Lucas’ Farm

At least this time we stayed on a path.  Well, it was a path most of the time.

 

For some reason – and I’m still trying to make sense of it, but for some reason I decided to spend my Saturday morning like any normal person would; normal Mozambican that is.  I signed up for some good old fashioned manual labor.  But like, old fashioned in the literal sense.  And as a result, I’m sunburned, exhausted, sore, and smelling like a bag of aged Cooler Ranch Doritos.  Now, on to the story of how I feel into this mess.

I’ve recently realized that the schedule I designed for myself (because I produced all the schedules for all the teachers I was able to custom build mine as well…), is a little too perfect.  In designing it, I grouped all my classes together each day so as to avoid having 3 or 4 hour breaks between times that I was supposed to teach.  Genius I had thought, this way I can just go to school, do my business, and then leave without having to return.  Brew ha-ha, what a glorious plan.  Well, as common to all my plans, there are often unexpected consequences.  I designed my schedule so well, that it turns out I’m really not at school all that much.  It didn’t take long for me to figure out that it’s tough to interact with your colleagues and students when you aren’t actually present.   So, now I’m trying to spend a little more time there before and after classes, talking with whoever will talk to me about whatever I can manage to get out.

So there I was, hanging around school on Friday, trying to socialize a bit, and in the middle of a conversation with one of the Continuo’s (I have no idea what kind of position that is, but he works at school, I discovered that he was planning on going to work on his machamba that weekend.  He’s been sick for a few weeks now (there’s a bug going around town, it’s like the flu or something, but everyone thinks they have malaria; more on that some other time), so I thought it would be nice to offer to help him out.  He seemed really surprised when I asked if I could tag along the next day, and was ecstatic when he realized I was being serious.  I asked him what time he wanted to leave, and he responded by telling me he’d come pick me up at my house at 5am the next day.  Ugh, 5am.  I nearly had an embolism in my brain trying to fake a smile and produce enough enthusiasm to sustain what used to be genuine excitement and make it believable.  In reality though, my insides began to weep as I immediately regretted my decision.  This was the first warning sign that I was in for a true treat. 

Well, I woke up at 430am to try and eat something before heading off on my adventure to the bush machamba.  I discovered that Montepuez is quite pleasant at this hour.  Actually, it was magnificent.  It was one of the only times I’ve ever experienced complete and utter silence here in this wonderful country.  As sun began to rise, it illuminated a colorful display of delicate looking clouds, smoothly spread across the morning sky.  The air was crisp. I wasn’t sweating.  As I sat outside and ate some homemade oatmeal, I did my best to soak up early-morning Montepuez before it made the inevitable shift to African chaos in just a few short hours.  I was alone, and content.  And when 515 finally rolled around, Lucas rolled up with it.  After greeting each other, I grabbed my bag and we set out on our journey.

We first stopped by his house to grab some tools.  Right as we were leaving, Lucas paused.  “Esqueci!” he said, explaining that he had forgotten something.  He quickly turned around and motioned to one of his young sons to bring him a machete.  “Precisamos este,” he said, “We need this.” 

As we began walking, I started asking him about the tools he was carrying.  Two small hoes, a jug of water, and the machete.  I knew what the hoes and water were for, but I wasn’t sure about the big knife.  Maybe we would be cutting banana trees or something.  I wondered, so I asked him.  “Banditos,” he replied.  The machete was for self-defense.  And then I soiled myself.  Well, not really, that didn’t happen until he gave me some detail. Lucas explained that the path we were going to be walking along was pretty dangerous. During the early morning and early evening, people had been known to get jumped by some armed jerks looking to rob unsuspecting and helpless farmers of what little they already had.  Because of this, you needed to bring something to protect yourself just in case.

So we walked.  We weaved through the biarro on the edge of town as we made our way towards the matu.  Where civilization ends, the matu (the bush) begins.  There is no transition.  You stop seeing mud-huts topped with dead capin, and start seeing live capin.  It’s big, and it’s wild.  It swallows you, overwhelms you, as if it were a wave crashing on a beach, almost to the point where it feels like you might actual drown in the tall grass.  You look down and all of a sudden you are walking along a rustic dirt path that’s been molded by generations upon generations of bare feet.

You have plenty of time to think about those who walked this path before you, even before you were born, because you’re walking for what seems like hours.  Then you realize that it actually has been hours, because Lucas’s Machamaba is a sandy two-hour walk outside of town.

It was barely 830 when we finally arrived, and I was already on the verge of passing out from exhaustion.  What started out as a slow meander evolved into a ferocious power walk about half way through the hike out there.  We were hustling, and that movement didn’t stop when we arrived.  Upon arrival, Lucas handed me a hoe and we got to work. 

The goal was to carve up a large section of his land, uprooting weeds and bush plants and turning over soil so that he could plant beans the next day.  Lucas bent over at 830am and didn’t straighten his back again until about 11am.  I’ve never seen someone work so mechanically, but this man redefined what it means to be a machine. I, meanwhile, was not nearly as impressive.  I held my own for about ten minutes.  From there after, it got ugly.  Farming is not easy work, and it’s even worse when you don’t have access to a tractor.  Instead, you’re using a tool that’s made from a sharpened piece of discarded metal and sanded-down tree branch.  Very technical stuff.

We spent the next three hours capinaring (puling weeds, turning soil, etc.) until there was no more to do.  At that point, I was happy again.  Job well done!  Well, for Lucas at least. 

Covered in thornes and prickly things from the corn, clothes dirty, sweaty, and my skin starting to give me a sneak peak of what I’d look like if I were a strawberry, I was ready to go home.  Also, my water was almost gone.  And so after Lucas tomar banho’d in the stagnant water that splits his land (Schisto Central, Bro), we set out on the long journey home.

I did know it at the time, but every Saturday and Sunday, Lucas does this same thing, usually alone.  He gets up at 5am, eats, then walks into the bush to do work he doesn’t get paid for.  He has (not owns…there’s no official ownership of the land, it’s more so just an unspoken honor system that clarifies possession) two plots outside of town that he’s been farming for years.  The first one was passed onto him from the previous generation, who was gifted it from the generation that came before them.  Who knows how far back that stretches.  The second plot was newer, and Lucas had claimed, cleared, and capinared everything himself. 

With so much time to talk with him, I learned a lot about his life and found that he is truly an incredible and selfless man that has chosen to devote his life to supporting his family.  During the day, he works at school and at night he becomes a student.  He’s working towards finally earning his high school degree at the ripe age of 40 (ish... or maybe 50, I don’t know).  Instead of relaxing during the weekends, or spending what little free time he has getting drunk, he performs back-breaking labor so that he can feed his family.  There are no vacations for Lucas, there are no holidays or breaks.  Lucas the machine turned on 40 or 50 years ago, and just like the energizer bunny, just keeps on running.

Lucas is a prime example of one of the people I came here to meet.  He is everything that is good about this country, and his story, similar to that of so many others, is beyond fascinating.  He speaks something like 7 different languages; he has traveled far and wide across Mozambique; built countless homes; started a family and stayed true to it.  He’s watched first hand as his country broke through the shackles of colonization with a war for independence.  He lost friends and family in the prolonged civil war that followed.  He witnessed the collapse of his country, felt its effects, and then watched as it was born again. His eyes have seen things and his brain has processed thoughts that my imagination couldn’t even conjure up.

Working with Lucas, and having the opportunity to talk with him was absolutely invigorating.  It reminded me of why I am here.  I am here to help, but more so, I am here to learn from people like him.  It’s funny; I’m supposed to be the professor, but I can’t help but feel like I’m the one doing more of the learning.