As I mentioned in ost, the host of blife-skills that
I’ve acquired during my adventures overseas smoothed tkilometersfor my transition
to Machanga, but one can only be so prepared. There are inevitably challenges
along the way. So you don’t think that Machanga is all sunshine and coconut
trees, I’ll take a moment share some of the rocky bits that come my way.
Life as an MCC service worker is not for the faint of heart
my friends. The shear size and number of strange insects one encounters here
would send a more fearful person running back for the comfort of Canada. In
Canada, where there are no scorpions and no terrifying spiders the size of your
palm that run fast as lightening. In Canada, where most people think snakes are
interesting not deadly. My neighbours now know when they hear strange shrieks
and yells coming from my house it is probably just a creepy inspect and they
come take care of it, since obviously I can’t handle it on my own. Thankfully,
I also have a cat who I’ve seen take down one of the previously mentioned
spiders and EAT THE WHOLE THING. All in all, I’m in good hands.
You may laugh, or think I’m not being serious, but a real
challenge for me is constantly being the centre of attention. To always be
noticed, to always be watched, to always have people ask if your hair is real.
For someone who generally aims to stay OUT of the spotlight, it can be trying
at times. How I long to just be normal. Some days I deal with this better than
others. Most of the time I smile and say hello to all the little kids like we
haven’t done this 100’s of times. But some days I just can’t.
This story does not show me at my best, but it is worth the telling.
One day I was cycling home and a little kid came up on the road behind me on
her bicycle. She was maybe 10 or 12 years old. She started following really
close behind me. I tried to start a conversation, but it didn’t get much beyond
hellos. I was beginning to get annoyed. What was supposed to be a calm and solitary
bike ride home was turning out to be neither of those. Like the mean, awful
person I am, I stopped cycling on the pretence of answering my phone, though no
one called. The girl slowed down but eventually had to pass me. I started
biking again, following right on her back wheel. She turned around, obviously
not liking it. I asked her “What’s wrong? I’m following you, don’t you like
it?” She replied, “No.” I said, “Why not?” She answered, “It’s not very nice.”
She turned into her driveway and I continued on home finally alone, if not
calm. I felt bad; she was just a kid. I should have been the grown-up. But I think we
both learned something that day about respect and loving our neighbours.
Some challenges make life difficult, other make life fun and
interesting. Take language for example. I have a bit of a knack for learning
languages. I haven’t gone at it with my usual fervor this time, but every
little bit I have picked up helps. Many of my agriculture students are people from
the community and a good number of them speak less Portuguese than I do, even
though Portuguese is the official language that it is used in schools. It makes
classes interesting; I try create a learning space where discussion can happen
freely in both languages, and will often ask someone to translate the more important
concepts into Ndau. Every week I make a point to learn a couple new words in
Ndau that relate to agriculture. I may not be able to ask how much the shrimp
costs, but I do know the words for mulch, animal manure, plants, goats,
ploughing, and watering.
Perhaps the most difficult challenge for me is communicating
to my Mozambican friends acquaintances what is difficult and stressful for me,
and what isn’t. Let me give an example. The day before Easter Sunday I got up
at 4 AM and went with Amelia, the pastor’s wife, to her field. It took around
an hour to walk there. I helped her harvest maize for a few hours and even
carried some back on my head. I had a wonderful morning: the fields are beautiful
at sunrise, I learned about harvesting maize, I discovered how serious the lack
of rain really was this year and saw how the harvest suffered because of it, I
spent time chatting with a good friend as we worked, I gained a deeper respect
for how hard women must work in order to feed their families. I tried to ignore the curious stares
from the people we passed on the way home; me with my small bag of maize
perched on my head. Amelia translated some of their comments and questions for
me; “what is that white girl doing? Why is that white girl suffering working in
the fields?” They didn’t get it. How could they? I’m not even sure I knew what I was doing there, but I do
know the value of what I learned that morning.
That same evening there was a church service to bring in
Easter Sunday. It didn’t start until 10:30 PM. Crammed on a small bench,
pressed on both sides by other people in a dark room, loud music, drums, stuffy
hot air, no one apparently in charge and no obvious program other than singing
and dancing, not understanding a word of what going on because it was all in
Ndau, the prospect of all this continuing until 6 AM… I just couldn’t do it! I
managed to last an hour and a half before I told people I was tired and slipped
out. I’m pretty sure there were tears of exhaustion in my eyes as I closed the
door to my house and kicked of my shoes. How could they stand that for so many
hours, so late at night?? You call harvesting maize suffering?! We’ve come a
long way Mozambique and I, but there are still some kinks in our relationship
that need to be worked out with patience and love, and occasionally a big
steaming mug of hot chocolate.
Poster shot of me carying maize on my head. By the end of our hour long treck back from the field it felt like 25 kg, though I'm sure it couldn't have been much more than 5.
the road to my house as it was one afternoon as i was cycling home from teaching. There were still a couple kilometers to go when i took this picture. I made it back but only just.
