The Art of the Chapa

There are three common modes of public transportation in Moz, more or less: boleias, machibombos or busses, and chapas.

The first, a boleia, is a thing of beauty and most closely compares to hitchhiking in the States. You stand on the side of the road and try to flag down any private car, then talk to the driver to see if they’re heading to your destination and if they’re charging for a ride. Boleias are almost always free and are usually willing to drive you anywhere from a few blocks to a few hours. Not only are boleias cheaper, they’re also faster and the ride is infinitely more comfortable because you get your own seat.

This brings us to our next mode: machibombos and busses. Machibombos are essentially 12 passenger vans converted to have higher ceilings and 16 wider seats, and busses are…well, busses. These usually cost a metical/kilometer and are a good option because they stick to the recommended 16 passengers.

Which, drumroll please, leads us to the favorite of any Moz PCV: the chapa.

Chapas are far and away the most popular mode of public transport in Mozambique because they’re common, cost effective, and go everywhere. Another 16-passenger van situation, these also cost about 1 metical/kilometer but will max out at around 22 passengers. These can be waved down at just about any street corner in a city, almost like a really crowded taxi. To catch a chapa for longer trips you go to your local chapa stop, find one going to your destination, and wait for it to fill up. If you’re lucky you’ll be one of the last people loading up and will only wait 10-15 minutes to take off.

However, life is rarely that kind and it will often be a 45-minute to one-hour wait. I’ve actually waited an upwards of three hours…which, ironically, was longer than the driving time from point A to point B.

To paint an image of the sitting situation, it goes a little something like this: bench seat of a van, four bodies, four backpacks, no AC. All four rows packed so tight that it seems physically impossible to fit anyone or anything else inside of the vehicle. Wrong. This is the driver’s cue to squeeze at least two more people into the non-existent row behind the driver and passenger’s seats, creating a human jigsaw puzzle with the poor unfortunate souls sitting in the front row.

A weekend trip to Angonia proved to be the greatest chapa adventure yet, topping July’s muzungo goat debacle (sandwiched between a baby afraid of white people and a goat that spent the 2 hours banging its head against the window and bleating relentlessly after coming loose from its ties atop the chapa) and August’s evening engine failure in the mato (unidentified mechanical issues left all 21 of us wandering down the road in the dark, sans cell service, looking for another ride until our own chapa suddenly sprang back to life). Sounds hard to top, right? Wrong again.

After two hours of waiting in the Malawi border town for our bright and early chapa to fill up, we were on our way by mid-morning. Our driver took his time making social rounds, stopping to fill up for gas, and grab a snack…effectively adding another 45-minute delay to our departure time. Four stops were made along the way to retrieve and retie baskets that escaped their place on the roof, a run-in over documents with the Mozambican police and two non-Portuguese speaking Malawian passengers left us tangled in a road block for the better part of an hour, and an inexplicable motorcycle race in Tete City complicated our route to the main paragem (chapa station). Just as my site mate and I thought we lucked out with a quick ride home after the 5 hours from Angonia, life laughed at us once more. We slid into the last two seats in the front row of the Chitima chapa, situating our huge packs on our laps and ready to take off…the driver rolled the door shut and we settled in. Well, started to settle in. The door promptly reopened, threatening to spill my site mate out of his seat as three more men crawled over his lap, wedging themselves into that non-existent row everyone loves so much.

So, there we sat. Shoulder to shoulder, thigh-to-thigh, sharing sweat with total strangers for two hours like a zipper made of human limbs. My right leg pressed against my neighbor’s, the man in front of me straddling my left leg, our shins pressed tight against each other’s benches. As luck would have it, one of the last men in was drunk enough to pass out upon sitting down, causing quite the raucous in the front row as he slouched onto our laps. After being forced out of the chapa at one of the last stops before Chitima, he was replaced by two women. Yes, you read that right, TWO. They crawled right in over the drivers seat, slithering into the tiny gap and effectively squashing the rest of us further into one another. In that moment, I wasn’t sure where my body ended and another body began. My site mate and I came tumbling out of the chapa at the first stop in Chitima, wobbling home in the dark on travel-weakened legs. Whoever imagined the clown car must have traveled in Mozambique.

My site mate says I’m bad luck for travel…I’d like to think I make things more interesting. What’s life without a little adventure, right?

Journal: how to sweep the quintal

Storyteller Series

Some of the greatest people I have known are storytellers. We all know at least one, two or three if we are lucky. They’re the people who can spin your ordinary day into something spectacular, turn a moment into a memory. As acquaintances, friends or family they can sometimes feel overstated, out there or just outright bizarre. I however, happen to think these individuals are brilliant.

I count myself among those who have won the lottery in life—I know more storytellers than I sometimes know what to do with.

These are the people who have formed my life. Shaped my worldview. Gifted me with an appreciation for imagination and seeking the extraordinary. Demanded the most from what every day has to offer.

And it’s daunting.

I think a lot about the way my father talks about art. About his passions. About things he thinks are beautiful. His words drip like honey, smooth and sweet and sticking to you. His voice becomes quieter and his hands become more active and a lopsided smirk lights up his eyes. It’s hard not to be inspired. Anyone who has met my father knows exactly what I’m talking about.

I want to tell stories like that. To see so much beauty that it spills over, so much beauty that it’s contagious.

I thought about that today when I saw a grouping of boulders in the bush. When a small green songbird bounced around the scrub on the side of the road. When I sat beneath the shade of a baobab tree and road through Songo in an open-back truck and ate xima, couve and beans with my hands at the school in Nhandoa, set against the backdrop of the late afternoon mountains. A picture would never do them justice, sometimes I feel like words wouldn’t either.

And then I think about my father. About the excitement with which he speaks, about the thousands of ways he has made the world a more beautiful place by sharing the beauty he sees. Contagious. I think about the storytellers in my life.

So, to honor these wonderful humans, these beautiful influences and forces for good, I’ve decided to start sharing stories. Interesting stories, mundane stories, funny and sad alike. Stories about life. Stories in tribute to those who have gotten here and to remind me why I stay. Stories that remind us, prove to us, that beauty is everywhere. This is my love letter.

Solar Eclipse: Ring of Fire

So this really cool thing happens every once in a great while, it’s called the Ring of Fire. It’s a type of solar eclipse that only blots out part of the sun. Known as an Annular Eclipse, it occurs when the moon is farther from Earth and its shadow appears to be smaller than the sun as it passes over, leaving only a glowing ring of light.

Even cooler, an annular eclipse was visible across Africa today. Starting in Gabon on the west coast and stretching diagonally across the continent to Madagascar, the moon’s shadow crossed over the sun around 11:15 this morning in Mozambique.

So, naturally, we pulled out some blank paper and made pinhole projectors to view the eclipse without blinding ourselves. Some knew that there was an eclipse today, others had no idea, but everyone’s interest was piqued when the projectors came out. While admittedly anti-climatic, here are some pictures of the endeavor.

While you can’t see the ring, that partial white orb is actually projection of the eclipse

Using a pinhole projector

Pinhole projector in action

Inverted projection of the eclipse

Home Sweet Actual Home

While I find this to be one of the less exciting aspects of my life here, I’ve also found that it comes with the most misconceptions. So, here it goes, my housing situation in Chitima for the next two years.

I live in a little yellow house rented from a wonderful woman named Cândida. It’s one of four houses that sit inside her quintal, an area similar to a fenced-in yard. In Mozambique, this type of housing situation is known as a dependência. Rent every month is taken care of by Kappa Kappa and I pay the utilities. Cândida’s house is adjacent to mine, and her nieces and nephews live in the houses to my front and to my right. Contrary to popular belief, it’s all made of cement and has a tin roof…no mud walls and leafy ceilings for me.

Chitima sits at the base of a beautiful mountain range and, despite being partially obscured by dust and a few neighboring homes, I get to watch the sun set over them each evening. My house has the perfect veranda for a porch swing outside and 3 little blue rooms inside: bedroom, common room and kitchen. They’re pretty empty at the moment, but they’re coming along. My most exciting recent purchases include an electric kettle and a wooden countertop for my kitchen…I’m honestly a little more excited about the latter than I would like to admit.

I have my own casa de banho on the other side of the quintal, complete with dump-flush toilet and shower area. Again, this building is also all cement and is actually pretty nice! However, because it’s a separate structure from my house, that means I can’t use it after dark; I keep what’s called a xixi bucket in my room for those middle-of-the-night-emergencies and dump it out in the latrine in the morning. While some volunteers have indoor bathrooms (and some even have running water), I feel lucky to have this set up. It may not look ideal, but it’s pretty great.

As far as water for things like drinking, cooking, bathing and laundry is concerned, there is a spigot in the corner of our quintal. The water turns on about once a week for a few hours, which means that all morning activities are cancelled on those days as we fill as many buckets and jerrycans as possible. There are pumps and wells in walking distance if necessary, and a hole can be dug in the riverbed to wash clothes and dishes.

My house sits in bairro Primero de Maio, one of the more central neighborhoods in Chitima. It’s about a 10-minute walk to the hospital in one direction, 20 minutes in the other direction to my site mate’s house on the edge of town, and 8-12 minutes to the market depending on the cattle crossing.

Because Chitima is the district capital, I can get just about anything I need at the market…from food to toiletries to clothing to home items. There are a variety of permanent storefronts, wooden stands, and women who spread out their produce on plastic tarps each day. Common foods include couve (similar to collard greens), cabbage, tomatoes, onions, potatoes, rice, beans, and eggs. There are also the occasional carrots, bananas, oranges and lettuce depending on the season. My diet hasn’t been interesting so far and I don’t have a fridge, but I’m certainly not going hungry.

I think I’ve covered all my bases here, but phone conversations with my mother always prove the contrary. That being said, I’m open to answering more specific questions as they come up, so please feel free to comment or shoot me an email! There will be more detailed posts to come on many of these fronts as I delve deeper into my community research…and life here in general. I have much to learn.

Bedroom

Common room

Kitchen

Like I said, a little too proud of this…

The view from my kitchen (which I promise is more impressive in person)

My casa de banho, as seen across the quintal from my veranda. Left side is the bathroom, right side is the shower

Water storage system in my kitchen

Home Sweet Chitima

Site: Chitima

District: Cahora Bassa

Province: Tete

Let’s start with Tete as a whole. One of the westernmost provinces in Moz, it’s separated from the rest of the country by Malawi. It’s divided into 15 districts and 4 municipalities with a total population of 1,783,967 (as of the 2007 census). The Zambezi River runs through the middle of the province and passes through Cahora Bassa dam, which i one of the largest dams on the African continent. It provides the majority of South Africa’s electricity.

Chitima sits near the Cahora  Bassa mountain range and dam, near Songo, about 140 kilometers from the district capital of Tete City (population approximately 93,000). The drive there is an easy 2.5 hours down a paved road using public transport, and an even easier 1.5 hours if you can score a ride in a private car. Aside from my Education site mate from the Moz25 cohort, thenext closest PCV lives in the city. The other 4 volunteers from my cohort live in Moatize, Mavudze Ponte, Zóbue and Angonia. In total, 13 PCVs call Tete Province home.

Population

According to the 2007 census, the estimate for Chitima is 9,300

Climate

Because it’s a tropical climate, the year is divided into two seasons: rainy (September-March) and dry (April-August). One of the hottest provinces in Mozambique, Tete hangs out around 42°-47°C during the summer months and 26°-32°C during the winter months. For those of you not operating under centigrade, that’s 107°-116°F during the months of September through February and 79°-90°F between March and August. Once I work myself up to dropping a thousand meticais at the market, a fan is about to become my best friend.

Languages

Nyungwe and Portuguese

Nyungwe (also spelled nhúguè, cinyungwe, nhundgwe, chinyungwi, the list goes on) is a Bantu language that evolved in Mozambique, primarily for trade in the Tete area. Fun fact, the name “Tete” is actually derived from the nyungwe word mitete meaning “reed”. Today it’s spoken by approximately 439,000 people along the Zambezi River, making it one of the most recognized languages in Mozambique.

Economy

Agriculture in the form of livestock such as cattle and goats and crops such as beans, corn, and potatoes are the main sources of income in Chitima. Tete province, however, is home to a large coal mining industry and attracts expats from all over Southern Africa. Hydroelectricity also supports a large portion of the local economy.

Common Health Issues

Given the high prevalence rate of HIV across the entire country, it comes as no surprise that it is also the most common health issue seen in Chitima. Malaria, tuberculosis and cholera follow close behind, but the rate of these cases depends on the season (rainy or dry).

Work placements

My initial assignments from Peace Corps are with the Centro de Saúde de Chitima and Associação Kuthandizana Kuchira, also known as Kappa Kappa…which, quick translation, is the Health Center of Chitima and The Association to Help Each Other Heal (a community-based organization funded by Family Health International 360). The Kappa Kappa offices in Chitima are situated inside the health center, forming a partnership between the two.

The main focus of both is HIV/AIDS, specifically in the areas of treatment and adherence. Kappa Kappa works primarily in HIV testing and counseling, while the hospital provides the actual antiretroviral drugs.

As of right now, I am working more exclusively with the community activists from Kappa Kappa, known as Activistas, who go out into the neighborhoods to give palestras (health talks) and do home visits for HIV+ patients who have abandoned treatment. This, however, will likely change the longer I am here and the more I learn about the community’s needs. Community members and coworkers have already come forward with a variety of projects they’re interested in starting, ranging from water accessibility to grant writing to English classes. Time will tell!

Bridge in Tete City over the Zambezi River

Part of the road to Chitima

Mountains outside of town, featuring my backpack and my site mate

Cattle crossing near my house

View from middle of town

Riverbed that cuts through Chitima, dry for most of year but ground water will rise up if you dig into it

Ghost Protocol

In the whirlwind that has been my life these past two months, I’ve effectively gone ghost protocol on most of my social media accounts. However, I’m here today to tell you that it’s finally happened…I’m officially a Peace Corps Volunteer. Here’s a quick rundown from my time away:

On June 17^th we received our site placements. This is arguably one of the most exciting and terrifying days ever as we find out where we will be living and whom we will be working with for the next two years.

The weeks of June 26^th to July 16^th were spent visiting our sites, living with a second host family and shadowing our work placements. I’ve been placed with both a community based organization, Kuthandizana Kuchira, and the district hospital, Centro de Saude de Chitima. It was an interesting and stressful three weeks that were mostly spent observing in the hospital for several hours every day and exploring my new home.

On August 5^th I said goodbye to my Namaacha host family, loaded my final two bags into the back of a truck, and squeezed onto a chapa with my 44 fellow trainees. We made our way to the Ambassador’s home in Maputo where, after 13 weeks of training, we took our oaths and were sworn-in as official Volunteers.

The afternoon was spent at a cookout in the home of our Country Director, and after a night in Maputo we said our final goodbyes until December and parted ways for our sites.

On August 7^th, I arrived at my new home for the next two years in Chitima, Tete province (more to come on this later, I swear). My little yellow house in the desert was completely empty, save for the foam mattress, small plastic table and two plastic chairs provided by Peace Corps…and when I say empty, I mean totally empty. We’re talking 3 small rooms, 12 blank blue walls.

Now that I’m here in Chitima, this week has consisted primarily of trips to the market, the carpenter and my site mate’s house to buy/find all the items I need to live here on my own. And, on a Peace Corps Volunteer’s budget, it’s been quite the adventure! (And also hilarious as I try to get by in the meantime…reference the photo of cooking dinner in my kitchen.) I’m reconciling with the fact that it will be several months until I’m settled here.

I’ll most likely start work next week, which means I’ll have a few more days to clean and unpack…and a lot more hours to write. More pictures and posts to come!

Giving the oath and swearing-in as official PCVs in our matching capulanas (photo cred to the US Embassy)

Cooking my first dinner in Chitima

With 3 of my 4 host siblings at the volunteer despedida (going away party )

Journal: how to do dishes

Phase 1: Scrub in bucket one in the following order…cups, plates, bowls, lids utensils.

Phase 2: Rinse soapy dishes in clean water of bucket two. Let excess water run off.

Phase 3: Arrange to dry in following pattern..cups face down on bottom, plates upright, bowls around utensils upright.

OTHER NOTES:

• Dishes in the Rafael family are typically done after breakfast and after lunch, dinner dishes are left for the next morning
• Dish soap is normally used, but the same green bar soap used for laundry is used if the liquid soap runs out
• As a one-person job, the process usually takes about 30 minutes from start to finish

My oh my, life with my Mãe

My mãe runs a tight ship. The tightest of ships.

The house is always clean, the yard is always swept, and you’d better think twice about coming home with dirty feet (the latter of which, I must admit, I’ve learned the hard way through daily experience).

There are certain expectations in her house: the fire should be started before 6:15 every morning to ensure hot bath water, you don’t leave for school without washing at least your face and feet, and you don’t sit down for dinner without taking a full bath first. Chinelos (flip-flops) are to be worn around the yard and taken off at the door, but guests are never allowed to remove their shoes upon entering. Saturdays are for washing clothes, Sundays are for cleaning. Tea is an important part of the morning routine, and you had best leave yourself time to sit down and drink it before you even think about leaving the house.

Now, I’m not much of a rules person. I never have been and probably never will be. I’m going to go ahead and credit that to growing up with parents who mostly turned me loose to play outside, gave me the space to figure things out on my own, and always encouraged to think divergently—thanks Bern and Maria! Guidelines are cool, but when it comes to harsh instructions I think we could all just do without. That being said, these past 4 weeks have been both hilarious and frustrating.

Why aren’t you eating more dinner, filha? Don’t you like my cooking? Yes mãe, you’re a great cook, I’m just not that hungry right now. You’re not hungry? I’m hungry, just not THAT hungry. I normally don’t eat this much at home. But you liked it? Yes mãe, it was great. As good as bejia? You like bejia, don’t you? This is where I start to panic as I realize she knows that I ate a fried bean sandwich that morning when I went to the market with a friend. It’s now 6:30pm and quite obviously not the reason I’m eating a light dinner, but it was the perfect opportunity for her to let me know that she knows. Busted.

Did you take a bath yet, filha? No mãe, not yet, but I don’t think I have time. You didn’t take a bath? You need to go take one. I know, mãe, but there isn’t enough time before class starts. You have time, filha. But if you want to go to school without a taking a bath… This is where I give up and take a bath. Mae Beatriz is a force to be reckoned with and has the most powerful side-eye you’ll ever experience. I’ve reconciled with the fact that I will perpetually be 10 minutes late in the morning.

Filha, why are your feet so dirty? Every day you come home with dirty feet. How do you think that makes you look? And me? If Peace Corps sees you like this they will say “Oh! Beatriz’s daughter is so dirty!” And then they will think that my feet are dirty. Go wash them. Can I set my things down inside, mãe? Just wash them now. What I really want to say is that walking around dusty, rocky streets in sandals is hard to do and dirty feet are unavoidable…but I know this is irrelevant to her. This issue begins and ends at the present state of my red muddy toes. While her fear is largely irrational, I submit and rinse my feet and deal with the fact that they will never meet her standards.

Did you have your tea yet, filha? This inevitably follows the same pattern as the morning shower discussion, which will always end in me sitting down to drink tea despite the time. With this addition I will now perpetually be 15 minutes late in the morning.

Take a bath? Now? Yes! Now, before dinner. It’s a little cold, mãe. Can I just wait until morning? And go to bed with dirty feet? The water is already warm. First take a bath and then after, eat dinner. She poses this as both a question and a statement in what might be her trickiest move yet. The day comes full circle in this discussion as I do my best to form a logical argument that gets me out of a bucket bath in the dark, but alas I will almost always lose. At least my feet will finally be clean…

I try to pull the wool over my mãe’s eyes more often than I’d like to admit. It’s at least once a day. Once more, I’ve learned the hard way that my mãe knows everything. And I mean everything. I don’t know how she does it, but before I get the chance to tell her about my day she already knows where I’ve been and what I’ve done. I’m an 8 year-old trapped in a 22 year-old’s body who’s trying to outsmart her mom…life is weird at the moment.

But, with all that said, Mae Beatriz is great. She’s patient, understanding and strong in every sense of the word. Emotionally, physically, spiritually and in character. She works (literally) from sunrise to sunset every day to provide for her family. She puts herself aside to make room for all those under her roof. I may never understand all her rules, but I think I’ll learn a thing or two along the way about living with conviction.

Journal: How to do Laundry

Phase 1: fill 3 basins with water. Add detergent (item 4) to basin #1. Heavy scrubbing is to be done in this bucket. Spot clean with item #5 (green bar soap—it it scented? Who knows)

Phase 2: transfer scrubbed items to basin #2. Shirts and sweaters first, then pants. Let soak while continuing to work in basin #1.

Phase 3: squeeze excess water from items in basin #2 and remove all soap. This is done by dipping and wringing, dipping and wringing. Repeat in basin #3.

Phase 4: hang to dry, inside out. Pants from waistband, shirts from bottom. Stretch as far as possible (which seems too far, but what do I know?)

Other Notes:

• Shoes last with items 4 and 6. Beginning to end for 6 pieces of clothing: 45 minutes.
• Also to be noted that I could not remember the name of the detergent at the time of this drawing and subsequently used the incorrect Portuguese spelling of soap instead…its real name is Omo.