I have always been a pretty easily amused person. I have a radio playing in my head, so when it seems like people are bored on a backpacking trip or long drive, I just start singing. I also know lots of games that can be played in all kinds of venues and that seem to entertain a variety of people, who can get bored when someone is doing a "veggie off?"
This ability to amuse has been useful here in Mozambique.
There are days when not a lot goes on. I have learned to always travel with a couple things to amuse myself with while I wait for meetings to start or for the chapa to leave. My purse is filled with half finished friendship bracelets, a deck of cards, folded up and ready to read magizine articles, and I never leave home without a book and a bottle of water. I could probably survive with what is in my purse for about a week before I got bored, and I probably will not even get hungry as I am usually carrying cashews and a pack of gum.
But this bag of entertainment is an extension of my American self. Mozambicans do not find the necessity to travel around with big bags full of stuff. Moms do not even carry diaper bags, which in the US I think you will be hard pressed to find a mom who does not travel with not just diapers and wipes, but rattles, games, blankets, and crayons. Mozambicans use spare time for small talk. You can strike up conversation with just about anyone, whether or not you know them. You can talk about how hot it is, how rainy it is, how the price of tomatoes went up again – just about anything.
I certainly believe I have learned the art of small talk, while here in Mozambique, but I still carry my Mary Poppins-esc bag of goodies.
And most of my Mozambican friends know about my bag. They know if they want to look at some great pictures of jungle frogs, I have a hoard of National Geographic cut outs in my planner. They know if their kids did well in school, I usually reward them with a whistle or a piece of candy.
They also know, if they meet me at my house, I have no end to new things to entertain them.
A few weeks ago, I invited a bunch of the moms from the nutrition rehab center over to have tea and a snack. I was really excited to host them because I have grown to love the little family in the rehab center. Though there is a revolving door of moms coming and going as their babies get better, the center has a special way of making all of the people there feel very much at home. The moms become an important support system to each other and I have been able to become a part of that support system. They were excited to see what a “mulungo” house looked like, and I was excited to play some games with them.
As we finished our popcorn and juice, I set up a Jenga set. The girls all just looked at me like I was crazy. But as they each got a turn to take a piece out of our tower, I watched them become mesmerized in the simple game so many of us know. When the tower finally fell, they laughed and then were so excited to play again.
I had them hooked.
From then on, when I wanted to get work done, I would bring Jenga along as a motivator. “If someone can tell me five foods that have Vitamin A we can play Jenga!” “Whoever can tell me the reason you should breastfeed babies under six months can set up the Jenga set!” “We can put up Jenga as soon as you all can explain why ARVs need to be taken with a balanced diet.”
It was a way to get the women to respond to my sometimes redundant, but important and sometimes difficult questions. It was a way to get everyone in the room, because no one would miss Jenga, but sometimes people “had headaches” or “needed to shower” when I just wanted to have an HIV discussion.
Was I bribing the moms?
Yes.
Did they mind?
No.
Did they learn about the things I was trying to teach?
Yes.
Did they get better at not knocking down the tower?
Verdict is still out, but I think they are.
Simple things like Jenga were my key to success at the nutrition center. Though the moms had a great support system for each other, I am a young, white, childless America. What can I possibly be able to teach these ladies about caring for their babies? Once they gave me a chance, I found out that there actually were a number of things I could work with them on.
We have started twice weekly trainings with the moms. Sometimes I bring a nutrition-related game. Sometimes I bring a set of questions that we discuss. Sometimes we make fortified cereals and talk about their ingredients. Always I bring a motivator. Jenga is a favorite, but sewing projects, bubbles, balloons, UNO, and crayons also seem to work.
I think if Mozambican moms walked around with the entertainment armory that American moms have, my little motivators might not have as much success. Lucky for me, Jenga is a little more exciting than the weather.
But don't get me wrong, I never start a session before I comment on the weather. Its just such an obvious way to start.
Sunday, April 15, 2012
the lemonade principal.
I have now planned and facilitated two separate trainings on financial management and business skills. I am qualified to do these kinds of trainings? Not really. Do I fake it? So well.
At the first training, I thought I would start off with a personal story. Since I do not really have any business experience. I thought back to what I could use. My best example was a lemonade stand.
If you lived near 58th and Webster about fifteen years ago, you may have seen my lemonade stand. I like to think it was the best on the block. Caitlin and I always borrowed frozen Minute Maid lemonade from my freezer, mixed it with water and ice, and sat outside waiting for the dog walkers and babysitters to stop by and buy or icy cold, 25 cent drink (I do not think we ever paid back this loan but when I used the story as a learning example, we of course reimbursed my mom the two dollars for the initial investment). We had pretty good success. I even remember one guy stopped in his car and paid us ten bucks, and he only wanted one cup.
Anyway, we always ran into a bit of trouble when my Dad came home from work. With the information that I never paid back the initial investment, maybe his free cups of lemonade were justified, but I always felt like I was wasting good product on a non-paying customer.
This was a perfect example for the Mozambican students in my lessons. Mozambique is a very community-based society. You help your neighbors out. If I cannot afford to pay you for my onions, you might let me have them on credit. You usually will never see that credit repaid. But then you will go and buy tomatoes in the same way.
While this is a good system if you are bartering, if you are really trying to run a business and make profits, this is a losing system. In our sessions we talked about ways around this, and decided it was best, since it is almost unavoidable, to decide on a certain amount of product or service that can be given out for free each month. Once this amount is reached, you must start saying “no” to people who want something on “good faith.”
As we discussed what I now call the “lemonade principal” one of the students raised his hand. He said that he had never even considered the option of saying no to people, but now that he knows that is what he should do, he thinks he may start turning a profit. He explained that as a community leader (most of the students in the class are pastors or other church leaders), people often come to him and ask to borrow money or products and then at the end of the month he has very little to show for his work. He had never thought about how a business is different from a charity and that he must conduct his work in his business differently from his work in his church.
It was after this converstaion the I realized this group may need more than just financial management training, they may need professionalism lessons. Professionalism is something we learn in the states at a young age. We know how we should dress for a job interview and how to address collegues and the importance of networking.
So, with that in mind, my second training focused a lot on these skills. We talked about the importance of publicity, of timeliness, and about why a variety of products is necessary. During the seminar we had talked about how customer loyalty works. I am a perfect example for this, as I have clear and known favorites in the market whom I always patronize. These ladies know me and always give me a good deal. Even if I am not buying anything, they greet me by name and ask how I am doing.
Mama Mequilina, who runs a clothes selling business in the market explained that she appreciated me talking about being nice to customers because it had always bothered her when people would come to her stall and try on all kinds of things and then not buy anything. She said, honestly, that she was often very rude if someone did this because, justifiable so, it was so annoying to wait on someone so long to have them not buy anything. She had never thought about the possibility of them coming back to buy something later on.
I suppose that also fits within the lemonade principal. If I had been rude to my dad when he asked, and sometimes just took, free lemonade, he may not have referred the neighbors to my lemonade stand.
You never know when a customer is a potential regular, and you never know when someone might come back and hand you a ten dollar bill.
What is weird is that no one has yet opened a lemonade stand in town.
I made it pretty clear how delicious it is on a hot day.
At the first training, I thought I would start off with a personal story. Since I do not really have any business experience. I thought back to what I could use. My best example was a lemonade stand.
If you lived near 58th and Webster about fifteen years ago, you may have seen my lemonade stand. I like to think it was the best on the block. Caitlin and I always borrowed frozen Minute Maid lemonade from my freezer, mixed it with water and ice, and sat outside waiting for the dog walkers and babysitters to stop by and buy or icy cold, 25 cent drink (I do not think we ever paid back this loan but when I used the story as a learning example, we of course reimbursed my mom the two dollars for the initial investment). We had pretty good success. I even remember one guy stopped in his car and paid us ten bucks, and he only wanted one cup.
Anyway, we always ran into a bit of trouble when my Dad came home from work. With the information that I never paid back the initial investment, maybe his free cups of lemonade were justified, but I always felt like I was wasting good product on a non-paying customer.
This was a perfect example for the Mozambican students in my lessons. Mozambique is a very community-based society. You help your neighbors out. If I cannot afford to pay you for my onions, you might let me have them on credit. You usually will never see that credit repaid. But then you will go and buy tomatoes in the same way.
While this is a good system if you are bartering, if you are really trying to run a business and make profits, this is a losing system. In our sessions we talked about ways around this, and decided it was best, since it is almost unavoidable, to decide on a certain amount of product or service that can be given out for free each month. Once this amount is reached, you must start saying “no” to people who want something on “good faith.”
As we discussed what I now call the “lemonade principal” one of the students raised his hand. He said that he had never even considered the option of saying no to people, but now that he knows that is what he should do, he thinks he may start turning a profit. He explained that as a community leader (most of the students in the class are pastors or other church leaders), people often come to him and ask to borrow money or products and then at the end of the month he has very little to show for his work. He had never thought about how a business is different from a charity and that he must conduct his work in his business differently from his work in his church.
It was after this converstaion the I realized this group may need more than just financial management training, they may need professionalism lessons. Professionalism is something we learn in the states at a young age. We know how we should dress for a job interview and how to address collegues and the importance of networking.
So, with that in mind, my second training focused a lot on these skills. We talked about the importance of publicity, of timeliness, and about why a variety of products is necessary. During the seminar we had talked about how customer loyalty works. I am a perfect example for this, as I have clear and known favorites in the market whom I always patronize. These ladies know me and always give me a good deal. Even if I am not buying anything, they greet me by name and ask how I am doing.
Mama Mequilina, who runs a clothes selling business in the market explained that she appreciated me talking about being nice to customers because it had always bothered her when people would come to her stall and try on all kinds of things and then not buy anything. She said, honestly, that she was often very rude if someone did this because, justifiable so, it was so annoying to wait on someone so long to have them not buy anything. She had never thought about the possibility of them coming back to buy something later on.
I suppose that also fits within the lemonade principal. If I had been rude to my dad when he asked, and sometimes just took, free lemonade, he may not have referred the neighbors to my lemonade stand.
You never know when a customer is a potential regular, and you never know when someone might come back and hand you a ten dollar bill.
What is weird is that no one has yet opened a lemonade stand in town.
I made it pretty clear how delicious it is on a hot day.
Friday, February 17, 2012
jam session.
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.”
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.”
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.
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