New pictures! Swearing in and my house in Macia

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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.