Year 1 - Week 15: Sunsets in Technicolor

The wind stuck with us through the night, but we still haven’t seen much rain. It’s a lot of noise but that’s all. And with mostly clear skies above us, it appears to be just a cooling threat. It was cool enough that our Mozambican counterparts had to bundle themselves up in hats and jackets. Meanwhile, we sat on our patio shirtless in shorts. This weather is perfect for us. As I sat on the patio, reading a magazine, I got a call from my parents at 9 AM. Strange, I thought: with the nine hour time difference, it’s midnight in California. Oh wait, they went to Hawaii. So now it is a twelve hour difference. I think, now, we are geographically on opposite sides of the earth.

We expected guests today: Greg, our colleague in Mambone, and one of his Mozambican friends. I still don’t know why anyone would ever want to actually visit Machanga. There even less nothing here than there is in Mambone. I knew he would be in church for a while, so we started prepping for lunch. We figured if they’re hungry, we could whip something up for them. As we ate lunch, we got a call from them, saying it would be a couple hours. No problem – as long as they brought bread and tomatoes for us. If we are not going to the Promised Land, the Promised Land is going to come to us.

They arrived early afternoon. You know it’s bad when a Mozambican says, “Wow, this is even more ‘mato’ (bush) than our side.” Greg, of course, liked it. He called it “rustic,” whatever that means. I cooked up some spaghetti for them. They were blown away with the parmesan cheese I had to offer. It’s the little things in life that keep all of us going.

As we walked to the villa, the rain finally came. Timing is everything, right? We spent a little time in a baraca, enjoying a soda and just talking about our crazy lives. We walked them back toward the river and caught an excellent boleia in the back of a truck.

The night was pretty regular. We made spaghetti and our excellent tomato sauce. Greg, wisely, brought us some green peppers along with tomatoes, so our sauce was extra delicious. We watched a couple of episodes of “House,” I wrote out my test questions for tomorrow, and we crashed.

Kind of. Of course, something had to screw up my day, albeit barely. A grasshopper made it into my bed net and landed on me as I tried to sleep. There was no way I was going to sleep until that thing was out of my bed or dead. I like dead better. I killed the beast, turned on my fan, and went to bed.

I woke up feeling decent. I had some strange dreams last night that I can’t even blame on malaria drugs. One of them involved my students asking for extra credit. Maybe it was a sign of things to come.

I spent a good part of the morning writing out the exam for my students. It’s a pain in the ass to hand-write exams on big pieces of paper. It means I actually have to pay attention, write neatly, not mess up. It would be so much easier to type and photocopy, but that gets expensive for the students. They will pay up for their final exam next week.

After yet another delicious stirfry lunch, I went to the school to give the test. Each class had 90 minutes to finish the ten question exam. I knew it was too much time, but it would give me an opportunity to correct the tests immediately. The first class did really well. Everyone passed, most with great scores. The second did a little worse and I caught a cheater in that class. He will see a fat zero on his exam tomorrow. The third did even worse. About 70 percent of the class passed, which is not terrible, but not up to American standards.

We had the good fortune of having energy all day today. How glorious. It allowed me to charge up a ton of batteries for my fans, keep my computer charged, and put grades into my computer immediately.

Before cooking dinner, I helped out two people – one students and one teacher – with some English lessons. I think these are my most meaningful exchanges: the personal one-on-one conversations where I can really help someone. They are fulfilling moments.

With a bounty of tomatoes, we cooked up spaghetti again for dinner. We left the chicken out of the sauce tonight. Richie had more cheaters than I had today, and since he said the day couldn’t be salvaged, we decided to leave the chicken out. No reason to waste perfectly good chicken. We watched some “House,” drank gin to forget the day, and went to sleep.

The tasks I had in front of me on Tuesday were minimal at most. I didn’t have to lesson plan, I had already corrected all of the exams, and all I had to do was return them to the students. It’s nice to have easy days like that. I spent most of the morning working on Kakuro. I messed up one, and got another one right. 50 percent isn’t bad (remember, we’re in Mozambique, where 50 percent passes).

I hand back the exams to most of the turmas, showing them the cábula that one student stupid decided to use. He’ll enjoy that zero. I had to give the exam to one last class, and they did pretty well.

And then something very strange happened. As the twelfth graders left, a group of about 20 tenth graders walked in. Wait, you aren’t my students. Why are you here? They wanted math help. I’ve never been opposed to helping on math. The truth is, if I could teach math here, I would. I helped them with one problem, and was stumped by another, but I vowed to get them the answer by tomorrow.

It was a pretty terrible night after that. We made pancakes, but with the corn flour we accidentally bought, they tasted like xima – bleh. We also tried to make corn chowder with all of the corn we have been given, but that was pretty terrible too. The only thing that saved the night was “House.”

I fell into a deep sleep, and that proved to be problematic. I was up before four o’clock. It was pitch black outside. I went back to bed, but was up in 20 minute intervals. What happened, though, was amazing. Every time I woke up, the sky was a different color. First it was slate grey, then it changed to that bright shade of blue used in so much of our technology. The best though were the two after – bright pink followed by white. I’ve never seen anything like it before. When I finally got up for good, around 6, the sky was a perfect shade of blue.

There was no going back to bed. I was up for good. So I lay in bed and figured out the math problem that had stumped me in less than five minutes. My brain turned on, I got back to the Kakuro and had a lot of success really quickly. I knocked out one, and by morning’s end, I had another finished. That makes three in a row correct.

As I got more and more exhausted, my activities changed. We through the Frisbee around for a bit, which definitely did not help. After a while, I just settled on the patio and read a magazine. By 10, having already been awake for six hours, I was exhausted. I needed food, and fast. We waited until 11 to prep, and by then, I was all but dead. In my state, I should not have been left to work with gasoline and matches. I ended up burning myself only twice, which was pretty good.

Teaching was a struggle. I only had to teach two classes, so that was good news for me. I have decided that teaching is actually three jobs in one – part educator, part cheerleader, and part actor. I had to at least pretend that I was awake for classes.

I came back to the house to a swarm of kids and some teachers playing some Frisbee. It was pretty cool to see. We had kids of all ages, teachers who were single, married, and with children playing. Everyone should be able to act like a kid every once in a while.

As the kids and teachers played, Richie and I took a break. What we watched was incredible. A day that started with a gorgeous sunrise ended with a sunset that put the sunrise to shame. I’ve never seen so many vivid colors in one sunset.

Neither Richie nor I had it in us to cook an actually spaghetti sauce. We turned to the packets of sauce. It was perfect. We added some tomatoes and chicken and dined on a delicious spaghetti dinner. The night ended with a couple episodes of “House.”

Finally, after a couple rough nights, I slept through a night. The morning was low-key. Richie had one class, and I refused to get out of bed until he was back. It was fantastic. I spent a lot of the morning reading mornings, catching up on old news.

The afternoon was as slow as the morning. I was slated for five classes, but only needed to use three. I handed back exams to one group, and was able to combine my other two groups for a joint review session. It was nice to have a relaxing afternoon.

A couple of kids were out in front of our house again playing Frisbee. I threw around for a little bit but mostly played photographer. I snapped off a couple of awesome shots that we may be able to use for something in the future.

A slow day was followed by a slow night. Richie made French toast while I failed in helping a colleague get a document printed. Damn viruses. It’s no wonder at least five colleagues have asked for either my computer, Richie’s computer, or help with buying a computer. I’ll do my best, but there’s only so much I can do. We watched two more episodes of “House” and crashed.

Friday started off normally. I had no classes: I cancelled them on Wednesday. The students should be prepared for their exams. I planned to write out an exam by hand, type it up in the evening, and photocopy it for everyone.

Then midmorning, things changed with one text message. We were told to evacuate our site because of Cyclone Izilda. We checked out the trajectory on the internet and it looked like it was primed to hit Machanga or at least somewhere very close. Hmmm, that certainly changes my plans.

After eating lunch, we started putting our bags together. I wrote out exams on giant paper for another teacher to control, and by 4 PM, we were out the door. I don’t think we have ever moved with such urgency. We crossed the river, which had swollen to a size we hadn’t seen. We think it was mostly the work of a high tide. We bought some bread in the Mambone villa and made a gameplan: stay up drinking all night until the 2 AM bus ride to Xai Xai.

We got a restaurant recommendation from a friend and ended up in the hands of a man named Greg. He’s a South African, born in England, and living in Machanga. He was a fascinating man. He served in the war in Angola, fought for the ANC in South Africa, and after years wandering around southern Africa ended up in Mozambique. Greg laid the gas pipeline that provides our three hours of electricity, so he is our new hero. He was very well educated and maybe a little crazy, which made for interesting conversation.

By 9 PM, we were pretty exhausted and very full from our chicken dinner. We thought we would make it up all night, but we were very wrong. We tried to relax on the bus, but the mosquitoes and some unnecessarily loud conversation kept us awake.

The bus left right on time at 2 AM. Each of us rested on and off. I don’t think either of us slept for more than an hour at a time. Around 10:30, more than eight hours into our journey, we were told that we didn’t have to leave. The storm had dissipated. Awesome. We’ve come too far and we were way too tired to turn around.

We made it to Xai Xai by mid-afternoon. A couple people went to the beach, but I was too exhausted to do much of anything other than getting calories and caffeine. Around 5, we met a colleague who lives close to Xai Xai. I think we’re going to stick around here for a little bit, then put together a plan for the rest of the week.

Year 1 - Week 14: Fireflies like Shooting Stars

We don’t want to leave. This is too nice. Almost too nice. It is somewhat torturous being handed all of these “luxuries” – hot water, CNN, a protein source other than eggs; my systems don’t really know what to do with all of these things. But it might be even more torturous knowing that we have to go back to a place that has none of these things.

Our Sunday was relaxing. We had a half day of sessions before we were set free for lunch. We are running out of decent meals, so we are piling on the food on every plate possible. The afternoon was spent throwing around the Frisbee with a couple Volunteers, swapping music, and swimming in an unheated (read “perfect”) pool.

Just before dinner, my parents called. We laid down what I think are the final parts of their trip out here in December. It is kind of crazy knowing that we have been working on this for two months, and they still won’t be here for another nine. It’s something to look forward to in the long term.

Some people chose to go out for dinner, but I opted to stay in. There’s no need to pay 300 or 400 Meticais for food when there is good enough food being offered at the hotel for free. Some people also went out after dinner. I was a part of the lame group that stayed in, choosing to soak in the wifi, the hot shower, the comfortable bed, and the air conditioner for just a little bit longer. Plus, I had to be up at 3:45 to get a bus to Vilanculos. There was no way I was going out.

That last shower at 3:45 in the morning on Monday was amazing. I took it in as long as possible, knowing it would be the last time I would be truly clean for weeks. Once again, I didn’t want to leave. But there was no choice in the matter.

Our bus to Maputo was pretty nice. We were not in a chapa, but an actual bus. And maybe more importantly, we had a driver who was willing to power through the shitty parts of the road. It was a bumpy ride which kept us awake for the most part, but it was not a bad thing. The ride through Inhambane province is gorgeous. For long stretches, the road is lined by forests of coconut trees. Trying to count the trees is like trying to count stars or grains of sand: you can pull out one here and one there, but getting past ten is impossible.

We got into Vilanculos in good time. With only one major stop in Maxixe, and few short stops along the way, our bus that left at 7:00 arrived just after the bus that left around 5:00. We made a couple of small purchases before getting a call from one of the lucky Volunteers who lives in Vilanculos. She needed help picking up packages from the post office. The problem was we didn’t know where the post office was. So of course, we should ask.

I approached the first person I saw, greeted him appropriately and calmly asked “Onde fica o correios?” He looked at me like I was speaking Japanese. I asked again, and got the same look. He then replied “You can ask in English.” Well, shit. Talk about your language switcharoonies. He explained – in perfect English – how to get the post office. Leave it to me to pick out the Zimbabwean in the group. He said that he had been learning Portuguese for about a year. This, along with another compliment about my language ability just moments before in a store, made me feel pretty good. Few people really believe that we have only been speaking Portuguese for six, and even less believe that we learned Portuguese in Mozambique.

We dropped off our bags at the Volunteer’s house and made our way to the other side of town to get some pizza. One last taste of heaven before heading back to Machanga.

We were up too early on Tuesday. The chapa for Mambone leaves around 10:30 and we had to leave the house by 8. Not a problem; we had to do some last minute shopping anyway. Still, we had to sit on that chapa for two hours before it left. Once it left, though, we made great time. We were in Mambone by mid-afternoon. We stocked up on pasta, bread, and tomato paste. I bought an awesome World Cup 2010 hat for 100 Meticais. One last cold soda consumed and we headed back to Machanga.

It’s weird knowing – and even weirder feeling that – this is home. In spite of the weight of our bags, it was somewhat nice walking back. I was greeted by all the right students, who all welcomed us back in English. It’s nice to know that what we are doing is appreciated, even if we really don’t know exactly what we are doing.

We had to head to the market to pick up some other items – a bag of charcoal and some potatoes. We wheeled a wheelbarrow down the road until some students stopped us and took it the rest of the way. We said we didn’t need help, but they insisted. I’m not going to stop them from helping us. It took three shots, but we finally found some carvão. I gave one of the kids a bit of money for helping us out. We made our way back, and a third of the way down the road, the kids came sprinting down to wheel the charcoal the rest of the way. Sure, we will take your help.

With all the right ingredients, we made some killer tomato sauce. I had hoped that my packages would arrive so we could throw some canned chicken into the sauce, but it wasn’t meant to be. Not tonight anyway.

The night was hot and black. Once the lights went out, all we could see were stars. As I lay in bed, I watched as yellow streaks of light passed by my window. It easy to mistaken fireflies for shooting stars, especially when every once in a while, we really do see a shooting star.

I slept until the absurd hour of 8:30. I’m not quite sure how I did that, but I think all of the travel contributed to the tiredness. I didn’t have a lot to do in the morning, so I dove into a new puzzle book I got. The game is called Kakuro, and it is probably the most difficult Sudoku-like puzzle I have played. I took me hours to finish one puzzle. Just when I was feeling good about myself, Richie reminded me “it’s just a puzzle.” Thanks.

I went on the hunt for my packages. I ran into the Padre here who guided me in the right direction to the school manager. The manager opened the door, and instead of seeing the expected four packages, I saw six. Oh my God, it’s Christmas in Machanga. I was overwhelmed by the amount of food, reading material, and DVDs in these boxes. I think we now have enough food to open a homeless shelter and enough magazines to start a small library. Forget teaching; all I wanted to do was open and sort these packages.

I had mixed feelings about teaching today. There was a part of me that was ready to get back to doing what I was brought here to do. At the same time, I knew only a few kids were going to pay attention. I was welcomed back by students from other classes, and I used that momentum to get through the day. The students were pretty responsive, so for today, I can’t complain about my work here.

Usually, we try to avoid making spaghetti two nights in a row. We like to mix it up, even if “mixing it up” means spaghetti every other day. But now we had even more ingredients – canned mushrooms and canned chicken – to throw into the sauce. It was paradise in a pot. And if that wasn’t enough, we made the cake that my aunt sent me for my birthday. By the end of the night, we felt sick. And we only finished a quarter of it!

We finished watching “Into the Wild.” Good movie with good music. The energy went out at 9 on the dot. I lay down, flipped on the fan that my parents sent me and went to bed easily. With a little flair from America, this place is a lot more tolerable.

The sickness brought on by the cake bled over into the morning. Richie beat me to it. He had two early-morning trips to the bathroom before I made my first. It would not be a pleasant day for either of us on that front.

Richie and I spent a little time cleaning up around the house. Coming back from Maputo, we didn’t do a great job of keeping the place in good shape. I organized the contents of my packages into semi-legitimate categories. We now have a meat section, a sweets section, a fruits and veggies section, and a health foods section. It’s quite beautiful.

I spent the better part of the morning working on a new game book, something called Kenken. It’s somewhat like Sudoku with a little bit of arithmetic involved. It was way too easy. I knocked off the 100-puzzle book in a couple of hours. I think I’ll stick to Kakuro.

With all of these new ingredients, we now have the capability to make something other than potato pancakes and scrambled eggs for lunch. We put together a pretty killer chicken stir fry. We’ll be bringing that into the rotation as long as we have chicken in the house.

I got out of teaching early today. As I was about to begin teaching one of my eleventh grade classes, some kids from the other class approached me. They told me that their teacher wasn’t there and they wanted to combine classes. Let’s see: less time in the class, less writing to be done, less explaining – sounds pretty good to me. 70 faces stared on as I explained what would be on their midterm.

As I walked back from class, Richie was playing Frisbee with some of the kids. Some of them have figured out this plate-throwing thing and have become really good. Of course, I wanted in on this action. By the end of our little throwing session, we had four kids throwing with us, and many other people watching on. Exhausted after twenty or thirty minutes, Richie and I sat back on our porch and watch the kids play.


There was one kid in particular who was of interest to me. He has played Frisbee with us for a while and has picked up a lot of tricks. He knows what he’s doing. After a couple minutes, I noticed that he was teaching one of the newcomers how to throw in a particular way. As I watched this, I thought to myself that this was a tidy metaphor for my role here in Machanga. We spent a little bit of time teaching this kid how to play Frisbee and now he is teaching others. All it takes is one person, and that one person can influence someone else. And long after Richie and I are gone, these kids will be teaching more kids how to throw a Frisbee.

Likewise, if I can just reach one kid who really wants to learn English, maybe he or she will go on to teach a bunch of other people how to speak English. It was a beautiful thing to watch and it’s something I’m going to try to keep in mind throughout my time here, especially when I think that no one is listening.

I spent a little bit of the afternoon helping a kid with some math. He was learning about parabolas. He asked if I could help, and as a math lover, I was willing. Of course, all of my explanation had to be in Portuguese. I think that is probably the best measurement of my language ability. Sure, I can go to the market without problem, travel with ease, and carry on a decent conversation. But now, as I get more comfortable with this language, I am able to talk about things that are way beyond my training. We didn’t learn any vocabulary about functions in training: all of that has come from small sessions like this.

This experience is a lot of give and take. We do give a lot. We give our time and our energy. But what we don’t get paid in money, we get in other forms. We get it in the occasional free crab our corn, the extra help with language, and the general appreciation of a student.

Our night was calm. Richie cooked up some pretty delicious pancakes. We watched a couple episodes from season 1 of “House.” Now that we have the first four seasons, we can watch the series in order. It rained again during the night, and the pitter-patter of the rain on our tin roof eased me into sleep.

The rain subsided by the morning. It looked like it was going to be a beautiful day. I soaked my sheets in soap filled water, preparing them for a good wash in a bit. The rain from last night turned our roads into a half-sludge, half-solid mess. I had to watch my step as I walked to the market with a pack of smiling crianças behind me. I managed to get to the market with only one foot muddied. When I returned from the market, Richie looked like death. He is not feeling well. Whatever we had before Maputo has stuck with him.

We were back to our regular potato and egg lunch. It’s not so bad when it’s mixed in with some other food. It’s after we eat it three weeks in a row that it becomes stale.

My lesson for the day was short. And once again, I got lucky with my classes. I don’t know where all the teachers are, but a lot of classes have some periods cancelled. This benefited me because instead of teaching the first and last hours of the day, I was able to teach just the first two periods. With my afternoon open, I sat back and read through some of the magazines my family sent me. Richie and I witnessed something straight out of “Planet Earth” – a hawk swooped in and lifted a chicken about 100 yards to enjoy a delicious lunch. It was awesome.

It is getting darker earlier every day. The sun is now and its way out just before our energy comes out. We had an angry sunset today. Dark grey puffy clouds rolled in as the last bits of orange sun gave way. Just as it was getting difficult to see, the energy came on. We cooked up some delicious tomato sauce, spaghetti and garlic bread, and watched some “House” before our energy went out.

I struggled to fall asleep, but had no reason to have such troubles. It wasn’t too hot and I had no major obligations for the weekend. But once I fell asleep, I was out. I woke up feeling refreshed – a few minutes before midnight. Damnit. By midnight, it was hot. I woke up in a dead sweat. I grabbed a glass of water, turned on a fan, and went back to bed.

The second wake-up was at an appropriate hour. I got out of bed, whipped up the beer batter for onion rings, and headed for the patio to sit down with my newest obsession – Kakuro. It took me hours to complete one puzzle, but just (“just”) 45 minutes to complete another. I love and hate this game for the same reason: I fuck it up a lot. Sudoku and Kenken are too easy and take too little time. This is a good challenge.

Being Saturday, we had plenty of time to cook up lunch. We had a rare two-course meal: a delicious onion ring appetizer followed by stir fry. It was almost too delicious to be true. It’s a shame we can indulge in onion rings once a week.

After lunch, Richie went back to bed. I’m starting to worry a little bit about his health. He’s not really getting better but not really getting worse. From what he talks about and how he sounds, it seems to be similar to what I had in training. If that is the case, there is no medication that can help him. While he rested, I sat down with my Kakuro book and knocked out another puzzle.

The wind never stopped blowing during the afternoon. A colleague explained to us that we got the wind because of the river. But I find that hard to believe; if that was the case, it would be windy all day every day. After our colleague left, one my students came by to get some English help. I got the truth out of him though: he was bored in his house and needed something to do.

Our energy came on right at 6, but our lightbulb is no longer working – a minor frustration, but nothing we can’t deal with. We cooked up some French toast and watched some “House” to bring the week to a close.

It’s kind of nice to be back at site. In spite of this recent lull in meaning or purpose, it was a good feeling to come back to a group who wanted us there.

Three Months at Site -- When Idealism Meets Reality

At the end of last week, our country director put up a chart showing the emotional roller coaster that is the Peace Corps. The chart shows a bottoming out at the three month mark at site. Well, here we are at the three month site, and here I am bottoming out.

After three months at site, and after a little more than a month of teaching, the realities of my role as a teacher are clear. Most of my students, in spite of opting to stay in school for the extra two years, don’t really have much interest in learning English. And it is easy to see why. The vast majority of students will never use English outside of the classroom. They will go back to Beira and speak Portuguese and Ndau. Or they will go back to Maputo and speak Portuguese and Changana. But most of them won’t speak English, so what is the incentive?

I understand this from a student’s point of view. I took three years of high school Spanish and barely learned a thing because I knew I would never need to use it. It was just a necessity to graduate, and the same may be true here for students.

I guess the difference here is the wealth of opportunities available for people who speak English. The examples are crystal clear. The people who work at the front desk of this hotel all speak English. I’m sure they get paid well. There are business and political opportunities for those who speak English. The chances are literally endless. What isn’t there, it seems, are personal drive and future orientation.

Some of this, I realize, is my job. Half of the role of a teacher, whether in Machanga, Managua, or Manchester, is to be a cheerleader. We have to get our students interested in the material. But we can only do so much. It is hard to be that cheerleader when the crowd isn’t responsive. As a result, it becomes more difficult to rally the troops, pick up their morale, and get them involved. It is a terrible cycle.

The worst part is that it gives me a feeling of being marginalized. If the students don’t want to be there, if they don’t want to learn English, what is the point? What is my purpose? And with the issues in Machanga, isn’t there something of more pressing importance that we should be doing?

I don’t mean to minimize what I am doing here. I would like to think that what I am doing here is important. I know that there are some students who are really eager to learn and – given the smallest window of opportunity – will do great things. But this is the smallest of minorities.

It’s not so easy to deal with this. As Volunteers, we want to “save the world,” even though we know it’s impossible. It is that hope or naïveté that drove us to this point; why shouldn’t it drive us now? The answer is this: because idealism has met face to face with reality. We come in with hopes and dreams and expectations that seem so reasonable in the United States, and when it becomes obvious that there are unattainable, we are forced to lower those expectations. And that is very difficult to do for Americans who are told to aim for the stars. It is difficult to say, “It’s okay to barely get off the ground.”

But there is hope yet. There are opportunities outside of the classroom to make an impact. A tangible impact. I am sure – or at least I hope – that I will do something of value for someone here beyond the classroom. When the situation is dire, even the smallest of stones thrown will cause waves.

That’s what keeps us going.

Year 1 - Week 13: Posh Corps

I was up on the early side on Sunday, but managed to sleep until a reasonable hour of departure. We were slated for an easy travel day – easy compared to yesterday and what we expect for tomorrow. We bought some bread and walked down to the pier where the boats cross the bay to Inhambane City. The bay was glass – perfectly still, reflective with almost no blur. The grey-blue sky matched the grey-blue of the bay; the only way to know where the bay ended and the sky began was a few sail boats dotting the horizon. I couldn’t take my eyes away.

We walked over to the chapa stand where a possibly drunk man asked for food and then cigarettes. He told us he was poor. We know. A man at the chapa stand told us that chapas only run to Tofo beach in the afternoon. That seemed a little suspicious, but we bought it. We caught a quick Coke and tried our luck again. This time, I asked a kid if chapas ran to Tofo, and he said yes. He too asked me for money, and I told him I’d throw him some change if he found us a chapa for Tofo. Within two minutes, we were off and running. The ride to Tofo sucks: the car stops every 300 meters on this potholed road to drop off or pick up.

But the destination is so worth it. Tofo is spectacular. The beach stretches for miles. The ocean fades easily from green to blue-green to dark blue. It’s hot, but it’s nothing a dip in the ocean and a shaded hammock can’t cure. After swimming, I ran into town to grab some food and drink. We were in for a long night.

The drinks were poured with ease. Almost too easily. And the more we drank, the easier the conversation came, in both English and Portuguese. I met a guy from Canada who has spent the last five years bouncing around the world – from the Caribbean to Egypt to Europe to South Africa and now Mozambique – teaching Scuba diving. Nice way to live. He crashed early, but I stayed up until 1 AM having a conversation in Portuguese with a Rasta man and a security guard. It was probably the best and most Portuguese I have spoken in a while.

Staying up until 1 drinking rum seemed like a good idea at the time, but I recognized the consequences at 3:30, when I had to wake up to catch the bus to Maputo. I can’t even say I was hung over – I was definitely still drunk. The nine-hour drive to Maputo was probably the nine most uncomfortable hours here. It was like someone took a two-by-four to kill a mosquito on my forehead, but didn’t get it the first time, so he needed a second shot.

By 1, we were in Maputo and checked into a hotel, complete with Wi-fi, air conditioning, and BBC. Hello, beautiful! I didn’t leave the room until dinner. I sat listening to news in English, downloading the new U2 album, reading Facebook comments from my birthday, and writing emails. I’ve been exposed to so little internet the last five or six months, I barely know what to do anymore. Richie and I left the room briefly, to indulge on a couple plates of chicken and beef. Upon our return, we were both back online, talking to friends and family, uploading pictures, being carefree about how much time we spend online. My family all told me what I realized a couple days ago – with this beard, I am my father from 35 years ago. We both crashed later than usually to the wonderful feeling of coldness.

Our schedule for Tuesday wasn’t exactly ambitious. We needed to do some shopping in the city for items we can’t even get in Vilanculos. We stopped in the Peace Corps office to try to get some money back from our trip down (which we should get tomorrow) and found our hotel. This place is ridiculous: four stars, buffet, Wi-Fi, pool, amazing. It’s like it’s not even a part of Mozambique, at least not the Mozambique that Machanga is in. Richie and I dropped off our bags in rooms that are as big as our house and we were off.

There was only one problem: we weren’t sure which chapa to use to get from one side of town to another. We asked a security guard who introduced us to a man who could help. We had this entire conversation in Portuguese and then he wrote a note asking the chapa drivers assistant to help “os dos senhores estrangeiros.” We laughed, told him we lived here, and he gave us simple directions. Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?

We knocked out our shopping pretty quickly and put some food in our bellies. Each of us thoroughly enjoyed our beef and chicken shawarmas. We were back to the hotel by 2, primed for some pool time. By the time we got back, some more Volunteers had filtered in to the hotel. The rest of the afternoon was relaxing: sitting poolside, catching up with old friends, waiting for dinner.

7:30 couldn’t come soon enough, and the spread that was put out was only slightly outrageous – chicken, some cheesy fishy thing, and many servings of lots of other foods. It’s going to be a good week for eating. After dinner, a couple of us watched the Chelsea-Juventus UEFA game on TV.

Wednesday was like a throwback to Namaacha: up on the early side, breakfast, and a day in training. We relearned how to lesson plan and what types of activities work well. We talked about some successes and some failures over our first three months at site. It was a productive day.

At lunch, all of the boys decided that we were going to weigh ourselves. We have all lost weight, and we wanted to see who had lost the most – and who can put on the most this week. Five of the seven of us lost more than 20 pounds. I’m down only 21, and I’m sure I’ve put on a couple pounds just in the last couple days here. We’ll weigh in again at week’s end.

Thursday and Friday bled together and are written together. Many of the Volunteers from around the region brought Mozambican counterparts with them to help develop secondary projects in their towns and villages. Richie and I chose not to bring anyone because our school is already short on teachers. The two days were mostly slow and often repetitive, at least for us Americans. But for the Mozambicans – the people who really need to know this – this was a good opportunity to see what goes into developing a project.

By Friday night, almost all of the Moz 12 Volunteers had rolled into the hotel for the weekend’s trainings and festivities. We spent some quality time hanging out, drinking gin or beer, talking about our experiences across the country.

We were all together for sessions on Saturday. The day was long. We got a brief introduction into who will be our new Country Director come mid-year. We had a survey on expenses and an update on the cholera situation in the country. And of course, three more shots to the left arm. Just when I think we won’t get any more shots, there are always more.

The afternoon on Saturday was more interesting. All of the major secondary projects met to talk about what they do. I am interested in Future Business Leaders of Mozambique. The amount of funding is huge, and the results are more measurable and tangible than the results from teaching. I think that is what I’m missing right now – something tangible, so I can say “This is what I did in my two years in Machanga.” More on that later.

All you really need to know is this: I’ve become good and fat this week. This isn’t Peace Corps; this is Posh Corps.

Year 1 - Week 12: Like Fishing with Sonar and GPS

It’s hard to believe that it is March already. We are beginning our third full month at site and our sixth month overall in Mozambique. Even though days like Sunday feel like an eternity, it has been very fast in retrospect.

Even though the night was tolerable, by 7 AM it was already scorching hot.
I woke up in a dead heat. The heat plus clear skies gave me a window to do some laundry. Yes, laundry. We have started giving laundry to a kid who will do it for us for nothing, but we both feel like we can still do some ourselves, so we take care of the easy stuff like shirts, and the more personal items like underwear. It’s the least we could do.

By 8:30, after four bacias worth of laundry, I was exhausted. It is kind of ridiculous to feel like I have put in a full day’s work before 9:00, but a nap at 9:00 just wasn’t going to happen. So I replanted some flowers. My morning glories that it put in front of the house never grew well; they were either wiped out by the rain or eaten by chickens. I have this new set growing in aluminum cans, so I can transplant them when the weather dries up.

Bordem struck by 9:30. Richie and wanted to throw around the Frisbee, but we wanted to try to attract some talent, potential for an Ultimate Frisbee team. Unfortunately, the only talent we attracted was that of a couple six year olds. We’re looking for 16 year olds. It was still fun to watch little African kids throw around a plate. More boredom –

As I was preparing to cook lunch, my sister called. 11:30 AM is an odd time to receive a call from the West Coast. With the ten hour time difference, this could only be a drunk dial. And it was. Thanks, Sach – that brightened my day.

Richie and I ate our regular lunch. While relaxing outside after eating, one of my students came by for help. He is a really good student – he has come to the house many times, always asks good questions, always trying to speak English. He stayed for about an hour, asking questions on everything from verb tenses to how to read a watch.

By mid afternoon, we were bored again. But this time, our boredom was cured by the arrival of crabs. Last week, Richie met a kid who said that he would bring crabs for us on Sunday, and true to his word, the kid came through. What shocked us was that we didn’t pay a metical. This we did not expect. And it was only the beginning of the giving. A couple of kids helped us prepare the crab because Richie and I aren’t exactly seafood experts. As the crabs cooked, we threw around the Frisbee with the kids.

Between the student coming over and the crab preparation, the afternoon passed by decently. My parents gave me a ring right as I was heading to the market. Richie and I realized that we didn’t have tomato paste for sauce. I borrowed a bike and rode down a torn up road in the dark. Unbelievably, I didn’t fall. The one store that was open didn’t have tomato paste, so the mama in the store just gave us three tomatoes. We made our crab meat spaghetti sauce, which was decent, watched some “South Park” and crashed.

Monday began early; I was awakened by text messages from the United States. I hate the sound of the phone ringing in the morning, but if it is someone from the United States, it lessens the pain. My mom and my sister both sent me happy birthday text messages. It is funny that they can send text messages on March 1 for them, and I get them when it is March 2.

The morning was low key. Richie and I sat around for most of the morning on our patio: he did su doko while I did cryptograms. The birthday calls came earlier than expected. I got one from a friend here, and one from my grandfather at 4 AM his time, 11AM my time. And maybe most surprisingly, I got a call from minha mãe, my host mom in Namaacha. I don’t know how she remembered.

My birthday didn’t stop my work schedule. I still had to teach six classes. Square in the middle of those classes, I got a call from my grandmother. I stopped class for a little, chatted briefly, and then told her I was in class. And before those classes ended, it started to rain. Fuckin chuva. It seems like it’s never going to stop sometimes.

After dinner – baby formula pancakes – more phone calls came in. My brother called, quickly followed by his wife. I hadn’t spoken with either for a while, so it was good to catch up.

We were committed to getting a drink tonight. All the mud in the world was not going to stop us from getting to the bar. Fuckin matope. We trudged our way through a mile of mud, barefoot, to get a cold beer. The things we do…While we were out, one of my best friends from stateside called. As we were talking, the power went out. Terrible. We walked back – in the dark – and the mud – and crashed.

We expected our program director to visit us around 10:00. We were primed for 10, but we knew better. We figured that it would be at least the afternoon. We cooked up lunch, I took a shower, and just after noon, our guest arrived, just in time for me to start teaching. And he brought with him one of the best birthday presents I’ve ever received – thirteen letters from my students in San Diego. The letters have been sitting in Maputo for a while and this was the first time anyone has come up from Maputo. It couldn’t have come at a better time.

Our program director mostly just hung out with us, talking about our site and our experience. He sat in on my last class and he gave me pretty good reviews. He told me I should work less, which I found kind of odd. I know that when I teach, I am very active, very energetic. But that is not me working – that is me keeping my students engaged. I mean, sure I feel exhausted after the day, but it’s worth while. After a couple of hours with us, our program director was off to his next site, and we were off to cook dinner. A little spaghetti, a little South Park, and a little time to relax before heading off to bed.

In spite of the weather being on the cool side during the night, I didn’t sleep well. I was up from 3 until 5 and then up again at 6. I’m pretty sure it has cooled down for the long run which is good news. I was hoping that our school director, who was in Beira over the weekend, had packages for me. But it was not meant to be. I called the office and found out I’ll have them no later than next week, a time I will conveniently not be here.

Richie and I had another slow morning and we finally got to the point when we could prep lunch. I can’t even bring myself to describe what we ate. It was the same shit as always. Richie and I both had classes this afternoon. Of course, it rained again right in the middle of classes. I ended a little early, just so I could dodge the rain. Richie wasn’t so lucky. I walked over in my rain jacket, umbrella in hand, gave it to Richie, and he was able to stay dry.

Richie had to continue teaching later in the afternoon, so I started a new book called “Emergency Sex (and Other Desperate Measures).” Surprisingly, 60 pages in, there has been almost no sex. Richie had to polish the book off first, so as he read, I helped another teacher with some English work and starting cooking some French toast. We ate at near-record speed and then started working on making a coffee cake. All in all, it wasn’t too bad. Good enough to kill two-thirds of it in one sitting. We watched some “It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia” and turned in.

Thursday began with a telephone call far too early for my liking. I turned over to look at the clock on my phone. 6AM – ugh. I sounded dead, to myself, and probably even more to my parents. They called back after an hour’s sleep that felt like an eternity. Right in the middle of the conversation, the coffee cake that was so good last night punched me square in my stomach. It hit Richie an hour before. At least having terrible diarrhea early in the morning means the morning can only improve.

I was on market duty, which isn’t so bad. We didn’t need a lot, so it was a quick trip. On the way back, something big and green caught my eye. Richie and I have vowed to buy anything that even remotely looks like a fruit or vegetable, and watermelon definitely counts. For five Meticais, we can’t lose, right?

What a stupid question to ask. We hacked into something that resembled an oversized, misshapen cucumber – white on the inside with white seeds. It smelled like watermelon, but not the watermelon I’m used to seeing. We each tolerated one piece, and happily donated the remaining 90 percent to the construction workers who have returned to working on the new house. They devoured it like it was the first food they have seen in weeks.

I sat around for the better part of the morning, trying to get through “Emergency Sex.” It’s a not so subtle reminder of why I’m here – because I think that I can contribute to some cause that is greater than me. At the same time, it may be a deterrent for what they do for the better part of their youth – traipse around the world to countries like Somalia and Haiti and Cambodia, trying to feel alive and make a difference. Then again, maybe that’s what I’m living now. This isn’t my first rendezvous in Africa, and like the people in the book, I found a cause I was committed to. For them it lasted more than a decade. But with each passing day here, especially on the bad days but even on the good days, I can’t help but think this will be my last go around in Africa. I can hear my mother’s sigh of relief from thousands of miles away.

I took a break from the monotony of reading to tidy up and organized my room. I hijacked a perfectly sized piece of wood, fit for a shelf, from a classroom yesterday, and today, it went up. It hangs beautifully and evenly beneath my clothes rack, holding my t-shirts, boxers, and the cold-weather gear that so rarely gets worn. The shelf allows me to get rid of one box/clothes holder that I had been using since Day 1 here in Machanga.

We were able to enjoy lunch later than usual. I was able to cancel my first class because we were able to get their test review done yesterday. They were convinced they would all score perfectly. Stupidly convinced, I gave the okay to cancelling class. They will have their chance to prove themselves tomorrow.

My classes in the afternoon tanked. Just another part of this terrible day. I made a big leap into the world of past tense. It is easy and difficult at the same time for different reasons in different languages. In Portuguese, it is easy because it has consistent conjugations with few irregular verbs. This is also the downside – there are conjugations that need to be remembered. English has the opposite conundrum: we have no verb conjugations in the past tense (with the exception of “to be” becoming “was” and “were”), but we have so many irregular verbs that become irregular in so many inconsistent ways. I knew my lesson had tanked ten minutes in.

And the worst of it was I had to give it again to another class. I tried to get through it like I would rip off a band-aid, quick and painless. I got the quick part down, but it definitely had it pain. I watched the entire lesson as one girl in the back corner did everything but try to learn – text message, talk to her neighbor, maybe a Su Doku. I broke at the end of the lesson. I called her out, not exactly gently asking her to write a sentence, just itching to make an example of her. She tanked as hard as my lesson tanked. And then, I think I shattered. I told that class, which is usually pretty good, that if they don’t want to learn English, they can leave. It was a miserable day, and it ended pretty poorly.

After classes, I was able to let my mind venture for a little bit. Richie and I threw the Frisbee for a bit which, as always, drew the attention of people both near and fear. Stupid muzungus throwing their plate around. We were joined by some kids, some who already knew how to threw and catch, some who were knew, some who could barely stand on their own two feet. I threw it around for a bit, and then Richie and I let the kids have at it. There is something surreal about watching these kids throw the Frisbee around. We watched on as the 18-month old got tagged in the leg by incoming fire. A quick cry, nary a tear, and he ran off for mamma.

Of course, the day ended on somewhat of a down note. Our tomatoes had gone bad, as had our bread. We passed on the tomatoes, and reheated the bread back to life. I guess sometimes, you just have to concede the day to the bush.

I woke up early again Friday, without the aid of a phone call, but by the crow of a rooster. Fuckin roosters. Can’t they wait until at least 6? It was a little serendipitous. I had failed to make the beer batter for onion rings last night, so I got up, peed, and got to work. The timing worked out perfectly to start cooking at 10. As I crawled back into bed, I noticed a medium-size spider on the inside – yes, the inside – of my mosquito. Apparently mosquito nets are great for keeping out mosquitoes but not five-centimeter diameter spiders. Maybe it was that spider that was responsible for the bite that turned my left ring finger purple. He will bite no one else – it was a quick death by flip-flop. Some 24 hours this was. Hopefully, when I wake up, it will commence a better day.

How lucky I was. The beer batter looked delicious and tasted just as good as it looked. And we had almost an entire beer left over. We can’t let a good beer go to waste, even if it is warm. So Richie and I sat back around 8 and drank our beer. Tasty.

The morning was slow. I kept on reading “Emergency Sex,” committed to getting through it by day’s end. When it was time to get charcoal going, we were ominously low. We resorted to using twigs, which actually worked quite well. The onion rings – arguably the best part of our week – came out great. Just two exams to give, and I can taste the freedom of a place that is not Machanga.

Each of the classes vowed they were all going to get “vintes” – a perfect score of the 20 on the exam. Maybe they had studied extra hard. Maybe they were over confident. Maybe they had talked to the other classes to get the answers, knowing I was giving the same test. What they didn’t know was that I reordered the questions in the multiple section. These kids don’t know that I’m 23, that I wasn’t a student long ago, and yes, I know every trick in the book. For those who decided to memorize “CADABCCBDB,” they would be in for a world of trouble.

Finding the cheaters is like fishing with sonar and GPS: I can find them with no problem, it’s not even a game. I can cast my line out, look in one direction, and pull back really quick to find eyes that could roll all the way down this entire 60 kilometer dirt road. Some I reprimand, some I keep my eye on, and some I just have to let go. In the end though, all I need to do is make an example of one. And the reality is that when they both fail, or eke by with an 11, it won’t really matter. One girl who was committed to cheating just gave up, turned her paper in nearly blank. Others powered through, and those who committed most egregiously, I called out. I told them I would be separating them for the next test. No argument.

I went back in between classes to grade the first set. This is ugly – by far the highest failing rate of the turmas, and no shortage of students who had memorized “CADABCCBDB.” It’s a shame, because if they would have thought about the questions for a minute, they probably would have been able to answer them correctly.

There wasn’t as much cheating in the second class. The students were more spread out, and this is a better class anyway. They were even more confident than the other group. And, as I found out when I graded their tests, many had memorized the multiple choice answers. I was not born yesterday. And know, instead of being the student angry at the teacher, I was the teacher with whom the students were angry. Weird.

Amidst a splitting headache, I finished “Emergency Sex.” It’s nice to see that all of them go back to regular civilian lives. I popped the grades in my excel spreadsheet and waited for energy to come on. We had our baby formula pancakes. Thankfully, we have just about finished the baby formula, so we can buy some powdered milk in Maputo. Toward the end of our energy, I helped a teacher make a playlist for a festa here this weekend, a festa that we will be missing.

Richie and I were both up before 6 on Saturday. As we walked off the school grounds and toward the review, the weather was almost cold. It was great weather to walk in. Our wait at the river was minimal, maybe 20 minutes, and crossing the river was a piece of cake. Our longest wait was for a chapa heading out of Mambone. Other than that 45 minute wait, we had incredible luck. We jumped in the back of a pickup truck from the crossroads to Inhassoro, hit a chapa almost immediately from Inhassoro to Vilanculos, and then got another chapa from Vilanculos to to Maxixe. It was a long travel day, especially running on only two loaves of bread and a couple of cokes.

We ate dinner with a couple of Volunteers and another NGO worker stationed in Maxixe. I never thought that eating chicken would be considered a treat. We headed back to a Volunteers house to sleep.

Maputo, here we come!