The story that doesn't end- moving to Tete

…Instead of reading him a bedtime story, Calvin’s father is telling him the story of what Calvin and Hobbes have been up to since morning:

...Em vez de lhe ler uma conta, o Pai de Calvin está a lhe contar a historia sobre o que Calvin e seu boneco Hobbes estavam a fazer desde manhã.

Calvin: GOOD NIGHT?! That’s not the end! You didn’t even get us to lunchtime!

Dad: That’s right… it’s not the end of the story. This story doesn’t have an end. You and Hobbes will write more of it tomorrow and every day after. But now it’s time to sleep, so good night.

Calvin: This is a good story about us if it doesn’t end! That’s the kind of story I like best!  

Calvin: Acabo?? Ainda não chegamos ao almoço!

Pai: É certo... não é o fim da historia. Esta história nuca vai terminar. Você e Hobbes vão continuar a escrever mais cada dia depois por sempre. Mas agora é o tempo de dormir.

Calvin: Isso é uma conta boa sobre nós se nunca vai terminar! É este tipo de conta que eu gosto mais do que tudo.

A few weeks ago I spend some time reflecting on the wandering path that was 2013. I could never have seen ahead to those events I experienced. Now, who knew that I would not only plant rice in Cambodia, but that those very skills would come into practice in Mozambique? The story keeps unfolding in such marvelous ways!

Na semana anterior, reflecti sobre o caminho de 2013. Nunca poderia adivinhar as experiencias que eu já tinha experimentado. Quem sabia que eu plantaria arroz na Camboja e em Moçambique também?  Esta historia continua a desenvolver de maneiras maravilhosas!  

They tell you when you come to work with an NGO in a country overseas to not bring any expectations with you, as that is the surest way to be discontent. They also tell you that in all likelihood, what you actually end up doing on the ground will look very different from what you pictured reading the “job description” online.  Though this advice is well meant, it is something you cannot fully appreciate until you experience it for yourself.

Quando você vai trabalhar com uma organização num pais longe de tua casa, eles dizem que é melhor  não chegar com grandes expectativas sobre o trabalho. Eles também dizem que a trabalho que você faria em realidade seria muito diferente do que você acha. Este conselho parece simples, mas deve experienta-lo antes de compreender.    

As I’ve mentioned in previous posts, the political situation in Machanga is still tense. With occasional vehicle attacks continuing on the northern road, and flooding waters threatening to cut off the southern road, I will not be able to go to Machanga for a while yet. So, we started looking for something else for me to do for the next few months. MCC has a partner in the province of Tete called the Christian Council of Mozambique (CCM). One of their project that MCC has been supporting for several years is the building of sand dams in rural communities. They also employ four local agricultural extensionists who go to these villages and demonstrate and teach conservation agricultural techniques.

Como já disse num blog anterior, a situação política-militar na região de Muxungue ainda continua. Por causa dos ataques armados e a possibilidade de inundação na rua do sul,  vou demorar mais para ir a Machanga. Por isso, precisei de procurar trabalho alternativo. A organização MCC (Mennonite Central Committee) tem um parceiro em Tete chama-se o Conselho Cristão de Moçambique (CCM). Lá em Tete, CCM construi as represas de areia e também ensina as técnicas de agricultura de conservação. 

New sand dam just finished this past november (will in time fill in with sand, the benefits of which I'll explain in my next post!)

Demonstration plot in one of the villages showing how optimum spacing, application of manure, minimum soil disturbance, and the use of mulch can increase quality and yield of field crops like maize.

A couple weeks ago, I endured the 11 hour bus ride to Tete to visit this project. I had been so proud of myself when I found the bus station using a map drawn by my Mozambican colleague on the back of an old receipt, and purchased a ticket all by myself. Apparently I bought the wrong one though, because as soon as I got home, everyone said, “you are taking THAT bus??” I didn’t think it was all that bad, if a little longer than the speedy mini-bus ones. But it left at 5 instead of 4, and that is reason enough to take the slow bus for me.

Na semana passada, sobrevivi a viagem de 11 horas a Tete para visitar CCM. Fiquei tão orgulhosa de mim que  consegui  procurar um bilhete sozinha, mas quando cheguei a casa, a minha família me tinha dito que eu compara uma bilhete da empresa de machibombo mais pior. É verdade que a viagem foi muito lenta, mas só precisei de sair as 5 horas (não as 4h), e tinha mais espaço do que as outras linhas.

After the formalities of being introduced to the staff at the Christian Council of Mozambique, I spent the rest of the week soaking in all I could: the sights, sounds, and tastes of Tete city (ate hamburgers for the first time since leaving home!); the successes and challenges of CCM’s work in Tete; and the experiences of farmers delving into conservation agriculture for the very first time.  And this leads me back to where I started... where this journey is taking me next. Last week I moved to Tete to work with CCM for a few months. I’ll be joining their agricultural extensionists, in the field, working with them to plan ahead for the upcoming vegetable season, and helping to gather stories of the farmers’ experiences. The plan is still to go to Machanga to teach at the school come July, but that part of the story has yet to be told, and who knows what tomorrow will bring!

Segunda-feira, fui apresentada aos trabalhadores de CCM.  Durante  a semana seguinte, passei a conhecer a cidade de Tete e o trabalho de CCM na região. Também comi muitas coisas deliciosas que nunca comi desde que sai de Canada (hamburger, tacos, macarão de vietnam...). Fui no campo com as extensionistas para ver as represas e os campos onde praticam a agricultura de conservação. No Fevereiro, irei trabalhar em Tete por  3-4 meses. Irei junto com as extensionistas ao campo, ajudar na horta, e fazer relatórios sobre as experiencias dos camponeses. Espero que em Julho possa ir para Machanga, mas esta decisão ainda incerta.   

And so the story goes on…

E a história ainda continua....

Graças ao professor Pinto pela correção do texto português

The Machamba

My eyes are fixed on the ground in front of me. I am walking. Each step a test of my stability, my balance, my resolve. I am walking through waist high grass, ankle deep mud, knee-deep water. The path turns. I am walking on a narrow raised ridge of slick, muddy clay. A misplaced step in either direction will land me face first in someone’s rice paddy. Back into the water, feeling with my bare toes for a footing in the murky depths. My head is down. I am concentrating so hard that I miss the curious stares of the people we pass working in their fields. I mumble a reply to their greetings only when I’ve had time to stop and catch my breath, catch my bearings. I scarcely hear the voices of the birds calling from the tall grasses.

I am walking, but I am not walking alone. I am following in the footsteps of an elderly man. A man who has lived and worked here his whole life, and will continue to work until the day comes when his body goes to rest and he no longer needs to cultivate the rice which has thus far sustained his days. His feet move with the steady assurance of one who has walked this path thousands upon thousands of times. Slowly and surely, he moves forward. Only by my quick balance the grace of God am I able to stay on my feet, scrambling through the mud and waters as I try to keep up. He turns around to wait for me. Steady on, he says, steady on.

We finally arrive at his machamba, his field. They all looked the same to me, but he knows this field. It is the one he has been carefully and expertly cultivating for many a year. His Portuguese is limited, as is mine, so we revert to using gestures. He motions me to copy him and demonstrates how to thin the rice that was planted a few weeks ago, and transplant the seedlings to another part of the field. It is long and hard work in the hot, hot sun. The longer I work, the more I start to worry. Am I doing a good job?  What if my technique is off? What if my inefficiency and inexperienced hands cost someone a meal? But with my tired legs and slow hands, the amount of work I do is hardly significant.

What is perhaps more significant was my presence at the machamba. People come over to see me. The old man, my host for these three days of rural farm life, explains my presence to the onlookers their local dialect. I do not understand a word, but wish I knew what he was saying. I’m not sure I could have found the words myself to explain what I was doing there. What did I hope to achieve by going to plant rice for three days? What did I hope to learn by living off the grid in mud house and transplanting rice seedlings?

I am bent at the waist, my feet in the mud and my hands in the mud. Count one, two seedlings and push them into the soft ground with your thumb. One, two, thumb. One, two, thumb. My mind wanders. I think of everything and nothing at the same time.  My skin is burning in the sun and the drinking water in my bottle is almost gone. The old man and I are working side by side now, planting the last of the rice. I look up, surprised at how far we have come together.

It is the afternoon and time to return to the house. I am exhausted and we’ve only been working for 4 1/2 hours. We are walking through the muddy fields. I slip and fall. Embarrassed, I get up again, but no one laughs at me. We keep walking. We stop and say hello to the woman standing in her field; a baby at her breast and a hoe in her hand. I look up and see a little songbird land in a bush nearby. He starts to sing.  The old man turns around once more. Steady on, he says. We are almost home. 

Rice about to be transplanted. It is easier to do when the seedlings are younger and smaller, but things sometimes get delayed or are hard to time with the rains.

In the machamba. 

A Christmas Story

Inspired by my grandmother and others who still manage to send out a Christmas letter every year before Christmas, I have decided to spend a short while reflecting on this past year in the form of a Christmas blog. Yesterday, in the Christmas sprit, my friend Stephanie and I spent the afternoon baking three kinds of Christmas cookies. In the evening, we drank hot chocolate and ate popcorn while watching my favourite Christmas movie of all time: White Christmas.  In one of the songs in the movie, Bing Crosby’s soothing voice tells us to count our blessings. I decided to do just that, by reading back through my journal from the past year. To give you a snapshot, here are some excerpts from my journal on the 25^th of each month:

March 25^th, 2013-  [living in a rural village in Cambodia doing MCC SALT program] Taught English to a group of monks and kids at a Wat Chiphoch [Buddhist temple]. Today we learned the parts of the body.

 In March, I was half way through my 1-year SALT term (MCC’s Serving and Learning Together program). Living in rural Cambodia had its challenges, but was an immensely rewarding experience. In March had I had recently accepted a position with MCC in Mozambique to start in September, a month after I returned home from Cambodia. Even though I knew I’d only be in Cambodia for a short while longer, I never regretted for one moment the time and energy I put into getting involved in the community; not an easy task for someone of my nature. Teaching English at the Wat was always rather spontaneous and unorganized, but always fun time.

April 25^th, 2013- Fish and rice, fish and rice. Just in case I ever complain about other food and forget what it was like to eat fish and rice [three times] every day.

 Months after I wrote this, when I was home in Canada with all of the comfort food I so longed for all year, I found to my surprise that I missed rice. 

May 25^th, 2013- If you make tacos without cheese, sour cream, salsa, or lettuce, are they still tacos? Went to the market, got a flat tire, fixed the flat, hand-washed my laundry, and it is only 10 in the morning! (and did I mention I also slept in?!)

 Ah, making tacos with my host family in Cambodia. I managed to find taco seasoning and taco shells in one of the more western supermarkets in the big city, but couldn’t carry (or keep) the necessary produce.  My host family certainly didn’t know any different, and though they didn’t taste the same, they were still good!  Last year I also came to enjoy waking up early- 6AM was sleeping in. 6:30 was REALLY sleeping in! I could get so much done in the cool of the morning and enjoyed the quiet for reading my bible and journaling.

June 25^th, 2013- Went along for a sustainable agriculture training session with my Cambodian co-workers. I am finally able to talk with the farmers and answer all of the introductory questions they ask. Sad to be leaving Cambodia so soon.

 I learned to much in Cambodia about agriculture, farmer’s lives, the economics of conservation agriculture, the politics and social issues surrounding the same, farmer’s cooperatives, and how to know when is a good time to share and when is a good time to learn. People often ask what I studied at university. I learned more of real importance, applicability, and value in my one year in Cambodia than I would have in a lifetime in the library. It was a lot of work learning the Khmer language, but such a joy when I finally mastered some basic conversation. Whenever I met people for the first time, they always asked me “where are you from? How old are you? Are you married? I love your nose.”

My farewell party with the ODOV staff in Cambodia

 July 25^th, 2013- [on my way home from Cambodia, stopped in Akron Pennsylvania at the retreat centre for orientation prior to going to Mozambique] Went to the MCC material resources centre in Akron and found an old 1930’s edition Bird of North America written by the legendary Thomas Nuttall. Unbelievably happy!

 Birds, birds, birds. If you know me at all, you know I love birding. What a blessing to be able to experience the beauty of God’s creation this year- from the rice paddies of Prey Veng, to the lush forests of Northern Cambodia, from Canada’s beautiful bay of Fundy to Victoria Falls in Zambia, from Kruger National Park in South Africa, to the Mozambican bush. I’d never thought I’d get to experience so much, nor see so many different birds!

August 25^th, 2013- [Back in Canada for 1 month homeleave] Left bright and early to start off for Ontario, bringing my sister Janet to the university of Waterloo. Learning to drive standard along the way!

 It was so refreshing to be home again for a couple of months. To be sure, I experienced some reverse culture shock (not to mention the shock of the cold August night air). But I was very happy to be home. Before Janet went to university, we had a lovely month of camping, visiting the grandparents and friends, and eating LOTS of food with cheese. A highlight was when the 6 of us went on a 4 day backpacking trip around Cape Chignecto in Nova Scotia- a time to remember!

The Standens in Fundy National Park. Photo credit: Rebekah Hudson.

September 25^th, 2013- [in Zambia for Farming God’s Way training before going to Mozambique] Learned compost making and more about Farming God’s Way in Livuyu village just outside of Livingstone, Zambia. What a beautiful people here!

 Back on into the world of the unknown, of change. A world where adaptability is key. A world where it seems everyone else but you knows what’s going on (likely because this is true). My confidence is firmly placed in God alone.

October 25^th, 2013- [in Mozambique] I have a Portuguese Bible now! I have started slowly reading some of the parables and the book of Romans.

 I am now coming along quite well in Portuguese. I would be even better if I talked more… but some things don’t change.

November 25, 2013- Kids morning at church today in Beira, Mozambique. 4 hours long. 4 and a half for those who didn’t arrive late as we did. Made a delicious lentil curry with host sister Zuleca for supper while my host parents were out.

Starting to feel much at home with my host family. They are such warm-hearted and loving people!

Making pizza with my host family in Beira, Mozambique.

Back in Canada, I am used to measuring the passage of time by the coming and going of the sun and the seasons, of snow and showers, of school and summer holidays. I have to keep reminding myself that, despite the lack of these it is still very much the end of December, and Christmas is tomorrow. No, this past year has not been easy; He never said it would be. But oh, it has been good. I fall asleep tonight counting my blessings, knowing that will morning will come long before I can ever recount all the wonderful things God has done. 

Wishing you all a very blessed Christmas!

Rebecca