Year 1 - Week 16: Three Cups of Beer

Saturday night should not have happened. Up all night and all day, it would have been easy to eat dinner and pass out. But what fun would that be? We’re stuck here anyway and there’s no way we’re heading back tomorrow, so we might as well live it up. A couple caixas of beer and we had ourselves a little – okay, a not so little – party. Cold beer flowed into early Sunday morning. After forty-two hours of being awake, I finally fell asleep.

But not for long. Everyone was up, hung over, by 8:30. Now we definitely weren’t going anywhere. We did almost nothing in the morning. Some people napped, others watched movies, but no one was moving quickly. The only moving that was done was lifting pancakes from plate to mouth.

By lunch, we were all hungry, no longer hung over, and moving at a decent speed. We were hoping for pizza, but alas, the pizza joint was closed. What kind of restaurant shuts down during the lunch hour?! We returned to the restaurant where we ate yesterday, and once again, I got my half chicken. We had the added excitement on a Mozambique-Nigeria World Cup qualifier on TV. When Mozambique scored, the place erupted. When the goal was revoked because a player was offside, the elation turned to silence. We stuck around for the first half, and then went to the pizza place. When in Rome, eat pizza. So that’s what we did, in spite of having just eaten.

It rained for the better part of the afternoon, and it seemed to pick up as we walked from one place to another. The rain picked up in the evening. The irony of evacuating due to a now-dissipated cyclone to a place with tons of rain and wind is just rich. Our party remained a solid six, and with nothing else to do, we found our way to cervejas once again.

We got a late start to Monday. Between not wanting to move and the pancakes that were made for us, there was just no reason to hurry back. By late morning, we were on the road. We wanted to get as far north as possible in an effort to get back to Machanga as quickly as possible. With a good run of chapas, we made it to Chidenguele. Stopped on the side of the road, we drew the attention of children. I told them that Richie likes to eat children, which only seemed to provoke them closer. But once we took steps toward them, they scattered, laughing, only to come back after we smiled.

We got a car heading north toward then Maxixe, and with a little sunlight left, we decided to make a run to Mapinhane, where two Volunteers live. By the end of our ride, we were under a black sky speckled with stars.

Tired from the previous day’s travel, we once again were on the move late. Three cars filled with South Africans passed us before we caught a chapa into Vilanculos. The ride to Vilanculos was fast, but not fast enough to catch the 10:30 chapa to Mambone. And the chances of us getting a boleia up north were slim. It’s not so easy as guys to get free rides.

We relaxed for the better part of the day once we got to Vilanculos. We sat at a café alongside the main road. While waiting for food to come out, I decided to find some sunglasses. I spoke Portuguese to the vendor and he replied in English. This was frustrating. At one point, he asked me if I spoke Spanish. Mm, no, I speak Portuguese. “Well,” he replied “your Portuguese is not so good.” Thanks jackass, I won’t be buying sunglasses from you today.

Richie and I each ate a half-chicken – when we’re not at site, it’s about all we eat – before splitting off. I had hoped to catch some internet time at a backpackers’ lodge, but once again, their internet was down. I met up again with Richie to buy some items foreign to Machanga, like Balsamic vinegar. We stayed at a Volunteers house in Vilanculos. We very much appreciated the fact that we could call in the morning and, on less than a day’s notice, have a place to stay that night. The three of us gorged ourselves with delicious pizza. The two of us who are English teachers played a game of Scrabble. And after another day of travel, we were done for the day.

We didn’t have to rush out on Wednesday morning. The Mambone chapa leaves daily between 10:30 and 11, and with just a little shopping to do beforehand, we could take our sweet time getting down to the villa. As we usually do before heading back to Machanga, we stocked up vegetables we just can’t get – namely avocado and bell pepper. Some kid tried to charge me 75 Meticais for one avocado and I almost had a seizure. Instead, I just yelled at him in Portuguese. I am happy to be at point with my language skills that can frustratingly yell at people. It made me even happier when they bring the price back down to its regular ten Meticais. And what might have made me the most happy was when a different sunglasses vendor said “Fala bem Portuguese” – “he speaks good Portuguese.” Damn right I do.

The ride from Vilanculos to Mambone is usually a simple ride. I wouldn’t call it fun, but it isn’t a pain in the ass. Usually. On this ride, the chapa was playing the same terrible twelve songs that Mozambicans love, with the same terrible bass line and drum rhythms, at a volume so high that listening to my iPod was useless. Despite sitting in the first row behind the driver, a girl of about ten sat in front of me, facing me, crammed between my knees and the middle seat next to the driver. Her feet layered on mine, my foot fell asleep; her head on my knee, she fell asleep (how, I have no idea). Slowly going deaf and quickly going numb from the knees down, I resigned myself to reading Greg Mortenson’s humanitarian story “Three Cups of Tea.”

The chapa arrived in Mambone late, around 2 PM. Usually, we are back across the river by 2 or 2:30. We had just a few things to do in Mambone: check out the little jersey shop; by bread, tomatoes, and onions; maybe enjoy one last cold drink. We did the last thing first: our newly-made South African friend caught our attention. We joined him and his family for a beer before scurrying off. I bought a sweet Argentina soccer jersey while Richie bought an even sweeter Shaquille O’Neal Orlando Magic jersey. We got our delicious Mambone bread, some sad-looking tomatoes and onions, and crossed the river to Machanga.

We rolled into the school beaten down. Neither of us wanted to do much of anything, but for a change, there was work to do. Our final exams were given for us and now we had to turn them around as quickly as possible. There was no way to get them done by tomorrow, so we alphabetized the exams – a key to getting them corrected and having the grades written down – and made grading keys. As we got organized, our energy came on. I started cooking dinner while he finished organizing; he finished cooking dinner so I could start organizing. The night ended as it usually does – sweating, mildly full, watching “House.”

I slept about as well I have slept here. I had a fan blowing on my face, which always helps, although I think the exhaustion from the last few days of travel is more likely cause. Sleeping until almost 9:00, a task considered easy and regular before coming here, was quite amazing. I ate a little bit of bread before getting my grading done. I would call the results mixed. There was no shortage of perfect scores, and there are some embarrassingly low scores. I even managed to catch three cheaters, who stupidly all had the same answers and scratch-outs. I confirmed with the person who gave the test that they were all sitting together. How stupid do they think I am?

I would have liked to have given the exams back today, but without energy, I couldn’t put grades into the computer. After our stir fry lunch, Richie and I had a relaxing afternoon. At one point, our neighbor asked us “what means this: ‘oh shit, it’s the fuckin’ boy?’” I almost gagged. We asked him to repeat it two more times, both for a laugh and to make sure of what we heard. We did our best to explain, but we just don’t know how to say “Fuck” and “Shit” in Portuguese. They are not exactly words found in your everyday Portuguese-English dictionary.

Once the energy came on, I was able to get my grades into the computer. We are supposed to hand-write our grades, which means doing math. I have no problem doing math, but I do have a problem with handwriting. And if I can type something up and have the computer do the math for me, well hell, I’m going to. Most of the grades are pretty good. We cooked up dinner, watched house, and after a not so difficult day, we turned in.

Neither of us had many obligations for Friday. I spent the morning with “Three cups of Tea.” All we had to do was hand back our exams, which would only take a couple of minutes. After one trimester, we have mastered how to minimize our workload. We don’t have to give the exams back to the students – we can give that job to the class “chefe” (the class boss). They take care of the work for us. It’s great. I did, however, take the time to return the tests of the three cheaters, telling them in Portuguese “If you are going to share the answers, you are going to share the points.” I think it’s fair.

My only major obligation for Friday was to print the grades out. This would be easy if just one of the computers in the lab wasn’t infected by a virus. So I did something logical – loaded the printer software to my computer, hooked in my laptop directly, and boom! I had my grades. For this day, I defeated Machanga. I cherish these rare victories.

Any feeling of victory from the day before dissipated Saturday morning. Richie and I finally were able to get our garden going. We had a student dig out the land for us. As we started planting, our neighbors kept telling us how to do the planting. So I had to weigh this decision – listen to them, or follow directions. I did the very unmanly thing and followed directions. Of course, this led to more talking by the teachers, and I almost lost it. I just stood there in silence. Richie recognized my frustration but the locals didn’t, so they just kept talking. I wanted to do like Frank Costanza from “Seinfeld” and yell “SERENITY NOW!” But even that wouldn’t be appreciated.

The nice thing about having a shitty morning is it can only get better, and boy did it. Greg, our South African friend living in Mambone, called Richie to tell him he was on our side of the river. We figured we were just getting drinks. We were wrong. With some of our market mamas, we dined on shrimp, absolutely perfectly cooked fish, rice, potatoes and salad. It was the fastest 180 degree turn ever. And yes, there were many cups of beer. This was our own little “Three Cups of Tea” moment. Usually, we just do business with the market mamas, but after a couple cups of beer, we were like family. They told us we didn’t have to pay for any of the food, but we still felt obligated to contribute.

We did not look forward to the long walk to the river – oh yea, we got invited to cross the river to continue the festivities with our Peace Corps colleague Greg. Brilliantly, our friends arranged an oxen-pulled cart to take us down to the river. It’s a terrible walk sober; I can’t imagine stumbling down that road.

Once across the river, we made our way toward Peace Corps Greg. His girlfriend’s family was cooking up dinner and we were invited. And what was served? Duck! This might have been the best food day here. The duck was some of the best bird I have ever eaten. I was in heaven.

After dinner, we wandered over to a discothèque to do a little bit of drinking. While sipping on a delicious cold beer, I noticed a man wearing a unique piece of clothing – a Team Finland hockey jersey. Intrigued, I told him I would buy the shirt off of his back. And for 150 Meticais – six dollars – it was mine. The guy later came back with a Czech Republic Jaromir Jagr jersey. Broke, I couldn’t buy it, but I convinced Richie to purchase it. By 10:30, we were ready to hit the ice. Now where is that ice rink?

Our night of drinking over, we had a seven kilometer walk in front of us. Luckily we caught a boleia down the road to Greg’s house. Considering the terrible start to the day, this turned out pretty well.