Reflecting on my First Day in Namaacha

Today was a momentous day for a few reasons. Here they are.

We left Maputo for the training village today. Everyone and their carry-on piled into three vans and a mini bus (I was on the bus) and we made our way towards Namaacha. The drive itself wasn't too long, only about an hour and half. We arrived at the academy in the early afternoon and filed into the gymnasium where all the host mom’s and a few of host dads were serenading us with song.

After all the volunteers arrived and the singing came to an end, the host families held up small pieces of paper (some upside down) with our names written on them. It was then on us to seek out our families and join them for what would be the first of many interactions of the course of the next ten weeks. It took me a while to locate mine, but I eventually spotted a short, elderly man holding up a strand of paper with my name on it. I walked up, we shook hands, and just like that we were family.

Without saying much, we began our short journey back to his home by walking down the dusty and rock filled backstreets of Namaacha. We walked with a few other volunteers and their families, and I soon found out that these were my neighbors. As we all walked in an awkward, linguistically disconnected fashion, we tried our best to make small talk while observing the sites as we passed by them. Didn't take long to arrive at the house and I was surprised to find that it was small, but very cozy-looking. Not sure what I was expecting. More on the house later when I have a chance to snap some pictures.

Anyways, My Dad (or as we say in Portuguese, Minha Pai) is named Armando. He's a 70 year old farmer and active congregant at the local Catholic Church. He’s got a vibrant personality that easily transcends significant cultural and language barriers. He seems to be a pretty patient guy too. His wife is equally awesome. I don't know her first name yet but I call her Mai, which means mom. In addition to not knowing her name, I don’t know too much else about her except that she is a fabulous cook, and loves making soup. Can’t wait to learn how to talk about that so I can tell her my sisters make lots of soup too. Soup!

My first impression is that this couple might actually be some of the most amazing people I've ever met. Then again, he and his wife haven't poisoned me yet, so I'll have to wait until I get sick once or twice to let you know how I still feel about them. Honestly though, just the fact that they are even putting me up says so much about them.

After arriving, Armando showed me around his property.  We then sat down for some lunch: Chicken and Rice. Pretty standard, but very good. I was then given a few hours to unpack and get organized. My Pai also helped me hang my mosquito net, which included a ridiculously cute demonstration of what happened to Mosquitoes when they tried to get in. He pretended to be a mosquito, complete with sound effects (“ buzz buzz buzz”), and then showed me how they ran into the net but could not get through.  It was horrifically cute, and made me miss my grandma.  Old people dude, they rock.

As the sun set over the mountains and the temperature dropped, my Mai prepared some water for me to use to bath myself. I don't think I've showered that fast in years. And it would have been even quicker if I had spotted the humongous freakin’ spider earlier on.  I didn’t see him until I was drying off, but that's when, in an almost scripted manner, he slowly and dramatically crawled out From behind the shower curtain long enough for my jaw to hit the floor before slowly creeping back behind the curtain and disappearing again into the darkness of the shack I shower in.  I laughed that one off pretty hard. A friend of mine later told me that it was probably an African jumping spider. Thanks for clarifying that dude, nouns usually seem so much less terrifying when you put a few adjectives in front.

Around dinner time, two of my Mai and Pai's grand kids showed up. Turns out that they both live in the small 1950’s style camper that’s sitting on cinder-blocks in front of our house.  Actually, it’s kind of cool. Octavio is 26 years old and studying in Maputo to become a primary school teacher. His cousin is Gerson (AKA Armando Jr, or Mandinho), an 18 year old who I have yet to learn much about except that he doesn't want be a professor.

After dinner I spent a while trying to use broken Portuguese and broken English to communicate and talk to the family. All went really well.  Super awkward, but still fun.

It’s about 10 o’clock PM and I'm lying in bed typing this out on my iPod since I have no access to Internet. I think there’s a bar across the street or something cause dance music is blasting on repeat and not going off. It sounds like the speaker is set up in my window.  Unfortunately, it’s getting hard to hear the music since a number of the neighborhood dogs have begun a competition to see who can bark the loudest for the longest amount of time.  Good night?

UPDATE: Well, turns out it took me all of two seconds to fall asleep.  Even with the music and barking.  It's 3am now and I just woke up to use the Xi-xi bucket (the piss bucket…more on this later) in my room. The music is still pumping and those dogs are still barking. Also, the roosters just started crowing.  I have a sarcastic feeling I’m going to like this place.

Initiate Honeymoon Phase.

After 7 hours of training, 6 hours of schmoozing, 3 hours in a Bus from Philly to NYC, 6 hours waiting in JFK, 14.5 sitting in a plane, 6 more hours of waiting in the Johannesburg Airport, 1 hour on a flight to Maputo, and then two hours in Customs and Baggage Claim...WE ARE HERE.  And my first thought after the grueling, sleep-depriving journey? "Holy Shit, I'm in Africa."  Not the most eloquent way to put it, but definitely appropriate.

I've had months to think about this feeling; to prepare myself and to recognize the significance (at least personally) of what I'm about to experience.  Still, although the thought of leaving always loomed ominously, it never felt very real.  Back home I was still living my every-day life as I would had I not been slated to leave.  I drove my car, ate fast food, watched recorded television and worked a regular job serving people endless amount of spinach and artichoke dip. Aside from the packing preparation I did (which I actually pretty much left til the last minute anyway), that's changed.  This is real.  This is very, very real.  I'm in here, I'm in Africa.  I'm half-way across the world in a rediculous country not one acknowledges. And it's awesome. Thus begins the Honeymoon phase of my Peace Corps service.

Just for kicks, here's a video I shot of our approach into Maputo, the Capital of Mozambique.

We're here for two days and staying in a fancy-shmancy Hotel called the Hotel Cardoso.  It's posh if I've ever seen it.  Ocean view (See Below), nice pool and satellite TV in the rooms.  One last chance to take a hot shower and use a regular toilet (maybe?).  On Saturday we're off to Namaacha where we'll spend the next three months training.

Look, a caption!

And for even more kicks, here are some of my initial reactions from what I saw during the flight and while driving to Hotel Candrive.

• Who the hell runs Coca-Cola's advertising department?
• South Africa is really flat (at least in the parts we flew over).
• Maputo reminds me of Guatemala City.  The slums, the signage, and the conditions at first glance all looks very similar to Guatemala City.
• The Chinese are defineitly here, and they are building.  We drove by a HUGE construction site on our way to the hotel and it was decked out in Chinese Characters and Cranes (the big metal kind, not the folded paper ones).  I think it was a consulate or something, but I'm honestly not sure.
• Traffic lights seem to be obeyed, which really surprised me.  On the other hand, stop signs, when present (there aren't many) seem to be pretty much ignored.
• The group of people I've traveled here with are freakin' incredible.  I like them.

I've been told we won't have much access to the internet during training, so my posting might come more sporadically.  I'm gonna try to continue to write, and then just post it whenever I can get a chance.  We'll see how well that works out.

Now I need to go catch up on sleep.

My Mom, My Kryptonite.

Moms.  How is it that they are able to do the things they do?  Mom’s have the distinct ability to bring even the mightiest of men to their knees with nothing more than some subtle Jewish Guilt and a firm hug.  By no means am I implying that I am like Achilles with emotional muscle, but I do consider myself a fairly emotionally strong individual.  Unfortunately for me, today my mom shot an arrow and hit me right above the heal.

What a weird feeling it is saying goodbye to my family knowing that I probably won’t get to hug them again for a very, very long time.  Val, Becca, and my mom all drove me to Philly today to send me off.  After hugging my sisters, offering a high-one to the first and an odd-sound evoking tight squeeze to the other, it was my mom’s turn to feel the passive aggressive, emotional wrath of a departing Peace Corps Volunteer.  

It’s strange to admit this, but holding back a river of tears while hugging my mom was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.  As we embraced, she said one thing to me, and it happened to be the one thing that she could have said to make me crack.  I’m embarrassed that I had to ask her to not finish the sentence for sake of embarrassing myself by breaking down in front of my sisters.  The last thing I want is to give them any sort of material to make fun of me for, and I was about five words away from having my tear ducts mimic Niagara Falls and subsequently flooding the lobby of the Holiday Inn.  Even as I sit here now, it hard to think about it.  Alas, we said our goodbyes and I walked the long walk down the hallway to begin my long-awaited career as a US Peace Corps Volunteer.  That walk sucked.

Thanks again for the ride mom.  Thank you for all the support you’ve provided this pack year and a half.  Thank you for the food and the shelter (big thanks to the old man too!), and for all the help with preparing both physically and mentally for this adventure.  Thank you for the help packing and for your patience with me as I wait to start packing the night (read: 6 hours) before we left for Philly.  I love you very much.

My mom, my Kryptonite; My mom, my Paris.

Sound Advice from the Peanut Gallery

Some of the Advice I’ve received from my immediate support network while preparing to leave:

“Be safe.” – Sister

“Be smart.” – Other Sister

“Bring rubbers.” – Mom

“Did you buy any prophylactics?” – Dad

“Do you parents really think you’re smooth enough to get someone in bed?” - Brandy

“When you take that bus, you get there.” – Josh

 “Bring media.” – Current PCV’s

“Get close with your host family.” – RPCV

“Don’t bring anything you are really attached too.” – RPCV

“Buy me.” – Chachos Sandals

“Talk to everyone.” – Tess

“Take pictures.” – RPCV

"Know your neighbors, they’ll look out for you." - RPCV

“I hate you, I love you, I miss you.” – Bailey

“Boobies, poop, pee, have fun in Africa.” – Emma

“Just when you think you’ve put on enough bug spray, put on some more.” – Mom again.

“Climb Kili, Brah!” – the guy fitting me for shoes at HTO

“Bring porn.” – Ricky

“Buy some mace to fend off the snakes.” – I forgot who, but thanks for the sound advice

 “Don’t get AIDs” – My College Friends

“Make sure you go to the titty festival in Swaziland.” - the Cabbie driving me home from the bars one night

“Get a machete.” – Pat

“Take pictures.” – Pretty much everyone I’ve ever talked to

Lemonade

There’s a motivational saying familiar to American culture that people often hear when they’re in need of a little encouragement: When life hands you lemons, make lemonade. 

With a lip-puckeringly sour taste that lingers on your tongue, the lemons in this expression represent hardship; they represent tough luck and unfortunate circumstances.  Maybe it’s a bad grade you got on your algebra test.  Maybe you fell off your bike, got dumped by your significant other, or got shat on by a bird while you were walking down the street. 

Sometimes it’s more significant than that.  It could be a cycle of uncertainty you can’t seem to escape, the helplessness and vulnerability you feel when something begins to spiral out of control, watching those you care about struggle and being unable to provide any help, experiencing heartache that won’t go away, or consistently failing to overcome the same challenges.

I’ve had quite a few lemons sent me way over the past couple of years.  But instead of being handed over to me, it felt like they were launched at me.  And when I got hit, it hurt pretty bad.  Some of the bruises that resulted will never go away. 

The lemonade in this expression – and the sugar that it contains – represents a positive byproduct of the symbolic adversity. For example, maybe that poor grade motivated you to study harder; maybe you improved your ability to ride a bike, ended up with a cooler person, or…well, I dunno…I’m not sure how to improve the bird shit situation.  That stuff kinda just happens.  Tough shit (pun).

Peace Corps is my lemonade.  It’s a delectable concoction of all my life experience; the good, the bad, and the ugly.  It contains my successes and failures, the lessons I’ve learned and the knowledge gained along the way.  It’s the pain that I’ve felt, the confusion and the frustration, but it’s also the joy in life that has helped me preserve.  The mixture’s been stirred by the people I’ve met and the conversations I’ve had with them.  They’ve added their support and their love, as well as their positive and negative feedback.

And just as the drink is both sour and sweet, so to will be my experience. Over the next 27 months, I’ll ride an emotional rollercoaster through the trials and tribulations of leaving behind a luxurious, first world lifestyle, and adopting one from the third world.  I'll have the opportunity to meet new people, become ingrained in a new culture, grow both personally and professional, and learn a new language...among other things (there are a lot of other things).  

The last couple years have been tough; perhaps as an adjustment to the first 24 being such a smooth ride.  But just like the aforementioned idiom suggests, when life hands (or throws…) you lemons, you’ve gotta make some lemonade.  

This picture is not relevant.