Feliz Natal! Holidays, PC Moz style.

The dust is finally settling from quite a Peace Corps Christmas adventure. One thing I have to start out by saying: I love Peace Corps volunteers. I loved all the returned volunteers I knew before I came here. They were all such warm, kind people who were also so good at getting sh*t done. In grad school, I noticed that the RPCV's were the people who did what they said they were going to do when they said they would do it. And usually cheerfully. Wanting to join that club is probably part of what got me here... And my first Christmas here in Mozambique only reinforced those feelings.

This year's Christmas celebration actually started with the university's holiday party last Friday. We have only had two meetings with the directors there - most of their focus has been on wrapping up 2012 and fixing the apartment of Don, the other PC volunteer who arrived here with me. But on Friday, we met with the director of the school and also the coordinator of the MBA program. As it stands, it looks like I will be the coordinator of the Communication for Development department and will be teaching a business management class within that department. I may also be helping the school start a radio station, once the licensing has been completed (a dream-come-true opportunity for someone who always wanted to work at the UMass station, but never did). Eventually, I will be picking up modules on Global Markets and Business Strategy within the MBA program. More on all of that later. At the meeting, our director let us know that we should come back around 6:30 or 7:00 that night for the school's holiday party. Hoang, the volunteer who has been teaching at the university for the last year, had told us about the party, including the "amigo segredo," the Mozambican version of a secret Santa gift exchange.

Don, Hoang and I arrived at around 7:15, what we were thinking was a slightly late, but entirely appropriate time in a culture where things get started at a pretty leisurely pace. We found a dark, empty function room and a hallway lit only at the very end. As we walked towards the lights, our administrative director appeared from around the corner and let us know that preparations were still going on in the kitchen. After insisting some with the ladies prepping veggies, I managed to snag a knife and a spot at the counter and helped ready some of the salad ingredients. Eventually, after joining an impromptu sing-along of "It Must Have Been Love" with my director on guitar, we wandered onto the roof deck and helped with quality control on the mounds of chicken and beef being barbecued.

Rooftop grilling at UCM. É um processo.

Cut to 10:15 when we were all finally pushed downstairs to where chairs had been set out in a circle around three long serving tables. Since I had been told to come for dinner at 6:30 or 7:00,  I was nearly keeling over with hunger by then. People started scampering around, herding up the guests and readying them for holiday speeches. After twenty minutes or so, the food began to appear from the kitchen and was set down on the tables. A little before 11, our director welcomed everyone and recapped the year that had just ended for the university. As he wrapped up his speech, he asked for a vote on dinner versus gift exchange. As I was on the edge of fainting, it was perfectly clear that everyone would want to eat and then enjoy the Secret Santa on full, satisfied stomachs. What I didn't know is that everyone else had gone home and eaten in anticipation of dinner not being ready until midnight. The vote went overwhelmingly for gifts and the plastic wrap stayed over the food. After each of the 40 gifts had been exchanged - each exchange being documented with a picture of the giver and recipient holding the wrapped gift, another of the gift being opened and a third of the new gift being proudly displayed - dinner was finally served around 12:45. And it was delicious! Also, my director was thoughtful enough to bring small gifts for Don and me, since we arrived in Chimoio well after the exchanges had been determined. I can't wait until I am integrated enough into the culture to know things like, eat before you arrive at the Christmas party. We ended up leaving just as the dancing started at 1:15, since we weren't sure when the next ride would be available. Also, the first of my fourteen PC Christmas guest was arriving at 8:00 the next morning.

Sarah and Andrea at the Luz Verde. Mozambican stockings and snowstorm.

Because I have a large house with lots of extra room and I am in a city that is pretty much in the middle of the Central region of the country, I offered to host any of the Central PCV's who wanted to come for Christmas. Of the 19 volunteers from my group in the region, 16 came to celebrate together (including Don and myself). I was a little anxious about having so many people all in my house, which is large but by no means huge, but knowing the low-drama, mellow, responsible makeup of our group, I was pretty sure it would work out well and I couldn't have been more right.

About half of the group, those who lived closer, had arrived by midday on Sunday. We planned out menus for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day and did the bulk of the shopping before those coming in from farther provinces arrived. By Sunday night, everyone was there and we all went across the street to the Luz Verde for roasted chicken and xima or potatoes. For those volunteers in rural sites, such a healthy dose of protein was a rare treat. Even though we had decided to make chicken for Christmas dinner, everyone dug into their quarter- or half-chickens with gusto. 

Relaxing after many chapa rides from near and far.

The next three days were a whirlwind of cooking and eating, with some shopping mixed in for the people who needed to stock up on supplies while in the city. We feasted on french toast, latkes and freash fruit for breakfast; a spicy vegetable curry, jasmine rice and enormous salad Christmas Eve; and a feast of chicken and fixin's on Christmas, followed by iced sugar cookies, gingerbread, green mango crisp and a mountain of fruit salad and all accompanied by mulled wine and cider. While cooking these meals for a crowd of 16 would usually be trabalho, it was made a little more challenging by the fact that my hybrid electric/gas stove isn't 100%. We found out that the electric oven only heats to about 80°F. Also, one of the electric burners only heats to one temperature (about hot enough to almost simmer water) and doesn't turn off, and the gas tank has a leak. I had been using it anyways, but with the amount of cooking we needed to do, no one wanted that much gas in the air. So we had one electric burner that could be adjusted with a leatherman, but the other burner would be running the whole time, whether or not it was in use.

We clearly wouldn't be able to cook enough for everyone with this situation. One burner was fine for french toast Monday mornning, but even curry and rice would be dificult without two burners. And there was no way to mull wine at the same time or make Christmas cookies at all! Many of the volunteers who were visiting didn't even have electricity at their sites, let alone an oven. Even those with energia were mostly cooking on hotplates as "real" stoves or ovens are very expensive here and most houses don't have them standard. The Peace Corps budget certainly doesn't include one and I am just lucky to have a school that has the money and it willing to provide one, even if it has some problems. The standard method of baking for PCV's is in a "dutch oven," made by filling a large pot with sand or dirt and placing a smaller pot or pan inside. When covered, this creates a hot space that is more than adequate to turn out some delicious cakes, cookies and roasts. So all we needed was some more burners. 

Latkes with pineapple-mango salad; Christmas chicken feast; green mango crisp. 

I had been wanting to get one of the omnipresent carvão (charcoal) stoves that every Mozambican family uses, even most with ovens, since they are much cheaper to run when cooking anything that takes a long time. It is also the best way to grill, which I just love to do. The only problem was that it was now midday Christmas Eve, most stores were closed and we had been running around in the heat all morning. Our best chance would be the mercado down the street, so we decided to give it a try. There is a group of guys with a stand right on the corner of the market that I have bought from a lot. They like to joke with me about going back to the US and have been good about helping me find things at other stands if they don't carry them. We explained to them that we needed a fogão de carvão, hoping they would lead us inside somewhere, but they just shook their heads. "Trinta e oito."  The huge market clear across town. That would entail a chapa ride and wandering through a maze of used clothing, wicker furniture, capulanas, fried caterpillars by the kilo and who knows what else in search of a stove that may or may not have been there Christmas Eve. "É muito longe, não é?" We really didn't want to go that far. The youngest guy who always greets me with an enthusiastic, "Amiga!" saw the dejected looks on our faces and offered, "Eu vou procurar!" (I will go get it).

We wandered through the market and got some other veggies and a quick plate of  food (which turned out to be stewed goat's stomach). We also visited the Peace Corps office and were delighted to find a working two-burner hotplate in the kitchen. I grabbed a cold Coke and we returned to the stand to find a beautiful new carvão stove waiting for us. We promised some of the cookies it would be creating, gave him the Coke and 20 mets, and walked home, four burners richer. And this is why I love Peace Corps volunteers. No one blinked at the amount of food we would be turning out on a charcoal grill, hotplate and one electric burner on my stove. The cookie committee baked up four batches of sugar cookies and gingerbread in a dutch oven over charcoal, all perfectly browned on the bottom and golden on top. Each one was a cause for celebration.

And then there were the chickens. When planning the menu, we all talked about our traditional meals growing up. People threw out ideas of ham, turkey, shrimp or fish. We finally decided to visit the new butcher that had opened just outside the center of town that I had heard good things about, and look for a roast. It would be simple; it would be festive and it would be a treat. We also anticipated that it might be expensive, so as a backup plan, we settled on chicken. Then it turned out that the butcher was closed for the holidays, (Yes, they were closed for the holidays two days before Christmas. Welcome to Mozambique.) so chicken it was.

Ryan, killer of chickens. Sarah and the carvão stove that saved Christmas. Lisa chops pineapple. 

Mozambique is full of chickens. You buy them live at the market, and transport them home either dangling in bunches by their feet, piled into a wheelbarrow, in cages on the back of a bike, or sitting inside a plastic bag with a hole ripped to let its head out. (I will have to take some pictures of the chickens you see everywhere on the streets). Chickens are relatively cheap - 110 metecais (about $4) for an average sized hen, 300 ($10) for the larger - and Mozambican chicken is spectacular. The only problem is they come live, and someone has to transform them into the parts we are accustomed to cooking. We had all had the opportunity to learn how to kill, de-feather, clean and cut up a chicken during training, but none of us were excited about doing the deed and only had the most basic understanding of how the butchering process goes. But that wouldn't get in our way. We are Peace Corps Volunteers; we will rise to the challenge. Two of us agreed that we would be willing to do the actual killing if none of the others who would arrive later wanted to take on the challenge. Monday afternoon we made our way to the market and selected four larger birds, to simplify the live-chicken-into-edible-parts process.

I will spare the details, but it was quite a lot of work. And I learned a whole lot about chickens. We ended up with piles of usable meat and decided to grill some over charcoal, fry some American-style and roast another in a dutch oven. I was really excited to slow-roast one with carrots and onions and herbs and red wine, but the limited space proved a challenge. Cramming that much food in a small pot over coal leads to a reeeeally slow roasting process. But I am stubborn and we had more than enough of the grilled and fried, so we decided that the roasted chicken would be ready in time for round two. While the chicken was cooking, we got to work on the mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, green beans and salad that would accompany the meat. We even made piri-piri  (hot chili pepper) sauce from scratch. And we knocked enough green mangoes off the tree in my yard to make a giant pot of cinnamon-y, oat-y, bubbly crisp. 

Ready to take down some chickens (although we were spared the experience); Mozambican Christmas tree; Jonathan mans the carvão.

After a full day of sweating over the carvão and hotplate, dinner was served. We said a couple of blessings, loaded up our plates and piled onto the front porch to eat in the slightly more fresco air outside. As everyone dug in, silence descended. As I took a few bites of the heavenly, butter-laden mashed potatoes, I thought it was because the food was too good to talk. Then I bit into the fried chicken. Or tried to. The batter on the outside was delicious. Jonathan, who had been in charge of both grilling and frying, had outdone himself. But even though the chicken was moist and juicy - perfectly cooked - the flesh was tougher than anything I have ever encourntered. I locked eyes with Alexandra, who had done hours of work defeathering and cleaning the birds, asked "It's a little tough.... isn't it?" and she just started giggling. She signaled that she would answer when her mouth wasn't full and kept chewing. And chewing. And giggling. And chewing. Suddenly, I realized that it had been about a full minute and she hadn't answered because she was still working on the same bite and collapsed in laughter.

It turns out that the larger birds we had selected are older and tend to be tougher. So, next time, we will just suck it up and deal with killing a few more. Luckily, we still had the chicken roasting on carvão in the back. I added more coals and we let it go all night. The next day, we gave it a try and it wasn't exactly fork-tender, but it was easily chewable and quite delicious. We cut the rest of the grilled and fried chicken off the bones and simmered it up into a big pot of chili the next night. And the bones are all in my freezer, waiting to become soup.

Sarah and Lisa enjoying curry; Blessing Christmas dinner with Irish prayers; Anna and curry.

Despite some challenges, everyone had a great time. The chicken was tough, but we ate well anyways and the cookies and mulled wine made it feel a little more like Christmas, even with the heat. Most of all, I think we were all just happy to be together. We had a chance to hear about everyone's different experiences in their communities so far. Everyone came with tales of quirky neighbors, strange things they found left in their houses by previous volunteers, and the sometimes complicated process of establishing their relationships with their new schools. People shared tips about how they are getting by with limited tools and supplies at site. Most importantly, we were able to share the current feelings of excitement about our new lives here, that are mixed with a healthy dose of homesickness, particularly as we thought about our families celebrating the holidays together back home. Throughout the days, folks would duck out on the phone to have long, bittersweet calls with their parents and friends or shut the door to a bedroom and settle into a Skype session. These calls tended to end with a sigh and sometimes a few tears, but having our friends around for a hug made all the difference.

I have to end as I started, by saying how much I love my Central PC Moz 19 volunteers. We had sixteen people gathered together for five-plus days, without a moment of arguing or drama - even when the dreaded moment of splitting up the bills came. It helps that we had made a whole lot of delicious food for very little money, but there wasn't a single word of argument throughout the whole process. Everyone paid their part and even threw in a little extra for utilities. People took every challenge in stride, without complaint. Those who didn't want to cook did dishes cheerfully. The four girls who didn't have to get on a chapa by 5:00 am on the 27th even helped me clean. By 11:00 that morning, my house was cleaner than it had been before everyone arrived. You would never have known that only hours before, 14 people had been sleeping on every available surface and sharing one bathroom. So all I can say is thank you, to all who traveled to be together for our holiday away from home. I love you all and would have happily had everyone back for New Year's!

And to all: Boas Festas e Próspero Ano Novo!

One Week in Chimoio (and links to additional reading)

After the frantic pace of pre-service training, the last week has been a bit of a shock. Since moving into my house last week, I have had one meeting with my school and a whole lot of free time. I have had plenty to do with that free time: I scrubbed my house down from ceiling to floor; there were piles of laundry to do (by hand on the concrete scrub board out back); I have had errands to run every day, from filling in the household necessities not left by the previous volunteer, to frequent runs to the paderia for fresh bread or mercado for fruits and veggies. I tried my hand at cooking a Mozambican dish: couve (like collards) with a coconut-peanut sauce (good, but I need some practice). And I have been getting to know the awesome other volunteers here in Chimoio. We have eaten at a few local restaurants, my favorite of which was a tiny Pakistani place located inside a basketball/indoor soccer court. There was a soccer tournament going on when we ate there, so we got free entertainment along with the delicious, fiery daal and warm, fresh chapatis.



My first attempt at Mozambican cooking- homemade coconut milk!

 Chimoio is home to a fairly large expat/immigrant population, which brings some diversity to the food - I just learned yesterday that there is a Chinese restaurant with good lo-mein! - and also means Americans don't get as many curious stares as we did in Namaacha. Fortunately, the expat population is still small enough that there doesn't seem to be the same tension that can happen in some of the southern cities that have recently seen a large influx of South Africans. It also helps that Chimoio has a pretty large population - just over 250,000. It has been an adjustment after the familiar friendliness of a smaller town like Namaacha. People don't tend to say "hi" when passing on the street, despite my many friendly (insistent? lonely? desperate?) attempts to lure them with a "bom dia" or "boa tarde." I have about a 10 - 20% success rate, but the replies, frequently with a smile and slight bow over hands clasped at the chest, are so worth it that I won't stop any time soon. Mozambicans have a very charming habit of replying to "Bom dia" (literally, "Good day," the greeting used until noon), with "Bom dia, bom dia, obrigado," and that slight bow, which makes the exchange feel much more genuine.




Catholic Church with motorcycles. Mosque and Chimoians.

  Peace Corps has contributed seven foreigners to the city - three of us education volunteers teaching at the Universidade Catolica, and two health volunteers. Additionally, two former volunteers have returned ten years after their service to work at NGO's here in Chimoio. Yesterday they brought us to a beautiful spot just outside the city proper: a little bar on a hillside overlooking a lagoon where they can let their giant Rhodesian Ridgeback run free. Mozambicans are generally afraid of all dogs, and the looks on their faces when they spot Oliver is a sight to see. Unfortunately, I haven't been bringing my camera out too much while I am getting better aquainted with the city. I have heard plenty of stories of volunteers being pick-pocketed, so I have been cautious. But now that I am feeling more comfortable, I will try to take some more pictures. I did run around the center of town this morning to get the shots included here.


My favorite bakery: "Bread. Peace. Progress. Prosperity."

 
One of my favorite spots is the market. Chimoio's market has pretty much anything you could want when it comes to fruits and veggies. I have also been making a lot of scrambled egg sandwiches because the fresh eggs and bread here are sooo good. I am getting to know the stalls where I prefer to get my lettuce, tomatoes, eggs, lychees, bananas and pineapples. And the pineapple guy has gotten to know me as the girl who can never keep the prices straight! But as someone new to the city, the market has also been a great place to stop and chat with people who aren't Peace Corps Volunteers. Today, I had a long conversation with a kid at the carrot stand about where I came from, how much Mozambicans love Obama (a lot!) and whether or not I could bring him back with me. His brother ended up by joking that I should just carry his head back with me because it was so big. Much as was predicted by volunteers who have been here a year or two, people have asked me if I can get them into America, if I know Justin Bieber, and most frequently, if I need someone to work in my house. But I have also had conversations about recipes or what I am doing here or all the options for playing sports in Chimoio.


Fruit bounty at the mercado.

 So, despite some holiday-season homesickness, I am happily nesting here. Next Friday is the University's holiday party, where we will be able to meet some of our new colleagues. Then next weekend, the other Moz 19 volunteers from Manica and Tete provinces will be making their way to my house to celebrate Christmas. In the tradition of my mother, I intend to be the jolliest Jew in town. It will be great to have everyone over, cooking, baking and decorating the mango tree. I can't wait to hear about their sites and how their first weeks have been.

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With more free time and free access to the Internet at the regional PC office that happens to be down the street, I have been doing some more reading on what is going on in the world of economic development regarding Mozambique, so I leave you with links to a few interesting articles:

• Mozambique, the new frontier of global capitalism: Recently, many natural resources have been discovered in Mozambique and how the government manages foreign investment and mineral rights will be crucial in determining the country's development over the coming decades.
• Mozambique's 'growth corridor' hopes to tackle poverty and turn a profit: I live smack in the middle of a rich agricultural area and transportation corridor that could contribute to increased food security for Mozambique. The Beira Agricultural Growth Corridor is a body that is looking to invest in small-holder farms in the area while promoting commercial agricultural development.
• GSK forms partnership with Vodafone to help increase childhood vaccination in Mozambique: GlaxoSmithKline, one of the world's largest pharma companies, is partnering with Mozambican telecom company Vodafone to develop mobile technologies that will aid in creating more effective childhood vaccination programs.

My New Home

Arrived!

I have finally arrived the Chimoio, the city that I will call home for the next two years. I moved into my lovely little house on Saturday and have spent the last few days scrubbing it clean and wandering through the city, getting to know the streets and finding nesting materials :-) The best part of my living situation, so far, is the backyard full of fruit trees - mango, papaya, guava, passion fruit and even grapes! You can find almost any fruit you want at the local market, but grapes are a rare and expensive treat, so the sweet, purple, concord-like fruit vining through the grates on my window was a happy surprise. The wicker loveseat on my front porch is pretty nice, too...

My cute Mozambican house!

Chimoio is the capital of Manica Province and the fourth largest city in Mozambique. With a population just over 250,000, it is a walkable city with just a touch of hustle and bustle. Manica is the heart of Mozambique's agricultural industry and the market is overflowing with fruits and veggies. I already found a bakery with fantastic bread and little burned-sugar covered flaky pastries that I am going to have to pretend don't exist if I don't want to invest in some bigger jeans.

The temperature is cool for this country, although the sun still packs a punch midday. It has alternated rain and sun since we arrived on Wednesday which means the electricity has been hit-or-miss, too. I do have running (cold) water in my house, but it is turned off over night and can suddenly disappear various times throughout the day. One of my first tasks was to fill a bunch of buckets while it was running so I could continue to clean when the faucets stopped working for hours at a time.

My grape/passion fruit/bougainvillea arbor

The climate seems to make this a fertile region for bugs and critters, as well. I have seen everything from mosquitoes and cockroaches to spiders of all shapes and sizes, strange things that look like a cross between a dragonfly and a giant ant, a bumble bee the size of a walnut, and an 8-inch-long snail with a shell the size of a softball.

Tomorrow I will get to visit the University with the other volunteer who will begin teaching there this year. We already met the three other Peace Corps Volunteers who live in Chimoio, two in the Health program and another teacher who has been at the University for a year already. It's a nice little PC family!

The Central crew outside the airport

One nice perk about living in Chimoio is that I am a 10 minute walk from the central region's Peace Corps office, which makes mail easy. My new address is:

Anna Derby, PCV
Corpo da Paz/U.S. Peace Corps
C.P. 331
Chimoio
Mocambique

Mail will usually take about three weeks to arrive, although some things take more or less depending on weather or whim of the mail gods. Any cards, letters or pictures would be much appreciated. Despite the relative ease of internet contact, there is something comforting about a real, written letter I can hold! If you feel up for sending a little something (dark chocolate? good tea? parmesan cheese?), flat-rate envelopes from the USPS are only $5-$10 to send here. But really, a picture and a little story about what is going on in your life would be just as sweet. My phone number is still 258 84 184-5631 and I am happy to get calls and texts!

I hope all is well with everyone back home. All the babies, engagements, and Christmas trees make me happy, with a healthy touch of homesick, of course.

Ave Maria, Cheia da Graça

Every trainee here has had a different experience with their homestay families; some have faced more challenges than others - whether it be issues of personal space and freedom or a shortage of nutritive food - but as a whole, we have been astounded by the generosity we have encountered here in Namaacha. Much as we are "volunteers" who receive a monthly stipend, free housing in some of the nicer accommodations in our communities and free high-quality healthcare, our families are not paid to host us, but only given a monthly payment to "offset the cost" of having us in the house. For those families with too many mouths to feed, this amounts to a windfall and a good amount of the payment isn't reflected in the quality or quantity of food the trainee is receiving. We can only assume that the money is being used to pay for thing that the family usually can't afford. Other trainees have been eating prawns brought in from Maputo that are way outside the budget funded by the Peace Corps. Two trainees have running water in their houses, while the majority have outdoor pit latrines full of cockroaches at night.

The front yard of my host home in Namaacha

I really lucked out to be placed with a woman like my host mother, Maria. Many friends who have come over for a meal or afternoon tea have commented on what a nice house it is. Some call it a mansion, while others go straight to castle. It is a nice house, even by US standards: a spacious split-level made of stone that stays cool in the heat. Although there is no water in the plumbing fixtures, we do have a gas stove and a refrigerator. We even have a microwave, although it next to useless at night when the electric grid is under too much strain to provide adequate power to heat a plate of food in under 15-20 minutes. The living area has two walls of floor-to-ceiling sliding glass doors that let in light almost all day and provide beautiful views of the sprawling machamba (subsistence farm) that surrounds it. As I write this, I am watching a neighbor cut a branch from a mango tree outside the window. I can see a plot of corn, a handful of papaya trees, and three litchi trees covered in nearly-ripe fruit. The birds-of-paradise dropped their flowers a few weeks ago, but the jasmine is in full bloom. On the other side of the house you can find fields of peanuts, mandioca, beans, garlic, onions and salad veggies. The garden takes a lot of work, and requires the help of the woman who works in our house, a neighbor girl who works outside regularly and some others who come at planting times. But my nearly 70-year-old host mother is out there, too, seeding, weeding and harvesting.

Part of the garlic harvest. My meals here weren't bland.

My mãe is a worker, whether it be in the machamba, Tuesdays at the local convent, or staying well past midnight helping the Cruz Vermelha (Mozambican Red Cross) during the bi-annual pereginações (pilgrimages) to Namaacha's Catholic church. She has been back-and-forth attending trainings as the president of AMODEFA, a local organization that runs youth programs promoting family-planning, combating HIV/AIDS and giving voice to girls and young women. She was actually a founding member of the Namaacha chapter back in the 1990's. And this is her retirement. She worked as a clerk in a municipal office until mandatory retirement at 65. She and her late husband put their three children through college, including their oldest daughter who attended university in the UK. This daughter now works in Maputo at the Irish Embassy, while the middle son runs a trucking company and her youngest is a professor at the teacher training college in Maputo. While the spacious freezer is probably what impresses most of her neighbors (especially because she lets them use it to store their chickens), it is the well-stocked bookshelf on the back wall of the living room that catches my eye. In a community where many can't even read and most books are prohibitively expensive, a full bookshelf says a lot about where someone is investing their time and money. 

With her goddaughter's grandson and another trainee

As one of our language trainers who had worked with her at AMODEFA said, my host mom is the kind of woman a community like Namaacha needs. I knew the moment I met her and saw her shirt that read "Women have the right to vote and be counted" that I was about to get to know someone with an interesting perspective on life in Mozambique. One of the best motivators for improving my Portuguese has been my desire to have conversations with her about more complex issues. Those conversations have been coming along, but I look forward to meeting her for a cup of tea some time in the future when I can form better questions and express myself more clearly. I know that I will be able to ask her about nearly anything I encounter in my community and get a perspective informed by a balanced blend of education, experience and extreme generosity of spirit.

One of the many beautiful trees in her yard.

Although I won't be leaving Namaacha until tomorrow morning, I unfortunately had to say goodbye to my host mother on Saturday. She has been traveling back and forth to Maputo for the last few weeks caring for her daughter-in-law who was sick with tuberculosis and sadly passed away on Friday. My mãe had been traveling two hours each way to the hospital to visit her daughter in law, clean her, change her clothing. Finally, last weekend, she even traveled to Swaziland to pick up the South African version of Depends for her. When I stopped home during lunch on Friday, she was on the phone and I overhead her telling the story of calling the hospital to check on visiting hours and finding out that the patient in question had already passed away. As I tried to express my sympathy in my broken Portuguese, I gave her a hug and she started crying on my shoulder. All her family was in Maputo and she was home alone, so I ran back to class to collect my belongings and rushed back home.

When I returned, we sat and drank tea and talked more about her daughter-in-law and what was going to happen for the funeral. Over the course of the conversation, I realized the complexity of the relationship with the woman who had just passed. I knew that my mãe's "grandson," Kikas, who came to stay some weekends was actually her grand-nephew. What I hadn't known was that his mother had disappeared from the family when Kikas was nine months old. The woman who my mãe had been spending so much time and effort caring for had abandoned her son and husband more than twenty years ago, occasionally making promises to visit that she never kept, while my host mom raised Kikas like her son. When her daughter-in-law reappeared in a hospital bed, deathly ill and asking for help, my mãe didn't hesitate to make weekly trips into the city to care for her when no-one else would.

That is just the kind of person she is. When someone is in need, you help them; be it a young girl visiting AMODEFA because of an unwanted pregnancy, a relative in the hospital, or a neighbor without a freezer. Or a young American Peace Corps volunteer, learning to navigate a brand new culture in a foreign language.

Mãe and filha

Model School: It all comes down to this

This week is our last week of pre-service training. All of our language and technical classes have culminated in two weeks of teaching at our Peace Corps model secondary school, beginning last Monday. For model school, all of the trainees enlisted the help of host brothers and sisters, nieces, nephews and neighbors. Any crianças close to 8th, 9th or 10th grade were bribed with promises of cookies at snack time, free notebooks and a certificate for those who come all nine days. To entice the more serious students, we offered review material for upcoming national exams.

 

There were a number of reasons I found the idea of model school terrifying. To start, we would be teaching in Portuguese. I still stumble over everyday exchanges with my neighbors and can barely get through more complicated conversations with my host mother, so presenting complex mathematical ideas to a group sounded a little overwhelming. Add to that my lack of relevant teaching experience. Although I spent a couple of years tutoring and a few years as a teaching assistant, I rarely had to get up in front of a class to introduce brand-new material. Lesson planning for a lecture is quite different from plotting out homework reviews or prepping supporting material. To make things a little harder on myself, I chose to teach an introduction to Set Theory, a more abstract topic that most American high schools don't cover.

Professor Grisha and his Química class

And then there were the students. The scary, scary students. One reason I am excited for the end of PST is that I hope I will no longer be afraid of everything I encounter after leaving the safety of my mosquito net each morning. I understand that the job of our trainers is to make us aware of what we need to do to keep ourselves safe in a new and sometimes risky environment, but sometimes I think that they are taking their role a little too seriously. Each day we are lectured on every danger we are sure to encounter in Mozambique: the PST trifecta of malaria, HIV, sexual assault; schistosomiasis in each beautiful lake or waterfall; ringworm (risk increasing proportionally to the cuteness of the cat you want to pet); potential diarrhea crawling all over the peel of every apple. Discussions of the classroom have had a similar tone: classes are huge and we will constantly be at risk of losing control; cheating runs rampant; the Mozambican systems stifles critical thinking; we will constantly struggle to get girls to participate.

When I visited a current volunteer at her site a few weeks ago, we met some of her students for a review session before their national Chemistry exam. It did a lot of good to meet some real, live, in-the-flesh secondary students as a reminder that they are just kids, some of whom are really excited to learn. Sure, we will all face challenges in classrooms here - probably many will be similar to those found in underfunded, overenrolled American schools. Some, like teaching Information Technology in a school without electricity, let alone computers, may have a particularly Mozambican flair. And I have heard repeatedly from current and former volunteers that one of the biggest challenges here is teaching within a system where the immediate benefit of an education isn't too clear. It can be difficult to stay motivated, and to motivate students, when the economy isn't necessarily able to reward those who earn a degree.

So while the visit to the school in Manjangue was a reminder that not all students are monsters, I found a sense of fear and dread building as model school approached. I was not confident in my ability to control a classroom with my limited Portuguese, even less so in my ability to clearly convey information. Catching students' interest and making them care about set theory seemed impossible. I just didn't want them to eat me alive. I am pretty sure high school students in every country can smell fear.

Professora Amy schools kids on Biologia

After preparing my lesson plan and practicing a couple of times in our tech classes, I was feeling a little bit better. I had chosen Set Theory because, although it is abstract, it lends itself easily to activities. I created sets of fruits, vegetables and school materials and prepared an interactive demonstration and the feedback from my teachers and other trainees was all very positive. Happily, I wasn't scheduled to teach until the second day, so I was able to observe other trainees first and to gauge the level of the students we would be teaching. Model School is set up as a semi-realistic mock-up of a secondary school, in the real Escola Secundária de Namaacha. We start each day with the national anthem, take attendance in the Livro da Turma, have four 45-minute blocks with passing time between each bell; however, each class only has six to (maybe) fifteen students, which makes things a lot easier for us first-time teachers.

Professor Kevin teaches Biologia

Watching classes on the first day was a huge relief. Students were engaged and participating. Although some trainees reported discipline problems, most classes passed without incident. Many students were even helpful: erasing the board, distributing snacks, even helping teachers with vocabulary or friendly corrections to their Portuguese. A pack of cookies and a notebook go a long way here. On the second day, my first class went well, with just a little extra time left at the end. I tried a few harder examples to try to get a sense of how advanced the students at the higher end were. The class ended with a student telling me that the intersection of the set of prime numbers and the set of even numbers is 2, which was a happy surprise.

My second class went much better. Bringing a little more confidence and a better sense of how my subject was being received, I was able to interact much more with the students and draw out increased participation and contributions from the class. Despite the many warnings we had been given that getting kids to think critically or creatively is like pulling teeth, by the last part of the class I had students approaching the board and coming up with their own examples of sets and subsets, and writing out the inclusion relationship. And most did it correctly.

I was feeling good at the end of class and it was Thanksgiving, so I decided to use the last five minutes to do a little cross-cultural exchange. Since no one had any questions, I told them a little about my favorite holiday. I explained that most of our families were back in the US, houses filling with the smell meals and the sounds of friends and family cooking together. I described the food and the students started shouting out their favorite dishes. But I also explained that "Dia de Gratidão" is a day to appreciate all the good things in your life and say a big "thank you." After having such a good class and realizing how important that will be for my confidence going into my real classroom in a couple of months, I was feeling a whole lot of gratitude for the roomful of teenagers who were giving their vacation time to act as guinea pigs for a bunch of inexperienced PC trainees stumbling through Math lessons in broken Portuguese.

Professora Anna keeps aluna Anneke in line

So model school has been a huge help. How fantastic is it that these kids, probably about 100 altogether, are willing to to come each morning for two weeks and sit through extra - disjointed - classes? Probably most of them have already seen the material, or if they haven't, are completely lost. I think that a lot like the opportunity to participate in a Peace Corps activity. Others like to come hang out with their friends or maybe are in it for the cookies. There a probably some who actually to like to learn a little more - especially English classes. Whatever their reasons for coming, I am thankful for the experience they allow us to have. During the snack break after my second class, a student approached with his notebook. He hadn't had a chance to write his example of sets and subsets on the board and wanted me to see if it was correct. That was all I needed to feel like I had done the best that I could to make it worth their time.

Finally - Site Placement!

Last Wednesday was a very exciting day. Six and a half weeks after arriving here, spent learning about our host country, talking to current volunteers about their extremely varied experiences, and finally visiting volunteers at sites spread throughout Mozambique, we learned where we will be spending our next two years.

Jackie's host sister looks out towards our future.

 The Peace Corps puts a heavy emphasis on flexibility and adaptability. Beginning with the application process, continuing through to site placement in-country, and even in building your relationship with your school, it is expected that you will be open to serving where and how help is needed. While applicants can express their preferences as to the region where they want to serve, PC lets you know that your invitation will come for the role that feel is the best fit for your skill set. Since Mozambique is Portuguese-speaking, many trainees here are Spanish speakers who had been hoping to be placed in Latin America. But everyone who accepted the invitation to come here has bought into the PC mantra that it is best to be flexible if you are here to serve.

The same model holds for site placement. When we arrived here, we had no idea where in Mozambique we would actually be teaching. And Mozambique varies a lot. This made packing to come here plenty challenging - there are cool, rainy mountain sites and sweltering hot sites in the northern mato, The conditions in the schools vary just as much, with class sizes that can range from 40 to 120. Teachers may be working without enough desks, without electricity, even without blackboards. Some sites are nears cities with easily accessible grocery stores selling breakfast cereal and cheese, or the nearest market may be 10K away and in some seasons may sell little more than bread, tomatoes and onions.

But the placement is done after we have spent some time in country in order to give us a chance to reflect on what we think are the essentials we will need to be happy, productive volunteers. Again, we were given the opportunity to express our preferences, but asked to be flexible. Most current volunteers told us the same thing: whatever we thought when we first learned about our site, we would most likely grow to love it once we got there. I was surprised that after visiting sites and getting used to the frequent power outages here, I found myself telling the Assistant Peace Corps Director (APCD) I interviewed with that I could live without electricity. In reality, access to fresh fruits and vegetables would be more important.

Lunch break at the Instituto de Formação de Professores

The experience of other volunteers has also taught us that despite the fact that we were brought here as English, Math, Chemistry and Biology teachers, we will need to be flexible about what we are willing to teach. Schools who are working with the Peace Corps  put in requests for a particular discipline, but needs change so quickly here that many volunteers arrive at their schools to discover that the school already found a local Chemistry teacher and but lost two Biology teachers and now the volunteer who has not taken a Bio class since freshman year of college finds themselves teaching it five times a week. One volunteer spent all of training preparing to be a Math teacher, only to spend his first year teaching French full time. Unfortunately, there is so much need in the Mozambican system that we will end up filling roles for which we are surprised to find we are the best option available.

When site placement day came along, we all were experiencing a strange kind of excitement/nervousness/generalized-anxiety. We were all dying to know where we would be going, but also knew that seeing the name of a town on a piece of paper wouldn't actually give us very much information. We would know which other trainees would be near us, and who we might not see again until our mid-service conference. (Mozambique is as long as two Californias and, due to the conditions of roads and transportation infrastructure, traveling from one region to another can be prohibitively difficult without a lot of free time). We also would get letters from the volunteers we would be replacing, but many trainees will be opening new sites and wouldn't even be getting that. So we wanted to know but weren't sure what we would be learning. Wednesday afternoon, we all filed out the basketball court, where the PC staff had drawn a map of Mozambique so we could gather with the others moving to the same province once we learned where we had been placed.

I had an added little bit of anxiety due to my interview with the APCD last Monday. Over the course of my conversation with him, I had mentioned the broad variety of experience I had, both in school and at work. I had been hoping to be put at a site where I could find a way to use my business degree and non-profit experience, at least in secondary projects. He asked if I might be interested in a "less traditional Peace Corps position," namely teaching at a university in a city, instead of at a secondary school in a smaller town. As time passed after the interview, I realized that I had really gotten my hopes up. Although I was really looking forward to the experience of living in a smaller community and the challenge that would come with it, the opportunity to work at a university here was just to good to pass up.

And that is what I will be doing for the next two years! In just over two weeks, I will be moving to Chimoio, the capital of Manica Province, to teach at the Universidade Católica de Moçambique. I spoke with the volunteer who I will replace and it sounds like a dream job. Really more than I ever could have hoped for when coming here. Once I arrive there, I will have the opportunity to work with the school to determine what courses I will be teaching. I will most likely be teaching at least one English class, which I am actually excited for, but the school also has an MBA program, or I may still be teaching math. There are a number of programs there that sound fascinating, including Gestão do Desenvolvimento (Management of Development), that includes courses in Governance, Regional & Local Economic Development, and Sociology & Economics of Development. There is a program in Engenharia Alimentar (Food Engineering is the closest I can get) that basically deals with food production systems, more on the side of technological processes and equipment for processing food. For a country like Mozambique, where agriculture is huge, but mostly on the smallholder/subsistence farming level, this is so important. Giving Mozambicans the education necessary to create systems for processing food that would allow the country to capture so much more value from the crops they grow is crucial.

The future of Mozambique

As I mentioned in my last blog post, the education system in Mozambique is hurting. The infrastructure is cripplingly underdeveloped. There is a tragic lack of skilled professionals here. Mozambique is also home to what may turn out to be the largest coal mine in the world and the recent discovery of huge natural gas fields off the northern coast has drawn significant international attention. As I see it, the best way to ensure that Mozambique can best take advantage of its natural resources and the wealth that may flow from them is education. Education will give Mozambicans the knowledge necessary to help build/design/create/control their own future. While I was already excited to be working at the secondary school level, at the university level I will be working with the students most able to have an impact quickly.


This will be different from the experience that we have been preparing for in training - small town or village, hauling water from the pump, controlling a class of 100 students in my broken Portuguese - but will be full of all kinds of other challenges and, hopefully, rewards. While I may not be able to travel as much, Chimoio is centrally located and the previous volunteer said that she got plenty of visitors. It is also only 6 hours from one of the most beautiful beaches in the country. It is near Gorongosa National Park, home to lions and elephants and a former PCV who runs educational programs. There is great hiking nearby, including a site full of ancient cave paintings.

And did I mention that I will have two spare bedrooms and the exchange rate highly favors the dollar?

This country is really beautiful!

Risk, Opportunity and Education

Living as an American in the country ranked 184th out of 187 on the Human Development Index, it is nearly impossible not to be hyper aware of the differences that exist between life the US and Mozambique. Many are physical and obvious: the deficit of paved roads outside of major cities, an unreliable power grid even in more developed areas, poor-to-non-existent sewer or drainage systems. But the intangible differences become clear after spending some time here, talking with people who grew up here, and of course learning the country's history. One of the most glaring differences is the educational system.

Escola Secundária de Namaacha

First a little commentary on some cultural differences. Most of the Peace Corps training staff is Mozambican, including all of our language teachers, who also serve as "cross-cultural facilitators." One of the most interesting aspects of training has been hearing from them about cultural values and norms. They have been invaluable resources regarding the traditions surrounding birth, death and marriage, explaining some of the practices we may not be comfortable asking our host families about. Recently, we had a conversation with a group of teachers that really stuck with me. We started out comparing how Americans and Mozambicans regard the older members of their families. Frequently, many generations live together in one home here. Our teachers explained that older people are seen as "libraries" here: keepers of history and tradition. Families tend to sprawl in Mozambique, as people absorb children when they lose brothers, sisters or cousins, or sometimes just because a town may have a good school or a father is working in a different province. People look after all of their family members; when someone is doing well, they help out the others because they know that the care will be returned if they fall on hard times.

Later in the day, the conversation turned the concept of risk. I tend to feel that Americans as a culture value taking a risk. Our country as it exists today was founded and populated mostly by immigrants, many of whom took great risks just to arrive there. Although the American Dream is based on hard work and perseverance, we seem to hold people who risk it all for success in high regard. And don't always look well on those afraid to take a chance. Our teacher thought for a little bit before responding that the way he saw it, for every Mozambican tempted to take a chance on an opportunity, there is likely to be an older person in their family reminding them of how many others are depending on them. A risk can't easily be seen as an individual decision with a large, tightly-knit family depending on the outcome. He paused and then added, "And when you take a risk, you can expect to be rewarded, right?"

One of our great Language and Cultural Facilitators

It was a great point and really made me think about what exactly a risk entails in the US. We simply have more wealth and opportunities to spread around. In Mozambique, there just is not as much that makes taking a chance worthwhile; there aren't as many rewards. On the flip side, America also has many more safety nets in place for its citizens. When someone takes a huge financial risk, they will usually have something to fall back on: bankruptcy protection, welfare, a homeless shelter.  None of those are great options, but compared to the support available here, they are at least options. The very environment holds more risk here: bacteria in the water, landmines left from the civil war, Malaria running rampant. If you don't have the means to protect yourself from these threats, why take on more risk voluntarily? Families have created their own safety nets and support systems, why endanger them?

This of course leads to the question, "Why would a bunch of well-off Americans leave the comfort and security of their homes for a country where danger lurks around every corner?" I think that most of us here had at least someone out of their friends and family ask them something similar. The truth is, we come here with the same safety net of American citizenship and governmental support we had at home. While we face more daily challenges here, we can opt out at any moment, unlike the Mozambicans we live with. Additionally, before any of us are placed in a community, it is thoroughly inspected for safety and security. Any area with uncleared ordinance is immediately out. Mozambicans may live there, but we won't. No volunteers are placed in cities with high crime rates. Although Malaria is endemic throughout the whole country, PC volunteers are provided with weekly or daily prophylaxis, a rapid test and treatment on hand. If PC staff finds out someone isn't taking their prophylaxis, this is grounds for administrative separation. We are given a water filter, a mosquito net, a well-stocked medical kit, and most importantly, two phone numbers that allow us to reach an English-speaking doctor 24-hours a day, 7 days  week. In a country with 889 doctors serve the whole population (that is 1MD for every 30,000 people), we have three doctors treating about 200 PC volunteers. If they can't treat us, we will be medevac'ed out in the blink of an eye. My mind was blown when I heard that a volunteer had been flown to South Africa with severe malaria-induced kidney failure in 2008, because there was no dialysis machine in all of Mozambique. And this is a country where malaria accounts for 29% of deaths.

But beyond any of this, what separates us from most members of the communities that we will serve is what we already had when we arrived: education and technical skills.

A little detour into some history: Portuguese colonization, followed by a brutal civil war, left the country severely lacking in the building blocks of a modern nation state. Throughout the colonial period, much of Mozambique's infrastructure was built by a combination of the Portuguese colonists and other European powers, who had a vested interest in developing Mozambique's ports. The British and Portuguese concessionary companies also ran enormous plantations on slave labor until the 20th century and continued to use forced labor until it was abolished in 1961. The conditions were so extremely harsh that many Mozambicans simply up and left the country. The Portuguese also excluded indigenous Mozambicans from the education system they developed in the colony. Mozambicans were sent instead to separate missionary schools overseen by the Catholic Church, but set up in such a way that very few could progress beyond the first three years of education.

Escola Secundária de Manjangue

 When Mozambique gained its independence, most of the Portuguese left, simply abandoning their houses and businesses and frequently destroying any animals or equipment they left behind. At independence, less than 10% of land was being used to grow crops, most of the population was illiterate (over 90%), and there were not even 1,000 indigenous Mozambicans high school graduates. There were 87 doctors in the country, 6 economists, and 2 agronomists. Much of the infrastructure that had been build was destroyed in the ensuing civil war, leading to an even lower rate of land use - down to 4% of land under cultivation in 1988 to provide less than 10% of the food needed. Almost half of the country's clinics had been forced closed due to the violence and only one of four rail lines was still running.

I was here to celebrate the 20th anniversary of peace in Mozambique. Needless to say, it has been a long trudge uphill to begin to recover since the war ended. While the economy has been growing rapidly (averaging 7%) over the last decade, with increasing foreign investment due to rich mineral deposits, the country remains poor and the education system still faces many challenges. According to USAID, the adult literacy rate in 2008 was 47% (32% for Mozambican women). A study in the northern province of Cabo Delgado found that 59% of third grade students were unable to read a single word and 26% of primary school teachers working in the province had no training.

Namaacha celebrates 20 years of peace

So while I did take a risk by quitting a good job to come here, it is a risk tempered by the very life I left behind. I arrived here with the benefit of a stable, supportive family willing to mail me just about anything I might need; friends with the means to reach out and offer words of encouragement from thousands of miles away; a government willing to foot the bill to keep me healthy and happy; and years of quality education that provide me with the wherewithal to make my time here of benefit to those around me. All in all, I think I will come out better off for my time here and with an even greater appreciation for all that I have in my life. Something I love about Peace Corps is that it isn't about giving money to countries in need, but "helping the people of interested countries in meeting their need for trained men and women." In other words, spreading that most valuable of resources: education.

Out Exploring: Site Visits

Time has been passing quickly since I arrived, but the last two weeks just flew. Last week, all of the trainees here in Namaacha scattered throughout the country for site visits. After six weeks of sitting through countless sessions of tech training, safety and security lessons, cross-cultural exchanges, and health and wellness discussions, it was wonderful to get out of the classrooms and visit a real, live volunteer at a real school and see what happens when we are on our own. 

Amy and I suffering through PST

I traveled with a future science teacher - a marine biologist by training - to Manjangue, a small town in the province of Gaza, just north of Maputo, the province we have called home for training. While we didn't get to see a completely different area, we had a much easier time traveling  - only a couple of hours in a chapa (the omnipresent minivan taxi that gets packed as full as possible, sometimes to a point that defies at least a couple of laws of physics). Others were traveling for 2 or 3 days to remote sites in the northern part of the country. And the experience of being at site, away from the hand-holding of our homestay families and training managers, was completely different anyways.

We visited a teacher who arrived as part of Moz 15 (I am a Moz 19er) and was just about ready to finish her service, so she had a full two years of experience and wisdom to impart to us. She had opened her site, meaning she was the first PC volunteer to teach there, and she faced some interesting challenges in establishing her working relationship with the secondary school.

Like many volunteers here, she had work hard to develop a classroom culture free of cheating, and an attendance policy that rewarded students for attending class on-time. The Mozambican system is frequently rigged in such a way that it is difficult to convince schools, let alone individual students, that the long term benefits of forbidding cheating outweigh the short term advantages. I am sure this is a subject I will be writing about plenty more in the future, as the forces at work are powerful and complex. Regarding attendance, the logistics of getting a student population that often lives scattered throughout a very large, sparsely populated region in and out of a school on time is sometimes just too much.

But in addition to these common challenges, she faced some unique to volunteers opening sites. Many teachers here, including our host, live right on school property, meaning that cultural differences extend far beyond the classroom. It is common in many parts of Mozambican culture to have visitors drop by at any time of day. Families themselves can be rather fluid, with nieces, nephews, aunts, uncles, cousins, or grandkids coming through to stay for short or extended periods of time based on various needs. Neighbors stop in to borrow food or tools, and stay to share a little fofoca (gossip). Hours are spent on porches or under the shade of a tree, just passing the time. Apparently, this practice extends to colleagues for many teachers who live at or near their schools. For an American accustomed to more privacy, establishing boundaries without offending coworkers was a challenging line to walk.

Goats really are everywhere here.

The Mozambican school year has already ended, but her tenth-grade students were taking their national exams, needed to pass through to eleventh grade. We had the chance to meet a group of her more motivated, extremely bright girls when they stopped by her house after their history test. They were excited and unbelievably entertained to meet two more women science teachers. Our host later explained that it is still a pretty well-established fact that math is a subject for men around there and they almost didn't believe that I was a math teacher. Many of the Mozambicans I have met have a really charming habit of laughing uproariously when they like something or are surprised by something. They let out an "eeeeeeeeeeee" that you can't help but grin at. These girls were practically rolling on the ground when I said I teach math. Another friend walked up shortly after and they made her guess what we taught. Then they all just started laughing again. It made me really happy to be here as a lady math teacher.

Sonia cooks the best prawns, chicken and crab matapa in Mozambique.

 Other highlights of the trip included: the best prawns in Mozambique at a tiny, menu-less restaurant in the beach town of Bilene. Swimming in the Indian Ocean for the first time. Learning the proper way to chop garlic from a French ex-pat diveshop owner and having his homemade coffee ice cream over fresh toaster-oven brownies. Getting a guided tour of the sea life in Bilene's lagoon from my marine-bio travel buddy. Getting up at 4:00 am to watch election results and being treated to oatmeal and breakfast burritos on tortillas cooked in a PC dutch oven (pan on rocks inside another pan; used on an electric burner or charcoal stove by volunteers without ovens). Finding a traditional medicine man's stall, complete with monkey pelts and unidentified bone bits, tucked in the corner of a market.

They tasted even better than they look

All in all, the visit made me really excited to get out and start working. It also drove home exactly how much everything will change in a few weeks when training is over. While we knew from the start that we would be scattering all over the country after ten weeks, after experiencing how difficult travel can be here, the reality that some of us won't see each other until the midservice conference next year is really sinking in. But at the same time, once we arrive at site, we will have a chance to integrate into a whole new Mozambican community. While we will surely face challenges, once we leave the structure of PST and begin to establish ourselves as teachers, neighbors and community members, we will have the opportunity to build brand new relationships and, hopefully, friendships.