‘Oh gosh… I hope she comes back soon. I’m totally gonna be late for work.’ I thought to myself as I sat on my doorstep waiting for my empregada, Raquia. ‘What exactly did she say she was getting again?’
Originally, I never wanted an empregada. I thought it was a horrific idea to hire someone to cook and clean for me when I could just do all that myself. And when I thought about it in terms of a person from a wealthy country coming to a less developed country and hiring a ‘servant’… well… No way, Jose.
Well, long story short, I ‘inherited’ Raquia from the volunteer who lived here before me, meaning that essentially not having her work for me would be firing her and cutting off her main source of income. So I decided that it wouldn’t be so bad as long as I had her on a light schedule, coming in three times a week to draw my water, sweep my yard, and do my dishes only. Of course, I didn’t really realize at the time that empregadas can come in handy for other things as well, like extracting bugs from places on your feet that you can’t reach for instance…
I waited for probably five minutes on my stoop with my pant legs rolled up as I examined the bottom of my feet once again. Just a few days before, I had to cut open the callus looking bumps on two of the toes on my left foot in order to get the maticenhas’ eggsack out. What’s a maticenha? Well, it’s basically a small bug that likes to burrow under the toe nails, and apparently under the ridge of feet as well, so it can lay and store its eggs. It lives in the sand, is more common in the winter time, and it was apparently in both of my feet this time around.
As I studied the small black holes in the same place on both of my feet, Raquia finally came back.
“Ok, I found some, Menino.” She said as she held out her hand to reveal… crab claws. Yes, the claws of a crab… in her hands… to be used as tweezers in extracting this garbage from my foot.
“Umm… where… where did you get them?” I said trying to sound casual and hide my hesitancy.
“Oh, one of your neighbors had them left over from dinner.” She said as she grabbed my left foot with one hand and held the crab claws in the other.
‘Whatever,’ I thought, ‘At this point… let’s just do this already…’
As she broke through my skin and tugged at the eggsack, it definitely hit a nerve or two. ‘Gosh, could that crap actually be attached to something in my foot? Or is it just floating around?’ Well, whatever the case, Raquia pulled out everything from my left foot rather quickly. Then, she held it up for me to see: a black, charcoal looking thing about the size of the tip of a ballpoint pen.
“Is that it?” I asked Raquia.
“Yeah… well, at least I hope so.” she said as she grabbed my right foot.
More sharp, momentary pain. More clicking sounds as she clawed through my foot.
A few minutes later, she pulled out the other egggsack. This one was wayyy more disgusting: it was about the size of one fourth of a dime and its texture resembled that of a slug or a snail.
“Good Lord!” I myself exclaim in Portuguese. “Well… thank you Raquia…”
She just smiled and said, “Your welcome… I do think I’m going to keep these crab claws somewhere though because Menino seems to always have problems with maticenhas…”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh I hope that’s not true!”
Monday, July 27, 2009
Estou a Pedir
‘Estou a pedir,’ which means ‘I am asking for,’ is a very commonly used phrase in Mozambican Portuguese when making a request:
‘I am asking for’ the half chicken with rice at a local restaurant. ‘I am asking for’ help with my homework in school. ‘I am asking for’ (oh no, here it comes!)… ‘I am asking for’ money. . .
For the Peace Corps volunteer, getting pedir-ed (as we call it) is a common occurrence and a moral dilemma at that, as it makes us ask the obvious question: how should we respond? Should we give some money to the person and thereby cement our image as ‘foreign money bags?’ Or should we ignore the person and pass them on, as no doubt hundreds of people have done already? Some choose to give every time, some choose to give sometimes, some choose to just look the other way and keep going; but what should I do?
Obviously, there is no easy way to confront something like giving money out to people, but I would like to share my own experience and evolving thoughts on the issue, by starting with a story:
On a beautiful summer day in February I was walking to the Central Market on the other side of town, hoping that I would finally find eggplants after having been disappointed for a few days running. As usual, the streets were bustling with cars and people going about their daily routine: an empty chapa driving to the chapa stop at an ungodly speed, a few people moving drinks or chickens on carts, children selling plastic bags to people exiting the shops. Just another day in Maxixe.
So I walked on to the front of the Market entrance and noticed all of a sudden this old woman about to pass me to go back out to the street. Like most old women I’ve encountered here, she wore a capellana skirt (a giant beach towel sized fabric with designs), a shirt, and a smaller version of the same capellana wrapped and tied on her head. She was also inching by very slowly as she leaned most of her body weight on her small wooden cane.
Suddenly, the woman looked up at me and saw me watching her pass me by. At that point what could I do but smile and say ‘Boa Tarde?’ (It’s always kind of awkward to get caught people watching, ya know). Then, instead of echoing my greeting like I expected, she dropped her cane, very obviously balancing to stand up straight at that point, and stuck her hand out to beg for money.
I didn’t know what to do. I mean at least in the States I could go buy the person a sandwich instead of giving out change, but how could I respond in that situation? Well, I’ll tell you what I did do: I said, “I’m sorry” in Portuguese, backed away, and left the Market, as I saw out of the corner of my eye the old woman struggle to reach to the ground and pick up here cane once more. I left her alone.
Looking back, I can say, without meaning to excuse myself, that I reacted to that woman not out of indifference or hatred, but out of fear. Fear kept me from looking at the situation for what it was and reacting in a way that would have been more appropriate, more loving, and more respectful. And its fear, I think, that in turn holds us back in a lot of ways, but especially in dealing with those who do not have as much as we do.
‘Giving money to someone pedir-ing only cements my image as someone with plenty of money to spare and that’s simply not true’… ‘They’ll definitely be back for more’… ‘I’m only furthering a system of dependency’… The reasons can go on and on.
Here’s the thing about these reasons both expressed and not: often times, they are absolutely true. White people (aka mulungos), or just people with lighter skin tone than a black Mozambican, will be seen as a source of money because we do have it in amounts significantly greater than most people in this country. People will come back asking for more money when they run out. And the dependency exists whether we like it or not. Some of the most well meaning US programs or funds, for example, from the international ones like PEPFAR and USAID to the national ones like welfare have and will continue to create a sense of entitlement and a dependency on the part of many on the receiving end. Here in Mozambique actually, foreign aid (mostly US) makes up for about half of the government’s money and serves to support thousands of Non Government health Organizations, whether they are using the money wisely or not.
What should our response be then? Well, based on my experiences, I have come to believe that it is a mistake to link people at the individual level to the problems of a group as a whole. This country may be dependent on the United States and other countries to survive, but what does that mean for this individual in front of me? Wouldn’t a better way to address the larger problems be to talk to my Federal representatives about coming up with ways to hold receiving nations accountable? To make sure that they give time as well as money in order to make sure that those receiving aid are taking steps to not need it anymore? That was my mistake.
Back in February, by allowing my instinctual fear of feeding an already existing mess of problems in a larger sense, I failed to recognize the situation of that woman who was standing right next to me. I didn’t have to give her money, but I could have showed her the respect that she deserves by looking her in the eye, by helping her pick up her cane, by even just asking her name and trying to make a new friend. I could have loved her.
‘I am asking for’ the half chicken with rice at a local restaurant. ‘I am asking for’ help with my homework in school. ‘I am asking for’ (oh no, here it comes!)… ‘I am asking for’ money. . .
For the Peace Corps volunteer, getting pedir-ed (as we call it) is a common occurrence and a moral dilemma at that, as it makes us ask the obvious question: how should we respond? Should we give some money to the person and thereby cement our image as ‘foreign money bags?’ Or should we ignore the person and pass them on, as no doubt hundreds of people have done already? Some choose to give every time, some choose to give sometimes, some choose to just look the other way and keep going; but what should I do?
Obviously, there is no easy way to confront something like giving money out to people, but I would like to share my own experience and evolving thoughts on the issue, by starting with a story:
On a beautiful summer day in February I was walking to the Central Market on the other side of town, hoping that I would finally find eggplants after having been disappointed for a few days running. As usual, the streets were bustling with cars and people going about their daily routine: an empty chapa driving to the chapa stop at an ungodly speed, a few people moving drinks or chickens on carts, children selling plastic bags to people exiting the shops. Just another day in Maxixe.
So I walked on to the front of the Market entrance and noticed all of a sudden this old woman about to pass me to go back out to the street. Like most old women I’ve encountered here, she wore a capellana skirt (a giant beach towel sized fabric with designs), a shirt, and a smaller version of the same capellana wrapped and tied on her head. She was also inching by very slowly as she leaned most of her body weight on her small wooden cane.
Suddenly, the woman looked up at me and saw me watching her pass me by. At that point what could I do but smile and say ‘Boa Tarde?’ (It’s always kind of awkward to get caught people watching, ya know). Then, instead of echoing my greeting like I expected, she dropped her cane, very obviously balancing to stand up straight at that point, and stuck her hand out to beg for money.
I didn’t know what to do. I mean at least in the States I could go buy the person a sandwich instead of giving out change, but how could I respond in that situation? Well, I’ll tell you what I did do: I said, “I’m sorry” in Portuguese, backed away, and left the Market, as I saw out of the corner of my eye the old woman struggle to reach to the ground and pick up here cane once more. I left her alone.
Looking back, I can say, without meaning to excuse myself, that I reacted to that woman not out of indifference or hatred, but out of fear. Fear kept me from looking at the situation for what it was and reacting in a way that would have been more appropriate, more loving, and more respectful. And its fear, I think, that in turn holds us back in a lot of ways, but especially in dealing with those who do not have as much as we do.
‘Giving money to someone pedir-ing only cements my image as someone with plenty of money to spare and that’s simply not true’… ‘They’ll definitely be back for more’… ‘I’m only furthering a system of dependency’… The reasons can go on and on.
Here’s the thing about these reasons both expressed and not: often times, they are absolutely true. White people (aka mulungos), or just people with lighter skin tone than a black Mozambican, will be seen as a source of money because we do have it in amounts significantly greater than most people in this country. People will come back asking for more money when they run out. And the dependency exists whether we like it or not. Some of the most well meaning US programs or funds, for example, from the international ones like PEPFAR and USAID to the national ones like welfare have and will continue to create a sense of entitlement and a dependency on the part of many on the receiving end. Here in Mozambique actually, foreign aid (mostly US) makes up for about half of the government’s money and serves to support thousands of Non Government health Organizations, whether they are using the money wisely or not.
What should our response be then? Well, based on my experiences, I have come to believe that it is a mistake to link people at the individual level to the problems of a group as a whole. This country may be dependent on the United States and other countries to survive, but what does that mean for this individual in front of me? Wouldn’t a better way to address the larger problems be to talk to my Federal representatives about coming up with ways to hold receiving nations accountable? To make sure that they give time as well as money in order to make sure that those receiving aid are taking steps to not need it anymore? That was my mistake.
Back in February, by allowing my instinctual fear of feeding an already existing mess of problems in a larger sense, I failed to recognize the situation of that woman who was standing right next to me. I didn’t have to give her money, but I could have showed her the respect that she deserves by looking her in the eye, by helping her pick up her cane, by even just asking her name and trying to make a new friend. I could have loved her.
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