Adjusting to Site: Weeks 4-10

Pouco a Pouco (Little by Little): Working with My Organizations

The beginning of my Peace Corps service has definitely been a test in patience. First were the holidays. Then came the rainy season on crack. Throw in lots of demorrar-ing and atrasar-ing (taking a long time and running late), and it’s not until mid-February that I finally have my first full week of work. So what did I do for those first two months? I cleaned my house from top to bottom. I painted parts of my kitchen (pictures coming soon) and had curtains and tablecloths made. I read A LOT. And I watched three seasons of True Blood, five seasons of How I Met Your Mother, a season and a half of Glee, and various movies. And just when I was about to lose it, Caitlin, a PCV in a nearby town, moved in with me for a while because her house flooded due to the aforementioned absurd amount of rain. She’s been living with me for three weeks now, her organization is still looking for a new house, and it’s been a lot of fun.

The rain had such a dramatic effect on my work schedule because both of my organizations, Associação Crista and AJAAB, are so community-based. They don’t have their own offices; Associação Crista uses a local Bible school to do occasional paperwork, and AJAAB has its meetings on the porch of a driving school or in a classroom at the secondary school. All events are either outdoors or require a significant amount of walking for some of the attendees or leaders. When it rains, everything shuts down.

Now that I am working, it’s going well so far. I’ve mainly been accompanying activistas on home visits to check on and offer support to orphans and vulnerable children (OVCs), elderly widows, and the ill throughout the various neighborhoods of Macia and sitting in on meetings. Slowly I am seeing more and more of the activities of each organization, such as visits to an escolinha (pre-school) with AJAAB and community palestras (lessons) about HIV prevention with Associação Crista.

Pouco a Pouco: Community Integration

Community integration is also a long process. Macia is centered on its large market along the EN1, a major roadway in southern Mozambique, effectively making the town a large road stop. While this brings lots of benefits for me, not the least of which is the increased variety of produce and goods for sale, it also made integration more difficult initially. My first few weeks were full of teenage boys surrounding me trying to sell bags of cashews and cell phone credit and neighbors giving me “what the fuck” looks when I greeted them in Portuguese. But slowly, as people see me walking around town more and more, they realize I’m not just a South African or Portuguese tourist passing through on my way to the beach, and now it’s unusual for my greetings to go unanswered.

It’s a process that will continue throughout my two years of service, and it certainly has its ups and downs. For example, just this past week I invited a woman, who had previously invited me over her house, and her two teenage daughters over to my house for cake. I made a cake, bought refrigerated fruit juice to serve, and had my straw mat ready to go. The afternoon came and went, and they never showed up or responded to my texts. And to add insult to injury, the power went out and I was never able to bake the cake. But when one Mozambican woman stands you up, three others sit down on your porch after an afternoon of home visits and want to be served food and drink. So only a few days later I finally had my first Mozambican hosting experience, and luckily I had made plenty of pasta salad earlier in the day. The woman approved of the salad and plan to invite me over to their houses to teach me to make Mozambican dishes, which I’m really excited about.

Bugs

When I first moved into my house, cockroaches were a major problem. As soon as darkness fell, 2+ inch-long roaches would invade. I sought refuge under my mosquito net but could still hear the big ones roaming around my room. Thankfully, after thoroughly fumigating my house with two cans of the bug killer Baygon, I have emerged victorious. The morning after spraying, it was both horrifying and satisfying to find 23 corpses in my kitchen alone.

Unfortunately, a sudden proliferation of spiders has since appeared. One night, I went out to my porch to enter my kitchen for some toilet paper (my bedroom and kitchen are not connected), and froze in horror. Right outside my kitchen door was a huge skeletal-looking tan spider. It took me about one second to surrender; using notebook paper was a much lesser evil than facing that monster. Turns out it was a baboon spider, a type of tarantula.

Thankfully that monster has yet to make a second appearance, but my bathroom has become reminiscent of the basement scene at the end of Arachnophobia. After painting my house all day, I took a shower much later than I normally would. When I got in the shower and turned the water on, something big and dark ran on the wall mere inches away from me. It’s pretty normal to have lizards around my shower, but I looked to make sure and proceeded to scream. It was a spider with a 4-inch diameter, no exaggeration, and huge eyes. I’m sure of the measurement because after I jumped out of the shower I was frozen in fear for a few minutes, just staring at the spider as I whimpered. Eventually I made a dash to the kitchen for some Baygon and then unloaded about half a can onto the creature. It started to run and made it out the door by the time I stopped screaming and grabbed a shampoo bottle to chuck at it. The target was hit, and I squashed it some more for good measure. The next morning, all that remained were some chicken footprints right outside my bathroom and shit on my porch. Its brethren still make regular appearances throughout my house, especially the bathroom, but after battling with motherfucking Grendel, 1-3 inch spiders don’t seem so bad. But I do scream like Billy Madison after his classmate pees his pants each time.

Cooking

I have never enjoyed cooking; through college, I relied heavily on lean cuisines and the like. But two factors have led me to take up learning to cook as a hobby here: I love to eat, and I have had absurd amounts of free time. And since Caitlin moved in with me, cooking has only become more elaborate. I’m working my way through “You Can Make It in Mozambique,” a Peace Corps cook book. I’m not going to be making anything gourmet anytime soon, this certainly is no Julie & Julia, but thank God for that since that would make me the annoying Amy Adams character with a terrible haircut. Highlights so far include: tortillas, guacamole, pineapple salsa, home fries, vegetable soup, vegetarian chili, garlic bread, hummus, tomato sauce, and pineapple-upside down cake. All from scratch, bitches. And the baking, sans oven (I make a “dutch oven” by putting small stones inside a large pot, putting the baking tin on top of the stones inside the pot, and then the lid on top of the pot). And from this hobby, another hobby has emerged: hunting for spices and other ingredients in various towns. Look for “You Can Make It in Mozambique: Now with New Revisions by Megan Lawless and Caitlin Rosenberg” in stores in approximately two years.

My Most Embarrassing Experience

If you read my last blog post, then you know that my stomach has been struggling here. Unsurprisingly, it played a starring role in my most embarrassing experience thus far in Mozambique. I had actually been doing really well until one fateful Thursday afternoon, which because of rain, was my first day of work all week. My coworker and I were meeting people in Bairro (neighborhood) 5 when the stomach pains started. I asked to use the bathroom, which turned out to be an uncovered but walled space with large stones on the ground. Only large stones. Confused, I asked the dona da casa (woman of the house) were the pit was located. Turns out, there is none. The bathroom is just a place to fazer xixi (pee) and tomar banho (bathe). Two men then took me to the yard of a neighborhood with a pit latrine. There wasn’t much of a pit left as the hole was less than a foot deep, which made it impossible not to see that it was full of maggots. But when nature calls in Africa, she stalker-dials you until you answer, so I used it. A bit later, while waiting for yet another person (I spend a significant amount of time waiting, clearly), my stomach started hurting again. I explained to my counterpart that I was sick and needed to go home. So they started walking me back and asked if I wanted to use a bathroom, again. Another complete stranger graciously led me to their bathroom, which had a (seatless) toilet, a real luxury here. After an embarrassing amount of time, we went to the meeting. My coworker officially introduced me to the leader of Bairro 5, and we all sat for a while as people from my organization and various community leaders talked in Changana, the local dialect. Even though I only know a few phrases in Changana, it was clear I was the topic of discussion (looks like diarrhea is pretty much the same in every language). At the beginning, a coworker translated into Portuguese that the leader said warm Coca-Cola would help my stomach, and thus everyone was served sodas, mine warm of course. And at the end, one of the attendees thanked my coworker for bringing the doente (sick person) to the meeting, since everyone got sodas because of me.

As mortifying as the experience was, I couldn’t help but be impressed by how understanding and compassionate everyone was. Without hesitation, several complete strangers allowed me to use their bathrooms, which clearly is not something to take for granted in impoverished communities. Additionally, everyone had such great senses of humor about the situation. It’s hard to imagine a family simply not having a latrine, as was the case in the first house, but that’s not uncommon here. But really, the take home lesson is that given a week with me going stir-crazy due to rain, my stomach will choose the only two hours I get to work to be a total bitch.

Skype Dates & Care Packages - UPDATED

Skype: If you want to skype, we need to arrange a time in advance as the internet café is about an hour away, and we have to be done by 10am EST so that I have plenty of time to get home before dusk. Unfortunately, the café is closed on weekends. I usually find out my schedule the weekend before, but if you have a stricter schedule, let me know in advance about any holidays, and I’ll try my best. Can't wait to see your cute face!

Care Packages: Please don’t feel like you have to send care packages, messages and emails are all I ask for. If you really want to though, here’s some information for you.

Address

Megan Lawless, PCV

C.P. 85
Xai Xai, Mozambique

Wish List

-Drink packets! (Wyeler’s lemonade and pink lemonade, Ocean Spray, Gatorade)

-Books: You don’t have to buy anything, but any books you’re done with and want to pass along would be appreciated. Let me know if you want it returned eventually. You also might want to check with me if I’ve read it since I’ve been reading a lot here.

-Mix CDs, especially with new music. The music on my iPod is getting real old.

-Quaker Oats Chewy Granola Bars - chocolate chip

-New movies/tv episodes: Don’t buy anything, but if you understand technology better than me and can burn things onto CDs, that would be awesome.

-Candy: Things that won’t melt. Skittles, starbust, airheads, and sour patch kids have survived. Jolly ranchers, and gummy worms have melted (I'll still eat them, of course). Nothing chocolate. Individual packets, Halloween-style, are great because I can ration it.

-Coloring books (no markers, though, I have plenty) and simple games to bribe kids to hang out with me. Examples of games I have that work well: animal bingo, barrel of monkeys, puzzle map of the U.S.

-Goya rice packets (primavera, black beans, and red beans) are great for busy days when I don't have time to cook.

-Trashy magazines: I would shamelessly welcome tabloids or Cosmo; they're a nice escape.

Thanks in advance! Things have been taking even longer to arrive now that I'm at site, but I'll let you know when I receive anything!

New pictures! Swearing in and my house in Macia

To see the rest click the flag:

Megan in Mozambique

Being a Foreign Woman in Mozambique

Being female and foreign presents additional challenges here in Mozambique. Mild sexual harassment occurs whenever I leave my house, but it’s really more annoying than anything else. For example, during a brief trip to the gas station (about 10-15 mins each direction) I was offered a ride (which isn’t always creepy but the statement “you’re pretty, let me give you a ride” raises some red flags), was asked for my number twice, and called over (sometimes with a lewd noise that sounds like “psssst!”) by men numerous times. Generally, I just ignore, decline, or stretch the truth (“my phone is only for work” or “I already have a namorado”; the latter has a surprisingly high fail rate).

Unfortunately, in Mozambique it is extremely difficult to have cross-gender platonic relationships. This makes integration more difficult as men (especially young men) are much more likely to have free time. So far I’ve only meet a handful of women around my age, whereas I have met many young men. My best Portuguese conversation with a Mozambican since I’ve been in Macia was with the 22-year-old carpenter who changed my locks. At one point, we were discussing soccer. He asked me, “You know Ghana?” so I answered yes. He smiled and said, “They beat you.” The fact that he was mocking the US soccer team was hilarious. Of course, this was a very short-lived friendship since he shortly thereafter asked for my number. My refusal might sound cold; maybe he did actually want to be friends. However, that would be a rare exception and until my Portuguese improves and I become more familiar with gender relations, I’m sticking to that.

There’s another side to being female in Mozambique that’s bothersome in an entirely different way, especially when one is a proud feminist and regular Jezebel (a feminist blog) reader, and that’s the traditional gender roles. Since I’m foreign I’m already regarded as a bit of a freak and thus am much less expected to conform, thankfully. For a Christmas party for orphans and vulnerable children (OVCs), the women prepared a meal for several dozen kids. The meal was preceded by a few songs, and one of the older men turned to me and jokingly asked, “So are you just going to accompany the kids?” Confused, I looked around the room and realized all of the other women had left to start serving the food. I was very tempted to say, “Fuck you, dude, go serve me.” However, I decided it was much more important to me to show solidarity with the women than to win this battle with the man.

The issue of gender roles is very complex, of course, and is not just the result of obnoxious men. I spent a day helping to construct a home for an elderly woman, and both the men and women found my insistence to help with the build bizarre. Two women were present and prepared meals for the men working. I hung out with them at first, talking in the shade. When I joined the build (to his credit, my counterpart called me over to join), it was clear many of the men found it amusing that I insisted on working with them, but they let me. They repeatedly told me to go rest in the shade, but I’m sure my previously-mentioned tendency to turn bright red in heat played a role. When I eventually took a break, the women declared construction “men’s work.” They found it amusing as well that I “like to do work” (as if chasing down a chicken, plucking it, and cooking it wasn’t work). When it was time for meals, I was offered a chair at the table with the men as opposed to a spot on the straw mat with the women, more due to my status as a foreigner and something of a guest in the country than to my insistence on doing “men’s work.” Once again, though, I insisted on sitting with the women, not to fulfill gender roles but to show solidarity.

First 3 Weeks at Site

Adjustment to Life in Macia

My first week as a resident of Macia was predominantly about meeting my basic needs. Thankfully the town is centered on a large market along the main highway in Mozambique, so I was easily able to purchase an electric 2-burner stovetop and some other basic cooking necessities. Even with electricity and running water, however, just carrying out the daily cooking and cleaning can be exhausting. I eat a lot of potatoes, tomatoes, bananas, and onions as they are the most widely available in the market. Not the most balanced diet, but onions always kept me from getting scurvy in Oregon Trail, so I’ll be fine. With a little more effort and meticais, other produce as well as canned beans and tuna can be found in the market as well. I plan on being mainly vegetarian until Shop Rite (the Mozambican equivalent of Wal-Mart) opens in my town and I can purchase previously-killed and plucked chicken.

Overall, my adjustment is going pretty well. It is definitely frustrating at times, especially since I’m often tired, hungry, thirsty, and hot. The heat in particular is a big change, as the temperature frequently hits 90 degrees by 8am. Braving the heat one afternoon to buy a standing fan (totally worth it), I had multiple Mozambicans ask me if I was feeling okay. Not used to white girls of Irish descent turning bright red and sweating profusely, I guess. A puppy back home (shout out to Casey Schneiderman, love you bitch) would act out when she needed to be let outside to pee. Similar to that dog, I’ve found that when I start to get in a bad mood, it’s a sign that I need to take a cold shower. (Yes, that’s a very bizarre analogy, but that’s what happens when you have a lot of alone time.) However, my body is adjusting. When the temperature dropped to just under 70 degrees the last week of training, I wore jeans and a North Face sweater. Maybe in a year I’ll be like the Mozambican worker at an internet café with air conditioning who had to keep running outside to escape the cold.

Highlights thus far:

• A Christmas party for orphans and vulnerable children: For a couple hours before the meal was served, I played games and sang songs with the kids, including Duck Duck Goose, Simon Says, Red Light Green Light, Sharks and Minnows (Lions and Zebras), and the Hokey Pokey, all roughly translated into Portuguese. It was one of my favorite days in Mozambique.

• A local radio station interview: Along with two other women from the same organization that held the party, our president interviewed us about the party and current events. Personally, I was asked various questions including how Christmas is celebrated in the United States and if I think education is important.

• Christmas at Xai-Xai: For the holiday, most of the volunteers in my province rented a house at Xai-Xai beach. It was a much-needed break from site, and spending the holiday with American friends helped missing celebrating with family back home.

My House (see pictures!)

My house is a depedencia, which means it shares a yard with a bigger house. I have a bedroom, kitchen/dining room, and a bathroom. None of them are connected; rather, they all open to a shared porch. So far, the electricity and running water have been fairly reliable. My counterpart from the faith-based organization lives in the main house with a wife (of three) and several kids (of 12) and grandkids. The children are cute and often come over to my porch to color. Finally, the location is great, as I’m far enough off the main road to feel safe but still only a ten minute walk from the market.

Random Bits of American Culture

Why certain parts of American culture make it to Mozambique and others don’t (sorry, Kanye) is a great mystery to me. Michael Bolton, Celine Dion, James Blunt (he's much more than a one hit wonder here) and the musical stylings of a Mr. Kenny G are pretty standard. If I ask a Mozambican which American movies they like, I usually recognize none of the titles with one exception… Rambo. Additionally, Mozambicans love to try out their English with me, and it’s often pretty funny. For example, a neighbor wished me “Merry X-Mas!” and a teenage boy declared, “Hellooooo, ladies” as I walked past alone. One morning a girl yelled “HALLO!” in such a way that I couldn’t help but laugh until I realized that this is what I sound like to Mozambicans constantly.

The D-Word: Shits and No Giggles

Warning: the following is especially for those weak of stomach. One of my favorite discussion topics is TMI (too much information; the other is fofoca, which means gossip) but if you don’t enjoy hearing about bodily functions, stop now.

Anyway, one can’t live or travel within a developing country without experiencing diarrhea. It’s a less-than-fun fact of life, especially for those who possess the “Lawless stomach.” That name is perfect, because not only is it passed (ha! poop joke) down from my dad’s side of the family, but it describes a stomach with no master. Pepto Bismal and Immodium be damned. It has definitely been my greatest challenge as a Peace Corps Volunteer so far, and a round of antibiotics offered only a brief reprieve. I never leave the house without toilet paper as Mozambique is mainly BYOTP and I don’t want to have to use notebook paper a second time. But hey, I heard a trainee in a previous group couldn’t find his latrine in the middle of the night, shit all over his backyard, and woke to find his homestay family sweeping it up. At least I haven’t done that.

Engordar (to gain weight)

Engordar-ing is generally a positive thing here and was a stated goal of my host mother. Despite the fact that food rarely stayed in my body for very long, she declared the mission a success. Unfortunately, under the carb-intensive Mozambican diet, American women typically gain weight while men lose weight. One of my first nights at site, at the exact moment that I was rubbing my pão (bread) stomach, my bed frame broke. On the other hand, I store my money in the world’s greatest money belt, my bra, and often forget to remove it, so I frequently make it rain when I get undressed to tomar banho. I’m choosing to go with the latter (that bed frame was shitty to begin with), but I’m glad to have control over what I eat finally. Plus I’ve kicked my pack-a-day cookie habit.