (punctuation is at the end of the typing program and we have not quite gotten there yet).
What is exciting about teaching computers to this group of girls is the fact that knowing the basic functions of a computer puts them among a small percentage of Mozambicans who can boast that. Knowing how to create and save documents is a marketable skill that will help these girls find themselves in a position where they can do something other than sell cookies in the market or work hard in the machamba all day.
And that prospect is worth my frustrations when I explain for the tenth time how to shut down the computer.
Monday, October 24, 2011
how to run a successful business in Manjacaze.
If you walk into the market in Manjacaze, you might be very impressed. I think Manjacaze has one of the best markets in Gaza, but I also am a bit biased.
The market in Manjacaze has a few things that I really love. First is the fancy “banca” owned by a sassy lady I just call Dona. She also refrains from asking my name and calls me Amiga. Now a fancy banca really means she has a stall with lots of different convenience items. She is my go-to lady for bug spray, toilet paper, dish soap, etc. She also sometimes has great chocolate cookies and quality fruit juice, so if I feel like splurging, there is always a place for that. She also knows when I am baking as its her banca I go to when I need flour and sugar. She especially appreciates when I bring her a cookie the next day.
Another frequent stop I make is at my modista's banca. My modista (dress-maker), Irene, has a hard time keeping to a schedule. If she tells you your dress will be finished by Tuesday, you might get it Thursday or Friday or maybe the following Wednesday. Despite her difficulty sticking to a schedule, she does a very good job, and only laughs a little bit when I ask her to make my hems shorter and to take the ruffles and the sleeves off my sun dress. She works with two other younger women who always have questions about American culture and always promise to make me a very nice dress for when I go home.
The next part of the market could be overwhelming for you if its your first time in a Mozambican market. Stall after stall of similar products at similar prices make it hard to chose which cute little lady you will patronize that day. If someone has given me a good deal once, they become my go-to. I also reward creativity, so if someone reasons with me why I want to buy cabbage instead of green beans or explains that September is the best month to make collard greens, I will probably be convinced. I am also a very loyal customer, and the market ladies know that, so they have begun to try to get my attention when I head straight for my favorite place for lemons. That said, I have had to spread my loyalty around. I now have one lady whose tomatoes I like, another who has good sized garlic, one who I buy eggplant from, etc. The other ladies in the market have started to get a little jealous. When I walk past their stalls they ask why I don't want onions and I just smile. Customer service is everything in the market.
I once asked one of my market friends why they don't go sell their products elsewhere. Certainly, finding a street corner that wasn't full of ladies who were also selling bananas, beans, dried fish, and lettuce would make selling your product easier. The lady responded quite simply, “but my friends are here.”
Much about having a business in Mozambique is about having something to do during the day. Most Mozambicans are subsistence farmers. They often do not have jobs outside of the home, and having a job that gets you to the market everyday is exciting. Its fun to know all the other ladies and no one is really competitive. Prices are the same at every stall and if you don't like the mushy tomatoes from your favorite lady, she will point you to her friend who has less ripe ones.
Last week I organized a financial management and business skills seminar for a few of the church leaders Mozaic works with. We were discussing different business opportunities and, more often than not, people reverted back to businesses with which they were already familiar. I discussed with them about how selling chickens is not a good idea if there are already five other people in the market selling chickens and I was greeted with blank stares.
The non-competitive nature of Mozambicans made businesses training a challenge. We discussed the importance of not giving big discounts or free products to your friends and family and overall the group agreed that it would be impossible to avoid. We discussed having a service that was better than the others available in the community and everyone agreed that it would be better to work with others with that same service and talk about improving their overall efficiency as a co-op.
At the end of the training, I think the group did go home with an idea of the importance of competition and critical thinking about the viability of a given product or service.
But when it comes to them deciding what kind of businesses they want to open, I bet the majority still chose selling tomatoes. And I cant blame them, the tomato ladies are so much fun.
The market in Manjacaze has a few things that I really love. First is the fancy “banca” owned by a sassy lady I just call Dona. She also refrains from asking my name and calls me Amiga. Now a fancy banca really means she has a stall with lots of different convenience items. She is my go-to lady for bug spray, toilet paper, dish soap, etc. She also sometimes has great chocolate cookies and quality fruit juice, so if I feel like splurging, there is always a place for that. She also knows when I am baking as its her banca I go to when I need flour and sugar. She especially appreciates when I bring her a cookie the next day.
Another frequent stop I make is at my modista's banca. My modista (dress-maker), Irene, has a hard time keeping to a schedule. If she tells you your dress will be finished by Tuesday, you might get it Thursday or Friday or maybe the following Wednesday. Despite her difficulty sticking to a schedule, she does a very good job, and only laughs a little bit when I ask her to make my hems shorter and to take the ruffles and the sleeves off my sun dress. She works with two other younger women who always have questions about American culture and always promise to make me a very nice dress for when I go home.
The next part of the market could be overwhelming for you if its your first time in a Mozambican market. Stall after stall of similar products at similar prices make it hard to chose which cute little lady you will patronize that day. If someone has given me a good deal once, they become my go-to. I also reward creativity, so if someone reasons with me why I want to buy cabbage instead of green beans or explains that September is the best month to make collard greens, I will probably be convinced. I am also a very loyal customer, and the market ladies know that, so they have begun to try to get my attention when I head straight for my favorite place for lemons. That said, I have had to spread my loyalty around. I now have one lady whose tomatoes I like, another who has good sized garlic, one who I buy eggplant from, etc. The other ladies in the market have started to get a little jealous. When I walk past their stalls they ask why I don't want onions and I just smile. Customer service is everything in the market.
I once asked one of my market friends why they don't go sell their products elsewhere. Certainly, finding a street corner that wasn't full of ladies who were also selling bananas, beans, dried fish, and lettuce would make selling your product easier. The lady responded quite simply, “but my friends are here.”
Much about having a business in Mozambique is about having something to do during the day. Most Mozambicans are subsistence farmers. They often do not have jobs outside of the home, and having a job that gets you to the market everyday is exciting. Its fun to know all the other ladies and no one is really competitive. Prices are the same at every stall and if you don't like the mushy tomatoes from your favorite lady, she will point you to her friend who has less ripe ones.
Last week I organized a financial management and business skills seminar for a few of the church leaders Mozaic works with. We were discussing different business opportunities and, more often than not, people reverted back to businesses with which they were already familiar. I discussed with them about how selling chickens is not a good idea if there are already five other people in the market selling chickens and I was greeted with blank stares.
The non-competitive nature of Mozambicans made businesses training a challenge. We discussed the importance of not giving big discounts or free products to your friends and family and overall the group agreed that it would be impossible to avoid. We discussed having a service that was better than the others available in the community and everyone agreed that it would be better to work with others with that same service and talk about improving their overall efficiency as a co-op.
At the end of the training, I think the group did go home with an idea of the importance of competition and critical thinking about the viability of a given product or service.
But when it comes to them deciding what kind of businesses they want to open, I bet the majority still chose selling tomatoes. And I cant blame them, the tomato ladies are so much fun.
malaria.
If you are an American living in a Malaria zone, you will probably get Malaria.
And it is not going to be fun.
The biology of it is unfortunate. As Americans, we have not been bitten by those little blood-suckers, the anopheles mosquitoes. Therefore, we do not have the anti-bodies to fight the virus that we might have had we been co-existing with the anopheles our whole lives. Even on prophylaxis, you have a chance of getting it, though it will be a much less severe case than the many who chose not to use prophylaxis.
Now do not be mistaken, people in Malaria zones are not at all immune. Mozambicans get Malaria every year. But when a Mozambican comes down with Malaria, they show up to work and complain about having a bit of a fever, they might even stay home a day. It gets to the point where people can self diagnose, and the pharmacy does not question it when people come in asking for the treatment. I would equate it with people in the US who get bad colds they know as the flu.
Which is what you might think you have at first. Malaria first starts just like the flu.
I convinced myself I had the flu, because it seemed much more manageable than Malaria. But after a day of trying to convince myself (which was tough, I have not had the flu since sophomore year of college and I got the flu shot for the first time in my life this year, me getting the flu this year is highly unlikely), it was clear I did not have the flu.
I took the at home Malaria test. The little test was a pain to take, I was shaking from my fever and could not get my finger steady to get the drop of blood needed to activate the test. Eventually I did, and I sat there above the test like Juno over her pregnancy test. When it came back positive, I was at first in disbelief, but then I looked at the mosquito bites dotting my ankles and called Peace Corps.
The Peace Corps doctor wanted me to get a blood smear at the local hospital to find out my virus count. I asked Gerhard for a ride, since I was clearly unable to walk the 10 minutes to the hospital. He drove me, and I called my doctor friend at the hospital, who told me to come right into his office rather than waiting in the three hour line with everyone else with Malaria. I felt a bit guilty, I should probably wait like all the other sick people, but there are benefits to being friends with those who work at the hospital.
After the test, the doctor was writing me a prescription for Coartem, standard treatment for Malaria in Mozambique, and I asked him if he had ever had Malaria. He just laughed and said of course.
When I explained it was my “first time” he was stunned. I explained there is no Malaria in the US and he said that that must be nice. I thought to myself that yes, it is quite nice.
And it is not going to be fun.
The biology of it is unfortunate. As Americans, we have not been bitten by those little blood-suckers, the anopheles mosquitoes. Therefore, we do not have the anti-bodies to fight the virus that we might have had we been co-existing with the anopheles our whole lives. Even on prophylaxis, you have a chance of getting it, though it will be a much less severe case than the many who chose not to use prophylaxis.
Now do not be mistaken, people in Malaria zones are not at all immune. Mozambicans get Malaria every year. But when a Mozambican comes down with Malaria, they show up to work and complain about having a bit of a fever, they might even stay home a day. It gets to the point where people can self diagnose, and the pharmacy does not question it when people come in asking for the treatment. I would equate it with people in the US who get bad colds they know as the flu.
Which is what you might think you have at first. Malaria first starts just like the flu.
I convinced myself I had the flu, because it seemed much more manageable than Malaria. But after a day of trying to convince myself (which was tough, I have not had the flu since sophomore year of college and I got the flu shot for the first time in my life this year, me getting the flu this year is highly unlikely), it was clear I did not have the flu.
I took the at home Malaria test. The little test was a pain to take, I was shaking from my fever and could not get my finger steady to get the drop of blood needed to activate the test. Eventually I did, and I sat there above the test like Juno over her pregnancy test. When it came back positive, I was at first in disbelief, but then I looked at the mosquito bites dotting my ankles and called Peace Corps.
The Peace Corps doctor wanted me to get a blood smear at the local hospital to find out my virus count. I asked Gerhard for a ride, since I was clearly unable to walk the 10 minutes to the hospital. He drove me, and I called my doctor friend at the hospital, who told me to come right into his office rather than waiting in the three hour line with everyone else with Malaria. I felt a bit guilty, I should probably wait like all the other sick people, but there are benefits to being friends with those who work at the hospital.
After the test, the doctor was writing me a prescription for Coartem, standard treatment for Malaria in Mozambique, and I asked him if he had ever had Malaria. He just laughed and said of course.
When I explained it was my “first time” he was stunned. I explained there is no Malaria in the US and he said that that must be nice. I thought to myself that yes, it is quite nice.
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