Just Another Mos in MOZ

First, about the title:  as some of you know, I transferred from Cabo Verde to Mozambique.  I lived and worked in the capital city of Praia, on the island of Santiago.  Though I taught English college reading and writing, as well as communication at a university there for an academic year, most days I spoke Kriolu de Kabu Verdi. In Kriolu, the word mos means “guy,” “dude,” or, I suppose, “chap,” or “bloke,” since Cabo Verde receives more British tourists than Americans.  But mos actually comes from Brazilian Portuguese, which many Cape Verdeans prefer over the European.  And so I am a mos, one of the “dirty dozen”--thanks for this appellation, Kim--that transferred from Kabu Verdi to The Wonderful Land of Moz (aka, Moçambique). 

I’ll post my response to Peace Corps’ closing in Kabu Verdi later.  It’s been months now since I’ve been processing our displacement.  For now I just want to introduce this blog, my first, and to sketch out some of my goals in it.  In Cape Verde I was not able to keep up with my writing, perhaps because the atmosphere, the bomping island culture, especially in the capital, was a little too much for me.  But really I’ve never been able to keep up a log anywhere on a regular basis, despite good beginnings and intentions.  The big move from the U.S. to Cape Verde, and then to Mozambique brings on, after all the fireworks of excitement, a sense of loss and longing.  Writing, I hope, will help as a guide and keep me connected, if not with others, then at least with myself. 

I was originally turned off by blogging—I used to (and still do) just email friends in the states. Writing emails to friends is a lot like writing letters—they are personal and private correspondences with clear readers, qualities which seem to me absent in blogging.  Blogs seem too self-centered, a self-indulgent artifact of (youthful) cyber-culture, of which I don’t (or didn’t) want to be a part.  But perhaps now, more than ever, I need to be a bit more self-centered.  Writing, recording, chronicling, can help reduce a sense of dislocation for someone who has, over the years, been an outsider from one country to the next, from Cape Verde to Mozambique (even from the Philippines to the U.S.). So here I am. Here in The Wonderful Land of Moz.  Writing to you all.    

So who are you?  Friends, I hope.  Readers who’ll understand.  

My response to the closing of Peace Corps Cape Verde

The following is my response to the closing of Peace Corps Cape Verde.  It was first published in “Nobas: Peace Corps Volunteer Newsletter” (March 2012).  The editors of “Nobas” made some cosmetic changes and omitted (or censored?) one line from my original.  “Nobas” was volunteer run.  I did not expect other volunteers to be so exclusive and repressive of another’s ideas.  I’m posting it here with my own revisions.

Mooning Chã das Caldeiras New Year’s Eve Day

By A.P.

            Anyone who's trekked up Cape Verde's signature vulcão will know how treacherous it is.  It starts out easy enough, but within a few meters the hike gets so rocky that a hiker can easily twist an ankle, trip, and/or crack a skull. Farther along, the trail gets so steep you'll be using your hands (and scraping them) to climb up sharp, jagged-edged boulders of hardened lava. It is not a hike for beginners. And it's certainly not a hike for someone who's got the squirts.

            Well, you might say, duh! Who in their right mind would go anywhere while undergoing some good ol' Peace Corps GI Training. Alright, so maybe I wasn't in my "right mind." But the beauty of the Caldeiras, its rough terrain and austere volcano will tempt any a nature lover.  And, as our CD advised, "Seize the day." It was New Year's Eve, after all, and I came to Fogo to hike Fogo, so I made the decision that morning when I saw the rims of the Caldeiras ablaze by the sunrise that I will subi, diarrhea notwhithstanding.  Little did I know that the diablo na nha barriga had not yet awakened as we started our ascent. 

            The decision to subi, however, wasn't completely based on ignorance or lack of awareness. I knew well enough to bring toilet paper, for example. I knew what the possible consequences were. But of course, like many important decisions, awareness isn't enough. A rockclimber, for example, may see or feel a hold, may even have experience enough to judge the hold sufficient, but she still needs luck to reach that hold, and to stick to it, or else fall off the climb. A lover, as another example, doesn't just fall in love--he's aware of some attraction, decides to make a move, and, with some luck, the attraction is reciprocated so that falling can come to fruition; otherwise, it's nothing but self-indulgent, sentimental sappiness. Or young love, I suppose. . .

            So, awareness and experience--supposed ingredients to produce prudent decisions. I had a good amount of both, I thought, but my decision to summit was undoubtedly imprudent. I was in pain so excrutiating throughout most of the hike that I did my best to tune out others' frolicsome banter, to concentrate on appeasing nha diablo. The sights were not very moving for me because my bowels were.  [Here, a good friend of mine suggests I be more descriptive, to add more details; however, I may have repressed those details to focus on soothing my insides.]   I've completed many, many hikes, and never have I been the "sweeper" at the tail end until this Fogo hike. Everyone had to stop and wait for me.  I still did reach the top, however, and was able to hop-skip down the gravelly slope. So. I came. I shat. I conquered. But I was no badass.

            I was lucky. Even before the big, bad news of first-years getting cut off from a second in Cape Verde, even before we had run out of luck, I knew I was lucky to have summitted Fogo.  And I don't mean just lucky physically that my intestines didn't burst (though, thank heavens, they didn't). I mean fortunate to have done what I had set out to do. In spite of everything, I got shit done. And for that I left Fogo on the "Fast” Ferry grateful and glad. Or rather, Fogo left me kontenti. 

            I hold the memory of our trip to Fogo, look back on it with cheer and good-humor. It was a full experience. In spite or because of the hardship, it is one of those experiences that I can take full ownership of, an experience full of meaning. Now, as we all close our service, I’m already inflicted with sodade, a different kind of hardship, a sadness and a longing for this small part of Cape Verde that I tried to make my home. I don’t want to leave. This “graduation” is not gradual. It doesn’t make sense. The work, the friendships and the projects, are just opening up, and now we have to close them down? Thus, much of the inner-work as I make peace with the “interrupted service” ahead has been to try to fill up the interruption and rupture with more meaning. To respond to questions like, what’s the point of our training in Cape Verde? Peace Corps Cape Verde 2011-2012? What was that all about? After Mozambique, perhaps, upon reflection, maybe, it will make some sense.

            On our "Fast” Ferry ride back to Praia, a passenger advised another: Forsa--dexa bai.  Be strong--let it go. Fight the good fight--then surrender to your fate. The passenger was consoling another in the throes of hurling, but I recall it here because it reminds me of the advice to “finish strong.” I confess, though, that I’m bogged down with txeu movimentu, bram-bram demas. I’m not sure I can with forsa take what the gods have given. Or what they haven’t given, as the case may be. And I certainly don’t want to let go. At least not yet.

Reflections on PST 2.0

So, my housemate Rich and I have been at site (Cuamba, Niassa) for almost two weeks now.  After the ten week Pre-Service Training (PST), which started the end of September, we now face new personal, professional (even entomological) challenges and discoveries.  But more on site challenges and discoveries later.  For now I’d like to go back to what Cape Verde Transfers have dubbed as PST 2.0.

                Unlike our “Peace Corps Trainee” (PCT) counterparts who underwent “staging” in the Pennsylvania right before coming to Mozambique, Cape Verde Education Volunteer Transfers did staging over a year ago in Boston right before coming to Cape Verde in July 2011.  So on September 26, 2012 we flew not from the States, but from Praia, Cabo Verde to the island of Sal, and then from Sal to Lisbon, Portugal, and then finally to Maputo, Mozambique.  While PCTs were getting to know Peace Corps and each other, Cape Verde Transfers (or CVTs. . . acronyms are ubiquitous in PC, my apologies) had our despedida party, which, as our gracious Country Director explained in his speech, was probably the last time PC volunteers would be getting together with PC staff in Cabo Verde.  The highlight of the despedida for me was the live musical performances, especially the one by our PCMO Dra. Maria.  I still remember her morna voice, with her husband on guitar.  Soulful.  For those who have a recording of that night, I would love to get a copy.

                Now, the first leg of our trip to Mozambique wasn’t too stressful, except that I lost my passport and didn’t even know it till PC staff informed me (thanks so much Reis!).  I did think I would have to stay in Cape Verde to wait for a new passport, which was not my plan at all. . . I’m not that diabolical.  Really.  

Anyway, when we arrived in Sal, a group of us met up with Patrick, a new “Returned Peace Corps Volunteer” (or RPCV), who had not yet returned to the States, but had been vacationing on the island.  Patrick was an Information Technology volunteer on the island of São Nicolau. He, Don, Brendan, Alexandra, Szasha, Sadie and I checked out the beaches of Sal.

                When we arrived in Lisbon, I got a little freaked out by how big, how clean, and how “first world,” everything was.  The long shuttle ride from the plane to the airport terminals was approximately the same distance as from our Praia apartment to downtown Plateau.  We saw parking lots full of cars and streets with traffic lights.  The grand hallways of Lisbon airport could probably house several dozens of the canopy-covered waiting area of Praia airport.  I don’t mean to put down Praia.  All I’m saying is that, having lived there for over a year, the first-world amenities seemed foreign and strange, which I didn’t mind at all.  It was as if I was re-discovering the “first world.”

                Many would say, however, that Praia, Cape Verde, is very well developed, what with its internet cafes (we had wireless internet in our apartment), high literacy rate, and classification as “Middle-Income Country.”  Having been in Mozambique for almost three months, I do think we were a bit spoiled in Cabo Verde.

                But Maputo, Mozambique boasts plenty of amenities and super chic restaurants that Praia does not have.  There’s nothing in Cape Verde like the posh hotel we stayed in, for example.  Nor the Thai, Indian, Chinese, Pakistani restaurants.  Nonetheless, PST 2.0 was not posh at all.  For most, if not all, of us PCT’s and CVT’s, homestay in the town of Namaacha was difficult.  We understood that our homestay families were very poor and that we all had to be flexible in our new living situation.  What made this PST difficult for me the second time around were:  the cold weather, the food, and my sodade for Cabo Verde.

                Having lived in Cape Verde for over a year, and having spent my childhood in the Philippines, I’m unaccustomed to cold weather.  Not to mention that I did not expect it to be freakin’ freezing in Namaacha.  One evening it even started hailing—you could hear the ice pelting the tin roof of our house.  I nursed colds and minor flus for a good three weeks.  I’m sure the lack of sleep did not help my immune system to fight illnesses, but it was mainly the unexpected cold and wet-weather-living that got to me. The insufficient diet did not help either.  Yet here again, I have to say that I expected my homestay family to overfeed me, just like with my Cape Verdean host-family.  Instead, I often felt a lingering hunger due to the lack of protein and other nutrients in our homestay meals.

                The physical challenges were probably not as intolerable as the emotional ones.  In fact, our fellow PCT’s had to suffer through constant expressions of sodade, the Kriolu for loss and longing.  Thanks so much for everyone’s patience and understanding whenever we would go on these random rants and ravings that would often start with “In Cape Verde. . .”  Here are a few examples:  “In Cape Verde, there are all these jagged-edged peaks and miniature valleys, but here in Namaacha we’ve got very gentle slopes, and expansive mountains that line the horizon. . .”  “In Cape Verde, we would eat so much, our bellies would ache. . .” “In Cape Verde, I had an indoor toilet, not a latrine (mine was a ‘lathrone’ according to Ma Fe). . .” “In Cape Verde, the people partied a lot. . .” “In Cape Verde, they’ve got these turtles. . .” 

While on the outside we were in Mozambique, inside we were still in Cape Verde.  My gratitude to those that saw and understood what was/is inside of us.

                Literally going outside, though, helped not so much with forgetting Cape Verde, but with being in Mozambique.  On sunny days, a few PCT’s and I would go on hikes around Namaacha.  The lush green, the giant trees, and the great variety of trees made me start seeing Mozambique for what it is, not through the lens of another country, another history.     

The simple, physical activity of just taking walks helped me be more present in Namaacha, rather than be moody over some lost past.

                Site visits to the province of Inhambane were also highlights of PST 2.0 for me.  Here were my fellow site visitors, Cheyanne, Maggie, and Kim, strolling along the dock at Inhambane City with our gracious host PCV’s Theresa and Yvette:

I so want to visit Inhambane City again.

While I loved excursions outside of Namaacha, in homestay I loved my toddler host-brother, Pipito:

Don’t be fooled by his cherubim looks.  He’s angelic asleep, but a rascal awake.

                Just like my first PST, this PST 2.0 ended all too quickly.  I’m glad I got through it with fellow Cape Verde Transfers.  I’m happy I got to know PCT’s.  But I’m also struck by the fact that there are so many other PCVs that I never really befriended.

We were a class of 25 in Cape Verde, but there are 68 of us Moz19ers.  While we found close friends, it’s a shame that others only remained acquaintances.  It’s strange to look at these pictures during our swearing in as volunteers, and then afterwards at the “Teacher’s Bar.” There’s one or two that I hardly know, and then others that are good friends, allies through PST.  We shared struggles and stories.  Now, Post-PST, we all seem so far apart, spread out in such an enormous country.  I want to keep my allies.  I wish I was spending Christmas and New Years with family and friends. . . I know I can’t forget my friends and family here in Niassa, as well as the new challenges and discoveries ahead.

Still, I can’t wait to visit you all, and for y’all to visit me!