Sup, Swazi? (And what travel is really like)

Another school break, another new country seen. Our original plan to head up north for one more in-country adventure was not to be due to the political unrest I talked about in my last blog post. Fortunately, things have remained calm but PC is still keeping the travel ban in effect just as a precaution. With only one major highway to get to the north, our only other option was to fly which we discovered to be outrageously expensive. So we came to the realization that our plans to relax with friends on the beach of Ilha de Moçambique and hiking the mountainous tea plantations of Gurué were not going to happen. We’ve both been lucky enough to get up north on separate occasions in the past two years, so we decided to come up with an exciting plan B for our very last school vacation. We’d heard many good reviews from PCVs who traveled to Swaziland, a tiny landlocked country between South Africa and Mozambique. We also heard that there are lots of opportunities for hiking, something we really enjoy but haven’t gotten to do a lot in Moz. So we booked a long weekend at a recommended ecolodge, and were off to see what was up with Swazi.

                                                                                                                                     

For the first leg of our trip, we caught the 4am bus to the capital city of Maputo. Per usual, the nine hours were spent with bumping house music, mysterious smells and lots of people in a hot and cramped space. We made it there with little to report, and had a relaxing evening with the American family who hosted us.  The next day started with an unexpected detour of Chris frantically searching for his wallet only to find it in his backpack an hour later (uggh, don’t even ask why it took so long!). Losing your wallet is never fun, but it feels like an even bigger hassle to lose it here when your money is scarce, credit card companies can’t easily be called and not to mention that replacing the wallet itself is a pain when a Target isn’t just around the corner. Relieved but frazzled (never a good emotion when you're about to get on public transportation), we finally headed out to start our journey into Swazi. Now, we’ve been around long enough to know when taking public transport in Mozambique or anywhere in Southern Africa for that matter, it’s best to start early because you just never know how things will go. There are no time tables or thoroughly regulated car condition standards, so you can’t be sure what time you’ll leave and if the car will make it to your destination without breaking down. Even if you opt to catch a private ride by hitch hiking, there is just no way to tell how the ride will go.  Regardless, we decided to wake up leisurely that morning thinking that it would be a hop, skip and a jump to get into neighboring Swaziland. Oh, how silly of us! Luck was not with us that day, as a chapa to Swazi was on its way out just as we arrived to the bus stop. So that meant we waited for 3 hours for the car to fill. But hey, at least we got the front seat!  I was glad when we finally started on our way only to go into almost full blown panic attack mode when we reached the congested highway.  Our driver was bobbing and weaving through traffic as I am digging my nails into Chris’ arm. Drivers here always tend to be aggressive, but my usual routes don’t have many cars on them.  It’s been quite a while since I was on a busy highway, especially one where I had a clear view of the road (which makes me wonder if this will be a problem when I get back to America. Oy!). Once we crossed the border and started climbing the hills of Swazi, I chilled out.  Just when I felt relaxed, the car made a strange noise, forcing our driver to stop and investigate while further lowering my confidence in choosing this method of transportation. I’m not sure what the problem was, but we continued on at a very low speed until about 45 minutes outside of our destination, when we were told to change cars. So we all grabbed our stuff and moved into chapa #2. But this was no ordinary chapa, this was the Swazi version which they call a “combi”, complete with elevated ceilings, TVs, individual seats for every space and only 3 people to a row. It was essentially the same party bus I took to the OHS prom. In contrast, the Moz version uses a much older car, crams 4 to a row on a bench made of metal bars and a thin cushion, and will loves to play loud dance music. Our swazi transport was not only significantly more comfortable, but was jamming to the sweet sounds of Whitney Houston in her 80s heyday. Her famous version of the star spangled banner came on, and it seemed like a great time for me to have a “wow, this is awesome” moment as I’m sitting in the comfy combi with the contrast of the African scenery and patriotic American song.  Instead, I was having a “I am so over this” moment thinking that I never wanted to travel again. Even though we were very close to finishing our day of travel and in significantly better conditions then I’m used to, I was too far gone with all of the annoyances from earlier. We made it to the major city of Manzini, then jumped into a taxi to go to our hotel just as the sun was going down. The next morning we had to catch 2 more combis but this time a good night’s sleep allowed me to appreciate the higher standard of transport I was riding in. I even got to experience a police stop where they actually checked the vehicle’s regulations and weren’t handed money for a bribe (an unfortunate common occurrence in Moz). Finally, one more winding cab ride into the mountains later, and we were at Phophonyane ecolodge. We were shown around the premises that was built right into the mountains and overlooking a waterfall, then taken to our “tent” decked out in Swazi handcrafts and complete with a double bed and heater. As I looked at our view of the running water just upstream from the falls, I said to Chris “it was all worth it”. The wallet worries, panic attacks, strange car noises and Whitney jams didn’t matter anymore as I again found myself in a beautiful place in a part of the world I never dreamed I’d see. They say “it’s about the journey, not about the destination”. Ha! Well in Southern Africa, I would definitely switch that around. The journey is almost always sure to be sucky, but once you get to where you’re going, it’s all worth it. We spent three awesome days at the lodge, going on daily hikes, eating good food and lounging by the pool while taking in the stunning views. We’d fall asleep to the relaxing sound of water flowing down stream and stayed asleep until 8:30am the next day (Whaaaat? That hasn’t happened since I regularly watched Saturday morning cartoons!). The vacation was exactly what we’d hoped it would be and it’s always an eye opener to experience another African country. Swaziland may still be run by a traditional king, but they’ve somehow managed to be way more developed than Mozambique. It’s now Chris’ current top pick if we ever decided to live abroad with our family. But even with its downsides, Mozambique is still our favorite place to be because it’s become our home. So it came time to start the dreaded process for the return trip back to Maputo, and it actually turned out ok. We still had to wait a couple of hours for the combi to fill at the bus stop, but this one went straight to our destination without a threat of breaking down or needing to switch cars. It still took longer than expected to make it there, but being fresh off a vacation gave me more patience and less nerves. We ended our school break in Maputo where we stayed for a couple of days with another generous American family, joining them for meals and good conversation. We also hung out with other volunteers in the Peace Corps office while taking advantage of wireless internet. We hopped on the 4am bus back to Mapinhane, with the bumping music and everything else that comes along with it, but this time with the added bonus of breaking down for two hours in the rain. These travel annoyances come with the territory I suppose. I’ve started to think it’s just a small price to pay for getting to see so many incredible places during these two years, and the freedom afforded to see them. Soon enough, I’m sure I’ll be longing for the days when I crossed international borders on a pretty regular basis.

I don’t believe I’ve mentioned that we received our official COS (Close Of Service) date as November 14. This gives us a whole 2 weeks to make it back to the U.S. of A. for a Thanksgiving homecoming!  We’re throwing around lots of ideas as to where to spend those two weeks and we’ve come up with everything from Taiwan to Israel. Wherever it is, we know we want to have one last adventure before we get back to start our lives again in the “real world”. So our long Peace Corps journey is beginning to come to an end and it’s finally starting to feel real. The last of the 16ers finished their service this week which means our training group, Moz 17, is now the senior class in country. Next week begins our third and final trimester as teachers in the Mozambican school system. And, I’m starting to gather my thoughts for information to pass on to the new volunteers that will replace us at our site. We’ve even started to apply for jobs and are having conversations about what’s to come next for us. While it’s good to have only 3 months left to worry about transportation woes, that leaves me with only 3 more months left of this amazing experience.  

It’s Independence Day!

First and foremost, HAPPY FOURTH OF JULY AMERICA! I am thinking of everyone at home who is celebrating with pool time, cookouts and fireworks and excited to be back for it all next year. Tonight we’ll be grilling chicken and baking apple and blueberry crisp (Trader Joe’s dried ones. Thanks Chris R!) while pretending our twinkling sky is full of sparklers instead of stars. Tomorrow we’ll be joining some friends for a day at the beach, so I guess we are being quite festive here too! It’s heading into holiday/break time for us as we finish our second trimester of school. This was our last week of teaching, with the next two followed by provincial exams and grade finalization. Chris is ending the trimester strong, having a solid group of kids prepped for science fair happening later this year, practicing music with his JUNTOS group and wrapping up his duties as the national coordinator. My English club is kicking into high gear as we’re starting to formulate our theater production for September’s English theater competition, one of my fav extracurricular activities. I’ve been working with PSN (the Peer Support Network) to welcome the new group of PCVs who are currently in training. And, Chris and I are in talks with the nuns at our mission to hopefully start up a library at the soon-to-be elementary school before our departure.  Things for us are running pretty “business as usual” but unfortunately, I can’t say the same for all of the country.

In the last couple of weeks, there has been tension between two political parties causing a disruption for Mozambicans and some Peace Corps volunteers here. Before I continue, I want to stress that Chris and I are completely safe as well as all other PCVs. Peace Corps would be sure to swoop us up, even if there is only an inkling of danger. In fact they have already done this for some volunteers which I will get to in a moment. But let’s get back to the reason for this, namely, Remano. Mozambican’s government is run by Frelimo, a party with the overwhelming majority of support and resources. Renamo, the opposing party which is teeny-tiny in comparison, is not happy with this unbalance. With local elections coming up in November and national elections next year, Renamo wants to make a statement to the government about their discontentment. So two weeks ago, they created a roadblock on Mozambique’s only main highway in the central area of the country; An area that connects traffic moving from the north to the south and vice versa, effectively severing transport and commerce. Aside from this, there were a few shootings at automobiles traveling through this zone, as well as an attack on an armory. If you are interested in learning more about what’s happening here, I suggest reading this article which I’ve found to be the most succinct explanation of the current situation: http://thinkafricapress.com/mozambique/frelimo-renamo-brink. I stress again that this occurred in a very specific area where PCVs do not live nor were they involved in any of these attacks. However, some do live close by so Peace Corps understandably wanted to take precautions. As soon as the blockade happened, we were issued a travel ban which prohibits us from going through this stretch of highway. For those of us in the southern region, we were to continue at site as normal and same went for volunteers in the north. Volunteers in the central region were picked up and taken to Chimoio, a larger city away from the activity, while they waited for things to die down. These volunteers have been waiting for almost two weeks now, and finally just learned today that they can all go back home (with a Peace Corps escort). While I don’t know the specific factors PC used to deem it safe for everyone to return, I do know that staff traveled all around the region and checked on specific sites to ensure things were ok. The successful site visits coupled with the fact that there has not been any new activity in the past week or so finally allows for the “refugees” to go back home.   We actually housed one of these refugees last week. Many volunteers were gathered in Vilankulo, the beach town 45 minutes away from us, for a birthday celebration. Unfortunately, our friend was told that he couldn’t go back to his site after the weekend and since he was already south of the blockade, he would not be taken up to Chimoio with the others. So he came home with us for the week then visited other volunteers around the area while waiting for the green light to return. While it did give him the opportunity to hang out with friends and have little obligation, I know he was eager to get back to his work and his regular life. I am sure everyone who was pulled away from their site feels the same way. But Peace Corps volunteers are only a small fraction of who this situation affects. It’s been an interesting experience to be in Mozambique during this time, and one I’m sure we’ll remember as we see our neighbors and friends react to the disruption. Only a few days after the roadblock and attacks, our students marched with other schools in our village in a demonstration of peace. It was a powerful site, seeing the group lead by their country’s flag and singing joyfully, all in hopes for a peaceful resolution. By far, it seems most Mozambicans have this same sentiment, especially after an intense civil war that ended less than 20 years ago between these two political parties. Most seem hopeful that things will not escalate and that talks between the two can start to mend the tensions. Knowing that today the central volunteers are celebrating both USA’s independence and their freedom to return to their homes, we Americans are hopeful for Mozambique too.

Estou a Pedir

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.