Small Big Country

             22 million people spread over an area twice the size of California only makes a place sound large in size, however, I consistently begin conversations with people in different cities, towns and villages hundreds of miles away from where I actually live and we find friends in common.  Kevin Bacon and his five degrees would be out of work here.

               This evening I got a phone call from Titos, a friend that I not only have not seen since 2004, but with whom I haven’t exchanged even a single email, text, facebook poke, or letter.  I had no way of reaching him. Nothing.  When I was Chibuto, Titos’ home town, in Decemebr I tried to find his old house, but ended up just lost.  I couldn’t remember his last name and thus ask somebody, so hopelessly gave up.  Then he called me tonight.  He had gotten my number from someone who had gotten it from someone else.  We live 300 miles from each other.  It was phenomonal.

            But this isn’t the first time I’ve been tracked down since moving down to Maputo.  I have been ordered to stop by the Police only to discover that it was a former student, suspiciously been eyed by people who turned out to be either former coworkers and students, stopped inches from a guy running into me who also was an old friend, and been tracked down by a former teacher that now lives in South Africa.  Then, about a month ago I was crossing in South Africa and ran into to some complications in the Mozambican border post.  How lucky was I to find that the immigration agent in the next window over was a former student.  Seriously, it is ridiculous.

            So tonight’s phone was surprise only in terms of who was on the other end.  I guess this is a country that puts more stock in personal relations, in old friends, and in searching people out.  Cellphones have only made what was already done exponetially easier.

Perspective: Maputo

A city of one million people does not sound that big when compared to cities in China, the USA and Europe.  Sure that’s a lot of people in one area, a lot of light bulbs, trash, and cars but its no Beijing, Tokyo or Mexico City.  Really, Maputo is just another San Jose, CA, well almost.  Keeping with the California analogy, the entire country of Mozambique compares to California in about a 2:1 ratio, both in area and coastline.  However California’s capital, Sacramento, seems more “fairly” situated as opposed to Mozambique’s national capital, Maputo, which is located less than a 100 miles from the southern border of a country that stretches 1,500 miles north to south.  It is called home to about 1 million of the country’s 23 million citizens.  It may be comparable in population to San Jose, but I guarantee that there are many more Mozambicans dreaming of moving to Maputo than Americans to San Jose. 

Maputo stands alone in the country.  No other provincial capital compares in diversity of commercial goods, food, cars, construction and nightlife, but also no American city of this size offers so little in terms of diversity of commercial goods, food, cars, construction, and nightlife.  I can get various types of ketchup in Maputo, but have never seen a jar of pickle relish.  How am I supposed to eat my hot dogs?!

If you made a trip to Mozambique and spent your time only in Maputo, you would know a different Mozambique.  Everyone here knows this, yet I am constantly taken aback when I meet Mozambicans that have absolutely no concept of what life out in “the provinces” is like.  Maputo can put blinders on you just like living in Manhattan or San Francisco can obscure the reality of a blue collar Midwest livelihood.  I suspect many native wealthy Mozambicans do not know the truth of the poverty that so frequently categorizes this country.  It is odd to imagine this and it is an extreme end of the spectrum, but it is true.  I have been in houses in Maputo that surpass in wealth any house I have stepped foot in the USA; I’m talking about ocean views, marble staircases, and indoor pools.  On the other hand, the images that arise in the media showing the poverty extremes of countries like Mozambique can be just as unfairly representative of the whole as my current experience in Maputo is.  Maputo is not the Mozambique I know.

However, Maputo is not without its benefits.  During my first time in Mozambique, and even before this past July, I knew Maputo through the lens of hotels, restaurants, the occasional museum, and bars.  I enjoy the city now more than I ever did having found new restaurants, nice places to go for a run, cheaper and less touristy bars, a movie theater that shows exclusively Bollywood flicks, good pastry shops, and a group of Mozambicans that play Frisbee on the beach each weekend.  Its not my favorite place ever, but my new finds help distract me from the faded cement skyscrapers, fear of getting run over by drivers who seem to forget that cars come with both an accelerator and a brake pedal, burning nostril reminders that any and every tree is game to be peed on, and street vendors selling anything from extension cords to carved ivory still chasing you down after you said ‘no, thank you’ three blocks earlier.

            Yet there also exists a historical Maputo that becomes very apparent once you learn to look through the grime and crumbling facades.  Before officially leaving in 1975, the Portuguese had left their mark in art deco architecture throughout the old part of downtown Maputo.  It is easy to never notice it, but once you do you’ll find intentionality and unique details in many buildings in that part of town.  It’s a pleasant surprise seeing as the majority of constructions post-independence are no more appeasing to the eye than a town of old-school Lego buildings.

Another bit of history has happened every Wednesday since about 1994.   Post-independence in 1975 but before the fall of the Berlin Wall, about 15,000 Mozambicans were sent to East Germany to work in factories in a labor scheme between the then-communist allies.  They were paid 40% of their wages in East Germany and were told the remainder would be paid upon their return to Mozambique.  When the Berlin Wall fell in 1989, the Mozambicans were repatriated but their wages were never garnished.  Ever since the civil war peace accord 15 years ago, the former East German workers, now called the “Majermane”, have protested and marched every single Wednesday.  Usually about 300 former workers show up to march, with a police escort, across town to the German Embassy as a reminder of the injustice.  Except for a very few incidences, the marches are always peaceful and a just call for equal rights, but some members of the group claim that as a Majermane it is more difficult to find any employment as they are labeled as troublemakers in the general public.  As the group marches they carry old East German flags, an EU flag and a couple American flags.  The USA government has never supported these marches, nor intervened, but when asked the Majermane will tell you that they carry the Stars and Stripes because they look to the USA as a  generous and caring country that reaches and helps those in need.  Carrying the USA flag is an appeal to a country they truly believe will help them unconditionally.  Its sad to think of how the image of the USA abroad has changed and how such a flattering and altruistic reputation of the USA used to be the norm.

Another surprise in Maputo these past few months was the realization of the 10^th Africa Games, hosted for the first time ever in Mozambique.  For 2 weeks in mid-September, All-Africa Summer-Olympics-type events occurred through out the country, though as to be expected most games took place in Maputo.  I was offered VIP tickets to the opening ceremonies but had to declining seeing as that I do not own a tie in this country.  I did, however, make it to a number of basketball games, which played about a 10min walk from my house, and were a good deal at $1.50 for 4 games.  The level of play was to be expected but more entertaining were the cliche physical characteristics of the team themselves: tall and thin Malians, muscular and intimidating Nigerians, show-off Mozambicans, both white and black South Africans, and some fantastic beards on those Algerians.   The games were well publicized but, in typical Mozambican style, schedules, especially revised schedules, were very hard if not impossible to find.  So when my lady and I caught a bus out of town to go to the Ghana vs Uganda soccer match (a game I had circled in the original program weeks earlier due to Ghana’s performance in the 2010 World Cup), we were disappointed but not totally shocked that the stadium was empty and no game was to be heard of.  We did on the other hand catch one of the road cycling days.  Maputo roads tend to be about as pock-marked as a teenager’s face, so I can’t imagine that finding a decent route through the city was an easy task.  We stood on curb along Vladimir Lenin Avenue watching as teams of four from the DRC, Zimbabwe, Nigeria, South Africa, Mozambique, Congo, and others zipped by.  There was some cheering from the sidelines, but more common were comments such as “Ksheesh!” and  “Poooora!” in reaction to the fancy bikes, tight uniforms and speed of the racers.  The morning race was winding down when from down the block a wave of cheers arose and quickly began coming towards us.  Bystanders stepped out into the street straining their necks and squinting to see what team was coming and why they deserved such applause.  Then the cheers arrived and arms went skyward and we all joined in with more spirit than anyone had shown all morning.  Passing us was a solitary old man on his beat-up squeaky bike smiling widely as he meandered by with a basket full of bread.  Ahhhh, Maputo!

More to come......

Two months gone and not an update.  I know.  Having moved down to the capital city I found myself mesmerized by shiny things.  New news to come soon such as tales of egg smugglers, the 10th African Games, and of course more common occurrences like weekly protests by a group of nationals long-time former employees for the East German government.

Hope all is well.

Perspective: Fashion, Dancing, & Rambo

Fashion

You will never find ‘Made in Mozambique’ on any piece of clothing.  The textile industry just doesn’t exist and all cotton is exported as unprocessed lint.  No, this is not because all Mozambicans have no need for textile as they go about their business in loincloths or less (as tempting as that may be in the summer heat).  The number one provider of Mozambican wear is Humana, supplier of second hand clothing around the world.  Have you ever wondered what actually happened to that hideous fluorescent shirt you received for volunteering at some non-profit fundraiser, or that glorious holiday-themed sweater that mysterious disappeared, or what happens to all those stinkin’ Yankees shirts once the championship craze ends?  Oh, they go to ugly clothes heaven….and there they are worn proudly.

Walking through town the other day I passed a gem, a 10yr old girl wearing a faded green t-shirt with the phrase “Irish Whiskey Makes Me Frisky!”.  Another day, an old man’s shirt exclaiming that “I’m a blonde on the inside.” Once I saw one with a beautiful picture of the U.S. Capitol building and “I have a dream...” scrolled above it and only upon closer inspection did I see the confederate flag waving from the cupola.  Or another simply stating “The Man” with an arrow pointing upwards counterpoised with “The Legend” and an arrow pointing downwards.  And others are a bit too lewd to share with your mother. 

From what I can gather shirts with English writing (especially simple phrases) and colorful screening are valued and “beautiful”.  What is written is of no importance, clearly.  This all makes for some fantastic walks through town.

But then, this access to tons (literally) of used clothing most from the USA opens up a world of fashion – pant suits, purple shirts and cowboy boots, fuzzy feminine vests on large men, stone-washed jeans, polyester flower prints in a million forms, leopard print extravaganzas, brides maid dresses, and more.  If its brightly colored, shiny, and clean then it is the thing to have! 

Last weekend I left the market with white terrycloth floppy “Gilligan” hat with a band of pastel floral print around it and lining the underside of the brim.  The only snickering came from the 2 volunteers I was with, everyone else thought it was beautiful.

Dancing

            It’s a shame that the first dance moves I learned consisted of a slow box step which was supposed to keep my off the feet of my awkward 8^th grade graduation dance partner, but which did no such thing.  By the age of 13 I had already lost all hope of being a professional dancer.  Shame.  This I realized watching a 7 year old member of one of my Junior Farmer Clubs dance to music that played only in her head.  She has muscles I never will.  And yes, the moment was equally unsettling as it was captivating.

            I often wake up at 6am on a Saturday to my neighbor blaring Lionel Richie tunes and singing along.  This I prefer much more than the other neighbor who prefers heavy beat Brazilian passada (and no singing along) at the same hour.  The only time the music stops is when the electricity goes out.  So with all that music all the time, people are bound to dance and they start very young.  I have seen toddlers move their hips in ways I still struggle to.  Also, there is no shame in dancing alone or 2 men dancing together because anything is better than not dancing at all.  As you stand at a bar (where women do not frequent) in a circle of men drinking beers there is always dancing, at least a simple step and sway (well mistimed if your me), but progressing from that to grinding (with more beers of course) is not at all an unusual sight.  This is always my cue to pay my bill.

            However, the best part is that any dancing is good dancing.  It was here that I fine-tuned my art of ridiculous dance moves because they were different and thus praiseworthy.  Brilliant!

Rambo Lives!

“So, do you know Rambo!?” a teen once asked me.  I didn’t know where to begin my answer.

Scattered throughout every town are family run movie houses.  All you need is a small room, a TV, a DVD player, and some pirated action movies.  Charge a only few pennies and the kids will come.  Oh will they come.  Hours later they will leave dry-eyed not having blinked once.  These movie houses are the number one reason why people think I am Chuck Norris, a claim I never actively deny.  The large majority of films shown are pure action flicks; the type that are completely understandable even if you did not understand a word that was said.  Chuck Norris, Jean Claude Van Damme, Bruce Lee, Jet Li, Arnold Schwarzenegger, and Rambo are all very popular.  And it is no surprise that kids can throw a round-house kick as well as they can dance.  These movies are so popular that I recently met (this is no joke) a child named Vandomme. I laughed, shook my head, and greeted him politely all at once. 

So when I was asked if I knew Rambo I was not shocked.  TVs are fairly common here and the national television stations broadcast the news a few times a day.  However, much like the news in the States, detailed and non-extreme images of distant countries are not common.   Those images that do flash on the screen of Europe or America or Asia become ‘the image’ of that place; in the very same way that American media images of starving African babies becomes ‘the image’ of a continent.  So with very few images of America coming through the news (which clearly all 6yrs old watch habitually), the primary source of information on American culture comes from Chuck Norris and Rambo. 

How would these kids know that all that film stuff is a ruse?  Those movie show a world of big buildings, fast planes, fancy homes, and splattering blood.  How could all of that be not real, they ask!  Beside the Rambo question, I have answered dozens others explaining that no one was really killed and though Chuck Norris’ moves are sick no he didn’t do the entire round-house-neck-snap-chair-bash-2-pistol-clean-up scene all at once.  Sorry, kids.  But then they just look at me as if I just told them that Santa does not exist. 

Baseball!?

    This one is courtesy of the sunny sky is aqua blue's favorite follower who sent me a handful of tennis balls upon request. 
     I explained nothing and just walked out into this field with my Junior Farmer's behind.  I picked up a stick and launched a tennis ball into the bushes.  The kids' excited responses varied from "poooora!" to "jshiesh!"  Immediately they all went breaking off tree branches and scavenging for they're own sticks.  This is what followed.

 

Perspective: Education

           Though the rare private religious-based school does exist, the large majority of Mozambican students pursue their studies at a government-run public school.  First through seventh grades are completely free, while 8-12^th grades cost around 250 Meticais (around $8) per year, an amount not easy to find all at once for many.

            The school system was roughly based off of the South African system.  Grades 1-5 are considered first level primary school.  I am not that familiar with the general curriculum for these grades, but like in The States each class has one teacher with them all day and who teaches all courses.  During these grades some courses are still taught in the local dialect while the students learn Portuguese in the classroom.  With that said, many students learn Portuguese first at school and then more at home.  Local dialects (all Bantu based languages, of which there are a few dozen in Mozambique) are the primary tongues for all interactions, conversations, and work outside of the largest of provincial capitals.  Sixth and seventh grades are the second level of primary school.  Local language is all but absent from these lessons and instruction of English as a foreign language begins.  Students have the same teacher all day except for English.  This introduction of English in 6^th grade has begun only in the last couple years and is part of a national effort to make English a commonly spoke alternative language.  All countries bordering Mozambique are English-speaking and as are most tourists that pass through here. 

            Primary schools of the first level are by far the most common schools in the country.  Traveling down every passable road in the rural areas you’ll find a 1st-4th grade school about every 10-15 miles.  Sometimes these (and this goes for secondary schools as well) consist of little more than a grass roof on four posts and a dirt floor with no desks, while in other areas they are blocks multi-level bare plastered brick classrooms with double desks and windows.   Clearly there are many more people that do not live on these roads and need to walk miles to school everyday.  6th-7th grade schools are always attached to a 1st-5th grade school to form “complete primary schools”.  These are a little harder to find in the very rural areas.  In some areas students will stay at a house near school, of a friend or relative, during the school week and only return home on the weekend.  Sometimes this need for room and board leads to students also being ‘maids’ in a house near the school they attend (see the Cooking section).  

            Each district of every province has at least one first cycle secondary school (8^th-10^th grade) and more and more now also have a second cycle secondary school which includes 11^th and 12^th grades.  In 8^th-10^th grades each student studies the same 10 subjects (different topics each year, obviously) for 3 years: Portuguese, Mathematics, English, History, Geography, Biology, Physics, Chemistry, Drafting, and Physical Education.  At the end of 10^th grade everyone takes 9 national exams (no exam for PE) in one week.  These exams cover any material from 8^th-10^th grades and count for a very significant portion of your final grade which determines if you graduate. 

            Now, in many countries this task would be daunting but possible.  Textbooks, resources, worksheets, and the internet would make it possible to be prepared for such a week of exams, though personally I still would not want to do it.  The situation here is a little different.  To pass a test or grade you only need to achieve a 50%, but it is rare to find a student who achieves above a 90% on everything (Actually, I have encountered teachers who believe that students should not earn 100% because that means they know as much as the teacher.  Also, students who consistently earn above a 90% are doubted as is it assumed to be impossible.), and there is a reason for this.   You can expect that the teacher in the room is the only one with a textbook.  The walls are not covered with posters, diagrams, or student work and most schools do not have a library or the means to make worksheets that can help.  And as for the internet….no; only accessible with some cell phones and still its not reliable.  Each student has his/her notebooks for each subject for each year of secondary school.  These are treasured.  What this also means is that the teacher’s role is changed.  The teacher’s principle job, in the 3 lessons per class they have weekly, is to pass on information, not explain it.  There just isn’t much time to practice, apply, and integrate topics. Just imagine what this does for critical thinking skills.  Just imagine how easy this makes passing those national exams.  Just imagine what kind of cheating this induces.

            Cheating here does not have the same sense of moral evil as it carries in the States.  In fact, it is super common and some teachers just look the other way.  Its complicated and has cultural ties.  I’ll get more into this another time, but community ties here are iron strong.  Common thinking dictates that you give what you have to the person that doesn’t have, regardless of your circumstance.  This applies for knowledge, even in a classroom and even during an exam.  And, by the way, knowledge can also include information directly from the notebook you have hidden in your pants, not just what you memorized.  So cheating during the tests is rampant.  When I taught secondary school biology here I used to administer tests and see if I could break my personal record for the number of cheat sheets I confiscated.  At one point a wall in my house was decorated with them.  It wasn’t that hard because since cheating was wildly accepted, students never had the need to develop clever or clandestine techniques.  In fact I believe my vigilance provoked the evolution of more creative cheating in my own classrooms.  Not to toot my own horn though.  For the most part a cheater would sit in their desk doing nothing but staring directly at you, the teacher, with huge eyes as if the wall behind you beheld the end of the world and they couldn’t help but watch.  This was sign numero uno.  All I would have to do is take my eyes of this student for a moment and then look back as he or she pulled out their cheat sheet.  Seriously, that’s all; like fish in a barrel.  They all knew it was ‘wrong’ but laughed when they got caught as if I just I performed a magic trick. 

            In secondary schools, the grade levels are organized into what is called ‘turmas’, which could be equated to homerooms in the American school system.  Depending on the secondary school these homerooms can range from 40 to 120 students in one classroom.  In Mozambique students stay in their homeroom all day and it is the teachers that switch classrooms after each period.  Since teachers do not have supplies, aside from maybe a textbook, there are no complaints about the moving rooms every hour and since the students do not switch classrooms between periods it cuts down on needed transition time.  However, the result is a class of students who have every class together everyday of every week of the entire year.  Any teacher in America would agree that this will often create discipline problems because the students get to know each too well.  Classroom management techniques here are carried with more of an iron fist, which I imagine keeps the kids in line out of fear.  With classes of up to 120 students the difficulties are easy to imagine.  Also, I have yet to see a classroom with this many desks.  Sometimes the room has desks for 40 and sometimes no desks at all.  Since each room houses the same students each day it is their responsibility to care for the desks they have, though desk ‘stealing’ does happen between turmas.  Notice that up to this point I have not really commented on the style or quality of teaching within these walls.  These physical conditions alone are sufficient for making an academic environment very challenging.

            Each time a teacher walks into a classroom all students, whether seated on the floor or in a desk, stand to greet the teacher: “Bom Dia, Senhor(a) Professor(a).”  The teacher responds and customarily asks how they are, and the class responds in unison: “Estamos bem, e Senhor(a) Professor(a), como está?” (‘We are fine, and Teacher, how are you?’)  At this point the students remain standing waiting for the teacher to give them permission to sit.  A current Peace Corps Volunteer recently told me that 15 minutes into one of her first lessons here she realized the students were all on their feet taking notes.  She had forgotten to tell them to sit and they had respectfully waited for her instructions to do so. 

            What follows is the daily roll call made quicker through the use of number assigned to each student.  The numbers are called and those that do not respond ‘present’ are noted as absent. Then the lesson proceeds.  I already mentioned that the teacher is often the only one to have the textbook.  From my experience this is true, but I imagine the situation is a little better in cities.  Rote memorization is a common study skill here and one reinforced by teachers.  However, it is a one-question, one-answer system.  I baffled many students by informing them that there were multiple correct answers to come questions and they should not be afraid to be wrong.  Though this is slowly changing for the better, the majority of the high school teachers have little more than a high school education themselves.  Secondary school teachers are now required to have what could loosely be compared to an Associates Degree or Teaching Credential, but this is quite new.  Becoming more common, and mandatory, are teacher training schools for all new teachers.  They are one or two-year programs covering teaching methodology and more in-depth subject-matter instruction.  However, they are not considered to be university-level.  Additionally you can get what is more or less a teaching credential in 2-years at a fully accredited university, or take 4-years to do a bachelors degree.  The biggest limiting factors in attending to university are  physical access (On average there is 1 university per province, which means about one school per 3 million citizens.), and price of tuition (There is 1 public university in the country that has opened some satellite branches, but is centralized in the national capital in the south.  Some years back I recall there being only 17 openings in the whole Biology department for incoming students.  All interested students in the whole country took a test to try to get one of those 17 spots.).  Some correspondence degrees have become available in the past couple years, which improves access to higher education though doesn’t obviously provide a rich academic environment.  Those that have obtained a higher educational degree of any sort see the difference in their paycheck.  The salary bump for a teacher with a high school education to one with a Bachelors Degree is about 300%.   This sounds like an excellent incentive for going to university despite the challenges, but there are few scholarships and no loans, so all tuition must be paid at the beginning of each semester.

            Even if  you were lucky enough to live in a city with a university and have the financial means to attend, studying and teaching would be a very difficult balance.  I have one close friend who is doing it.  Teaching secondary school from 7am to 12pm Monday through Friday and then working on his Bachelor’s in Philosophy from 12:30pm to 5:30pm each afternoon Monday through Friday.  He works in order to afford his studies and studies in order to one day provide more for his family.  To pull this off he needs to live in the provincial capital while his wife (who also works and has yet to receive her requested transfer) and kids live 3hrs away.  He rarely gets to see them. 

            The school day here is broken into 3 separate sessions and each session has a totally different group of students.  The morning goes from 7am to 12pm, the afternoon session from 12:30pm to 5:30pm and the evening session from 6pm to 11pm.  This maximizes the use of the school building, but also means some schools have thousands of students.  The secondary school in my town has over 6,000.  The morning and afternoon sessions consist of ‘regular-aged’ students, and by that I mean the students you would expect to see in 3^rd grade or 10^th grade (or a bit older).  However, night school exists for adults, older teens, and pregnant girls so that they all have the opportunity to study despite responsibilities at home.  Night school provides education to many that did not master it or that simply lived to far away from a secondary school and so missed out on the opportunity earlier in life, but unfortunately it often provides a very low quality education.

            Due to this session schedule, some teachers are assigned classes in two sessions per day.  On average a teacher works 24 classroom hours per week (for example 3 lessons to 8 turmas each week), but overtime is also an option.  Regardless, night school is often short-changed on good teachers and accountability.  Many of these teachers, much like the students, have day jobs so hours in the classroom at night does not bring with it much energy or creativity.  It is honestly hard to find positive things to say about night school.  Often it is an opportunity offered but not fulfilled.

            All of these conditions make passing any grade, regardless of age, grade, or session, difficult.  In my experience it is rare to find a student who has never failed at least one grade between 1^st and 12^th grades.  And if you consecutively failed a single grade 3 times in secondary school you are automatically transferred to night school, which I imagine significantly lowers your chance of passing that grade due to the lower quality education and greater chance for distractions and drop-outs.  Learning is tough here.  However, education is valued deeply as a means out of poverty and people will pursue a high school diploma for many many years as it is the benchmark of being considered an educated person. 

Perspective: Rain

            While taking a bath on a cold morning in my outdoor roofless bathroom is about the only time I curse the rain and do feel entitled to do so.  In a country in which only 5.3% of the 3.8 million farms are irrigated, rain rules all.  Talk of climate change has not yet seeped into every conversation here, but ask a farmer about the rain and you will learn that in the past generation the rainy season has just become unreliable.  Its not that it now starts later or ends sooner; you just don’t know what the year will bring.  Farmers cannot predict it. 

Above are 2 forecasts for the South/Central Regions of Mozambique, the first one published in July 2010 and the second in April 2011, both by the Famine Early Warning Systems Network (FEWS NET).  Notice that there are about 4 months of overlap between the two timelines (Jan-Apr 2011).  This is the general seasonal cycle for South/Central Mozambique.  You’ll notice that the Rainy Season (blue) coincides with summer in Mozambique which stretches from October to April.  This past season (’10-’11) it began raining in my town (northern central region) in late November and stopped in mid-April.  It was a good rain year considering the past few, though ideally rains begin in late October to facilitate seed sowing in mid-November and maximize time growing in the summer heat, which never comes late.  However, in the ’09-’10 season, the rains delayed until December and then dumped hard for just over one month, and then nothing.  This drought killed farm production yields in May 2010 when corn/maize is harvested.  The low yields then in turn meant less money in the farmers’ pockets or less reserve food at home.  Since this ‘1^st Harvest’ (green) is the primary harvest of the year it made the rest of the year tough.  That is why on the first timeline Oct ’10 – Feb ’11 is marked as the ‘Hunger Season’ (red).  During those months, just after the later and short vegetable season of August to October, the rains had just begun to fall and seeds were just barely in the ground.  That means there is little to eat since besides foraged leaves, stored dried beans, and dried cassava.  However those months are also busy; filled with the work of getting seeds planted and fields weeded.  All the time hoping that that first big rain will be followed by another big rain within a few days so that the newly germinated seeds will have water to access.  If they dry out, then the seed will be lost. 

I am thankful that I have a salary which affords me food imported to my town, and that I, in the one season I witnessed this, was not submissive to the rain’s rule.  But I felt the tension of those that were.  Eyes always skyward.  Talk always of the last time the rain fell and if it was good.  Prayers that during those first precious weeks illness or injury not fall upon a household.  Then a scurry to get the last fields sown only in time to fight the weeds in the first. 

What is or is not accomplished in the beginning of the rainy season influences how the next one will play out, but ultimately it is the rain that decides how the next year will fall.  This last year the rains fell good here, and dampened the end of the season.  People were relieved to be satisfied.  Because of this the rainy season, to begin later this year, will merely coincide with a ‘Lean Season’.

3.8 Million Farms in Mozambique

   The linked article below is not my perspective but the results of a recent study by the National Statistics Institute of Mozambique.  However, much like what I have been writing about, it gives an excellent quantitative glimpse into agriculture in Mozambique. 

    One of the most telling stats is that, "Mechanisation scarcely exists. Only 1.6 per cent of farms reported the use of tractors and 1.8 per cent the use of ploughs." That means that 96.6% of farms are worked completely by hand.   Also as a point of comparison, around 50% of the farms in the USA are larger than 250 acres (50 hectares), while in Mozambique 0.02% of the farms are larger than 250 acres.

For you Americans out there 1 hectare is equal to 2.47 acres.

 3.8 Million Farms in Mozambique

Perspective: Home Life, Cooking, & Food

HOME LIFE

Large families make for large family relations.  The term family here is taken to include uncles, aunts, cousins, in-laws, grandparents, etc and the end of a family is difficult to clarify.  It is almost as if one family just melts into the next.  No matter which of these family members find themselves under one roof, life is not convenient.  There is one head of the household.  Contrary to lack of women rights, there are some regions of the country that are more maternalistic in which the groom joins the family of the bride upon marriage.  In these areas women will also run the house, while men will be at work in the market.  All of the inhabitants of the house then follow the orders of the head.  Children here are not encouraged to ask questions, but are rather told what and what not to do (a norm that has incredibly deep ripples in a formal classroom setting or less formal field training).  There are endless daily chores including carrying water in 25 liter jugs (each weighing over 50lbs full) from the nearest well or river which is sometimes over an hour away.  Custom here is that you bath first thing in the morning and last thing before bed, so that’s even more water to be carried.  This may seem like a gross misuse of water, but these are regions without paved roads/paths, sewers, or easy access to medicines.  Keeping clean is an important cultural norm and has definite health benefits.   Also when taking a bucket bath the quantity of water you use is nothing compared to even the most conservative shower in the States. 

          Food has to be gathered from the farm since most homes do not have refrigeration (let alone often electricity).  Each meal has a main carbohydrate which, in areas without rain sufficient enough to cultivate rice, is in the form of a stiff porridge.  This porridge is made from a flour (either corn, cassava, or sorghum) and that flour is hand made, daily.  The farm must be attended to daily, which obviously includes a huge spectrum of tasks all of which are done by hand or with a simple hoe.  Even for the majority of families that live in rural areas their farms are not outside their back door surrounding the house as is often seen in the States.  Family members walk to a suitable piece of land where they grow the family’s food.  Small livestock, such a chickens, ducks, guinea fowl, pigs and goats, are kept close to home to care for them and guarantee their safety.  The children (and often adults) go to school during the morning or afternoon or evening (3 separate sessions of school per day) and of course you need to factor in the time they spend daily walking to and from school (hours) in sparsely populated rural areas.  Others must go out in search of cooking fuel, the most common of which is locally gathered wood.  Some also cook over charcoal, but in rural areas charcoal is more of a revenue source, since it makes little sense to gather wood, burn it into charcoal and then use it to cook when you could just use the wood you gathered in the first place.  Then of course there is the time it takes to actually cook; no just-add-water mixes, pre-washed and cut lettuce, instant rice, frozen meals, or delivery.  During all of this children are cared for (though in a more hands-off way they you would see in the States) and clothes are washed in the river and dried in the sun.  The end of the day comes (dusk) and there is little time for leisure; maybe a visit to a neighbor or walk around just to walk around.  Many have small AM/FM radios and pick up the one local or national radio station.  A family gathered around a radio seated on bamboo mats in the dark is a common site as children doze off before retreating to the dark interiors of windowless houses with bamboos mats laid as beds on the dirt floor.  The day will begin again at dawn.

COOKING

Imagine your stove is 3 stones slightly smaller than bowling balls arranged in a triangle and on which a large metal or ceramic pot balances filled with bubbling porridge.  You are outside but under a simple gazebo with maybe a few short walls to keep out too much wind.    As the cook you are simultaneously monitoring the food, stirring it, and stoking the fire below.  Each of the 3 avenues between the stones is filled wood, long pieces that are pushed further into the hearth as they burn down.  There are no hot pads or tongs, just your hands which move nimbly and sense little pain after years of this art.  A young child, much too young by American standards for carrying out such a task, appears to ask for ‘fire’.  You scoop out a few smaller pieces of burning wood in a coconut shell.  The little one hurries back home guarding the fire that will make dinner. I wonder who is the one that lit this fire, and how many days ago it was.

            Cooking, even for those living in town, is such a time consuming task that working and cooking is not a possibility.  Wealthier families have a paid housekeeper or maid who can be assigned to just about any task: cooking, cleaning, shopping, laundry, child care, yard work, etc.  Others have a young girl or boy that lives with them and receives room and board in exchange for working in the house.  Others have a wife, daughter, or son that just stays home all day and cooks.  The time needed to make everything from scratch means that once the breakfast dishes are done, you need to get going on lunch, and then dinner.  To save costs, much of the food is grown, so part of cooking might entail going to the field to pick food for dinner.

            Even for the wealthier families living in cities and towns, there is little other option.  Cooking is not made convenient beyond cans of tomato paste.  Convenient and quick cooking can free more family members for paid work, but convenient and quick foods are more expensive so first a family must work and earn the money, but how is that possible if a potential wage-earner must stay in the kitchen all day.  Not everyone builds a wood fire in their yard.  Many in slightly larger towns cook on heavy and shin-high iron stoves assembled and welded from scrap metal which burn locally produced charcoal.  There are also electric stoves (simple 2 burner hotplates) for those that can afford it and when gas tanks are available you’ll find some households cooking on natural gas stoves hooked to a tank.  A full range with oven is very rare, and even rarer if all the components work properly.

FOOD

If a trendy diet were to emerge based on Mozambican cuisine, it would be the all-carbs-all-the-time diet.  Every meal and snack has them. 

Breakfast – In general they are pretty light.  Some type of tea (traditional black or fresh lemon grass are most common) is a must with plenty of sugar, if available.  A white bread roll, boiled cassava, boiled ear of starchy corn, boiled sweet potatoes, or boiled green bananas accompany a piece of fruit.  Eggs are also available either boiled or fried in a lot of oil.  Sometimes a bit of very thin jam or margarine as well.  And, of course, there are always leftovers which do not hold for long without refrigeration.

Snack – The snack is still an all ages activity here, and mandatory if you have guests over.  Its always quite simple and plain usually a seasonally available boiled carbohydrate (cassava, corn, green bananas, sweet potatoes).  Sometimes fresh boiled peanuts or fresh sorghum are also options.  In rice growing regions they pick some of the rice before its fully dry, pound it until its flat and the shell comes off and then let it dry.  It’s the closest thing to Rice Crispies in country, but eaten hand-to-mouth dry.  There are also an limited assortment of plain crackers and semi-sweet cookies, if your budget allows.

Lunch & Dinner – These can be very similar in menu, however most people only either eat one or the other daily.  There is always a starch and what starch you eat usually reflects your socioeconomic status.  The most preferred is rice.  Its just got status.  Some areas receive enough rain to grow their own, but this is not the norm in the country. And even those that can grow it will sell a large part since it is a desired commodity.  The majority of the rice in Mozambique is imported.  Sometimes rice will be prepared with seasonings (oil, tomato, onion, and chicken stock) in it, but it depends on your preference.  The #2 choice is corn porridge.  The porridge here is stiff and almost always eaten with your hand.  It could be compared to Italy’s polenta, but even harder and made with white corn.  The corn flour is almost always prepared at home, though small flour mills are becoming more common in rural areas for a very affordable price per kilogram.  Lastly, there is cassava porridge.  Even those that eat it daily do not really care for it, but it is very often the only option.  First the cassava root is peeled and dried in the sun for several days.  Once dry it holds indefinitely, as opposed to fresh cassava which spoils within a day or two after being dug out of the ground.  Dry cassava is like a really hard piece of chalk and taste like it too with a hint of nut.  Making it into flour requires pounding it in a waist-high wooden mortar and pestle, then sifting out the fine dust-like flour, and repeating until all bits are pulverized.  Next it is cooked in boiling water, like corn flour would be, until it forms a thick sticky porridge.  Cassava porridge is much softer than corn, but its also as sticky as paste.  The consistency is similar to Play-doh.  However, this porridge will fill you up.  Some families will make a mix of corn and cassava porridge to make the corn go further.

            Almost always accompanying the starch is some sort of simple stew or sauce.  Local leaves (collards, pumpkin, bean, okra, cassava, sweet potato or amaranth leaves) are boiled with any combination of garlic, onions, tomato, chicken stock powder, and curry.  Sometimes coconut milk or peanut flour will be added to fortify it in nutrition and flavor.  Many of these leave stews are delicious, but when ingredients are sparse they are nothing more than leaves in water and salt sauce.  Beans also make common appearances due to their ease in storage and are also prepared with garlic, onions, tomato, chicken stock powder, and curry.  Sometimes a Brazilian-influenced feijaoda is made by adding in some meat to the cooking beans.  In some northern regions a mixture of beans, rice, and coconut is made in one dish. 

Stepping up the stews moves into the fish realm.  Though Mozambique had thousands of miles of coastline on the Indian Ocean, fishing, poor infrastructure, and lack of refrigeration makes fresh fish transportation almost non-existent.  The lucky ones live near the coasts where you can get fresh tiger prawns measuring about 10 inches long and as thick as sausages, whole king mackerels, grouper, tuna, red snapper, marlin, barracuda, clams, squid and more. Inland, the most common fish is of the dried type.  It’s a great way to preserve a good protein source but requires an acquired taste.  Prepared in a stew, the fish would most likely be cooked with an combination of, again, garlic, onions, tomato, chicken stock powder, and curry.  In southern regions, fish will be prepared in a thick peanut curry sauce that is almost Asian and fantastic.  Oddly, in most towns in Mozambique you can get one frozen fish, a small mackerel type locally called carapau.  What is most baffling about carapau is that it comes into the country frozen on ships from the Atlantic coast of Africa, the other side of the continent. 

The next step up is good old fashioned meat, always fresh.  Meat is the most expensive option for your wallet.  A kilogram of beef with bone runs about $8 (about $3.66/lb), a kilo of goat with bone about $3.90 or $1.75/lb, and a whole live chicken costs $4.80 for about one kilogram including feathers, bones, and guts.  In a country where 81% of the population lives on $1 per day, meat is a very pricey option.  Other meat options are pork, rabbits, guinea fowl, guinea pig, bush rat, termites, and grasshoppers depending on the season and region.  All and any of these would be stewed in, you guessed it, any combination of garlic, onions, tomato, chicken stock powder, and curry.  Oh yeah, sometimes potatoes are tossed in there as well.

Restaurants - The stew and starch combo is by far the standard fare and available at most restaurants, which are by far the most expensive eating option.  For special occasions, or about anytime at a restaurant, grilled chicken and fries are served.  This is equivalent to the US’s hamburger and fries.  All Mozambican restaurants offer this.  The remainder of the menu can also be quite predictable -- very simple sandwiches (bread + ingredient, no garnish or condiments) of fried egg, butter, cheese, ham, tomato, fried beef or any combination thereof, -- small frozen hambuger patties served “complete” with cheese and a fried egg, -- pan-fried thin beef steaks with a fried egg and fries, and -- simple omelets with fries.  That’s all to be expected.  At nicer places in the provincial capitals you’ll find wood-oven pizzas, good seafood, better steaks, the occasional goat ribs and pasta dishes. 

Perspective: Sex and Gender Relations

          It’s a time of globalization, of small-world antics, of international disasters reaching our homes from abroad, and the world’s laundry hanging out for all to ignore. Foreign aid is a sexy way to balance out armed conflicts and Africa receives the lot. Mozambique has about 50% more foreign aid coming in than it did in 2002, yet farm production levels have remained the same since 2002, and 81% of the population lives on $1 per day, also the same as in 2002. I am often told by NGOs and foreign aid funders that I am valuable because of my perspective. After living in rural Mozambican communities for 3 years my days spent here are almost worth more than my education. I know rural Mozambique and understand many of the real reasons why it has not caught up, or even is not catching up. There is no single answer to explain why this country is poor, but I feel that a perspective on life here helps immensely. My hope is that my perspective will help me find real solutions to some of the challenges this country faces, but also inform others of what life is actually like beyond media images and journalistic snapshots.
        Over the next few weeks and months, I’ll be posting about this, topic by topic. Feel free to email me with requests or comments. And remember, these are my observations based on 3 years of experiences and discussions.


Sex:
        Its really popular here and the reason we’re all here, so why not start here. People have a lot of sex, and they start young (around 14yrs old). Now, sex here has a different motive, because its believed to be a man’s need, like a physical need. Consideration for a woman’s needs are not considered. So a married man has sex when he wants and those not married call on any girl they can to get some as well. Its almost as if they are starved for sex and always hording what they can get, when in reality there is no shortage. This then connects directly to gender equality and womens’ rights, because they have little say in sex and it is expected of them. Occasionally female friends stay at my house when they are traveling through town and unable to make a bus connection out of town. When my friends in town learn that a woman spent the night at my house they immediately want to give me high fives and make other insinuating physical gestures. When I remind them that the woman that stayed at my house was a friend, not a girlfriend and that it is physically possible to sleep in the same room as a woman and not have sex with her their response is often, “Yes you can, but why would you!” Men assume they have the right to always have sex and they believe that women do not have this right at all. This right that men have also often justifies infidelity.
      Condoms are common here. Most bars and stores sell them and hospitals and NGOs offer them for free. However, high availability does not imply high usage. Men and women in the States often use condoms as birth control as much as if not more than for disease prevention. In Mozambique the number of children you have is a sign of strength and fertility, and there is no stigma about having many children with many different women. Furthermore, the under 5yrs mortality rate for children in Mozambique is 14% (as opposed to an average of 9% in other developing countries and less than 1% in USA/Europe). It is very understandable that parents want large families because the odds are that all of their children will not see their 6th birthday; this is fact. To complicate this further, the average citizen does not have any form of IRA, pension, investments, retirement fund, etc. The old are supported by the young. In a country in which 70% of the population’s primary economic activity is rural agriculture (99% of all farms are in the smallholder sector), it makes sense to have a family of 8 to: 1) support you in your old age, and 2) work the family farm. Having a lot of kids, even from a young age, is a point of pride, and to a certain extent having children all around the province, or even around the country, further augments one’s stature. There is no shortage of education about HIV and other STDs, but stigmas surrounding even discussing them makes not using a condom easy. To a certain extent using a condom is a sign that you have a disease to give. Furthermore, I suspect that a woman has little say regarding a man’s decision to use a condom or not.



Gender Relations:
         Gender equality programs, awareness, and measures exist in quantity here. April 7th is Mozambican Womens’ day and is a nationally recognized holiday. There exists a national womens’ organization. NGO monthly, trimester and annual reports always ask for participant data in terms of the number of male and female participants. Additionally, Peace Corps Volunteers in the country have started a network of girls’ youth groups throughout the country which are aimed at empowering the girls through different activities.
         All of these efforts and projects and recognitions are extremely important. However, sometimes numbers of women participating or public ceremonies of recognition for women are interpreted as grand measures of success in womens’ rights. In the States first women fought for their own rights and then they were publically recognized often decades late and posthumously. I am not implying that women do not deserve right until they fight for them, however, recognizing women for their everyday actions doesn’t always have the same empowerment effects. Women here have not struggled here for their own rights as they did in the States, but more often were told they had rights; grassroots versus top-down. This has made its adoption into the moral cultural fabric slower by both genders. I know women who are strong, out-spoken, and amazing, who will still concede to the word of a man just out of what appears to be instinct. I also know men who are in positions of power, who speak out for the need for women to be included and their equality promoted who then discriminate in the workplace and in social scenes against women. However, if you just look at the numbers of female participants this inconsistency is very hard to see. In my experience, when visitors from our funders come to see our field work they often ask about the number of women active in the project and are certainly pleased to the point of asking no further questions if they learn that more females than males are involved in the project. Getting women and girls to participate is easy. The challenge is finding a way for both sides to value the contributions, words, thoughts, presence, and strength that woman have. This is done by means of all the aforementioned programs and ceremonies, but these numbers need not be the end itself.
         It is so hard to combat the mentality that men and women are just different and that these differences are immutable. Both sides will laugh at comments contrary to this. When describing the Masters degree that my wife is earning in the States I always point out that in little time she will be more educated than me. This very often causes mouths to drop and the “Well we, Africans…..” comments to roll (more on those later).

FORÇA!

Junior Farmers showing some strength!

Improving, not always...

     Sometimes I find it unbelievable that adults grew up in the rural areas where I work daily; that they have spent their entire 40+ years in these hills covered in shrubs and trees. Maybe it’s because I have assumed that for the past 40 years or so conditions have steadily improved here. I mean, present poverty must be better than war-stricken past poverty, right? But where I get confused is when I begin looking at the bamboo huts, soft-brick houses, grass roofs, dirt roads, torn clothes, and lack of resources and remind myself that this current state must be an improvement. If this is the improvement then 40 years ago I would assume that civilization did not even exist. Thus I find it unbelievable that multiple generations of families have come and passed in these hills and this is the result. Often my thoughts and assumptions are as without context as this here paragraph, but yesterday I got a better glimpse into the past.

     I was visiting the farmer who had told me about the war refuge in the bush. He is also the leader of a community health and nutrition association under which I have begun a Junior Farmers’ group aimed at involving the local orphans. We were sitting in his 3-room brick house that is currently quite waterlogged from the rains so the interior smells of wet earth. There is no electricity in his house, but holes in the roof let in enough light to make conversation pleasant. He started telling me how he grew up in this very area and how when he was only 6-months old his mother died leaving his father to care for the kids and grow enough food to feed them. In this country, that defined him as an orphan. The conditions that followed left with him many memories mostly traumatic. The only school, in 1971, was a very good distance away from his home and at that time the brush and trees were thick and lions were common. It was a challenge to open and cultivate land, but his father had managed, so he was not set on moving. At age 6 my friend went to live with the cousin of his mother. It was closer to school, but not close to home. His situation, like that of many Mozambican orphans past and present, turned into one of almost servitude. Though family by blood, he was treated differently by his mother’s cousin and her family. He was made to get up at 5am and go to the field only to come back and leave at 6am for school, walk the hour, study all day and then walk home, have to go out in search of firewood and then told to prepare dinner, which includes pounding corn into flour by hand. He was 6. One evening he was making fava beans over the fire, cooking in a large homemade ceramic pot. One of the children of the house told him to slide the pot a bit off the flame so it wouldn’t burn. He did so. Then the mother of the house called and asked for the beans. He turned back to the fire and found one of the children carrying the pot. He was told to carry it so quickly grabbed it, but got burned by hot ceramic and dropped it on the dirt floor. The pot shattered and dinner went into the dirt. The mother of the house was furious. He cleaned up as much as he could and salvaged most of it, but when he finished the mother told him that what was left in the dirt would be his dinner that night. He took some stiff corn porridge and scraped what he could off the ground in the darkness and then went to bed, though didn’t sleep. In the morning he got up and went back to where he had eaten from the ground. There he found, under the beans he had missed, a bunch of chicken feces. He ran home to his father and told him of what had happened and never had to return there.

      My friend is now a minister in a small rural church. The main reason he founded the community health and nutrition association was to care for the orphans in his area. Unfortunately, the current situations orphans face are not that much better than 40 years back. Losing one parent makes the challenge of feeding the family enormously more difficult for the other parent, with half as many adult hands to grow the food. Orphans still often end up with relatives, and rarely find conditions equal to that of their cousins in the house, even now. It is hard to accept that improvement has not always been the default.  There are so many things to be done.  However, in strength they are dirty rich.

Mountains and Tea Plantations of Gurue

Old Tradition

Learned this just the other day......

  Before independence, when the Portuguese were still very much present, there were local leaders called Regulos.  They were appointed by the government and not necessarily a leader for the people, more to help the Portuguese control the people.  Regardless, they were leaders and respected accordingly.  Actually, they were so esteemed that when they died an elaborate funeral service was held.  They were buried with belongings to accompany them on their journey after life.  Food and belongs were commonly put in the grave, but what I was shocked to learn is that it was also custom to bury a live virgin with the dead Regulo.   Eventually a Portuguese country administrator called for an end to the practice stating that to many useful citizens were being lost.  Seriously.

Alto Molocue and the mountain beyond

This is a shot coming into to town from the north.  You can make out Alto Molocue amongst the trees before the mountain.  I never get bored of looking out the window.

Refuge

       For the past 2 months I have been developing an income-generating project here in Alto Molocue. Our idea is that families in a nearby community will sell goat milk as an additional source of income for them and a nutrition supplement for the community. I have been working with two families to prepare them for arrival of 8 goats of a variety that has high milk production. This past week the families actually received the goats so I have been spending a lot of time in the community of Caiaia about 5 miles outside of town. On Tuesday I was walking down a windy dirt path, which had been further cut by the recent rains, not unlike any other dirt path in the area. The farmer I was walking with began to tell me about the history of the area, not a normal topic of conversation.

       Soon after fighting for and winning independence in 1975, Mozambique fell into civil war. The population divided between 2 political parties, one socialist-backed and the other capitalist-backed. I have yet to know an area of this country that did not directly experience the war. Guerilla tactics were the norm as were village raids. People scattered. The war intensified in the mid- to late-80’s and in 1992 a peace agreement was signed. The FRELIMO party has held the presidency ever since. It’s hard to imagine this country in war; Mozambicans want nothing to do with violence. As testament to this, I have yet to hear tell of a bar fight in my years here except one involving a few Peace Corps Volunteers and a pool cue. However, every person of my age or older has memories of the war and the strife it brought.

       The dirt path was surrounded on both sides with a mixture of trees, shrubs and grasses. Nothing besides being on the top of a big hill made it unique. The farmer began telling me how during the war this very area was where people took refuge having fled their villages or in transit from other areas. The bush was filled with families, soldiers, and elderly and surrounded by a rough system of local guards who managed to keep the war out. For 7 years people lived here and died here. It is impossible to imagine the struggle and pain that must have saturated this area, now sparsely populated. There are cemeteries in there, he continued to tell me, people arrived wounded or fell ill with no possible medical attention. These were the victims of the war. They had no choice in the matter; the war invaded their lives and moved them about.  Though the area now looks like any other I am certain that at the time the refuge did not feel like a war zone; a strong community held it together.  Mozambicans are amazing like that.
    

Countryside Video

 

A brief video filmed out of the car window on our way from Morrumbala to Alta Bene Fica. Its bumpy and has a random audio track of conversation and fantastic music, but it really shows what the countryside looks like here. I work in areas very similar to this one.

Lazy Update

Clearly, I out did myself with the bush rat story. I can’t beat that one….just yet. A lot has been going on since then; actually so much that I have done little besides work. Here’s the summary:

• The rainy season arrived and is in full force. It rains 3-4 days a week from 3pm til late. This has made my shoes muddy, travel slow, and fields happy.
• World Vision assigned me my own truck and driver, which has significantly increase my impact here.
• I have taken on an agro-business project aimed at selling goat milk in my community. I am helping 2 families raise a European variety of milk goats (Saaen goats) and once they are in production we will work on selling the milk in town
• I have also been working with 2 adult farmer associations helping them establish conservation agriculture demonstration fields in their communities, Nlucotxi e 25 de Junho Mahuline.
• My work with Junior Farmer programs continues.
• I went down to Maputo for a Peace Corps conference right before Christmas, but combined that with a visit to my old Peace Corps site in Chibuto, Gaza Province.
• Carolyn came and visited here for 3 weeks over Christmas and New Years. We spent some time in Maputo, Christmas in Alto Molocue, and then New Years up at the port town of Nacala, Nampula Province where we sat very comfortably on the beach for 4 days. That was probably the best part of 2010. 2011 entered with our hotel room being completely robbed, but that is story without bullet points.
• Next week I, and another volunteer, will be training World Vision staff from around the province of Zambezia on initiating and running Junior Farmer groups in their areas. 
• I am also in the process of hiring 2-3 field extensionists to take over the projects I have begun in Alto Molocue.

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