Year 1 - Week 22: The Case of the Never-Finished Bookshelf

In spite of the repeated early wake-ups (I don’t think I’m going to make it through a night here without waking up at least twice), I woke up on Sunday feeling good, strangely healthy and awake. Unlike Richie, who was in meetings about a secondary project, I had few obligations on Sunday. I whipped up some beer batter for onion rings and while the batter sat rising, I started reading my dad’s latest edition of “California Politics and Government.”

Our timing for the day was perfect. I finished cooking the last batch of delicious onion rings as Richie walked out of the meeting. I ate quickly and dove back into my dad’s book. I remained on the porch, doing little except reading. Within minutes of finishing the book, my parents called. How perfect. It would prove to be a busy night on the telephone.

After eating dinner, one of my best friends called for the first time in thirty-one weeks. As he predicted, we spent most of the conversation giggling like little girls, reliving inside jokes and catching up on where are lives have gone since I left California. Immediately after getting off the phone with my friend, my aunt called. By the time I got off the phone, it was 10:15, way past my regular bedtime. I flipped on a fan and went to sleep, a couple hours at a time.

My Monday morning was busy: it was made busy due to my ignorance of English grammar rules. I committed myself to teaching comparative and superlative adjectives. In Portuguese, forming comparatives and superlatives is easy. With few exceptions, it is amazingly consistent, using only one rule (“more” plus “adjective”). In English, we use five rules without even realizing it. I jumped online, did some quick research, found a tidy chart with the rules and copied it onto big paper for my classes. The better part of my morning was spent on preparation, a rarity for me.

Classes ran well. I didn’t realize how much I was going to have to teach. To form superlatives and comparatives, one needs to know how to count syllables and separate vowels from consonants. It became quickly apparent that my students didn’t know how to do any of these things. It was probably for the better: I filled the entire ninety minutes for each of my classes.

I came back from class exhausted. Teaching four and a half straight hours will do that to you, I guess. We prepared our regular pasta dinner, but topped it off with cookies. I think that the cookies have passed the brownies as our best bakery item. We ate until we were sick and appropriately watched “House” before the energy went out on another day.

Richie and I made a joint run to the market early Tuesday morning. The bookshelf that ordered was supposed to be ready. This being Mozambique, we should have expected that things would take longer. The carpenter was still cleaning up the wood when we arrived. He said it would be done later in the afternoon and we should return. We knew that was a lie just by looking at the six pieces of wood scattered about the shop. He said to return, but we told him we would just return tomorrow morning.

The market run wasn’t a complete loss. I’ll be damned if I leave the market empty-handed: we grabbed tomatoes, lettuce (the first appearance here in Machanga), green onions (also a first here), and juice. Before leaving, Richie and I grabbed a drink at a bar to celebrate Richie’s birthday. We returned home and made lunch before I ran off to class.

I continued teaching about comparatives and superlatives. While our rules are much more complex than Portuguese, the structure of the sentences are the same word for word. I briefly explained the structure, grabbed some examples (Mr. Richie is whiter than Mr. Lee), and then explained equalities, which also carry the same structure as Portuguese. It’s a lot of material, so I told them I would spare them and not put the material on the upcoming exam.

Richie was especially lazy with dinner. We “cooked” what had to be the fastest and most unhealthy, starch-heavy meal: our last box of macaroni and cheese followed by one minute instant mashed potatoes. We had to move quickly though. I had to type up some documents for a teacher and print them off. We didn’t want to lose time, so we ate quickly, I ran to the computer lab, and we still got in our two episodes of “House” before going to sleep.

We returned to the market Wednesday morning prepared to carry away our bookshelf. But guess what? It wasn’t done! “All I have to do is nail it together and paint it,” said the carpenter. So basically, all the work, right? He said that we should come back in the afternoon to pick it up.

Lo and behold, right in the middle of teaching one of my classes, I received a text message from the carpenter saying I should check out the bookshelf before taking it. No problem: Richie and I both ended classes on the early end and made our way over to the villa. When we arrived, the thing still wasn’t done. Half of the varnish was on, half wasn’t. He said that he would bring it over when it was dry, later in the evening. Within an hour of getting home, he called saying he would bring it tomorrow. I’ll believe it when I see it.

As I did last night, I had to help out in the computer lab with printing documents. Knowing how infected all of these computer are with viruses, I now bring my laptop into the lab instead of using a flash drive. While I printed off the documents, I helped a math teacher write equations in Word. I had no idea how to do this, so I was learning as he was learning. The difference is that I’m pre-exposed to the technology: I will never forget how to do those functions, but he will need written instructions.

Richie had already cooked dinner when I walked in the door. We ate quickly, relaxed for a little bit and then got right back into “House.” We finished a few minutes before the energy went out.

Thursday was a strictly academic day. I knew what was going to be on the students’ first midterm: I just had to write it on monster paper so I wouldn’t have to write in on the chalkboard six times. Writing on that big paper, legibly took up the better part of my morning, which was good – it made the otherwise slow morning go by quickly.

Before giving the test, I had two quick classes to teach – both test reviews for other classes. In between my second and third classes, I got a call from the carpenter. The bookshelf was done. Like, done! But he wanted more money to bring it. I yelled at him, demanding that it be dropped on my patio within an hour. As I walked home after the first round of tests, Richie was moving it into the house with another student. We did a little reorganizing before I went back to give another class the exam. This would be a job for the morning.

I was a little concerned with how the exams would turn out. The test I gave was much different than the tests I gave during the first trimester. Instead of simply responding to multiple choice questions, students would be responsible for writing full sentence answers to some questions and writing out the questions for some answers I provided. I was happily surprised as I sat on the patio and graded the exams on Friday morning. There were very few failures and a few almost perfect scores. It was evident who didn’t come to class, who sat there taking notes, and who participated.

Grading took up about half of my morning. The other half was committed to organizing – or I guess, reorganizing – our house. The bookshelf divides our dining room/kitchen area, so now we have two “rooms” – a closed off kitchen and a separate eating area. The other lovely side effect is that we know have some extra wood to make some new shelves for the walls. We just need to figure out where they will go.

I was back in the classroom giving tests for most of the afternoon. I didn’t look forward to correcting these tests later. On of these two classes is particularly lazy. I get the same people participating every class, so I already knew who would pass and who would fail. Some students took the entire 90 minutes to finish the exam. And there were no shortage of shifty eyes. I moved four people into different seats and caught one set of cheaters as I graded papers (if your going to choose a favorite profession, don’t be the only two people to choose “fireman” and have other horribly butchered answers).

The other class was a joy in comparison. The students were well spread out and I didn’t see many eyes moving around. Most of them finished quickly enough that I could correct them right away, but got lazy and chose not to. Instead, I chose to do Su Doku, relaxing after a fast week of work.

They pleasantly surprised me – not a single failure and three near-perfect scores. They are a good class, but shy to participate. They worry me, but with results like those, I shouldn’t be so concerned. I knocked out the exams and then went on to my next project – shelves. I borrowed a saw from the construction works (in the process, I learned the word for “saw” in Portuguese, a word I will probably never use again) and made an awesome spice rack conveniently next to our stovetop and oven.

The afternoon was relaxing. I sat on the patio for a little bit doing Kakuro and squeezed in a glorious nap. Neither Richie nor I have slept a full night’s sleep in two weeks, so a nap was exactly what the doctor ordered. The lucid dreams that came with it were a welcome surprise.

Richie had a legendary idea over the late afternoon – drinking in the villa. We talked to a couple of colleagues who we know like to drink. They even wanted to play “Slamball,” a game loved by Peace Corps Mozambique Volunteers. Little did they know that we were actually good at the game. Within two hours, we were all tanked. Not a bad night for twelve dollars. And maybe we will be able to get a full night of sleep.

Year 1 - Week 21: If it's 3:15 AM, we must be awake

I can’t say that this weekend was a mistake or I made regrettable choices, but what I did to my body was just ridiculous. I guess this is what happens: we don’t drink when we’re in Machanga, so when we are anywhere else, that is exactly what we do.

For better or for worse, today was a travel day. Our only job was to get back to site in preparation for another week of school. Before leaving though, we had some shopping to do: buying household necessities that we can’t get in Machanga. One problem though – being Sunday, everything was closed. The stationery store, the grocery store, the hardware store all closed. Although none of the “necessities” are really needed, it would have been nice to have them around the house.

The chapa heading back to Mambone had similar problems that we had coming back from Beira the first time. Tire issues riddled the entire trip back. I don’t think we every lost a tire but we had to stop every thirty minutes to refill our back left tire with air. As we know by now, if you are going to travel, bring a book. And for this trip, I had a good book: I was able to get a copy of President (hehe) Barack Obama’s “Dreams from my Father.” I have been looking for months for someone looking to give up their copy. Along the way, I have read bits and pieces, but now I can enjoy the book in its entirety.

We arrived in Mambone later than usually, but we knew that we were in line to get some quality bread in the vila. Or not. Mambone being out of bread is a minor tragedy. It’s like taking a punch to the stomach. Breadless, we started walking back toward the river. As I walked, the sole of my right foot was killing me. I shed my shoes, hoping that the soft ground would provide some cushion. When we arrived home, I found the price I paid from the weekend: six cuts in the bottom in my foot. The fact that I don’t know when I cut my foot and that I couldn’t feel the cuts until a day later is a good barometer for the kind of weekend we had.

With proper supplies for spaghetti sauce, we made our standard spaghetti sans garlic bread. Very sad. Richie fell asleep toward the end of one episode of “House.” While he crawled into bed, my grandmother called, and as he fell asleep, my brother called. By the time my conversations were over, I too was exhausted. I stayed in bed until the energy out and fell asleep.

I woke up on this rainy Monday feeling decently. I had few obligations for the day. I spent most of my morning cleaning up around the house. Because of the holiday on Friday, which caused one set of 11th grade cancellations, I had to cancel my 11th grade classes for the day to keep the classes balanced. I only had to plan for 12th grade and I had an idea of what I was going to teach: agreeing and disagreeing.

When I got into the classroom, I realized something: teaching people how to agree and disagree is worthless if they don’t know how to form an opinion. I changed my lesson on the fly to a lesson on how to form opinions, and it went pretty well. By the end of the day, everyone was saying “I think” this and “I believe” that. It was nice to hear.

Having cancelled my other classes, I had a good chunk of the afternoon to sit back and read some more “Dreams.” It amazes me how smoothly he writes, how well he gets across his ideas. It is like he is just there talking to you.

Our energy came on at 5:30, which seems to be the new standard time for having energy. As night falls earlier and earlier, it becomes necessary to have energy on at this hour. I cooked up a delicious stir fry dinner and afterward, I had a craving for chocolate chip cookies. I looked up a recipe in our book and got baking. They weren’t exactly Tollhouse, but they did the job.

In between episodes of “House” I ran over to the computer lab to print out some résumés for some students. I asked what they were for and got an answer I expected: election season. The election is scheduled for October 28, right at the very end of the school year. We are expecting the campaign to interfere with school. After all, if my students are going to be working for a campaign, they are sure not going to be in class.

Richie ran to the market on Tuesday morning, leaving me with the dishes, which was fine. I didn’t have anything else to do. My classes for the day were already prepared, so I spent my morning with Mr. Obama.

My classes for the day were pretty run of the mill. It seems that the students are starting to figure out what is happening: I am giving them the structures that can be used for basic English conversation. If they can write in English, then they will be able to speak in English. They are realizing this and their confidence is growing, which of course is good.

Dinner was of little consequence. What was more important to me were the conversations that came after dinner: one with my parents, one with one of my best friends. I hadn’t talked to my buddy for a while so it was really nice what was going on in his life. In between conversations, we watched a couple episodes of “House” (we are now into season 3) and went to bed.

I woke up Wednesday to something I had not seen in Machanga: fog. I thought for a moment that my eyes were just blurry, victims of a second consecutive 3:15 wake-up call from the local militia of roosters. I swear that one day, one of those birds is going to meet a knife blade. The fog lingered for a couple hours before the African sun did its job and burned it off.

Before a delicious turkey sandwich (with avocado!) lunch, I started a quote board for all the ridiculous things that Richie and I say. We have a list of about 20 things that we say on a regular basis (among them: “Are we in America yet?” “My feet are dirty” “It’s hot”). We think it will be nice thing to have for the people who come in after us. Poor souls.

My students made my afternoon easier than it should have been. I was scheduled for four hours of classes – two hours with one group, two hours with another. A teacher for one of the groups wasn’t there, so they asked if they can combine classes. Absolutely. They finish faster, I finish faster. Everyone wins.

I made a rare Wednesday afternoon market run with a few specific missions in mind: buy juice, find a new light bulb and socket for my room (candlelight just isn’t cutting it anymore), and talk to the carpenter about a book shelf. The first two were a piece of cake. I found the carpenter with no problem also; it was the price he was going to give me that I was worried about. He has tried to rip me off before and I knew he would again. I knew the cost of wood – 200 Meticais per piece; it was a matter of how much he would want for labor. Richie and I didn’t want to pay more than 2000 Meticais for the entire thing. So you can imagine how shocked I was when the carpenter’s boss – the husband of one of the market mamas we like – gave us a price of 1600. I didn’t even bother bargaining: it wasn’t worth it.

I returned home, successful. I popped in the new socket and light bulb (which, by the way, worked perfectly when the energy came on). A couple of students came over to talk to me about organizing a conversation group. If they organize the people, I told them, I would be happy to facilitate. I like that kind of self-motivation. It is those students who will learn best and, in reality, it is those students who give me reason to put passion into every class.

Before dinner, Richie and I decided to get some exercise in. We went out to the field to do some sprints with the Frisbee, followed by some sit-up and push-ups. Now that I am a lean, mean 165 pounds, I figure it’s time to get ripped. We exhausted ourselves to the point that we could eat more than usual, watched a bit of “House” and called it quits.

Another day, another wake-up from that goddamn rooster. If it’s 3:15 in the morning, Lee and Richie must be awake. What shocks me more than the wake-up call is that people actually get up at that hour. I don’t know what there is to do at that hour except sleep. So I shut my eyes and enjoyed another beautiful lucid dream about, of all things, horseracing. Right when the 3, 5, and 6 horses were making a run for the finish line, I woke up to my cell phone vibrating on my stomach. I told my sister to call back in an hour, but I couldn’t get back to sleep again. It was nice to catch up with her this morning.

I did nothing of interest in the morning. I finished Part Two of “Dreams” while Richie went for a walk around the school. Around 10:30, something amazing happened: our energy came on! Our neighbor ran over to tell us that the energy was going to be on for a long time. The school is building new desks. After all, if the president of the country is going to visit (next month), the school better look damn good.

I almost didn’t know what to do with myself with the energy on. I jumped online to read and write emails. My dad, our travel agent, and I have been trying to nail down the final details of our trip, so this provided the perfect opportunity to read and respond with some rapidity. I was able to cook lunch on the stovetop instead of lighting charcoal. I plugged in ever single electronic item I could get my hands on. If the school gives me energy, I’m going to use it.

My classes in the afternoon ended early. In one class, I only had a quarter of the students, so I pushed that class to tomorrow, moved around a class to that period, and managed to be done a couple hours early. With our extra time in the afternoon, Richie and I got back to the exercise, doing some sprints on the field followed by sit-ups.

The energy stayed on through the afternoon. There are rumblings that we will have energy 24 hours a day by the year’s end. It’s a funny thing. In America, when a president goes to a town, they put up red, white and blue banners. Apparently, in Machanga, they put up light poles. And where there are light poles, there are lights, and where there are lights, there are energy. If this is what my next year is going to look like, things are looking, well, brighter.

I squeezed dinner in between a call from my dad (nailing down the last details of their trip) and my grandfather (just catching up). Richie said he was going to make banana bread, but he lost the motivation ten seconds after that promise came out of his mouth. We enjoyed the last hours of energy watching “House” before going to sleep.

I woke up Friday with one mission: get my room clean, neat, and organized. Our rooms here are so small that we can’t really afford to have things out of place. Cluttering becomes a problem quite easily and my room had become cluttered to no end. This was not helped by the fact that I was still using the boxes from when we moved in as furniture. I vowed that I would have these boxes eliminated by morning’s end.

What started in my room bled over into Richie’s. Or at least my enthusiasm did. Before I knew it, Richie was also cleaning his room. By 9:00, both of our rooms were tidy. But now we were in the spirit. So we starting going at the kitchen. And then our little dining area. By the time we were ready to eat, our kitchen was glistening and we had organized a small library of books and DVDs. We rewarded ourselves with a well-deserved lunch.

I was slated to have four hours of class in the afternoon, two with one group, and two with another group with a two hour gap in between. I used up the entire two hours with the first group, which would prove problematic if it remained true for the second group. As we move closer to winter, darkness falls earlier every day. The end of the school day now coincides with the end of sunshine. Unfortunately, we have enough daylight to see but not enough daylight to see in the classrooms. The scheduling gods, however, were on my side. The group I have at the end of the day is a group of quick learners and I was able to finish my lessons in half the necessary time.

While I prepared a very sorry looking stir fry, Richie prepared batters for two desserts – chocolate chip cookies and banana bread. At least when we drown our misery in sugar, it tastes good. As we finished dinner, a student of mine came over to speak a little bit of English. Having my students speak, in a class of 50 or 55, is so difficult, so I encourage them to visit to get personal time. The lack of speaking, not just from this year but from this year, shows. It is a struggle for them, even if they know the structures and vocabulary, to string a sentence together. It means that Richie and I have to speak and understand a “third language” – ESLese – when my students come by.

Richie and I had big plans for Saturday – the promised land of Mambone. Bread, tomatoes, cold drinks, all for the taking. Before heading to the river, we walked over to our villa to talk to the carpenter. We had half of the money for the bookshelf we requested. The carpenter said he needed a cold drink before he got started. I told him I would get him his drink when the shelves were done. He said it was a quick job – Tuesday by the latest – so I might as well get him the beer now. We bargained hard and came to this agreement: I’ll by the beer now, and if the shelves aren’t done on Tuesday, he buys me a beer. Either way I win – on Tuesday, I get my shelves or a get a beer.

We waited for a while to cross the river, but once we got to Mambone, we acted quickly. The jersey store we like to frequent disappointed, so we went straight to food items. The Mambone market – reliable for the basics – had some unique items today: bell pepper, green onion, and carrots. This bodes well for tomato sauce. We stocked up on bread, enjoyed a cold soda, and made our way back toward the river. When we arrived at the river, we were the only two people there. The canoe man would want at least four more people to take across the river, but we didn’t want to wait. So we lived by what Dr. House says: “Everyone lies.” “Senhor, we have to return quickly because we have a meeting at school.” Meeting at school? Please. But off we went.

We arrived home to a welcome site – energy. I diced up onions and tomatoes while Richie cracked eggs and we were able to cook without charcoal for another day! The rest of the afternoon was relaxing. While I finished off “Dreams from my Father,” my neighbor and two friends were singing and dancing with no reason but to sing and dance. Richie took care of some weeds outside and I cleaned dishes. As soon as we knew it, the energy was back on and we were cooking again, relaxing again, satisfied with knowing that another week had come to an end.

Year 1 - Week 20: Math at 3:30 on Thursday

We were back in the swing of things, but not really back into the swing things, by Sunday. It appears that the students are getting back into the swing also. Most of the students have already made their way back, but there are still a few trickling in. They will probably continue to come in a few at a time for the next couple of weeks.

With Richie still bedridden for the most part, I had my run of the house. As he rested, I spent a good portion of the morning cleaning up the inside of the house as well as the patio. Even though I could still feel dirt under my feet, this was about as clean as the house could be. Satisfied, I made my way to the market to buy food.

Richie being sick has made cooking a lot more difficult. It’s not that the actual cooking is any more difficult. In terms of the work being done, the only extra work it makes is I have to prep, cook, and clean, which kind of sucks. What is difficult is finding the motivation to cook only for myself. Normally, we split the cost, prep, and responsibility of cooking the food; most importantly, we split the food itself.

For the last couple days, he hasn’t eaten much, so I have fallen into the habit of using the ready-made stuff my family and friends have sent me. On this day, though, my neighbor and I convinced Richie that he should eat something. He made it through two potato pancakes before “they came up not tasting as good.” Ouch.

Both of us relaxed in the afternoon, for different reasons. Richie was out because he didn’t want to deal with the bathroom and the people – especially our neighbors – coming to see him. I napped knowing that this was the last afternoon for a while that I could do such a thing.

My parents called as the slimmest crescent moon rose just as the sun was setting. The sliver was so small that it wouldn’t show up in a photograph. It’s the kind of moment that can’t be bottled, just remembered. Within minutes of the call ending, our energy came on. Richie declared, without me asking, that he wouldn’t be eating. Well, that put me in a bind. Laziness struck and I decided to go with the Trader Joe’s pasta meals that my best friends and their families sent me. They were delicious. We watched a couple episodes of “House” – I think Richie takes some pleasure in seeing other people suffer, even if it’s fake – and went to bed.

I awoke Monday feeling a little excited. The day had finally come where I got to do what I came here to do – teach. I spent a little time in the morning figuring out exactly what I was going to teach to my 11th graders. I am forcing myself to actually teach the curriculum that the government wants me to teach instead of teaching them just useable English.

Richie managed to get up for his morning class, but he wasn’t well in the afternoon. Before my classes started, I went into his classes to tell them their classes were cancelled. They were thrilled.

It was really nice to get back in front of the classroom today. I had three groups of students that I really enjoy seeing. In the 11th grade classes, we talked about school subjects and professions. I had students make a chart of the subjects they learn, and see what was important for the jobs they wanted. A riot almost ensued when the question of whether physics was important to be nurse arose. I let the kids have it out: I made them defend their decisions in English, which was interesting. My 12th graders learned some vocabulary concerning contradictions. I am not so worried about them: they pick things up quickly and tend to run with them.

I was once again left to cook for myself. This is starting to get old. I didn’t even have a chance to convince Richie to eat. I could barely get him to call a doctor. Laziness again struck me, so I went for the ready-made mashed potatoes that my grandparents sent me (they were amazing!) and the canned turkey my parents sent me (also amazing). My dinner tasted like Thanksgiving.

As we started watching “House,” I got called in to the computer lab, for the first time in a while, to do some work. I had the very challenging task of clearing out the list of printed documents. But it’s never just one thing: once one task is complete, there are always others that pop up. The school director asked me to burn some videos to CD. Again, not exactly the most difficult task, but it did eat into my energy time. We were able to get in one more episode of “House” and one episode of “South Park” before the power went out.

I slept amazingly well until about 3:15. I had a dream that I can’t remember, but I was out so cold that when I woke up, I sat up in bed and actually asked myself aloud “Where am I?” Larium is awesome. The answer hit me quickly when I started sweating. I flipped on a fan and went to bed for another 45 minutes, when I received a message with news I had expected. My beloved San Jose Sharks, with the best record in the NHL this year, lost their first-round playoff series to lowly Anaheim. I’m not shocked at all. I’m just glad it’s over, so they can tear that team apart and try to build a team that doesn’t choke in the playoffs. Normally, news like that would break my heart, but considering I saw exactly zero games this year, it was hard for me to even care.

Even though nobody came in the house between yesterday and today – except for Richie and me – our house was again filthy. I gave the patio a good sweeping. I even mopped the house, but not like we mop the house in the U.S. This was done Mozambique-style: ass up, hands down, scrubbing. The floor was noticeably cleaner, which tells you how dirty it actually was.

My classes were some of the best I have given all year. I started teaching one group of 12th graders basic questions words and responses (What is…? Where is…? Who is…?). The lesson went so well, I decided it would be good for my 11th graders as well. Everyone did a really nice job with it. In each of my classes, I gave my students a tongue-twister. Portuguese does not have the “th” sound that English does, so people tend to say “da” instead of “the” or “brudder” instead of brother. So I made my students say the following: “The brother, father, and mother study math at three-thirty on Thursday.” It made for a good laugh, but most students got it quickly. Now, they all think about what they are saying when they have words with “th”.

Our energy came on within an hour of me finishing classes. I cooked up the standard spaghetti and sauce, while Richie had about four bites of mashed potatoes. I can’t let food go to waste, so I finished what he started. We watched some “House” and went to sleep.

Wednesday was fairly boring. I didn’t have any lessons to prepare – new set of students, same lesson from Monday – so I relaxed. I cleaned up a little bit, but most of my morning was spent trying to conquer “KenKen,” one of the Sudoku knockoff games my parents sent. I got 55 puzzles into this second book before messing one up. Richie told me to take a lap.

Even though I gave the same lessons as I gave on Monday, they definitely were not as good. I think the responsibility sits with both me and my students. My students and I feed off of each others’ energy, both positive and negative. I try to keep them up, but every once in a while, they are too strong for me and I can’t get them back up.

I managed to get some exercise in later in the afternoon. Some kids wanted to throw around the Frisbee and I am always happy to play. Some of them can throw as far as I can, which is really impressive. Once we have enough people, they should make for a pretty good team. More than anything, though, it was really nice to run around.

Richie seems to be in better health today. He managed to eat some lunch and a more dinner than last night, which is good. We watched “House” and turned in. Pretty typical day in my life here.

I slept soundly until about three in the morning. Then the Larium hit me, again. Usually, it only hits once a week, but every once in a while, it strikes again. It hit in a bad way – my mind went racing. Sleeping was impossible. I was up until 5:15 bouncing from one thought to the next. I slept for a solid 90 minutes before being awakened by roosters. It kills me slowly every day. Out of principle and frustration, I refused to get out of bed until 7:30.

In preparation for the epic event that is the Beer Olympics this weekend, Richie went to Vilanculos to stock up on beer. Seeing as tomorrow is a national holiday, we expect everything to be closed tomorrow. And then where would we get our beer. Richie, being ahead of the game, left in the morning. For the third time, I am left here alone. It’s not a problem – I actually had stuff to do today. I planned my classes in the morning, cooked, and then it was time to teach.

The lessons I gave today were probably the best I have given all year. My second set of 12th graders got the lesson on question words that I delivered on Tuesday. My 11th graders learned all sorts of new family words. Both of those groups were great today. They were involved. They were smiling. They appeared to actually learn something. I felt satisfied.

My classes ran later than usual. I finished right around 5:00. As we get closer to June – our winter – the sun sets earlier and earlier. As I walked back from class, I watched an orange sun fall between two palm trees like a football splitting the uprights. As the sun drifted over the horizon, everything turned red.

I had the night to myself. I cooked a remaining bit of spaghetti and decided to go the lazy route and use a sauce packet instead of making sauce. Our neighbors tried to convince me to go drinking with them, but I just didn’t have it in me. Not only did I need to clean up the house, but I had plans to do plenty of drinking over the weekend. I politely declined and instead spent the evening chatting with one of my students. It was a nice way to spend the night.

My stomach growled at me as I went to sleep, but I refused to go outside at night. On top of the standard reasons for not going outside – no electricity, large spiders, mosquitoes – our school director was robbed a couple nights ago. With the house locked down, I didn’t want to open up again, even for a few minutes. My decision to stay in, though, cost me Friday morning. My stomach caused me problems before I even had the chance to get away from my house, which was probably a good thing. Amazingly, by the time I got to the other side of the river (and after a couple Pepto-Bismols), my stomach was feeling better. I am starting to think that Richie and I are actually allergic to Machanga.

It appeared that luck was on my side once I got to Mambone. There was a car that was primed to go to the crossroads – an open-back truck with half of the bed loaded with fish, the other half with people. I knew, though, that this driver was sketchy. He always thinks he’s right, always wants to cram in that extra person or extra rice sack. After two hours and ten more rice sacks filled with fish loaded into the car, we were on our way. I spent the entire trip leaning against fish. I could barely tolerate the smell of myself.

The rest of the trip down to Vilanculos was slow but steady. I got a car immediately from the crossroads to Inhassoro and then another car from Inhassoro to Vilanculos. When I arrived, there was already a huge crew of people, beachside, drinking excessively. They made me play catch-up: I drank more gin than one person should consume in a night, then more beer on top of it. I don’t know much of what happened Friday night, but it was a good time. And the real drinking wasn’t supposed to happen until tomorrow.

Thankfully for me, most of the people were in the same boat as I was – too hung over to drink in the morning. So I walked down to the market, bought some food to get me through to the afternoon and enjoyed breakfast. Our games – complete with a marching in of the drinkers and torch-lighting ceremony – commenced at noon. Some of the things that we did should only be left to the imagination. I will put it this way: over the course of the day, more than 300 twenty-two ounce beers were consumed. Everybody was feeling good well into the night. While some people continued until 3 or 4 in the morning, I was done by midnight. If we didn’t have to travel tomorrow, I would have rallied, but I know I will be tired enough tomorrow anyway.

More than the drinking though, it was really nice to see some long-lost souls. I had an hour-long conversation about baseball with my friend Anthony, who might be the only other serious sports-lover in a group. The conversation was like therapy for both of us. Especially being in the middle part of the country, we are so far away from anything and anyone that it is always a good time when we can see other Volunteers.

M*A*S*H-anga

No longer locked in the house in Chimoio, I was finally able to leave for Machanga. I don’t know why, but every time I am poised to return to Machanga, there is a part of me that actually looks forward to it. I know that I will be itching to leave almost as soon as I arrive, but still, it’s nice knowing that I’m actually coming “home.” Or maybe, I’m just ready to be in one place for more than four days.

Bryan, who was heading in the same direction as me, and I headed out at just the right time: early enough to get a car heading south, late enough to get to an open market. We each bought up some goods for our sites – his situation is pretty equal to mine – and we were on the road. Our chapa for Inchope, the main crossroads, left promptly; the travel day was off to a good start.

We made it to the crossroads in about an hour, and then no less than half an hour later, we had a slow moving truck heading south. In that half hour, though, things took a small turn for the worse. Usually, I manage to avoid going to bathroom on these long journeys. A combination of starvation and dehydration usually do the job. But on this day, I had no such luck. My stomach was reeling. There was no bathroom in site. So I did what anybody here would do: I left my stomach, as well as a fair portion of my dignity, in a field next to a road. I hope I never have to do that again.

I figured I would take it to Muxungue, the next big truck stop, and then try to catch something going south. Once we got to Muxungue, I asked the driver how far he was going. He said Machanga. I wanted to say “Get the fuck out of here!” but not only do I not know how to say that in Portuguese, I don’t think it would translate well. No one ever goes to Machanga. In spite of the small take I made with the driver, I still had to fork over the 230 Meticais for the ride.

The road into Machanga, although still dirt, is considerably better. It has been smoothed out pretty nicely. The lack of rain has helped, but it looks like that the road repair people are actually working on it. They say it will be done by mid June. I don’t know if that means pavement, but it sure would be nice.

Exhausted from the day – or days – of travel, I tried to nap, but my body wouldn’t let me. My stomach was still killing me. I cooked dinner, but couldn’t eat more than a couple bites. It’s a shame because the sauce I made for the spaghetti was actually pretty good. I went to bed, feeling full despite not eating.

Monday wasn’t so much better. I managed to sleep in until about 8, a nice treat for sure. But I still felt full and my stomach wasn’t any better. Maybe this was more than just a little stomach bug. I figured it would pass; I would just need to get back on my regular eating cycle. After all, what we did to our bodies over the past couple of weeks was nothing close to healthy.

Before my classes were scheduled to start, I walked over to the administration building to see if any packages or mail had arrived. Lucky me, four packages from three sources – my parents, my grandparents, and my best friends and their parents – arrived with a bounty of food and reading material. We appreciate these packages more than anyone can understand.

I was scheduled to have a full load of classes on Monday, but when I showed up at the school, the vast majority of my students were not at school. I somewhat expected this, but I didn’t think it would be this bad. Resigned to my fate, I canceled classes for the day and hoped that tomorrow would be better.

Richie came back late in the afternoon looking defeated. He had narrowly missed the chapa heading directly to Machanga, but managed to catch up to it using another chapa – very impressive. The energy came on and, with both of us not feeling great, made less food than usual. We finished watching “Team America: World Police” with a couple of our neighbors. We didn’t even try to explain what was happening.

Whatever hope that I had of teaching on Tuesday disappeared very early Tuesday afternoon. I walked over to school, prepared to go over the final exam from the first trimester. In a class of 55 people, ten people sat in class. Is this really worth their time – and mine? Of course not. I passed through the other classes, some with twelve people, some with zero. They all said that next week would be better. I knew this to be true, but I didn’t want to believe it. Reluctantly, I canceled classes for the week.

My afternoon wasn’t a complete waste though. After teaching basic English for the first trimester, I am committing myself to teach the curriculum that the government actually wants me to teach. I spent some time going through the twelfth grade curriculum, picking out the parts that are teachable – given my lack of resources – and what the students would be most interested in learning. I was able to map out about half of the upcoming trimester for my twelfth graders, which is good news.

For dinner, Richie and I made ourselves a little treat – macaroni and cheese that my best friends and their parents had sent to me. We were still pretty beat down, feeling particularly lazy, and I still couldn’t eat as much as usual. After eating, a couple students joined us to watch a couple episodes of “House.” I don’t know how much they get out of it, but they may be picking up words here and there.

I was happy not to have class Wednesday, as it was probably my worst day – medically speaking – since arriving to site. My stomach was in knots. I felt terrible. I am glad I didn’t have to go anywhere because most of my day was spent walking the six feet between my patio and the bathroom. I was not at all happy. I was hoping that this stomach ailment was just from the travelling: after all, people often have stomach problems right after they travel.

This, though, was more substantial. Our neighbor told me that he had spent three days in the hospital during the school break because of bad water. This immediately raised concerns for me. Cholera is not unheard of here, and while we do a decent job of keeping ourselves protected – cleaning our water, washing our vegetables – we could probably do a better job. I think, more than anything, paranoia set in, and I started thinking that I actually had cholera.

My thoughts were only reinforced during the evening. After a stir fry dinner which I barely finished, and a couple episodes of “House,” I settled in for bed. Sleeping, though, was a challenge. No matter how I turned, my stomach hurt. By midnight, I had surrendered. The bathroom called, and I had to answer. Twice. I was not happy, but Richie – who also happened to be awake – was slightly humored. Three peaceful hours of sleep and two Peptol-Bismols later, I was up and running to the bathroom again. This was not going to be a good day.

I woke up feeling terrible, again. This is not fun. I stayed in bed until 9 AM, feeling lethargic. I hate being sick. It makes me feel useless. I only got out of bed when the bathroom demanded it of me.

I decided to stick to basics throughout the day: bread and butter, potatoes, and water. By the afternoon, my bathroom trips had become less frequent, my stomach not writhing as it had been for the last few days. I guess when one has reached the bottom, there is nowhere to go but up.

The day, once my stomach was settled, was relaxing. I read a couple of magazines, catching up on news from Obama’s first hundred (okay, in reality, first thirty) days. I napped extensively. And by complete surprise, our energy came on a full hour early. Richie, feeling good, took care of dinner. We watched a couple of episodes of “House,” with our neighbor, which has become custom as much for him as it has for us.

By Friday morning, things were getting back to normal. Whatever I did, or didn’t do, yesterday helped my stomach a lot. I knew as soon as I woke up that the day couldn’t be worse than the last few. It was nice to feel like a functioning person again. And by functioning, I mean sitting on my porch, doing Su Doku and reading magazines.

After lunch, Richie and I made a joint trip to the market, a rarity these days. Even though the market is just a few kilometers away, it isn’t worth it for us to shop together. But for the better part of the week, the weather has actually been mild. In fact, the nights have been cold to the point that I have needed a sweatshirt and sweatpants to sleep. And on this afternoon, the sun actually felt good. We stopped in a bar for a beer before buying some groceries and an esteira (eh-SHTAY-ra), a large mat made of something like straw. For sitting under a tree, they are perfect.

Once we were home, we were close enough to energy. We started prepping our food when we had an unexpected visitor – our school director. Our director never talks to us. This can’t be good. After all, we did cancel classes for the week. After pleasantries, he dropped this bomb on me “Estou a pedir fimes para meu iPod” – “I am asking for movies for my iPod.” Crisis averted, stress relieved. While Richie cooked dinner, I loaded up our director’s iPod. I cooked a killer cake while watching some television. After watching “House,” we were greeted by a creature we never want to see again, but we are sure that we will: a tarantula, in our bathroom. Not what we needed right before sleeping.

Or at least, trying to sleep. I don’t know if I passed on whatever I had to Richie, but he got something good. Three rounds of vomit in a squatty potty is not pleasant. He looked terrible. Our house has become a MASH unit. I knew I had to take care of everything today. What goes around comes around: he had been shouldering the load for the better part of the week.

While Richie slept off the pain, I did work both inside and outside the house. Our garden, which we planted before leaving Malawi and which has been tended to by our neighbor, has germinated beautifully. Six tomato plants, corn, cucumbers, green beans, cantaloupe and watermelon are growing well. Only the carrots failed to sprout. Along with replanting carrots and some corn, we transplanted our tomatoes into better ground.

I ate lunch by myself, which was strange. I don’t blame Richie for not eating: if he can’t hold down water, he’s not going to hold down food. Even though he wasn’t eating, he did seem to be in better spirits. With him down and out, I kept on with the household responsibilities, prepping a decent dinner, which he actually ate. We watched “House” and crashed.

If only House were in Africa, he could figure out what is wrong with us.

Year 1 - Week 18: Malawi Part 2 - Hypothermia In Africa

Easter Sunday started grey, from the lake to the sky. It made getting out of bed a little difficult. But once the sun broke through the clouds, one can’t help but start moving. My Sunday played out as any good vacation days should: I did a whole lot of nothing. I was in and out of the lake in between beers, soaking in the day.

The restaurant that served Thai food last week hosted a pizza night tonight. Getting pizza in Africa, as I know both from Ghana and Mozambique, is usually not good. There are few places that can even get close to something we would recognize as pizza. And Malawi is no different. The pizza they gave us was cheese on a glorified tortilla. We would have to wait until later in the week, when we could get actually get good pizza in Chimoio.

With the Easter weekend over, many people staying at our lodge were on their way out of Nkhata Bay. Tonight was the last good party night to be had. Unfortunately, one of our friends from Zambia got pretty sick, so she couldn’t really participate in the festivities. All in all, it was a pretty fun night. The staff at the lodge is pretty cool. They know everyone by first name and because of this, you almost feel obligated to learn their names. It makes it a little easier when they have names like – and I’m not joking here – “Special” and “Mercy”. They all have beers in hand and love having a good time as much as we do.

Monday was our last full day in Malawi. Just when we started getting comfortable, it was already time to start thinking about traveling back to Mozambique. Sad. It was a lot of travel, but I think it was worth it. Monday looked a lot like Sunday, except the weather was good right from the get-go. Down to our last few Kwacha (Malawian currency), the Mozambique crew skipped out on lunch to hold on to some cash for dinner.

We did have one option for lunch: we could try to take one of the log canoes out to the boat that we swam to, navigate around the boat, and earn free lunch. Most people don’t make it more than a couple strokes before tipping over. We were told that it had been accomplished six times in ten years. Fuck it, let’s make it seven. Richie and I didn’t even make it in the boat.

After relaxing for the better part of the afternoon, Richie, Bryan, and I went into the town to get some local food. I hadn’t spent a lot of time with them – I spent most of the trip with the Zambia crew – so it was nice to have some private time with them. Eating in the village was about a third of the price of eating at the lodge. For 300 Kwacha (60 Meticais or less than three dollars), we had a pretty good beef and chicken meal. We stocked up absolutely terrible gin and proceeded to black-out drunkenness. Mission accomplished for the week.

I woke up surprisingly not hung over, but sobered by the fact that we actually had to leave. This place was just too beautiful. I threw on my bathing suit and headed toward the lake. Before I could go swimming, I had two pieces of business to take care of. First I had to close out my tab – very sad. After that, I went to talk to a Volunteer from Malawi who was about to finish his service. He had a ticket out of South Africa and was going to spend some time in Mozambique. We planned out an itinerary for him, complete with Volunteers with whom he could stay for a night or two.

I mooched some breakfast from a couple of the Zambia Volunteers who had extra cash to blow. After a final dip in the lake, I headed down into the artist’s village to check out their goods. I ended up trading a pair of shorts eight inches too big for me for some pretty cool bracelets. I’ll keep some of them; the others will make nice gifts.

Our bags packed, our tabs paid, our goodbyes said, we made our way out to the crossroads to catch the overnight bus from Nkhata Bay to Blantyre. We thought the bus would show up around 5:30 or 6:00, which would have been perfect. Unfortunately, we caught the one bus in Africa that runs early. By 4:30, we were on the road. It would mean arriving in Blantyre very, very early.

I managed to get some sleep on the bus, which was nothing short of miraculous. We arrived in Blantyre around 2:30 or 3:00 in the morning. There would be no mini-bus for the border until 6:00 or 6:30, so we rested on the bus.

The transportation situation on Wednesday was pretty seamless. We got our mini-bus to the border, skipped a monster line at customs because of our Portuguese skills, and got in a chapa from Zóbuè right away. We were in what might have been the slowest chapa in all of Northern Mozambique, but we arrived in Tete nonetheless. We picked up some food to go, and then waited for any mode of transportation heading south. After a few hours, around 3:00, we got into the back of a Mack truck headed for Chimoio. Some guy told us we would be in town by 9:00. Bullshit. The road is terrible and we knew it would take longer than that.

The break from Portuguese was nice, but I’ll be honest: it was really nice to get back into it. Even though we still have our struggles, whether it be with verb conjugation or a lack of vocabulary, we were all still comfortable enough to fall right back into it. One of the customs agents asked if we were from Brazil. If only. They were only a little shocked when we told them we were from the United States.

It was kind of cool being in the back of the truck. The sun wasn’t too hot. All we had was the open road, the trees, and the mountains to ourselves. We chatted up our driver dinner, negotiated a decent price for the ride, and we were back on the road, leaving Catandica – the half way point – at around 8:30. By then, it was pitch black except for the moon and the stars. With no light pollution, every star was crystal clear. It was beautiful to the point that it makes one believe something or someone greater is at work, yelling “Look what I can do!”

By midnight, the road had smoothed out and the weather had dropped to a level of coldness I didn’t think possible in Sub-Saharan Africa. Of course, I had no warm-weather clothing with me. I bundled up in every piece of clothing I had and still shivered. Eventually I fell asleep, although I think it was more of my body temporarily shutting down. I didn’t think it was possible to get hypothermia in Africa.

We arrived in Chimoio between 2:00 and 3:00 AM on Thursday, desperate to find a place for the night. Bryan found a place called the Pink Papaya, which only sounds like a strip club. I have never been so happy to find a warm blanket waiting for me. Exhausted after a ridiculous 33 consecutive hours of travel, I passed out immediately.

I woke up sore. All of us work up sore. That ride took a lot out of us. We made our way over to a Volunteers house, where we did nothing but relax. All of us napped for some point of the day. None of us wanted to do anything. None of us really could do anything except sit and read.

Much of the same was true for Friday. Although a little more rested, we were still aching from the ride. There was no way we could leave today, so we planned on getting our Saturday. We were rested up enough, though, to go to a restaurant to see a Mozambican band – Positivo – play a show. They put on a great show, very high energy. The Peace Corps crew probably pissed off the rest of the patrons because we pretty much took over the place.

I walked back to the house a little early to try to catch some sleep before leaving in the morning. That was not meant to be. The band, which was hired to play a Peace Corps event on Saturday, came back to the house. Of course, where there is a band, there is a party. And that party went until 4 AM.

I was still committed to getting back to Machanga, even if it meant traveling on three hours of sleep. I’ve travelled on less. There was just one other barrier: someone had locked us into the house. The house was padlocked, the key nowhere in site. By 8:00 AM, my window for getting back to Machanga had passed. I was resigned to staying in Chimoio for one more day.

It was probably for the better. I had one more day to relax, one more day to check my email, one more opportunity to get to that killer pizza that Chimoio has to offer, by far the best pizza in Mozambique. After pizza, the three of us crashed the Peace Corps event to see Positivo again, although we weren’t that into it tonight.

Back in Mozambique, and supposedly, back to work next week.

Year 1 - Week 17: Malawi Part 1 - No Car on the Horizon

Coming back from Mambone to Machanga was eerie. Usually, when we come back from anywhere, regardless of whether we are gone for one day or two weeks, we are greeted by the smiling faces of our students. With school out for Easter break, the students have left for home. Most of the 1400 students made their way out of Machanga as soon as they finished exams, leaving a ghost town behind. Machanga is a tiny place; if 1000 students leave, that’s about one-fourth of the entire village. Instead of students, we were greeted by silence.

Soon enough, we would be gone too. We sent in our travel plans for Malawi late in the week, hoping that we would get approval for trip over the weekend or early in the week. The call never came, so we are hoping for a Monday phone call.

With no one around and not a lot to do, Richie and I did what we usually do: sit on our porch, staring blankly, throwing the Frisbee, anything to occupy our time. It felt like January all over again.

We ate our regular spaghetti dinner and indulged in a movie that Greg lent to us – “Team America: World Police.” That movie is sick. Once Kim Jong Il starts singing “I’m ronery,” a line that Richie and I often randomly sing, we just totally lost it.

The call that we were itching for came on Monday. Our program director called us, asking for the details of our trip. And oh yea, we needed to send in a formal request to leave, which we forgot about. Shit. Fuck. We got approval for the trip, all the calls were made to the right people in Malawi. All we had to do was get that approval in. With no fax machine, this was going to take some ingenuity.

I filled out the necessary info. We just needed a signature from our school director. He’s sick? What?! Shit. I would have taken just about anyone’s signature at that point. Our assistant director took the request, went to the director’s house – where he was bedridden – and had it signed and stamped. I then took a picture of the request and tried to email it to our director. We were so close, and then the gods started laughing at us. Just as I was about to click “send” on my computer, my battery died. Okay, Richie had battery, no problem. Just as I was about to click send, the network crapped out. Terrible. I called back our program director and told him we would fax over the request as soon as we got to a fax machine – that meant Chimoio, on Tuesday or Wednesday. Program director was cool with it, and we were good to go.

We packed our bags, and by mid-afternoon, we were crossing the river, again, to Mambone. Getting out of site from our side of the river sucks. It’s much easier to cross and head slightly southwest to the main road, even though it is slightly out of our way for going north. We met Greg and his friend Nilton at Greg’s house to make onion rings. He hadn’t experienced the glory that is our weekend treat, so we brought it to him. We also made a very sorry attempt to make corn dogs from our batter and canned mini-dogs. Bad idea. We went to bed early, preparing for travel the next day.

Neither Richie nor I slept particularly well. It didn’t matter. The travel was going to take the wind out of us anyway. We waited outside Nilton’s house for a chapa to the main road, but nothing came. So we just started walking. Of course, we knew we weren’t going to make it to the crossroads, but we had nothing else to do. Just as we passed a little shop, the heavens gave way and a light rain fell. We scampered for shelter and waited the rain out. Within minutes of the rain ending, a car came. Okay, we’re in business.

Phase one complete; now the trickier part of getting a ride north to Inchope. We sat waiting, listening to our iPods, hoping for a car to come. We looked south – no car on the horizon. We looked north – no car on the horizon. So again, we started walking. We figured that if we walked away from the crossroads, someone would pick us up just out of sympathy. We walked for two and half hours down that narrow strip of asphalt. The occasional car or truck passed, but for the most part, there was nothing. There are few things that are more discouraging than being absolutely alone on the road that connects Mozambique’s two biggest cities.

Finally, a very nice South African couple picked us up. Richie busted out “the praying move”; clearly, we found a believer. We got into the couple’s very nice, leather-seated, air-conditioned XTerra, and we were rolling. We were just happy to be in a car; we didn’t expect to get pampered. The wife offered us an ice-cold bottle of water and chocolate marshmallow Easter eggs. Score! The car hauled ass and we made it to Inchope in no time flat. We walked for time than we were in the car.

From Inchope, the rest of the trip was easy. We met Bryan, our partner in crime in Mangunde, at a restaurant, and headed into Chimoio by chapa. We did our regular thing in Chimoio – made dinner, drank beer, recklessly threw darts – all good fun. Sufficiently drunk, we passed out, prepared for another day of travel.

This leg – from Chimoio to Tete – was one that we did not look forward to. The road to Tete is terrible. It is paved for a good chunk of it, but so much of it is potholed dirt. We made our way out of the house by 8:00. A very nice Mozambican woman picked up three sketchy-looking, white dudes and took us to the next major crossroads. It’s usually impossible to get a lift from women, but she did not hesitate.

Once at the crossroads, we waited less than thirty minutes to get our next ride. A Portuguese man stopped his truck for us. This truck was sweet. The back had a two-seater cushion; this car was meant for boleias. The driver asked which of us spoke Portuguese. Um, we all do…Bryan and Richie chose to stay in the back, while I went to the front seat.

I knew I was in for an afternoon of conversation when he asked who spoke Portuguese. But I certainly did not think we would be touching on elementary subjects such as: the war in Iraq, prisoner release in Guantanamo Bay, the economic crash, relative poverty between America and Mozambique, and the G20 economic forum in Europe. Amazingly, my Portuguese held up beautifully. I surprised myself with my ability to keep up, and surprised our driver even further when I told him we learned Portuguese but seven months ago here in Mozambique.

Our driver took us all the way to Catandica, more or less a halfway point. We stopped for lunch and hoped to catch a car going toward Tete. But the luck we had in the morning had vanished. We sat for four hours, waiting for anything that would take us. Eventually, a car stopped for lunch and we had our ride. We forked over some cash and then we went flying, close to 140 kilometers per hour the entire away. Again, we spent less time in the car than we did waiting. Tis is travel in Mozambique.

The ride from Catandica to Tete, albeit rough on the body, is stunning to the eyes. I have seen few places with more greenery – only St. Lucia in the Caribbean comes to mind. Mountains pop out of nowhere. The only thing this place is missing is animals. It’s a shame that there is a completely lack of wildlife in most of the country. It is so easy to close your eyes and imagine lions or elephants or monkeys patrolling these areas of nothing.

We arrived in Tete just before dark. Bryan put a call in to the Volunteer who lives just outside of Tete and we had a place to stay for the night. After a quick chicken dinner – of course it’s chicken if we are traveling – we called it a night.

The first car that came our way Thursday morning stopped for us. Good luck is once again on our side. We jumped in back and made our way to Zóbuè (Zo-bway), the border town to Malawi. Finally, after days of travel, Malawi was in site. We slid through immigration with no problem, took a taxi to the Malawi side of the border after being hassled by money changers, and entered Malawi.

The only noticeable change between Malawi and Mozambique was the language. We were back to using our mother tongue of English, although most Malawians spoke Chichewa to each other. I bought a SIM card for Malawi, hoping to get in touch with our Peace Corps people, but the card wouldn’t connect. I was told later that the card had expired.

We took a mini-bus – the exact same thing as a chapa – from Mwanza to Blantyre, where we found a restaurant more glorious than anything in Mozambique: Chinese food. Not only did the food taste like Chinese food, but it came out with the speed that Chinese food usually arrives. It was beautiful.

With one leg of trip remaining, we weren’t quite sure what to do. We had to go way north into Malawi. Just our luck, there was a 4 PM bus leaving for Nhkata Bay, our final destination. We bought a bit of snack food and boarded.

The ride north was smooth, but not smooth enough to sleep. Inconveniently, we arrived in Nhkata Bay at 3 AM with no room reserved. After sitting for a couple minutes, we walked over to the nearest backpackers, paid to use their showers, and rested on their couches. We arrived, but weary.

Richie and Bryan had to get money in town, about 45 kilometers away. While they got their cash, I went on the hunt for our Peace Corps Zambia friends. These are the same people we met in Vilanculos over Christmas, so we looked forward to seeing old friends. We had an idea of where they were staying, but when we showed up, there was no reservation. Oh, no. So out I went on the hunt, bouncing from lodge to lodge, hoping to find both their reservation and a room for us. After walking through the lakeside hills of Nhkata Bay for nearly two hours, I returned to my starting point and found them! I only wanted to kill them a little bit. And again, fortune shone on us: a couple people in their group bailed, so we had a place to stay. Great success!

With the knowledge of having a place to stay, I walked back into the village to meet Bryan and Richie. As I waited, I tried yet another SIM card for my phone, but it too failed. I started to wonder if it was my phone that was the issue. Just after noon, the boys arrived. We headed back to Mayoka Village, our accommodation for the week.

Once we settled in, none of us wanted to do anything. We threw on our bathing suits and jumped into the crystal-clear, cool Lake Malawi. There were some concerns of acquiring schistosomiasis, a microscopic parasite that lives in fresh water and enters one’s bloodstream. Our fears were quickly quelled when workers told us there had been no reported cases of schisto from Nhkata Bay in years. And even if there were, we were still going in. That lake is just too tempting.

Bryan and Richie wisely bought some food in Mzuzu – the town with the closest bank – to help keep our costs down. We ate some strangely textured peanut butter sandwiches for dinner and the partying began. Even though we were absolutely exhausted, we made it well into the night.

Saturday was the first day we had to just do nothing an enjoy ourselves. Everyone had money, we were well stocked on beer, and the lake sat there, asking us to go in. Some of the Volunteers from Zambia made our way south toward a beach with some good waves. The water was a little dirtier but still beautiful.

After a quick lunch – and not waiting the standard thirty minutes – we got back into the water. A good distance away from the lodge sat a docked boat, occupied by birds. We thought it would be a good idea to swim to it. It would have been easier to relax on this little boat if it weren’t covered in bird shit.

Keeping a decent budget in tact, I was able to indulge on dinner. A restaurant in the town was cooking up Thai food. I love Thai food. I miss it dearly. There was no way I could pass it up. The food was amazing. I ate way too much, but it was worth it. Who knows when I will have Thai food again?

We have another three days to sit and relax in Malawi. It was a lot of travel for a short period of relaxation. And even though the destination is beautiful, it’s the journey there that stands out for me.

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.