Switcheroo

So, while others are undoubtedly already integrated into their sites, I have yet to see my own. I fly there later today, though, to be greeted by a houseful of people who have descended upon my humble abode for the Ano Novo festivities. Somehow, this is fitting, seeing as how I just hosted 12 of the Volunteers in the north at my house for Christmas. If Ano Novo is as fun as all that was, then watch out. There will be some serious dancing and making merry going on.

Kidding about the integration part above, but these last few weeks have been strange in terms of trying to settle in to site. I got to the point where I just didn't know how much more I should invest emotionally in Angoche, because I didn't want to love it too much before I left it. Having the other Americans around distracted me from that, but they're a good group and leaving them was hard. Most of them I won't see for at least a year.

Luckily, the group I'm going to is awesome as well. That's the great thing about Moz 11: it's an awesome group of people in general.

That's all for now...I will be posting more about life at site once I actually get there.

Moving Forward

So, although it was weird to make the decision to leave Angoche, and I almost renigged after realizing that I could deal with the housing situation and I like Angoche, I am still moving down to Inhassoro. I'll be in Angoche until a few days after Christmas, and then...to the beach!

A few words about Angoche: when wikipedia describes it as a dried up old Muslim trading post, they weren't kidding about the dried up part. Not literally, of course; Angoche sits on a beautiful bay and oddly enough faces west, so the sun sets over the water, making me feel like I'm not on the east coast of Africa but on the west. It's a little disorienting but also gives the town a certain otherworldly charm.

The town itself is very big. There are a few neighborhoods of old Portuguese-style houses...very similar to Namaacha, in fact. And then there are the bairros (Portuguese for neighborhood), where most of the people live. They are full of life and children, running barefoot on the sand between one thatched hut and another. The bairros have tall palms and a vibrating pulse, due mainly to the loudspeakers blaring music all the time (provided the electricity doesn't go out...).

When you drive into Angoche, the first thing you see is a wide, semi-paved road with a divider of trees and benches down the middle. This road is lined on one side with shops and on the other by a small hill. Over the hill is the secondary school, the bairro Pule, and the main Portuguese part of town. At the top of the hill is a beautiful view of the Indian Ocean (you can see where the bay meets the ocean...it's where the water becomes calm and the whitecaps stop) and various islands with white beaches that dot the bay. On the other side of the street, behind the shops, are more shops and the mercado, where most daily interactions take place. There is also another bairro of Portuguese houses and concrete/mud huts. Interspersed, and somewhat hidden, throughout each bairro are other markets...windy places with stall upon stall of capulana material (basically bright cloth for wearing/other uses), buckets, clothing, soap, and various foodstuffs. Stepping into one of these is like stepping into a labyrinth, and I could get lost in one all day.

If you follow the wide main road all the way to its end, you come to the bay, a calm place where locals troll their small sailboats for fish, crabs, prawns...you name it. There are benches there, perfect for sitting and watching the sunset or just catching the sea breeze and thinking, and a monument to Mozambican heroes.

I am sad to leave this beautiful place, where the women walk by nearly entirely shrouded in bright capulanas, in accordance with their Muslim faith, and where everyone is so friendly, so interested in the strange Americans who have come to live for two years. But, as I told the placement officer before he even placed any of us, I could go anywhere in this country and be happy. This way, with my transfer and the other Volunteer coming here, each school that sorely needs an English teacher still gets one. I came here to serve, and this is a perfect opportunity to do so. I think I can live with that.

Place Redux, Or Let's Try This Again

So. Last Friday all of us Peace Corps Trainees swore to uphold the Constitution and defend it against all enemies, domestic and foreign (weird, eh? we take the same oath as the president and the military), and thus became Peace Corps Volunteers, ready to begin living and working in Mozambique. The next day, my future roommate and I boarded a plane for Nampula, and on Sunday, after five hours in the school's bus with all our luggage and our directors, we arrived at our site, as you know, a place near a bay called Angoche.

All was not well. The house that had been approved by the Peace Corps was no longer available, but no matter, there was an apartment for us. We didn't like the apartment, though, and thus began the search for a new place to live.

Meanwhile, down the coast about a thousand miles, another new Volunteer was having trouble with her supervisor, and things culminated yesterday in her decision to ask for a site transfer. Our situation also culminated yesterday when we were told we had one more option for living and if it wasn't acceptable, we too would be transferring sites.

We saw the house today. It's fine, just needs a little work. However, I've decided to go ahead with a site transfer, taking the spot of the girl down the coast while she comes here to live. It's nothing against the house, or the town, or our school directors. In fact, I love this town already and our school directors have bent over backward to accomodate us in every way they could. No, what would kill me would be the waiting. We'd have to wait one or two months for the house to be finished, at which time we'd also be starting school as we'd be trying to move in. So, since there was the opportunity to move, and since it worked out so agreeably to all, I decided to go ahead and move. The house there is all ready and waiting, and I know the girl who will be my roommate and I think we will be like two peas in a pod. Another big transition will be hard, but weighing it against the interminable waiting (which seems 15x as long when you're up at 4:30 because it's too hot to sleep anymore and there's nothing scheduled to do so you fill your time trying to get to know the community but it's just so damn hot all the time that all you can think about is how much you're sweating and how much you'd like to have a house to distract yourself with, because then at least you could paint or something...), well, yeah. This is a good decision. My colleauge needed a new place to live, her roommate needed a new roommate, and I needed to get settled as quickly as possible. For awhile, I thought I could be patient and wait, but after waiting over a year to even join the Peace Corps and then waiting through training to get to site, I don't think I could wait anymore. I need to start already, so that's what I'm doing.

The new site is called Inhassoro, in the province of Inhambane, in the south. Google it for some fabulous pictures. Here's hoping it all works out.