Teaching in Mozambique

I know that many of you, my dear fans, are teachers. I’ve always thought I’d enjoy teaching as well, therefore it is hardly surprising to me that I´ve landed a teaching position here in Mozambique. Here is a story of a typical day teaching in Mozambique.  However, it turns out this is less a story about teaching than about learning.

I teach English and Conservation Agriculture courses a couple times a week in various communities around the rural district of Machanga. This is a project through the local church, and my students are all farmers from the community.

Getting to class. After being here a couple months, I learned that the way to get around in Machanga is by the corta-matos (short-cuts, or literally bush-cuts). Narrow dirt tracks that cut through fields and skirt cleanly swept yards. Paths which have been in use long before there was a “proper” road, district offices, or government school in the area. I’m not convinced that these winding and bumpy tracks are any quicker or easier than the dirt road, but the path you know is always the shortest. These “short-cuts” do have two distinct advantages over the main road- there is much less dust, and the scenery is lovely.  

Taking attendance. In Canada, attendance is always taken at the beginning of class. I soon realized that would be a hopeless exercise with my students. I am lucky to have five students show up half an hour after the agreed start time. Throughout the hour long class people continue to dribble in. In a desperate attempt to get students to show up on time I even started passing by their houses on my way to class to let them know it was time. It didn’t really help. Once, I threatened to start taking attendance at the beginning of class to encourage them to show up on time. There was a pause, and then we all burst out laughing like that was the most ridiculous idea.

Mrs. Teacher. It is normal here for teachers to be addressed as Teacher or Mr./Mrs. Teacher (Senhora Professora), not using their name at all. This has always sounded so formal to my ears, but I am getting used to it. Machanga is a small town- everywhere I go I hear it: “Senhora Professora!” I tried to teach my English students to call me Miss Rebecca, but it hasn’t stuck. One of my agriculture students is a farmer and leader in the church, old enough to be my grandfather. I’ll never forget the day he started addressing me as Menina Professora (Girl Teacher) instead of Senhora Professora (Mrs. Teacher); it always brings a smile to my face, and makes my other students laugh. For anyone else to say that would be so disrespectful. Being an outsider, I don’t automatically fit in to the normal social structure that governs how people relate to one another, and thus address one another. There are three criteria that make you a senhora instead of a menina. To be married, to have a child, or to be over 35. I am none of those, so I guess he is right.

Teaching and learning in a second language. Though Portuguese is the official language of Mozambique, brought here by colonialism, it is spoken at home by very few, especially in the countryside. There are nearly 30 languages or local dialects recognized in Mozambique. In Machanga, kids learn Portuguese in school, but without the need or opportunity to practice it outside of classes, it is little used. A good number of my students, especially women, speak very little, if any, Portuguese. I often get someone to summarize what we’ve been discussing in Ndau. Explaining in Ndau without the benefit (or crutch?) of technical terms shows that my volunteer translators understand the concepts well, and ensure that everyone is following along.  There is always a round of laughs when they teach me a Ndau “word of the day.” Though I can’t make a complete sentence in Ndau, I know many useful words, such as planting, hoe, grasshopper, and cow manure.

Chalk, string, and a handful of seeds. These are the things I bring with me to teach class. I write key points for my students to copy on a chalk board, when I have one (which is not always). I make sure to keep it to the point. Many of my students never studied past grade 5; though they carefully copy every word, I know the majority will never go back and read their notes again. Of far greater value are the analogies and stories I tell, and of course, our practical lessons in the field. You’d be surprised how many cooking and family references you can make in an agriculture class. If too many people eat from the same plate, there won’t be enough food (don’t plant maize and beans in the same hole). In June we headed out to the field. The string we used for making straight lines and measuring- using our limited space efficiently while giving everything enough space to grow. The handful of seeds were used many times on the soft dirt floor of our classroom to imagine different intercropping and relay cropping scenarios (how can we grow more than one thing in the field to ensure the ground is always covered? to improve the soil? to reduce risk of crop failure?). No textbooks. No curriculum. No Smartboards. I had to google my own teaching resources. Every day, every class, I am learning.

It is incredibly humbling and challenging teaching something my students have been doing for longer than I’ve been alive. For longer than my parents have been alive. How do I even begin? They look at me expecting answers for their agriculture woes, of which there are many. How do I bring them to believe their knowledge and experience is not only valuable, but vital if they are to have any success increasing food production? I have read of and seen conservation methods that could take steps towards improving the soil and increasing yields on small farms, but how do I introduce these techniques in a way that honours what people know, recognizes where people are at, and is meaningful enough to adopt?

I often feel inadequate to the task. But someone told me teachers do feel that way. Maybe that is what makes a good teacher, someone who is never satisfied that they’ve got it figured out- whose driving passion is not in teaching, but in learning.

All of these photos are from my students in the community of Chinhuque. They are some of the most dedicated to applying conservation agriculture methods we learn.  It's not all fun and games in my classes- we work hard in the field too! 

Felismina and I in front of her plot. Once the lettuce is ready to eat, she'll pull it out and the cabbage will have more room to spread out- vegetable intercropping!

I'm not sure what I'm more happy about- the beautiful nutritious kale that my students are growing, or the lovely mulching! 

Papa Mandevo, the one who calls me girl teacher. He worked really hard on mulching as well and is proud of his garden. 

Agriculture is for everyone. Though agriculture is not typically the work of young men here, Paulo has really engaged in the agriculture classes and did not give up on his garden even when cows invaded the field, water became scarce, and almost all the others left. 

Farming and Church and Hot Chocolate

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.

Books and coconuts and cats

I’ve done a lot of moving around the past two and a half years. I’ve had three different host families on two different continents. Each time I arrive somewhere I feel like a child, having to learn how to do everything: how to speak, how to cook, how to take public transport, how to take a bath, how to eat. But this past month, when I moved to Machanga, it was different. This time, I had the advantage of being in Mozambique for a year already. I’ve surprised myself, and many others here, by what I’ve managed to learn over the past couple of years. For once, I didn’t feel like I was a child. Still an awkward teenager maybe, but not a child.  

 I know how to grate a coconut with ease. How many Canadians can say that?

Still learning to cook new things. This tiny fish
Chere Chende is quite common in Machanga

You make this fish into a sauce using
onions, tomatoes, and most importantly
coconut milk!

  I’m an old pro at washing my clothes by hand.

 After a year and 6 months in Mozambique, my portuguese is as good, if not better, than most people in Machanga. Now I just have to work on the local dialect which is much more important here than in the city.

 I know how to ride a motorcycle thanks to my time in Cambodia and Tete, a thing very few women here know how to do, and which gives me a lot of independence.

 Machanga has a very different climate than where I was last year in Tete. The staple here is rice instead of chima (maize porridge that you eat with your hands). When people in Machanga ask if I’ve ever eaten chima before I laugh and tell them it was the staple for lunch and dinner every day the whole year I was in Tete. They shake their heads and feel sorry for me!

Xima and beans, a staple in Tete. 

I am amazed at my own capacity to surprise myself when given the chance. My first Sunday at church in Machanga I managed to get in with the youth right away. I asked when practice was and convince them I could sing in the local language so long as someone took the trouble to pronounce the words slowly for me so I could write them down phonetically. On Sunday I sat on the choir benches up front with the youth. Turns out it was a special offering week, which involves different groups of people going up one at a time singing and dancing to bring their offerings to the front. This part was not rehearsed. However, I managed to sing along to a chorus I didn’t know in a language I can’t speak, dance along to steps I’d never practiced, and not feel the least bit shy or embarrassed. Better than that, I was having fun. In that moment I realized how far I’ve come in this last year. Singing and dancing in front of others at church doesn’t faze me. Although I’ll never lead the choir, I was able to let my reservation go, laugh, and BE there.

The United Church of Christ- American Board in Machanga

On Palm Sunday I learned another very valuable life-skill from the girls sitting beside me: how to braid palm leaves. Of course we also payed close attention to the sermon... 

 What is my point in all this? Certainly not to brag about my own abilities. If you think I would boast about my dance moves, you don’t know me dear reader. All of my accomplishments listed above I only ever achieved by the grace of God and patient help of kind friends. These past couple weeks have taught me to appreciate the value of these experiences, both positive and negative, that I’ve had. That tiny piece of dog meat I gagged down in Cambodia has given me so much street cred here in Mozambique. The most valuable ones don’t just happen to you; they come when you take risks, put yourself out there, and are vulnerable for the sake of others. The year of struggling along in the youth choir in Tete paid off- even though we are singing in different language in Machanga, the basic idea is the same and I can follow along. 
Experiences can be valuable in ways we’d never expect. I’ve learned to extend myself more grace during trying cross-cultural situations. Other people may not know me, but I know myself. Over the course of my life I've learned, to varying degrees, 8 different languages. There’s always room to learn, but no one can make me feel inferior for not trying hard enough.  I’ve traveled in 11 different countries on 5 continents and in the course of those travels I have learned what a privilege it is to have the opportunity to experience other cultures.

 Perhaps most importantly, I’ve discovered the things from my own culture that I really value. Things that I won’t compromise, things that I don’t apologize for. I have a cat in Machanga; my cat has a name, and I give her food and water in a bowl. I’m afraid of spiders, laugh about it, and accept that there are some things about me that will never change no matter how much I want them to. I value literature. Reading just for the sake of it is a strange concept to many here, probably due in large part to lack of access/opportunity. It has made me reflect on the immeasurable number of hours I’ve spent reading during the course of my life, and the culture and heritage that sits on my bookshelf in Machanga (how many pages have I dog-eared in my life Dad? Blog topic for you).

 Though my list of lifeskills may have expanded over the past couple years, making it easier for me to adapt to new situations, life in Machanga is not without its challenges. But that’s a topic for next time.

Snapshot of my some of the books from my bookshelf in Machanga, most inherited from past MCC'ers. Can you guess which four are mine? If you know Canadian Literature you've got half of them. And if you know my favourite pass-time that's another.