Tis the season...

for pineapples - 50 cents each!

Maxlhungo

Chibuto days

Big ol' graduation party in Chibuto for some guy I don't know,but my friend Maxlhungo (pictured below) got me invited. Regal Chibuto!

Visiting Chibuto

Spending a few days visiting my old site from 2002-2004. It has grown up quite a lot. This includes the lemon and coconut trees that i planted at my house 8yrs ago.

R&R

Doing a little water and sun quality research.

MAN WHO LIKES ALL FOOD FINDS FOOD HE HATES! AND ONE HE LOVES!

The sun had just broken through the morning clouds in Mahuline, Localidade Nivava. As the 8 farmers came in from the field, having staked and cleared a 50’ x 100’ section, they gathered in the shade of one of the bamboo outbuildings of Mr Pequininho Jose, President of the 25 de Junho Farmers’ Association. The meeting was closed with a few words by Mr Zachary D. O’Donnell, locally known as Zacarias, Zaca, Zicas, Tio Zaca, Chefe, Boss, Aquele Branco, Macunha, and Chuck Norris. The next meeting was set, work log books were signed and thanks were given. At that moment an elder leaned over the Zaca, who was gathering his things for departure, and explained that a small meal had been prepared. Tio Zaca obliged and settled in for what was to come though he should have settled in a bit more.

On the small table in front of him a vinyl Coca-Cola tablecloth was spread and glass were set next to a pitcher of water straight from the well. The elder farmers’ retired to the shade of a tree where they would be served. Zicas barely noticed this, as it is an immutable part of the deal. He along with his driver sat waiting. Along came Mama (Mrs. Pequininho Jose) with 2 covered plates. The larger showed piles of stiff white cornmeal porridge sneaking off the edges. The other was clearly meat and instantaneously Aquele Branco assumed, guiltly, that the Joses had killed a chicken for him. Mama put the plates down on the Coca-Cola logo and unveiled the porridge and what was definitely not chicken. Without asking Boss saw what must be the leg bones of a small pig; the tough black skin, wisps of burnt hairs, and dark fatty meat all attested to this. Then simultaneously as Chefe noticed the long curled nails of an unfamiliar claw on his food, President Pequininho cheerfully announced that they can managed to get some gigantic bush rat meat at the market. Chuck Norris was not happy, so he nodded and thanked the host. Chuck Norris is known for eating many things. In fact Chuck Norris once was so hungry that he bit through his own tongue. He stroked his beard once and picked up a fork. On first bite, Chuck wished he could return to the ignorance of 5min prior and just be eating some bad pork. He would not have that pleasure.

Big bites, lots of porridge and lots of water got the job done, that and some sly tosses to the waiting dogs. Somewhere mid gnaw on a tough piece of hair-accented skin, Zach decided that there is indeed food in this world that he does not like. Brussel sprouts sounded just dandy right about then.

Zacarias is also known to many as one who enjoys pleasing others, so upon finishing his pile he kindly obliged that his coworker should finish off the remaining meat. “Really,” he said “I’m full. You must eat it for me.” Such kindness. The coworker picking up on his discomfort commented, “You’re not fond of the porridge are you?”

That was that. President Pequininho came over and thanked Zicas once again for coming out to their field. Zicas thanked them for meal but begged that they not feel obliged to feed him every time he visited (40% sincere).

The Driver and Mr O’Donnell got in the old Land Cruiser pickup truck which the organization has assigned to him and bumped away back towards town. It did not take Tio Zaca too many bumps to understand that the only thing he possibly liked worse that boiled bush rat is boiled-bush-rat-burps and bush-rat-breath. A stop was made minutes later and a piece of American mint gum was scrounged out of his bag. He offered a piece to his driver in the exact casualness that the action assumes. And they bounced on down the road.

The bounces led to the residence and school owned by a small group of Marist Brothers, where Mr. Zaca wanted to stop, visit, and inquire about some pigs. The Brothers welcomed him openly and gave him a brief tour. Pigs, goats, rabbits, sheep, cows, and guinea pigs – all for sale and all for dinner. An older Portuguese Brother joined the tour and soon made a pointing reference to coffee. Macunha was certain his Portuguese had failed him so he asked again. The Brother led him to a grove of trees, “coffee”; coffee trees, 7,000 of them. The country of Mozambique is not known for their coffee production or even consumption. Actually 98% people’s concept of coffee is an instant powder that is best with equal parts sugar. Except for a few places in the national capital, you cannot even buy anything but instant. Coffee? “It’s not for sale, it’s for us” the older Brother continued. The whole process was explained; picking, drying, splitting roasting, grinding. Chuck Norris’ jaw dropped and out came another beard, the jaw on which also dropped. The older Brother disappeared into their residence and returned with two large bags, one with whole beans and one with grounds. Tio Zaca’s nose disappeared into one of them. “Do you have a grinder in your house?” asked the older Brother. Aquele Branco stuttered out a ‘no’ and then found in his hands 2 pounds of ground coffee. Chuck Norris was very happy and bounced on home.

The Houseplant

Raise your hand if you have ever had one of those houseplants that just always pulled through regardless of your schedule; just hung on being a persistent little guy even though you forgot all about it. In fact that day you saw it again for the first time, you had sworn to yourself that you had thrown that thing out. Then out of a nagging obligation, and maybe a bit of Catholic-guilt, you dumped a bunch of water on it and a bit of plant you found back under your sink; so much that it leaked out the bottom and across the floor. This plant belongs to all of us; it just so happens that in my house in New Orleans this plant is named George.

On pretty much a daily basis I look at where I am and whom I am working with and wonder how it got this way and what it really will take to bring this place up to speed. Then I look around and notice all the white pickups with USAID sponsorship logos, the World Food Program contracts, and the hay-sized bales of used clothing, donated to local organizations by the generous and purging alike not realizing that their “I’m a blonde on the inside!” tank top may one day be for sale in a Mozambican market. I cannot say that I am always positive that what we are doing, what I am doing, is the right way to do it. Sometimes it’s hard to see the path that begins here and ends in knee-deep opportunities, infrastructure, and a middle class. Sometimes I feel like this is the forgotten houseplant.

What I do know is that habits are hard to break. Independence came to this region for the most part 35-40 years ago. Those born into self-rule now have kids, if not grandkids. These kids have been raised under the umbrella of international aide. They have known no other existence. For them aide will always be there; it is it’s purpose. I have met veteran farmers who have never purchased their own seed, nor have they ever saved seed; it has always been given to them by somebody. I am not saying that all aide should be retracted tomorrow. But why does the Iraq War get a pullout plan but here doesn’t?

A view from a day in the "office"

More photos and all with captions......

  Thank you all (except Tony D'Alessio) for being patient as I worked to get captions on that mess of pictures I posted.  Now on the right sidebar there are the most recent images. Click on any image to get to other albums.  There currently about 200 photos and the albums also should be linked to a Google map. 

Also, my office just got internet today, so the days of blogging from my phone are hopefully no longer the norm.

RIP Marcelino

Sad to say that after a 3 day battle with distemper, Marcelino wagged his last tale this morning. I buried him beneath a cashew tree over looking some mountains a mile outside of town. 

Pics so far

http://picasaweb.google.com/zodonnell/Moz2010?authkey=Gv1sRgCISTx5uMx-D4wAE&feat=email#

--
Zach

My Dealio....

It’s starting to come together here, but it better get a move on because the rains are about to get their move on….

About 10 miles outside of town there is a group of children in Caiaia I have been working with once a week. They are all orphans (all 45 of them) which here is defined by those that have lost one parent if not both. They are poor enough that I am able to learn their names by associating a name with an item of clothing they’re wearing (i.e. Tucha has a yellow skirt), because what they are wearing never changes it only becomes more threadbare. A couple weeks back we planted a small field (1,600 ft2) of Roma tomatoes. For a variety of reasons (I presume to be: poor soil, weak seedlings, and a mismatch between variety and climate) tomatoes here are planted about 1 foot away from each other as opposed to about 2 feet in The States. This, as well as the other aforementioned factors, undoubtedly contributes to the tomato plants never growing more than 1 foot in height before setting fruit. It’s an odd sight for one that is accustom to rows of staked tomato plants reaching 4ft tall and bending over from the weight of fruit. I do not claim to be a tomato expert and I am sure there are other factors at play, but I digress……..

The kiddies planted around 350 tomato plants in this plot and now fight the weed pressure. One of the techniques I am stressing is maintaining a permanent mulch covering on their fields. It currently is posing a challenge because weeding (though needed less frequently) is initially a bit more work with mulch in the way. The group’s focus is not only work, we have been doing some mini-agronomy lessons, dancing a bit, singing a bit, racing a bit. We have a good time. I’m teaching them some farming themed song and dances that I have somewhat invented and I’ve actually incorporated moves like “stirring the soup” and “raising the roof”. It’ll make for a good video one of these days. The group is also busy preparing a peanut and corn field. This should have been finished last week because the rainy season is slipping into reality and all of such fields are rain irrigated. Land prep needs to be done well before to ensure sowing immediately after a good rain. I’m in the process of setting up 2 other similar junior farmer programs near town as well. We’re running a bit behind mostly because my arrival here was just a bit late in the timing of this all

Besides that I assisting with the normal (adult) farmer associations, teaching them both conservation agriculture principals and trying to teach them to just be more efficient with they’re own time in the field (the whole more with less scheme). I am reminded daily how much Americans absolutely thrive on multitasking (i.e. writing emails during a meeting or class, eating and driving, etc). It’s almost instinctual so I can’t help but suggest ways that these farmers can do 2 things at once. It’s a bit of a new concept. These farmers’ associations have a demonstration plot where we ask them to test out some of these new techniques along side their own. I’m helping the groups set up these plots and reduce the fear that a comes wrapped around a new thing.

Also, I’m growing into a role sort of as a business consultant. You an stop your laughing now…. The farmers’ Federation (an organization that represents over 1,000 farmers in the district) here buys corn, beans, and peanuts from the farmer associations and with this mass of raw product attempts to market it to a larger buyer, like World Food Program or a processor. It’s ideally a self-sustaining business, but it’s still in its infancy despite being several years old. I’m going to try and help them tighten up some of their transactions and allocation of resources in the name of cost effectiveness with the hope of squeezing a profit out of their work. I’m sort of just a set of eyes to watch where the money and time goes.

That’s my deal here….. I’ve been keeping pretty busy and riding my bike all around and up and down hilly dirt roads. The dust is at its maximum right now at the end of the dry season and most days a haze of smoke hangs in the air as a result of farmers burning their fields and these flames jumping to nearby prairies. The rains will help this all. I just hope I get my work done before.

For your viewing pleasure.....

Check this out...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gg6cEF4ceYs

1,000 Words

I realize now that the first time I was in Mozambique I was never fully able to shake off the shock of being in a place, culture, climate, language, and society that was is different from my own. It was as if the intensity of all of this left me in a perpetual state of claustrophobia, which permeated all spaces except for that between my ears. Though the noise lessened over 2 years, it never fully muted. This time around it has just been easier. I know what to expect. I know how to read between the lines in a cultural that values non-confrontation. I know that a meeting scheduled for 8am really won’t begin until 10:30 so it’s best to bring a book along. I know that laughter that might seem intentionally directed at someone and offensive is nothing more than laughter. I know that I am watched every time I step foot out of my house and that my skin color makes it almost impossible for some people to consider me equal, regardless of what I say, do or feel.

However what I have not been able to do yet is to post some pictures of this place where I work and live; my slow connection has thus far prevented this. So here are 1,000 words instead.

In the corner of a 2m x 3m room there is a foam mattress resting on top of a bamboo mat on the floor. The sheets are bright blue with gaudy gold flowers and probably need to be washed. Just above the mattress is a small barred window on the front of the house, which is left perpetually open to cool off the room and allow for some sleep. The room is longer than it is wide so as I get up each morning I walk past a line of items currently just on the floor: stacks of books, a medical kit, rain boots, 2 duffel bags and a bottle of South African wine. Suspended from the rafters, just below the tin roof is a length of bamboo on which hang shirts and pants. Besides that the only thing not on the floor is a John Deere cap (unknowingly donated by my father in-law), which hangs off the only nail in the wall. The mattress is pulled a few inches from the wall because the cement covering the walls is weak and each time you touch the wall a small shower of sand falls to the floor, or onto my bed. In the far left hand corner opposite my pillow is the doorway leading to the next room, which like my bedroom also has one light bulb. Mozambicans are not a people known for their height; the threshold passes an inch above my head., but I’ve grown accustomed to pass through without ducking. The next room is the sitting room, but it is about a third as big as the bedroom so currently it contains a bike and some shoes; that may change once the rains begin. The wooden front door leads out of the house and onto the porch where a single light bulb hangs. Directly in front (north) are two steps that go down into the yard; the covered porch continues to the right for another 2 meters. There is another door on the same wall as my front door that opens into a kitchen that is just as wide, but less deep than my bedroom. If it were empty it would no more resemble a kitchen than a bedroom. There are not counters or a sink, or a fridges, or cabinets, or appliances. It’s just a room named kitchen as if a name alone creates the space. I have gathered some kitchen-like objects. There are 4 plastic buckets of varying sizes and colors holding water, which was carried from a well two houses over. There is a small bamboo table holding all manners of food, spices, herbs and a water filter. There is a woven bamboo 3-tiered shelf (round and 4ft tall) with purple accents holding plates, tupperware, onions, and tomatoes. There is a sack of charcoal on the floor next to a simple small iron charcoal stove that is only used outside. Next to it lie a few pans and bits of cardboard. The room also has one window facing the side of the house but its rarely open because there is no reason to stay in the kitchen for more than 5 minutes at a time. The porch is just deep enough to sit in a chair with feet up on the front railing. The whole house is made of bricks that were formed from the dirt in that yard, mortar and all, with some wooden beams to support the thin tin roof. Walking off the porch there is a yard surrounded entirely by a bamboo fence with 2 gates: one to the right that a car could pass through and a smaller one in the corner behind the kitchen. Just inside the main gate is a large papaya tree with fruit only accessible by the swinging of a long bamboo. Tied to the tree is one end of a clothesline with parallels the length of the fence down to the opening of the bathroom. The yard has not one speck of grass, just hard red sandy soil and bits of charcoal and ash discarded from the previous night’s cooking. This is the preferred style and is considered ‘clean.’ To maintain this, the yard is swept every morning and in fact it is the sound of the neighbors sweeping their yards with bundles of branches just before dawn that most often wakes me up. Walking off the porch and turning left on the side of the house is a large mango tree a couple months shy of ripe fruit. In its shade it is a small bamboo table anchored into the ground. About 3 meters in front of the table is the un-doored entrance to a structure that consists entirely of tin sheets (about 5 feet tall) nailed to wooden posts with no roof. As you enter there is a brief corridor, then on each side a room; to the left is an enclosed space with a cement floor and a hole in the middle; to the right is a space with a dirt floor embedded with rocks on one of which lays a bar of soap. This structure sits in the corner of the yard opposite the small back gate and from it you can easily peer over into the neighbor’s yard. Running enthusiastically and perpetually throughout the yard is 3-month old puppy named Marcelino. His paw prints can be seen everywhere including in the new vegetable garden directly below the bedroom window. Though the fence is complete there are plenty of puppy-sized gaps between the stalks of bamboo and Marcelino eagerly makes use of them all especially when you want to go somewhere without him; only a handful of dried fish will keep him distracted long enough to make an escape. In the spectrum of houses here, this one is above average. Surrounding it on most sides are narrow dirt paths leading to smaller single-room bamboo houses sitting in the shadows of unfinished brick houses. Mango and papaya trees fill in the gaps.

Humors all mixed up

I’ve taken to giving little kids rides on the back of my bike and challenging others to a spontaneous race when I pass them on the road. I remember last time I was here being very (and in hindsight I’d say overly) self-conscious about the image I portrayed as an American. I’ve come to accept that we are all weird and especially weird to the rest of the world, so why not just have some fun. Yesterday when a 4 year old jumped off the back, I asked for money as if I were a taxi. He was too confused to respond and just ran off instead. It may take the kids a lifetime to get my humor. Oh well.

This morning I was on my bike at 5:45 and heading towards a village called Caiaia. There were no kids out to race so I met up with Pedro, who lives out in Caiaia but works nights in town as a guard (which honestly includes more sleep than you’d expect). Pedro is the president of a farmers’ association I’m working with. He makes the commute to town each afternoon and then back home each morning by bicycle. He showed me the shortcuts. Caiaia is only about 20min outside of town by car which translates to anywhere between 40 and 70 minutes by bike depending how many times your bike breaks down and if you choose to walk or bike up the hills, of which there is no shortage. I found the ride better than my morning cup of tea, which I had gone without, and certainly more awakening. Though there was some time on dirt roads most of the trip was done on a path sometimes no more than 3 feet wide and rarely flat. Also the path was carved and cut by streams of water that slice into it in the rainy season so it was also rarely level. Since most bikes here do not have gears the goal of going down a hill is to see how far up the next one you can make it before having to walk. This results in some pretty fantastic downhill riding over ruts and rocks and through the occasional stream, and then you just walk up the next hill.

By the time we got to Pedro’s house I was pretty excited, but for him it’s just his daily ride, no different than rush hour on the Dan Ryan Expressway for some. We sat in the shade for a bit because that’s where you sit. I had asked to work with him today, just to work with him. I acknowledge that coming here and trying to teach a village how to farm without understanding the daily work is foolish and ignorant. So I came to work. I had to remind him of that once 9 members of the farmers’ association showed up and walked off to the field. Being from World Vision and white, the normal expectation is that I’m here to manage and managing is usually done from a chair. I refused. They all laughed at me and started walking off to the field. I literally went in search of my own hoe (the save-all farming tool here) and followed behind. We set to work weeding a field, which will be the site of a demonstration plot. The field was about 1 acre and it took us about 2 hours to go over it all chopping out weeds and old stumps. At one point a lady arrived and asked to “borrow” my hoe. I saw right through her politeness, but handed it over regardless. I stood watching them and soon enough they insisted that I just sit in the shade. I told them I wanted to work but that lady stole my hoe at which they all burst out laughing. As soon as the next person sat down for a quick break I went over and “borrowed” hers. By about 10am it is too hot to work, so the group dispersed and after checking on some other fields I was on my way back to town. Pedro wouldn’t let me leave without 4 fresh eggs from his hens. I had brought all the sugar I had at home, knowing that was impossible to get in Caiaia. He was grateful and I thought it was a fair trade.

Pics of deforestation

Some areas i was working in today. Note those trees are not just supposed to lining the road.

Napiri

The weeks of training and orientation are past. My first day in “the office” put me farther out in the backcountry of Mozambique than I believe I have ever been. Alto Molócuè itself is not urban (in fact its proving to be less developed than my site in Chibuto during Peace Corps #1) and then we drove out of town towards the mountains for about an hour to a village called Napiri. Driving for an hour does not mean we were moving fast but the changes were drastic.

The huts we passed clearly belonged to families who have no means of accessing the commerce of Alto Molócuè except by foot or bike. We passed one guy literally carrying the front door of a house on the back of his bike. Every good of this manner arrives similarly. Houses were sparse standing alone or maybe with one other until a small river crossed the road where clusters existed along with small primary schools (3 room hut with a grass roof, dirt floor, and half walls to let the light in) and cattle corrals.

The scars of deforestation were almost impossible to escape and were even evident on some of the lower slopes of the approaching mountains. Fields of stumps 3 feet tall and singed by fire were common. Wood is both the main source of cooking fuel and construction. Beyond leaving about 3 feet of stump remaining, which usually sprouts new branches over time, nothing is done to replenish the wood or native habitats. Stands of forest that look somewhat old prove to be secondary if not tertiary growth. Each trunk can be followed down to its base where it thickens and splits about 3 feet above the ground. Each of these was at one point cut down for use and has since re-sprouted. At least some trees are allowed to grow back, but this is more a management tactic than preservation. The ecosystems that would mature under mature trees never even have a chance.

The dirt track curved tightly around the base of a chunk of granite, which spiked maybe 400 feet straight up though was narrow enough to easily drive around in 2 minutes. We kept going. Half of me wanted never to arrive, but just to continue over rut and rock.

Only the empty stalls of the Saturday market told us we had arrived in Napiri. We met with a farmer who is helping to organize a youth group in that area, as well as care for conservation agriculture demonstration plot. The site also has an active compost pile, which they turn regularly in preparation for the coming planting season.  The demonstration plot is definitely an experiment for the community and much depends on its success.  The youth group has yet to begin any farming work, but hopefully that will start with my visit next week.

Visited a farmer association in Napiri this morning. I gave them some advice on their compost. Its not too ugly out there

A view from Alto Molócuè

What came first? The brick or the brick oven?

About 5hrs (about 250mi) north of the provincial capital Quelimane lays the town of Alto Molócuè, where I will be working for the next year. I arrived yesterday evening with Sansão (World Vision district coordinator) in a comfortable pickup truck listening to bad covers of Whitney Houston and Lionel Ritchie and chilled by too much A/C. Along the way we had passed number of villages whose mere existence seemed to be an open air market in a small opening off the road’s shoulder strewn with blankets on the ground and a mass of people, most just “blanket shopping” and others just talking. For a half-mile before and after these villages the shoulders were crowded with people coming and going. Beyond the ripple of the market, the road was empty save maybe a chicken playing chicken with traffic or a small pod of kids, wearing more dirt than clothes, up to kid type things in the bush.

Hills rose and fell but never as dramatically as the mountains forever on the horizon. I for some reason find it surprising to encounter giant granite monolithic mountains here. They seem random and out of place, but maybe that’s because they are scattered without a visible pattern and rise so drastically that they are of little use. I can only imagine what a bunch of climbing-crazed hipsters would say if the saw some of these faces.

Without suspense suddenly we were in Alto Molócuè. The road had risen as it had before, but here at the top this time there was a town. I’m not really sure why there is a town here. It’s inland several hours from the coast, not in the cool growing climate of the mountains, yet hilly. There is a river that runs through it, though not of the trout fishing kind, more of the clothes washing kind. I need to figure this out, why there is a town here.

Most homes here are brick to protect from the cooler winters that one finds at 500m elevation. The red soil of Alto Molócuè is easily convinced into bricks, though it is not at all clay burdened. However simple bricks are made from the dirt in your front yard; mix in a little water, pressed the mud into a form, let it dry in the sun and then fire the bricks in a brick oven (what came first the brick or the brick oven, the world will never know). The result is a house that is the same exact color as your grass-free (i.e. clean) yard. Add a dried thatch roof and your gots yourself a house. Most are 1 or 2 rooms big (10ft x15ft) with or without windows – no one really sits inside during the day so fewer windows often means fewer mosquitoes at night. Out back there is somewhere to cook, maybe under a tarp near a tree or under a little thatch hut with walls that stop halfway to the roof. You’ll also find two little walled, but not usually covered, structures at the back of the yard: one has a cement slab with a hole in it as a floor and provides a great deep knee bend workout and the other is just cement and for bathing; though for some the bathing room doubles as a urinal, a most unpleasant surprise first thing in the morning in my experience.

I spent my morning wandering aimlessly around town for about 2 and a half hours and generally surprising a lot of wide-eyed people. The older women always looked the most shocked upon laying their eyes on me, but are always the most cordial when I say hello. I imagine a lot of evening conversation today will go something like “Did you see that white guy today!? He must have been fed well!? Did you see that beard!?” Alto Molócuè is big enough that you could easily walk in a straight line for over an hour and still be in town. It’s not the most centralized place. The market area lays on one hill and the hospital and government center on another. In between the 2 sides is a river, over which there is only one bridge.

I don’t have my own red brick house yet and am not quite sure when I will. That project will start tomorrow, hopefully, but more likely Monday or Tuesday, possibly Wednesday. I’m for the mean time I’m renting a room at compound run by Catholic priests, Sacred Heart priests for all you Catholics out there. It’s comfortable. I have a room with 4 beds, a ton of windows, a/c if I want it and a bathroom with hot water, but its kind of on the edge of town and not near anywhere that serves food which may be an issue seeing as though I don’t have a kitchen and wandering at night is never the best idea. Also last night, when the person in the room next to me farted I discovered that the walls are paper-thin. Oh well. Two can play at that game.

Test

Testing blog from my phond.

Stews and more

Curried beef stew
Curried goat stew
Curried chicken stew
Curried shrimp stew with coconut milk
Bean and sausage stew
Pumpkin leaves stewed with ground peanut and coconut milk
Collard greens stewed with ground peanut and coconut milk
Curried duiker stew

Coconut rice with ground bean flour
1 under-cooked grouper steak
4 barracuda steaks, grilled
7 half chickens, grilled
8 greasy egg sandwiches
4 pounds of soggy french fries
42 pounds of cornmeal mush

I'm full.

Zimbabwe...add it to the list

From Tuesday to Friday of this past week I was in Mutare, Zimbabwe. It was an accomplishment for me mainly because Zimbabwe has been on my list of places to go, but since it is was recently also on the list of places where I'd be more likely to be the recipient of something unpleasant I had not yet made it there. Now I have, and I loved it. In 2008, Zimbabwe hit a low point economically; hyper-inflation of the Zimbabwean dollar had left the country distraught. At one point $1 USD equated to literally quadramillions of Zimbabwean dollars. I really have no idea how zeros are in a quadramillion. Not to long ago the Zimbabwean dollar was not to far off from the US dollar, but the last 10 years or have dissolved any confidence in the currency. In 2008 many schools and other civil departments closed. The salaries of these govenerment employees had reached such inflated levels that a month's salaries converted to $1 USD per month (as opposed to about $150/month a few years earlier). Now that's a motivation killer. Lines for simple commiditier like sugar and gas stretched for 5hrs. Zimbabweans fled the country, not surprisingly. Then about a year ago the government sort of abandoned their own currency and took up all transactions in US dollars and simultaneously standardized the salaries of government employees in US dollars as well. This stability ha helped immensely. It would be a lie to say that Zimbabwe is anywhere close to where it once was, but at least it seems the uncontrolled tailspin has stopped. However, I must say it is weird to walk into a Zimbabwe open air produce market, be overwhelmed by the smell of dried fish and the banter of people speaking Shona and then exchange a bunch of bananas for one US dollar; not what I expected. I also did not expect to see by far the greatest Taxi slogan I have ever encountered (not that I can say I have encountered many at all). MIN TAXI - "Expose yourself, get a ride." I could not decided quick enough what exactly I felt like exposing and alas the taxi had taken another fare. Oh well, I have to expose myself for US dollars some other time.

Oh yeah.....why was I in Zimbabwe anyway. I attended a 2 day workshop on conservation agriculture techniques and principles that I will bing back to my community in Moz and train others in. It made more sense for me (and the other volunteer Mica) to go since we speak English and could translate the methods back in Mozambique. Basically I'll be emphasizing a minimum tillage agriculture with a thick mulch cover for water conservation and a planned crop rotation. Simple things, but new things and thus difficult. The oddest part was that after growing up in the midwest and driving past endless field of corn and soybeans for the past 30yrs, I have learned to grow corn (the starchy flour variety) and soybeans in Zimbabwe.

We got back to Moz yesterday to find out that a series of food riots have erupted in the country, and particulary in the city of Chimoio, the largest city to our border crossing. Things seem to have calmed, but we're going to stay put here in Chimoio for a few days, just to make sure. If you'd like to read more about them check the links below.  On Monday we'll see if the riots continue, they sort of take the weekend off, seriously.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-africa-11176238
http://allafrica.com/view/group/main/main/id/00011718.html

The Situation

     This past week has been filled with various trainings, orientations, and meetings; all with World Vision in Zambézia Province and much of it was done on site in villages hours from the main roads.  I actually have not even made it to my site yet, but have been switching between hotels, expat houses, and peace corps volunteer huts.  For three days I attended a training with 25 Mozambican farmers on conservation agriculture techniques and the other days I visited projects with the World Vision Agriculture Specialist up in the mountains of northwest Zambézia, a place called Gurué.  The trainings, discussions, and demonstrations with local farmers provided me with a strong baseline with regards to the current agriculture practices in use here and a deeper understanding of why it is so hard for these communities to get ahead.
     For the most part farmers plant with the rains (many have no close source of water), however before the rains come they till their farms by hand; using a hoe they mound the soil in long rows about 18in high and 12in wide; this gives the appearance of a midwestern corn field.  Though this leaves the soil soft and makes root growth easy, they add nothing to the soil (organic or otherwise) nor cover the soil but rather leave it exposed to the wind and air before the rains come.  So basically any moisture in the soil evaporates before the rains come, and then when it does rain it takes even longer for water to reach the deep soil, and the force of the drops on the loose mounds causes a lot of runoff.  Overtime the main nutrients are leached from the soil, leaving the red dirt high in iron which will turn a farm acidic, not good at all.  Even if this problem is realized a farmer can afford to do little to amend the soil.  Inputs (such as a fertilizer - organic or not) are up to 6 times more expensive here, because they are imported and then transported.
    But lets just say that a farmer uses techniques that prevent this from happening...transport still poses a major problem.  Farmers that succeed, but live way out in the country have no market to sell their surplus at because many of these roads have no traffic aside from bicycles and the odd motorcycle.  Furthermore, storage silos, of any sort, are almost non-existent.  So a crop of corn (the hard starchy type used for cornmeal) or dried beans can quickly spoil or become a meal for weevils if it is not moved.  This leaves farmers in situation where they feel enormous pressure to sell their harvest for any price as soon as possible, and sell it all (rather than waiting for better prices once demand goes up or even safe-guarding some to eat).  So a farmer that has grown a big crop now has little food at home, but rather some money, that doesn't do much good between the months of November and March.  This period is often called the 'hungry season'.  The heat of the summer limits what can be grown; most nutritious vegetable plants will burn in the heat and food preservation techniques (i.e. canning or drying) are not used, and the corn, beans, and tomatoes planted in October have yet to mature.  So though money is always helpful, it is of less use when nobody has food to sell.  A family that struggles through the summer months is obviously less healthy and more susceptible to illness.  Once the weather cools and the fall veggie season begins if a family is not healthy their ability to plant declines and the cycle continues.  Also, factor in the effects of water-borne diseases and malaria.  This is a formula for long-term poverty.

        So now that I have sufficiently depressed you...., there are a number of organizations working to remedy this, to increase food availability, access, and utilization.  There is no quick long-term solution, so organizations are starting with new techniques, appropriate transport technologies (i.e. carts pulled by cows), organizing farmers into to associations with selling power, and associations into larger networks with large storage warehouses.  There is an Zimbabwean group that has been advocating for what is called conservation agriculture for years.  Tomorrow I will begin a 2 day training workshop in Mutare, Zimbabwe to help bring their work here.  What they teach is not anything new to agriculture or new to me, but old habits being hard to break these it will take time for these techniques to spread and hold in Mozambique.  Just like with many sustainable farming techniques the greatest yields are seen only after years of use.  This is a difficult investment for a poor farmer to make.
       Foremost, conservation agriculture promotes no-till (or minimum-till) farming.  This means farmers are instructed not to make those gloriously long and impressive mounds of soil.  Rather they should stake out their field, establish permanent planting rows and then plant in almost the exact same holes each year.  Before planting compost/aged manure (and possibly a pelletized fertilizer) should be worked into each hole (compost making is part of the workshop).  This concentrates the fertility in the weak soil and also forces the farmer to adhere to a regular organization of their farmer (thus making the space more efficient).  Before planting farmers are instructed to cover the entire field with a thick layer of mulch (cut grass from the plains, old crop residues, etc).  This layer protects the soil from evaporation and the force of rain, slowly decomposes over time adding organic matter to the soil, and smothers weeds.  A well planned field also allows farmers to make a map and adhere to a crop rotation.  What will be new for me are the particularities that are unique to this climate, whether that be row spacing, compost making, or time of plantings.  I will be attending this training with a couple other Mozambicans, but we are not the first to go.  World Vision has been teaching these techniques for the past few years.  One of the trainings I attended this past week was instructing local farmers on these techniques.  Going to the workshop in Zimbabwe will enable me to train the trainers.  That will be one of my roles here.

 In Alto Molócué I'll be working with various farmer associations (sort of like cooperatives) to set up demonstration plots using the conservation agriculture techniques.  I will do the same with a group of youth ages 5-17 with the intention of teaching new techniques before old habits harden.  Furthermore, I will work with the farmer associations and larger farmer federation with the hope of increasing the amount of harvest that comes from the countryside into larger towns where it can be stored and sold for a better price.  Up until now the use of animals on farms in this region is almost non-existent (and tractors even less available).  Another World Vision project is training farmers to use draft animals (cows and oxen) in the field but also as a way to move goods.  My work may very well change as I get settled, but this is the main scaffold.

 I have a ton of photos, of farmers and the mountains of Mozambique, but those will have to wait as my cord is in another town right now.   For now, enjoy my self-portait.

Could Pakistan Learn From Mozambique's Floods....

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-africa-11044629

Thanks Dan for this link. The 2000 Floods in Mozambique we exactly in the area where I lived from 2002-2004. Actually the little girl, Rosita, who was born in a tree lived down the road from me.

I arrived in Quelimane, the capital of Zambézia Province yesterday. Quelimane sits on a river just inland from the Indian Ocean. The city was founded and named around 1500 by Vasco de Gama, the Portuguese explorer. Since then it has been a hub for the Companhia de Zambézia (Portugal’s trading/plantation company during colonialism) and it is currently the hub of a giant coconut farm (madal) and tiger prawn (really big shrimp) export.
An employee from World Vision picked us (myself and Mica another volunteer who is part this project) up and brought us to a hotel. After quickly dropping off our luggage we went to the World Vision office and met with Brian, the provincial manager and our boss. Brian is an American who, with his wife and four kids, has been living abroad for the past 30 years or so. About 5 minutes into our conversation I learned that I will not be going to Morrumbala, but rather to a town called Alto-Molócué (“moló-cuáy). Apparently Alto-Molócué has a weaker ongoing agriculture project, and my knowledge of agriculture will be more effective there. I know very little about Alto-Molócué; it sits at about 1,500 feet above sea level; its 6 hrs from Quelimane, but closer to the city of Nampula. 5 years ago Carolyn I traveled a bit in this area and went to a near by town called Gurúe that is higher up and surrounded by tea plantations.
In Alto-Molócué it looks like I’ll be helping farmers implement conservation farming techniques on their own farms, in the form of demonstration plots. We’ll then do frequent field days to teacher other farmers about the techniques and show the difference in yields. I’ll also aid a local cooperative that has been established by World Vision. The level I will work with actually represents hundreds of farmers and is aimed at providing a market for their products. Additionally I’ll be developing a junior farmers program, which will be tied in with the demonstration plots. It is a lot of work, of course that is fine by me. Some of the work will also take me out into the bush on my bike with a tent in the mountains. Doesn’t that sound like fun!?
I have meetings and trainings in Quelimane until at least the end of next week and then up to Alto-Molócué.

My return to Mozambique has come over 5 years after finishing Peace Corps. I’ve grown old-er, gone back to school (twice), moved (twice), and married (once). My age, education, and all that in between will certainly change my perspective during this next year. I’d like to say now that it will be easier that the answers will be more evident and my project more successful, but I suspect that this new perspective will just make my comprehension of all that needs to be done deeper and the work more important. I am surprised at how comfortable I am walking around the capital that has always put me left my dizzy with paranoia. The city seems brighter from recent growth, but I also find comfort in knowing what to expect.
I was drawn back to the scene of the transmission. I could not help it. I ate dinner this evening at a certain Maputo restaurant with pizzas, hamburgers, and real bathrooms that almost 8 years ago left me itching. I do mean itching. It seems that those very nice bathrooms beheld a bounty of little buggers that were just looking for a ride. However, now I am older, educated, and married. Now I know better than to sit. My comprehension of the risks involved in sitting rather than squatting are indeed deeper. I have indeed grown wise.

Today I take a 3-hour flight north to Quelimane, the provincial capital of Zambézia Province. From there I have at least a 3-hour ride to the town of Morrumbala where I will live and work for the upcoming year. What exactly I’ll be doing and where exactly I’ll be living I may find out tomorrow.

I like to spend some time in Mozambique The sunny sky is aqua blue And all the couples dancing cheek to cheek It’s very nice to stay a week or two There’s lot of pretty girls in Mozambique And plenty time for good romance And everybody likes to stop and speak To give the special one you seek a chance Or maybe say hello with just a glance Lying next to her by the ocean Reaching out and touching her hand Whispering your secret emotion Magic in a magical land And when it’s time for leaving Mozambique To say goodbye to sand and sea You turn around to take a final peek And you see why it’s so unique to be Among the lovely people living free Upon the beach of sunny Mozambique


Lyrics by Bob Dylan and Jacques Levy
Copyright © 1975 by Ram's Horn Music; renewed 2003 by Ram’s Horn Music