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.