Epilogue

I am home--HOME, such a weird word. Actually, I am not home because I don't know where home is, but let's just say, for simplicity sake, home is the United States.

Home could be Boston for the next few years. It's where I am now and I like it (except for the frozen water that insists on falling from the sky). It is probably as different from Mozambique as I could get right now, and different is what I was seeking when I went to Moz, and different is still what I want. So despite all my instincts that fight against change, that scream "different is BAD! go back to what you know!" I find that I can't. I am different now, and I'm not quite sure what the "known" is. Africa has changed me, provided a much-needed perspective. Part of me is still there--part of me knows that Moz acted like a crucible for my character, burning away the fat, refining it. I loved it, and it was hard.

I hope to go back someday.

Unexpectedly, The End

About a week and a half ago, I was sent home from Mozambique for medical reasons. Without giving any details, I want everyone reading this to know that I'll be fine, I was just medically unfit to stay in Mozambique. You'd be surprised what can get you kicked out, but when it comes to your health, you do the only thing you can. I will not be able to return to Mozambique with the Peace Corps, so for now, it's the end.

The transition home has been many things: painful, sad, fast, bewildering, overwhelming, relieving...you name it, I've felt it over the past few weeks. Right now, I am looking forward, and forward increasing looks east. Maybe not as far east as Africa, although I do hope to go back someday relatively soon, but maybe Boston, New York, or Washington DC. That's where the jobs are for me, and that's where my future is.

I keep doing funny things, like putting my shoes on to walk around the house, because that's what we did in Mozambique. Maybe it sounds stupid or silly, but I miss Mozambique all the time when I realize I'm doing things that have become habit over the past year--habits that don't make sense in life over here. I"m sure I'll slip out of them eventually, and back into taking for granted hot showers, air conditioning, good food, and driving!, but for now I'm savoring the weirdness of it all, and hoping not to forget.

Getting to Normal

(Above: The road as you come into my town. My sitemates and I joke that there should be a sign that says "Road Ends in Ocean," but actually, it curves to the right--south--and you are on the main "street" of Inhassoro.)

So I was going to title this post "Getting Back to Normal" when I realized that, really, there is no "normal" here for me...so whatever I'm getting to will be the new "normal." And it's not like there's a "normal" Peace Corps experience or anything either...so we're talking what's normal for me in one little village washed up on the coast of Mozambique.

Ok, so to update the past few months. I finally returned to site at the end of March, only to find that it was the end of the trimester and I had to give finals, despite the fact that I hadn't been there to teach for most of the time. On top of that, our school was not yet repaired (and it still isn't totally), so we were teaching/giving tests in tents, with no chalkboards or really any control. It was sort of like summer camp. It was also exhausting. I have about 500 students, and I had to give each of them 3 tests over the course of two weeks...so if you do the math, that's me grading about 1500 tests. It definitely kept me busy, but it was hard (although sometimes hilarious as well, and not so bad once you get into the groove).

Katie and I are still waiting for our house to be finished. I will be really glad when it's done and we can move in--I'll finally have a place to settle in and unpack. And I know once we're settled, we'll have students over all the time, asking for help on homework or just wanting to speak more English. I plan to start a theater club for those who really like English and are good at it, so that should be fun.

The second trimester has been going smoothly so far. I've taught about health and nutrition, and part of the health component was on common diseases in Mozambique, which of course included AIDS. Talking with my students one day, I discovered that none of them knew the proper way to use a condom, although they all know that using condoms prevents AIDS and pregnancy....So that led to me giving a demonstration on an empty soda bottle on how to properly use a condom. It was pretty funny and also kind of sad...the kids have been given so much info so far about AIDS and how it spreads, but there is so little being done in practice. Either they don't have quite the knowledge they need, or they don't have the resources. But anyway, it was interesting and informative all around, and I felt one of those "Peace Corps Moments" where you think that maybe you are making a difference.

In the midst of all of this going back to site, waiting for our house, starting school again, I sort of had a break down. All the time away from site, all the stress of school, all the waiting for our house sort of culminated in a giant WHY...why am I here, why am I doing this? I thought maybe I was ducking out of "the real world" or missing out on something at home, something like getting a real paying job or figuring out grad school. And although I am still answering this question and probably will still be trying to figure out long after I've left, I realized that there is no one "real world," and doing the Peace Corps, for me, has not really been about "not wanting to have a life," as one of my friends at home so delicately put it, but rather about doing something different for a change. The "real world," the career and family and worries, the American dream (whatever that is), will always be there, waiting for me when I get home. Right now, I'm experiencing a different "real world," and learning that there are many facets to that phrase, and none of them is any realer or truer than any of the others. Right now, my real world is getting to normal, and it's pretty good.

Visual Aid

So hopefully, these "visual aids" that I've developed in lieu of an actual update will help you all imagine my life over here a little bit better. Like they say...a picture's worth a thousand words.

Above: The main drag of Inhassoro. You are looking north. Over your right shoulder is the Indian Ocean. To your left is the bakery (where we buy bread every single day) and the "supermarket" (it's the building, that, if you look closely, has the Shell sign on it). Behind this bustling main street is the other market (the rickety stall one) and then the school. More pictures of that later. Straight ahead, the road curves, and you are headed up a small hill and out of Inhassoro. Later on in this day, those ominous clouds split open and the ocean poured down on us from above. It was amazing.

Our school, after the cyclone. It looks much better now. Has a roof at least, and all that metal in the front (the old roof) is now gone and being replaced by rocks and shrubbery.

The beach at Inhassoro. Don't be jealous. This is what Peace Corps is all about.

Me and my lovely roommate Katie, on the day we were sworn in as volunteers (also known as The Day Before We Knew What the Heck We Were Getting Into). Our town is convinced we are sisters. Hmmm...I wonder why.

More Later.

Love,

Alison

Bits and Pieces

So. Been awhile. Much to say. Problem is, I don't feel like saying a lot of what I was going to say because last week a cyclone named Favio rolled into the Mozambican channel and right up the coast, coming ashore a bit south of my site and wreaking a terrible path of destruction. So terrible that people's homes and livelihoods (mine included) are temporarily ruined, if not completely destroyed. And so the thing is, even though I was preparing to post a bunch of stuff about life at my new site and the process of adjustment, I'm just not sure how much it applies anymore, not least of all because I'm not sure what exactly remains of my site.

For instance, I was going to write a whole post about my site transfer, because, really, Peace Corps doesn't transfer people. It's a very rare security or health issue that results in a site transfer...because Peace Corps assumes that if you're not happy at the site that you've been placed at, you won't really be happy in the Peace Corps. (At least, that is my impression of PC Moz). And by and large, they are right. There is a certain period of adjustment after getting to site, an overwhelming time when you first try to get food, then water, then figure out how to set up your household, then figure out how to interact with community members, etc, in a outward spiral of involvement. I think this is pretty overwhelming to do in the States for the first time, and so it is that much more difficult when you're operating under limited circumstances in a completely foreign place. So...to come back to the point, Peace Corps Moz does not transfer Volunteers for housing reasons, or roommate reasons, or lack-of-beach reasons, or any reason other than a threat to safety or health. Peace Corps would not have moved me from Angoche simply because our housing situation was not what was expected. They moved me because an opportunity came up for two schools to still receive two teachers, and that is that. Unfortunately, for me, although my site and my roommate and everything is glorious, it was an extra period of adjustment to transfer from one site to another, and I was going to write a post about it. Something along the lines of: Peace Corps Moz doesn't transfer people because your site is your site unless something drastic happens. They know you get attached to that site from the moment you are assigned to it, and they know it is generally more disruptive to move a Volunteer than for that Volunteer to work out whatever housing/roommate/general adjustment issues might occur. So I had wanted to clear that up.

I was also working on another post about our community's reaction to having two (three really, I have a sitemate at another school) foreigners plopped down in the middle of it, claiming they were going to live there for gasp! two years! and teach in the secondary school! etc. It was going to be a rather witty post (I was hoping), along the lines of "Newsflash! Aliens Take up Residence in Small Coastal town of Inhassoro, Mozambique!" and discussing some of the various reactions we've had, from outright disbelief (you're lying!) to welcome, to asking for money or water or books, to simply hanging out on our front porch, shooting the shit.

Then, I was going to write something about the marketplace in Inhassoro, which I visit nearly every day, wending my way through the rickety stalls to buy tomatoes or onions or pasta. The marketplace is the heart and soul of many an African village, and Inhassoro's is no different as a place to buy food or a new tshirt or a beer, or simply a place to chat with neighbors or catch a glimpse of the latest episode of a brazilian soap opera on the tv that someone has rigged up amidst the lean-tos.

And finally, I wanted to tell you all somthing about The Other Side, or How I'm Becoming a Teacher. Because going from student to teacher is difficult. I never quite realized how hard teaching is, or how much preparation goes into each lesson, especially a good lesson. And things are particularly trying when you don't have things like textbooks or photocopiers (what I woudn't give for a photocopier!) and the maximum exposure that your students have to the English language is the 2 and a half hours they spend in the classroom with you. It can be hard to figure out how to motivate the kids under such circumstances, let alone keeping oneself motivated. By and large,though, it was a challenge I was enjoying.

But all of that was blown away, literally and figuratively, in the first major cyclone to hit southern Mozambique in (I think) five years. My house is the least of anyone's worries, but it too was destroyed, along with all the clothing, books, and pictures I left behind when we were evacuated. It may take awhile to rebuild, and that's ok, because the people of Inhassoro are busy rebuilding their own homes, salvaging what's left of their farms, and trying to figure out how to move on when their already hard existence has just gotten that much harder. Until then, it's bits and pieces.

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.