Today on my run, something troubling happened. I was
rounding my final mile on the EN1, the national highway that cuts through
Mapinhane, admiring the blue sky and surround brush land while getting lost in
the music pumping in my headphones. But my jams are always low enough to be
cautious of my surroundings and today my surroundings included a young boy with
tattered clothing, dirt on his face and bare feet. As I passed by him he came
up to say “Estou a pedir dinhero” which means “please give me money”.
It’s unfortunate to say that this is not an
uncommon occurrence, in fact, you pretty much have to expect this question
every time you leave the house when you live in one of the poorest countries in
the world. After my initial irritation of being asked for money for the billionth
time, I felt sad for him. This is a neighborhood kid that I see often when I
walk into town and he always says hello and greets me with a big smile.
Sometimes that is the end of our interaction. Sometimes after the initial
greeting, he will ask for money. And sometimes like today, he skips the
pleasantries and gets right down to business. Those days, his smile doesn’t seem
to be as bright. Perhaps he hasn’t eaten anything or maybe he hasn’t slept well
because he doesn’t have a blanket to keep him warm during the cool winter
nights. Whatever the reason, it made me pause and remember this is not
something most of us are used to seeing in America. And when we do see children
in poverty, we find it disconcerting. When I arrived here, I was told begging
would happen often and that we’ll get used to it. It was alarming to be asked
for money regularly at first, but soon enough it just became a part of life. But
“Estou a Pedir” (pronounced esh-toe-ah-ped-ear) is not just used to beg for
money. The phrase literally translates to “I am asking for” in Portuguese, and
can begin any request from your boss asking for an assignment to be done, to
ordering at a restaurant. In Portugal, we noticed we didn’t hear this phrase so
we asked the nice man at the front desk of our hotel for its context. He
explained that using “Estou a Pedir” is actually quite forceful and would only
be used, for example, when asking something from a bratty child or when you’re
annoyed with a customer service agent that doesn’t seem to be listening.
I find it interesting that here in Mozambique,
using this strong phrase is the norm but it does make sense in a culture where
there is no such thing as beating around the bush. When first learning the
language, I struggled to find the words to soften my requests. I wanted to say
“Would it be ok if…” or “Let me know if there is a problem but I would like
to...”, but I found these words aren’t needed here because in Mozambique, you
just get to the point. Want to eat some of those oranges your friend just
bought at the market? Start with “Estou a Pedir”. Need to borrow your coworker’s
computer? Start with “Estou a Pedir”. Always using this phrase can make it
difficult to read the sincerity of a person’s request, but you’re sure to be a
little annoyed when it’s followed by “dinhero” (money). So what does a Peace
Corps Volunteer in Mozambique (or any PCV around the world for that matter) do
when faced with this question? It depends. Your response can vary greatly
depending on your mood, who is asking, how many times they’ve asked, who you’re
with, etc. But the usual fallback is to explain that you are a volunteer
working for free in this country, not a tourist, and therefore you don’t have
money. Mozambicans are generally not at all aggressive, so that will usually
end the conversation. But let’s be honest here. We say we work for free, but still,
our measly monthly living allowance is more than most Mozambicans could dream
of earning in a year. And I don’t know the frequency, but I assume some of the
Portuguese and South African tourists actually do hand over a little change
when asked. Everyone deals with “Estou a Pedir”-ing differently. I think the
way a volunteer reacts to it is a very personal choice that depends on their
individual perspective. And that perspective also comes into play when “Estou a
Pedir dinhero” is preceded with, “Hey Mulungo!!!!”
“Mulungo” (pronounced mul-oon-goo) is a word in xitswa
(pronounced sheets-wah), the local bantu language spoken in the area where we
live. It has a few different translations, but it generally signifies “white
person” and/or “foreigner”. Like “Estou
a Pedir”, your reaction to being called a “Mulungo” can be all over the map
ranging from ignoring it or laughing about it, to being angry. And like “Estou
a Pedir”, PCVs here have used the same canned responses for generations. A
common one is, “meu nome não é Mulungo” meaning, “my name is not Mulungo”. This
can open up a discussion that being called by skin color is not favorable, and humans
are all the same on the inside. You usually get a decent response with this
approach whether it is an apology or they walk away with their head down. Chris
and I would get a little feisty any time we heard this term when we first got to
site. Locals often speak to each other in Xitswa, not Portuguese, so you can’t
understand their conversations. But whenever we heard “Mulungo” while riding
home in a chapa or walking down the street, we’d be quick to say “meu nome não
é Mulungo”. To confuse the matter, we later learned that there is a village
only 2 kilometers down the road from us called “Mulungo”. Oops. So we had to be
a little more cautious and decide if they were talking about us or just making
a reference to their home. A friend of
ours has another approach: Reclaiming
the word and proudly calling himself “Muzungo” (the “Mulungo” equivalent in his
part of Mozambique). We went to visit him at his site last year and were taken
aback by how everyone, from neighbors to his students called him “Muzungo”, as
though it was his name. He explained to us that instead of being pissed off
about it, he would proudly wear his “Muzungo” badge and turn it into a positive
label. And the origin of this word gives him reason to do so. From what I
understand, “Mulungo” (and its derivatives like “Muzungo”) literally translates
to God and was actually used as a sign of a respect for a person. Apparently it still can be used that way but
when a bunch of little kids are pointing and screaming “MULUNGO, MULUNGO” as
you walk by, it seems to be in a different context. Taking a step back though,
this reaction is understandable. You don’t see too many foreigners around these
parts, especially as you get into more remote areas. One time, Chris and I were
walking in our village when we spotted a boy who was about 5-years-old on the other
side of the street. We could tell he was timid, walking slowly and not blinking
or taking his eyes off of us. Chris, being the jokester, decided to abruptly
run towards him to give him a little fright. It was all in good fun and Chris figured
he’d be scared for a second, and then laugh it off. Instead this kid froze in
his tracks, dropped the rake he was holding, and ran away in the opposite
direction while screaming and never looking back. It sounds like an extreme way
to react, but imagine if you had never seen someone from a different race
before. And Mozambicans have told me that sometimes kids will hear stories that
the Mulungo will snatch you away from your family. So while the older kids he
was with thought his sprinting was hilarious, his fear does make sense. I mean, isn’t everyone afraid of the unknown?
I am sure these topics can evolve into huge discussions
about colonization, socioeconomic status and race. I’m not here to get too
analytical or pretend I fully understand the complexities of why I hear “Estou
a Pedir” and “Mulungo”, nor do I think a blog post could really convey those
complexities. I do know that these
situations create what they call “teachable moments” and actually, I am being
taught more about myself and the world around me every day that I am here.
