What a fantastic day! It was sunny for the first time after a week of rain and there was a nice breeze coming off of the ocean. It was so relaxing to just hang out for a half an hour in my favorite shaded area in the heart of the city, picking out a recipe for dinner from my trusty Peace Corps cookbook. Yeah, I was sure I had all the ingredients for this one dish… all I needed was to go find an eggplant.
So I walked the bustling streets where vendors were selling burned DVDs, egg sandwiches and coconuts; dodged the fast-moving, unyielding traffic; and trudged up the road toward the entrance of the Mercado Central. The entrance itself wasn’t so hard to spot anymore. After a few days I had gotten used to finding the somewhat hidden 6 foot entrance in between two tin shops right by the street.
When I passed through to the front of the market, I stopped to look around at the rows of wooden stands, trying to see if somebody might finally have eggplant that day. My eyes scanned over the fruits, veggies, and fish that I saw at every table until I finally found it. It was right in front of me…
‘Good afternoon!’ I greeted the middle-aged woman.
“Good afternoon!” she replied as she smiled at me like I was someone she’d known for years. “What would you like? Tomatos? Onions? Bananas…?”
‘No, actually… how much are the eggplants here?’ I said nodding toward the edge of the stand.
“Oh…umm… it’s 50 MT for a kilo.” Roughly two dollars in American.
I couldn’t help but gasp. *That sounds pricey.* I thought to myself. *If I’m going to pay 50 MT for eggplant, I better get my money’s worth.*
‘How much makes a kilo?’ I asked.
She took a plastic bag and hung it from a scale which she was holding with her other hand. I was relieved to see her fit like 8 fist sized eggplants in the bag to measure out one whole kilo.
‘Hmm… that’s a lot of eggplants. How about three? How much is that?’
“30 MT.” She said right as the words left my mouth. Immediately a red flag went up in my head.
‘You didn’t even measure it. If you’re gonna charge 30MT, then you should make sure it weighs more than half a kilo.’
She weighed it again. “Half a kilo. Ok… 25MT then.”
I nodded my approval, paid her, and turned around to leave.
“SON!” A woman called from the stand I was then facing.
I walked up to her and said my usual greeting.
“You came here looking for avocados and you said you would be back to get some Tuesday!” She sounded kind of angry.
*Ohh crud… I totally forgot about that. I ended up finding avocados in the store by my house.*
‘Umm. Sorry mother… I haven’t really needed it.’
“AND you bought eggplants overthere?! I have lots of them right here that you could buy.”
‘How much are they?’ I asked while trying to gauge her anger.
“10MT for one.”
*Wow… and these suckers are HUGE too. I really should have bought them here. Oy! AND I should know better than to buy something at the first stand I see.*
‘Well mother, I will buy them from you next time…’ Her face soured a little. She didn’t believe me.
‘Hey what’s your name again?’ I asked with a smile.
“My… oh…my name? It’s Maria.” Suddenly her face softened dramatically.
‘I’m Victor. It’s a pleasure to meet you.’
Next thing I know, she and I were going back and forth chit-chatting for a little bit. She was mostly asking me questions about my background and what I am doing here, while I was just trying to not look like a goofball with my language abilities. After a few minutes though, I started to realize how hungry I actually was.
‘Well Maria, it was good to meet you and next time I come by this way I will buy my eggplants AND avocados from my new friend Maria. Ok?’
She started to laugh. “Ok. Ok…”
‘Until later.’
“Yes of course. Until later, Victor.”
She was laughing still as I turned and walked out of the market. The streets were still crowded with people and noisy cars zipping by. I stopped for a second to look down the road straight ahead as it’s met in the distance with the beautiful, bright blue Indian Ocean. *God, what a wonderful day.*
Friday, February 13, 2009
Saturday, January 24, 2009
I'm sorry, eu no falo...
‘… And we also have a visitor here from the United States named Victor. He is new to the Church and to Maxixe and will be with us for the next two years… is he here today? I didn’t see him.’
*Oh crap. Should I pretend I didn’t understand? Wait, what are you saying?! Get up there… if this were the States you’d already be up there addressing the crowd.*
‘Oh there he is. Would you like to say something?’ He motions for me to come forward.
I stand up and walk to the front of the Church. I can feel everyone’s glare on the back of my neck and I’m a bit uneasy as I get ready to introduce myself before a large crowd of people in a language that I just started learning in August.
I reach the podium and the announcer repeats his invitation for me to speak. ‘Just a few words about you and what you’re doing here would be nice.’
*Ok. I can do this.*
‘Good… Good morning. My name is Victor Perez and I work for the Peace Corps. Yes… I am from the United States and I’m glad to be living here in Maxixe for the next few years. Thank you so much for your welcome and…well… I’m very happy to be here. Thank you.’
*Wow, Vic. Nice. Way to explain your job. ‘I work for the Peace Corps.’ Brilliant… because I’m sure they all know what that is… sigh… ok, ok just go sit down…*
‘Thank you very much, Victor. Now for our next…’
That was the scene in my new Church, Sagrada Familia, a few Sundays ago when I went to the earlier Mass for the first time. Funnily enough, that was actually my third time introducing myself before a congregation here, the first being back in October when I arrived in Namaacha for training… so I had some practice. What was the big deal then? For one, thanks to my nerves, my Portuguese vocab just went out the door the minute I stepped up to address the congregation. A crowd isn’t a big deal, but a crowd that may not understand what you are saying and/or may look down on you slightly for your limited language ability is something to worry about.
It’s such a frustrating thing when a person opens her mouth to speak and she knows that no matter what she says, the other person is not going to be able to fully understand and appreciate her thoughts or feelings. Maybe just as wearisome is when she cannot completely understand what the other person is trying to communicate.
Portuguese for me has been an adventure. It and this experience in general have already challenged me in ways I didn’t even know I could be challenged in. Some days I feel like I’m getting it after having a conversation about… say… the US electoral system with a Mozambican. Meanwhile there are the other days as well when I say something simple, think the other person understands, and then pause as I notice their blank stare. That’s life though. . . Take it for the good and take it for the bad. Live and learn from your mistakes.
On a side note, while I’m thinking about it, I can honestly say that I feel a lot closer to my father even with us being so far apart. Granted I’ve only been here for four-ish months, but I can at least picture what it must have been like for him to move to a country and attend school where he didn’t understand a vast majority of what people were saying. What he did and I guess ultimately what I have to do in this situation then is to just give it time.
Yes I started learning Portuguese a few months ago and yes I have been living in it for almost as long, but I am getting a little better everyday with each new word, phrase, or pronunciation I learn. With any luck, the next time I have to introduce myself in front of a group of people or even have a basic conversation I can feel a bit more comfortable knowing that in the end things will get better in the span of two years... they have to right? :)
*Oh crap. Should I pretend I didn’t understand? Wait, what are you saying?! Get up there… if this were the States you’d already be up there addressing the crowd.*
‘Oh there he is. Would you like to say something?’ He motions for me to come forward.
I stand up and walk to the front of the Church. I can feel everyone’s glare on the back of my neck and I’m a bit uneasy as I get ready to introduce myself before a large crowd of people in a language that I just started learning in August.
I reach the podium and the announcer repeats his invitation for me to speak. ‘Just a few words about you and what you’re doing here would be nice.’
*Ok. I can do this.*
‘Good… Good morning. My name is Victor Perez and I work for the Peace Corps. Yes… I am from the United States and I’m glad to be living here in Maxixe for the next few years. Thank you so much for your welcome and…well… I’m very happy to be here. Thank you.’
*Wow, Vic. Nice. Way to explain your job. ‘I work for the Peace Corps.’ Brilliant… because I’m sure they all know what that is… sigh… ok, ok just go sit down…*
‘Thank you very much, Victor. Now for our next…’
That was the scene in my new Church, Sagrada Familia, a few Sundays ago when I went to the earlier Mass for the first time. Funnily enough, that was actually my third time introducing myself before a congregation here, the first being back in October when I arrived in Namaacha for training… so I had some practice. What was the big deal then? For one, thanks to my nerves, my Portuguese vocab just went out the door the minute I stepped up to address the congregation. A crowd isn’t a big deal, but a crowd that may not understand what you are saying and/or may look down on you slightly for your limited language ability is something to worry about.
It’s such a frustrating thing when a person opens her mouth to speak and she knows that no matter what she says, the other person is not going to be able to fully understand and appreciate her thoughts or feelings. Maybe just as wearisome is when she cannot completely understand what the other person is trying to communicate.
Portuguese for me has been an adventure. It and this experience in general have already challenged me in ways I didn’t even know I could be challenged in. Some days I feel like I’m getting it after having a conversation about… say… the US electoral system with a Mozambican. Meanwhile there are the other days as well when I say something simple, think the other person understands, and then pause as I notice their blank stare. That’s life though. . . Take it for the good and take it for the bad. Live and learn from your mistakes.
On a side note, while I’m thinking about it, I can honestly say that I feel a lot closer to my father even with us being so far apart. Granted I’ve only been here for four-ish months, but I can at least picture what it must have been like for him to move to a country and attend school where he didn’t understand a vast majority of what people were saying. What he did and I guess ultimately what I have to do in this situation then is to just give it time.
Yes I started learning Portuguese a few months ago and yes I have been living in it for almost as long, but I am getting a little better everyday with each new word, phrase, or pronunciation I learn. With any luck, the next time I have to introduce myself in front of a group of people or even have a basic conversation I can feel a bit more comfortable knowing that in the end things will get better in the span of two years... they have to right? :)
Potent Potables
Coming to Mozambique I had no idea what to expect about… well… a lot things I’d say. I imagined everything from architecture to landscape based on educated guesses and whatever I could research before I left the states. At least one thing was for sure though: there would be no Dom’s, John’s, Presto’s, or Pino’s; no Mighty Taco; no La Nova… jeez… would they at least have cream soda in Mozambique?! Doubtful.
When I got here in October what I found was lots of rice, beans, bread, various veggies, xima (pronounced chima), and exotic fruit. Most people here fall below the line of poverty (80% as of 2003 based on a document I recently read for work) and so the most popular foods are that which people can get for the cheapest.
Xima is especially common as this cornmeal based food is both inexpensive and filling. By mixing the cornmeal powder with water and bringing it to a boil, the mixture hardens into a substance almost like potatoes. This is taken and topped with any kind of sauce for a little bit of flavor. (It’s actually pretty good too depending on the sauce).
As for what xima or rice can be topped with, there are many difference recipes of course. If I’m talking about Mozambican food, however, I have to talk about Matapa (Mah-tah-pa). Matapa is made with crushed cassava leaves, nuts, coconut water, and shrimp all cooked together in what turns out to be… well… a blend of delicious-ness. You can’t come to Mozambique without trying it, but if you’re on your own you might hesitate to make it yourself: properly prepared matapa can take 1 1/2-4 hours depending on the circumstances. Crushing everything is one challenge as you need lots of patience and muscle strength. Imagine a wooden chalice, times 15-20 in size (knee length), with most of a massive wooden pole sticking out of it. That’s what you crush things with when you’re making food for more than a few people. Yeah… I’ve only made it once. Lol.
Samousas are another tasty, inexpensive treat that can be found in an outdoor market for 1 Mt apiece, or 5cents in the US. Samousas are the same shape and size as a Dorito, but much thicker as it is basically fried dough filled with a mixture of veggies and maybe some fish. (Fish is also common being that we are so close to the water). This may or may not be one of my favorite snacks to grab on my way home from work.
As for what I’ve been doing about food, I’ve found that I like to cook… very, VERY much. That’s right, maybe some classic rock or better yet… blues music and smell of whatever I purchased that day simmering on the stovetop… what a perfect way to start the evening. So far I have been experimenting a lot with the PC volunteer’s cookbook and have made everything from bruschetta to spaghetti with homemade mango sauce to homemade baked beans to mashed potatoes and stuffing and so on. As I wrote Leah in a letter a few weeks ago (which she’ll probably get a year from now thanks to somewhat slow postal service lol) it’s like I’m going from Chef Boyardee to Chef Emeril faster than you can say BAM! Cheesy I know… sorry, couldn’t help it.
Seriously though, I work with what I have… which thankfully is quite a bit: tomatoes, green peppers, garlic, onions, cucumber, pineapple, mangos, apples, bananas, and dried shrimp are commonly sold in most neighborhood outdoor markets, among the other cheaper foods already mentioned. That’s not even mentioning some of the things I can find if I scour some of the bigger markets inside the city.
All in all, I would say that I have been blessed with a decent amount of resources. I can find a lot of good food for relatively low cost and I can sample local plates at whichever outdoor stand or small restaurant I stumble upon. There’s no McDonald’s here, but there is a small place hidden away from the street in the marketplace where I can get a good meal and a fanta for 40 Mts. There are no La Nova’s BBQ wings, but there are fresh pineapples in season now which serve as a delicious way to start the day. Yeah, I think it’s safe to say that Maxixe is starting to feel like home…
When I got here in October what I found was lots of rice, beans, bread, various veggies, xima (pronounced chima), and exotic fruit. Most people here fall below the line of poverty (80% as of 2003 based on a document I recently read for work) and so the most popular foods are that which people can get for the cheapest.
Xima is especially common as this cornmeal based food is both inexpensive and filling. By mixing the cornmeal powder with water and bringing it to a boil, the mixture hardens into a substance almost like potatoes. This is taken and topped with any kind of sauce for a little bit of flavor. (It’s actually pretty good too depending on the sauce).
As for what xima or rice can be topped with, there are many difference recipes of course. If I’m talking about Mozambican food, however, I have to talk about Matapa (Mah-tah-pa). Matapa is made with crushed cassava leaves, nuts, coconut water, and shrimp all cooked together in what turns out to be… well… a blend of delicious-ness. You can’t come to Mozambique without trying it, but if you’re on your own you might hesitate to make it yourself: properly prepared matapa can take 1 1/2-4 hours depending on the circumstances. Crushing everything is one challenge as you need lots of patience and muscle strength. Imagine a wooden chalice, times 15-20 in size (knee length), with most of a massive wooden pole sticking out of it. That’s what you crush things with when you’re making food for more than a few people. Yeah… I’ve only made it once. Lol.
Samousas are another tasty, inexpensive treat that can be found in an outdoor market for 1 Mt apiece, or 5cents in the US. Samousas are the same shape and size as a Dorito, but much thicker as it is basically fried dough filled with a mixture of veggies and maybe some fish. (Fish is also common being that we are so close to the water). This may or may not be one of my favorite snacks to grab on my way home from work.
As for what I’ve been doing about food, I’ve found that I like to cook… very, VERY much. That’s right, maybe some classic rock or better yet… blues music and smell of whatever I purchased that day simmering on the stovetop… what a perfect way to start the evening. So far I have been experimenting a lot with the PC volunteer’s cookbook and have made everything from bruschetta to spaghetti with homemade mango sauce to homemade baked beans to mashed potatoes and stuffing and so on. As I wrote Leah in a letter a few weeks ago (which she’ll probably get a year from now thanks to somewhat slow postal service lol) it’s like I’m going from Chef Boyardee to Chef Emeril faster than you can say BAM! Cheesy I know… sorry, couldn’t help it.
Seriously though, I work with what I have… which thankfully is quite a bit: tomatoes, green peppers, garlic, onions, cucumber, pineapple, mangos, apples, bananas, and dried shrimp are commonly sold in most neighborhood outdoor markets, among the other cheaper foods already mentioned. That’s not even mentioning some of the things I can find if I scour some of the bigger markets inside the city.
All in all, I would say that I have been blessed with a decent amount of resources. I can find a lot of good food for relatively low cost and I can sample local plates at whichever outdoor stand or small restaurant I stumble upon. There’s no McDonald’s here, but there is a small place hidden away from the street in the marketplace where I can get a good meal and a fanta for 40 Mts. There are no La Nova’s BBQ wings, but there are fresh pineapples in season now which serve as a delicious way to start the day. Yeah, I think it’s safe to say that Maxixe is starting to feel like home…
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
More next month…
I could write more/ do have the time… but I’m going to wait off until next month. I’ve been here a few weeks but I’d like to be out more getting to know Maxixe and the community. I already know a few people, two of which I can call friends at this point, but I’m sure I can find my niche somewhere given the time.
One place I’d like to visit during the week is the local Catholic Church. I already know the priests there and so I’m going to see what I can get involved in… Do they have a chorus for the ‘25 and under Mass?’ I don’t remember. Or maybe I would prefer the ‘adult Mass’ . . . I’m just gonna have to wait and see.
Besides that I’m planning on spending New Year’s with my co-worker and his family, so that’s a good start. Gosh, sometimes I feel like a freshman all over again… I don’t really know anybody and I don’t really know where everything is/what they’re called. Key word for the next few months: patience… I’m going to need a lot of it. Right now I’m just trying to take one day at a time… I suppose that’s all I can do…
PS. I miss you all. I love you all. Catchya later.
(NOTE*ALL PREVIOUS POSTS WRITTEN DECEMBER 30*)
Holiday Road
Here in
What is a chapa and what exactly is this ‘chapa experience’ you might still be asking?
Well, the chapa is usually a sliding door van (not too dissimilar to the kind of vans high school sports or community centers utilize… although there are differences) that can fit… well… should fit 12-15 people (It depends on the size of course). That said, chapa workers usually like to cram the vans to make as much cash as possible and so… it’s not uncommon to have 20-25 in there. Often you’ll see a chapa drive by that is so packed that a few people are standing by the sliding door with their butts pressed to the window.
Also common in chapas: livestock. People like to bring chickens, which does make sense in a society where people often kill their own food. The chickens are relatively well behaved though, which they should be since they are usually being held upside down by their feet to keep the shuffling and moving to a minimal. Goats are another thing. I haven’t seen a goat inside a chapa yet (maybe I need to give it time), but I have seen them tied to the tops of larger than van sized chapas. Just today I saw a large truck with like 25 or 30 goats tied to the top… and yes I worry one is going to fall down every time. It’s just going to take a while for me to get used to seeing that I suppose.
Finally, there are three things that so far I have encountered I think every time I’ve been on a chapa. The first is that on a chapa, there are always a few children crunched together on at least one seat. Since they are so small they are expected to cram in together to take up as much room as an adult would. Second, there is always either the crying baby and/or the baby being breastfed. On the latter point I think people in the states are a bit more private, but here it’s very much ok to do in public. Last (but not least)… there’s the smell. People might bring fish on the chapa from time to time whether fresh or not. My friend Rabiah actually had quite the experience in a ten hour chapa ride with really smelly fish in the back seat… not too fun. J Also, in any given group of people, there’s always going to be at least one person who woke up and just really didn’t feel like really showering that day. Add heat and a cramped space and you get a somewhat smelly chapa…
That all aside, one of the best parts of the chapa experience is just sitting back and going with the flow. There have been a handful of times at least thus far when I’ve just stopped to think: ‘oh my gosh I’m living in another country on the other side of the world.’
‘Welp… See You Later…’
After a 10 hour trip that probably should have taken 5 or 6, I finally arrived at Maxixe. I couldn’t see much out my window since night had fallen quickly only moments before, but that didn’t really matter at all. I was home.
I had watched literally every other volunteer in the car (all 6) shove off one by one, their faces full of optimism, confusion, and utter terror all at the same time. I think it’s safe to say that I myself was very conflicted as well, with as mix of relief and anxiousness every time I found out that I was not the next person to be dropped off to site. Was it really the day?
By the time we had gotten to Maxixe at least I was in the company of a few other volunteers. Emily had to stay in a hotel with the driver and our Portuguese professor (Carlos) because her house still didn’t have a bed (Our organizations are supposed to provide at minimal a bed, a table, and two chairs). Meanwhile, Steph and Becky live a bit more up the road, so they would most likely get to walk me into my new home. Of course, things don’t always go as planned, do they?
As we drove into the city, I could not for the life of me get into contact with my boss. My phone was out of credit, as was my Portuguese teacher’s, so we just went to Steph and Becky’s new place first. After a brief meeting with the principal and other teachers at the school, a nice bumpy ride through the darkness to their house, and the drop off; we finally contacted my boss. The only problem was that the guy Peace Corps had hired to drive the other van had ‘mutinied’ because he was officially way off the clock. So it was me, my Prof, the Peace Corps driver, Em, and the teachers that we had to drop off all packed into the Peace Corps jeep. This topped with my anticipation probably didn’t help my anxiety…
Fast forward a few minutes and I’m standing in front of my work, met by 2 or 3 co-workers and my boss. It’s dark, I don’t know these people, I’m supposed to put my stuff in their car and go drive off with them… needless to say I’m a little scared. I think both Em and my Prof read the look on my face and Em came and sat in the car with me. I don’t think I’ve felt that vulnerable in a long time…
When I got to my house finally, I’m paraded in by all the Peace Corps people as well as my staff and my new neighbor, Vaz. ‘Everything looks good here. It’s time for us to go.’ And with a few handshakes and a hug, I was alone.
My house looked lived in and there was still a bunch of things left behind: stove top with gas, spice rack with spices, chairs, table, straw couch, straw bedroom furniture, and a wooden bed… yes, by most volunteers’ standards, I have it made. Having that stuff was great, yeah, but it didn’t change the fact that I was hungry and it was too late to buy food to cook with. Thank God for Vaz, my 16 year old neighbor/ the mediator between myself and my landlord, who gave me a bowl of rice with a seafood sauce for dinner. He answered all of my immediate questions and worries and told me than if I needed anything, to just holler. After he left I put together my water filter, made up my bed, and as I lay there, I thought… maybe I’m not so alone after all.
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