August 1, 2017 (and continued on the 4th and
finished on the 9th…)
Another month of adventures! With July came the end to the
second trimester and the arrival of my parents for a two-week vacation in
Mozambique! I’ll give some brief wrap-up
information about he trimester and then jump straight into the parental
arrival.
The end to any trimester in Mozambique brings a lot of
stress and frustration to light amongst education Peace Corps Volunteers. As I
shared back in April, a lot of grades get changed. My policy is to offer
make-up work for any students not passing – if
they complete all of the make-up work perfectly I will pass them. But, they
have to do ALL OF IT and they must get everything correct. I allow them to sit
outside my house and ask me as many questions as they want. I tell them when
their answers are wrong and help explain the process. This trimester, I had 7
students complete the make-up work. Sadly, I know many of my grades will be
changed anyway.
My roommate had written his grades in his gradebook and went
to turn it into our assistant principal. They looked at the book and said “grades written in pen? Curtis, we
need you to come back next week for the consulting of notes so you can approve
any necessary grade changes. You can come back this afternoon with Daniel so we
can explain this to both of you”. The
assistant principals knew full well that both Curtis and I had travel plans
since they had to sign off and approve our leave from site… Curtis came home frustrated,
re-wrote his grades in pencil, and we returned in the afternoon. “Grades by Pencil! Curtis, when do you
leave again? Have a great trip!” was
their only response to him. They turn to me and say, “Make sure you also turn in your grades before leaving on
your trip!”
Fast forward to the day I turn in my grades, I walk to
campus and upon arrival am surrounded by teachers asking about the grades of
students in my classes. I tell them they can talk to the assistant principal
because I am leaving my grades with him. I walk into the assistant principal’s office and hand him my grades.
Before I had even left the room, he and another teacher began marking the names
of students in my gradebook that “needed
to be changed”.
Similar to last time, I have my own personal record of what
my students’ grades should be. I will be
checking to see which grades were altered and by how much. Small changes will
result in me talking to the student and the student completing the make-up
work. There are a few students that I intentionally failed for a variety of reasons
(showed up to class twice the entire semester, showed up to class for the
provincial exam and never even came to any of my classes, etcetera). If the
students whom I wanted to fail somehow magically passed, my plan is to work
with the assistant principal on re-adjusting their grades back to the original
marks. With all that said, I still have 3 weeks until the next trimester
starts, so it will be awhile until I need to fight any battles or have any
teacher-student conversations.
Moving onto the more riveting part of the month of July, my
parents came to visit!!!! First and foremost, maddddd props to them for making
the travel, taking all of that vacation time, and spending all of that money to
visit me in a place they would ordinarily never consider visiting. Upon arrival
at the airport in Maputo, they had their first interaction with the Mozambican
system. After passing through the initial customs check, an officer asks them
for their “yellow card”. My father did not have one because
technically they should not have needed one. You only need a yellow card to
enter Mozambique if you have recently been to or are currently travel from a
certain set of nations. My dad being confused turns to mom, and she pulls out a
plastic sleeve that has her yellow card in it. The customs officer then passes
them through the checkpoint. Point being that 1) there was only one yellow card
2) The agent never read the yellow card so it literally could have just been a
piece of paper 3) They should not have even been checked for a yellow card…
Adding to the initial adventures of traveling across 9 time
zones to visit a country where neither of my parents speak any of the 40+
languages/dialects, we had rented a car for my father to drive to assist with
our logistical plans while in the southern part of Mozambique. To further make
matters more exciting and adventurous, one drives on the left side of the road
in Mozambique. So after 36 hours of traveling, my father drove from the airport
to our hotel, which is about 20 minutes by car. While we were preparing for the
vacation I had asked my parents if there is anything else they would want to
know to be better prepared. I told my dad driving here is fairly different than
in the States, to which he replied “I’ve driven in Mexico so I can figure
out driving there”. And he did consequir
(succeed) – but he was also constantly
challenged while driving in the environment here.
The following day, we drove about 2 hours to the city of
Namaacha were I had my 3 months of training so we could spend the day with my
host family. We ate, we played, my father’s Spanish
came back to him poquito poquito as he tried to pick up some Portuguese, I did
a lot of back and forth translating, and we ended the night with a marvelous local
based dinner prepared by my host family – fish in
a coconut & peanut sauce with a bean stew served over rice. As the night
drew to an end, my host father arrived home with deserts for the family! He was
in Maputo for work and did not realize we had to leave the same night we
arrived to Namaacha. So, he changed his work plans so that he could meet my parents.
He brought fresh fruit, cooked peanuts, and cashews for sobremesa (desert).
Already being full, my host father said “well if
you don’t eat the desert, that means
you don’t like me” to which my dad and host father
broke out laughing. What followed next was a discussion about welcoming people
with open hearts and learning about different cultures.
Our next adventure took us to the pristine northern beaches
of Pemba, Cabo Delgado where we stayed in a palace and I got to use a washer
and dryer to clean my clothes!!!! We
relaxed, rejuvenated, and had a few adventures around town. My mom and I went
to the main market, did some shopping, and ate a plate of local food (rice,
tomato salad, fried squid, bean stew, and a leafy dish called matapa). Near the
end of our walk, I suggested we head to the Portuguese café because of the 270 degree view of
the bay and port plus they have REAL coffee – as in french
pressed coffee! My mom asked how far away it was, so I said “It’s just
up this hill, then we turn right and pass the high school, then the catholic
college, then the industrial school, take a left at the fork and it’s right there!”. I guess I’ve
integrated to the local sense of distance because it was an hour long walk at 1
PM. Even though it’s winter here the low is in
60s with a high in the 80s. Even though we walked an hour just to have a
coca-cola and a cup of coffee through the blazing winter sun when I made it
seem like it would be a short walk, my mother did not complain – not a single word.
Next up, we traveled to Namuno where I live! We had hired a
personal driver. At the 5th police checkpoint, the officers decided
to write our driver a 5000 met (about 86$) for a sticker that was expired. Our
driver had no idea what the sticker was for – it wasn’t car insurance, it wasn’t the emission checkup, and it wasn’t registration. This was the first
time I had ever seen a police office write a ticket without first asking in
some manner for a bribe. As we began to leave it started to make sense – the officer said he can drop us off
in Namuno and when he returns they can settle the issue. Which to me feels like
the officer did not want to handle bribes in front of three Americans; he’d handle it when our driver returned
without the foreigners.
Upon arrival in Namuno, my father’s exact words were “Wow! This
is like camping every day!” to
which I could only help but reply, “sure
but this is my daily life”. We
walked around the town, cooked over wood charcoal, and my mother had some
capulana made (capulana is a material they sell here in 1m x 2m pieces and you
bring it to a seamstress to have it made into clothes). The following morning,
my crianças (children)
found out I was back home! We had a play party in my backyard consisting of
coloring, playing on the new gym, and dad teaching bits and pieces of English
to some of the 8th graders that came over.
The following day of our travels ended up being the hardest
yet. It was the one day we were going to take public transportation, and it
should have been easy. The ride out of town was simple, we just all arrived in
Montepuez with a pigment change to our hair -brown from the dust of the 60km
dirt road. Next we had bought tickets for a bus that would take us to the ADPP.
For whatever reason, the bus did not leave. After being 45 minutes late, they
shuttled us into a standard 15-passenger van that in this country seats 21 to
28 depending on the number of babies in the van. Next they attempted to
reimburse everyone’s bus tickets which turned
into a disaster… It took another hour before
we left because of a lack of change. Somehow they had a lot of 1000 and 500 met
bills but not enough smaller bills to reimburse everyone. Finally we get on our
way and the first 3 police check points are completely normal – “Look at
this big white guy in the passenger seat! You don’t speak
Portuguese? (speaking to my father) – oh your
son speaks Portuguese? How? What in the world are you 3 doing out here? You
live out here!?! Wait you speak Makua too? Wow you teach out here!!?! Oh wow that’s really cool. Do you have any money
to give me so I can go buy a drink?”
But the 4th checkpoint was completely different… Apparently the transit police had
decided to actually enforce every law of the road today and there were two
transit police check points! We’re
about to enter the city of Metoro and a chapa coming from the opposite
direction stops us – “hey they’re
writing tickets. Make sure you only have 15 people in your van”. Technically, the 15 passenger vans
are only legally allowed to carry 15 people. Our chapa and the following 3
chapas unload passengers 1km before the checkpoint and then continue. At this
point there’s about 40-50 people walking
on foot into the town of Metoro. We get to the checkpoint and wait, and wait,
and then wait some more. After 20 minutes all of the passengers we had unloaded
pass us… After another 10 minutes we’re allowed to continue and they drop
us off in Metoro to wait for a bus to come and take us the rest of the way to
the ADPP stop. A bus comes, we get on it, and then arrive to a second transit
police checkpoint!!!! We wait there for another 56 minutes (I rarely get
frustrated here but waiting in a bus with no room and not knowing why we are
waiting or how much longer we have to wait got me in). Eventually we go on our
way, arrive at the ADPP stop, take another chapa to the boat docks of
Tanganyangue and get into a boat to Ibo Island.
If you’re
still reading to this point – MAD props
and shout outs to my parents for agreeing to do public transportation, for
doing it, and for complaining and being less frustrated than myself.
Ibo Island was nothing less than incredible. We relaxed, ate
some of the best food I have probably ever had in my life, went on a snorkeling
tour to swim with dolphins, snorkeled through an old shipwreck, explored the
old Portuguese fort, went on a day trip to the untouched and perfect beaches of
the Matemo Island, and spent time with another group of 6 peace corp volunteers
who were also there. Our lodge manager, Chris, was also the head chief and had
about 4 options for appetizers, 6 for main entrees, and 4 deserts. We would
have to place our lunch and dinner orders at breakfast. Most of the deserts
took him over 24 hours to prepare so those we would have to ask for the night
before. We ate like kings and queens. Chris used to manage 7 restaurants in
Sweden until he sold them to travel around Africa. He’s worked for NATO in Afghanistan and has spent the last 15
years working in restaurants around Africa in 2-3 year stints. Easily some of
the best food I have ever eaten in my life or at least in the top 5.
Following Ibo, my parents and I returned to Maputo and they
began their 36 hour travels across 9 time zones once again to return home. As
we said our goodbyes and our “I love
yous” my dad said “I’m
already thinking about coming back visiting next year during your next winter”
To my dad, thank you for making the trip and traveling to a
part of the world you had no interest in visiting – you’ve been
to developing nations and you’ve engaged
with other cultures and languages. Thank you for doing it again – thank you for doing it for me. When
I first decided to join Peace Corps, I know it was not the decision you
expected. Going into industry with my degrees would be extremely lucrative and
seemingly the logical and most reasonable decision. Thank you for being
supportive of my decision regardless. (Side note – you should
definitely work on relearning Spanish. You clearly have a passion for it).
To my mom, thank you for deciding from day one that you were
going to come and visit me! Thank you for your loving support and care
throughout everything. Thank you for the care packages, the 70% dark Ghirardelli
chocolate, for convincing dad to join, for helping me plan the logistics of the
vacation, and for so much more.
To both of my parents, thank you for the loving and caring
support you continue to demonstrate throughout my entire life regardless of the
decisions I make; whether they be smart or stupid decisions thank you for
supporting me either way. Thank you for enduring the public transportation,
engaging in the local culture, and enjoying it all. I love you both.
~Daniel
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