It’s 3am and I’m wide awake.
This time it’s not the loud pelting rain, stagnant humid air, or wild yelping dogs that regularly interrupt my sleep... no, this time it’s a totally different monster; one that’ll wreak havoc not only on my sleep tonight, but, unbeknownst to me, will continue to haunt me for the rest of the month…
Slumped down, sweating, and staring at my living room’s patched cement floor, I mentally debate about whether or not I’d have time to get up, reach the front door, and open it before spewing out whatever foul concoction is rumbling in my stomach. Before I even have time to act on the possibility though, my body lurches forward as my abdomen intensely contracts. At the moment, it felt like the world’s strongest man was trying to wring every last drop out my stomach… but surprisingly, and rather unsatisfyingly, nothing was there to squeeze out. The tainted food that I had stuffed in my mouth only hours earlier had sunk deeper into my system than my body, or I, had suspected, leaving me to deal with the consequences the hard way – wait for it to pass.
Although you can’t ever be 100% sure here in Mozambique what exactly got you sick, in this case it’s pretty obvious:
Just the thought of my last meal makes me revert into more fits of dry heaving - my body searching for a release, but always coming up just short. I eventually gather the courage and make a break for it. Hurriedly I unlock my front door, unlatch the steel grate further impeding me, and rush out on to the breezy veranda. On most nights, Nauela’s sky is quite a marvelous sight. When the moon isn’t too bright and there’s not any cloud cover, your wide-eyes witness every constellation mankind has ever imagined and then some. But tonight is different. My mind is withdrawn from all that beauty as I try to simply absorb more of the cool night air that is slowly encompassing my body and calming my stomach pains.
I sit and rest outside my house for over an hour, feeling horrible and not wanting to move, but with my heavy eyelids pleading for a release all the while. Despite my illness begging me to stay put, I reason that nodding off on my open veranda isn’t the best idea. Thus, I grudgingly retreat back inside and almost immediately pass out, tightly curled up on my bed.
While the sunrise brings a clatter of noises from the neighboring houses, I can’t even bear to think about leaving my bedroom, much less pass outside the front door. Laying comatose in my bed as the sun and wind battle to heat and cool my tin roof, I spend the daylight hours absently listening to the sound of the torquing metal being reshaped again and again all the while wondering… How long will this feeling last?
I don’t have any idea.
And maybe that was for the best… because sometimes when it rains, it pours, and no matter what you do or what medicine you take, that heavy, aching feeling just won’t go away. And in the meantime, the common illnesses that your body is constantly coming in contact with here in Nauela can now easily overrun your weakened defenses - assuring that things are sure to get much worse before they get any better.
***
Now that I think of it though, eating some of the local termite delicacies might not have helped the situation either….
Even with a not so good stomach, I just HAD to try ‘em… everyone was doing it!
Sunday April 10th – Monday April 18th, 2011
Rushing to the bathroom every few minutes or simply setting up camp, lounging on the toilet because the bowel movements don’t seem to ever stop – it’s under these conditions that I must try to work/live/survive here in rural Mozambique when sick. Even simple things though can get complicated.
Take, for example: my bathroom.
In one sense, I’m lucky because I have a “normal,” Western-style toilet that’s inside my house (opposed to an outdoor latrine). Without running water however, that same luxury can quickly become quite a hassle. Lacking any house helper, sick or not, I must go wait in long lines at the community borehole just to be able to pump and carry water back and forth between my house. As one can imagine, it can become quite a time consuming and laborious process the more one needs to flush the toilet. And because whoever installed my bathroom didn’t put traps on the sink and shower drains, the pungent aroma stubbornly remains even after a thorough flushing.
Luckily though, these days are numbered because FGH has conveniently scheduled a meeting for us PCVs in Quelimane on Monday. Thus on Sunday morning the FGH crew comes and whisks me away in their private vehicle. In the matter of a few short hours, I’m comfortably sprawled out in an air-conditioned hotel room with a private bathroom equipped with running water… Oh the amenities that impress me now.
Surprisingly, I’m feeling pretty good by the time the next day’s meeting rolls around and don’t outwardly show any signs hinting at my sub-par health. Thus, after sitting at a roundtable discussion with FGH higher-ups for half a day talking NGO jargon about the importance of improving food security all over Zambezia, it’s no surprise to me when my provincial supervisor insists that I visit both Morrumbala and Mopeia this week to do Permaculture trainings with local associations that are partnered there with FGH. Despite my teetering health, I didn’t put up much of a fight. After all, I’ll take any opportunity to make an extra trip to Morrumbala where the love of my life is :-)
First up is Morrumbala.
Everything goes well with the training. The group of 25 or so participants is a mixture of leaders from several local associations. Many people seem interested and it’s encouraging to me to see how gung-ho some individuals are about the new agriculture knowledge. I just hope they actually put it to use after the training (Sadly, I visit Morrumbala several weeks later and, although the FGH staff says people have begun implementing the techniques at their houses, the demonstration plot has gone almost completely untouched since I left). As the training wraps up, I feel a little tired but overall I’m holding up well physically.
Interestingly enough, in Morrumbala I find myself reunited with Rocha, my former Alto Molócuè FGH counterpart who was transferred here some time ago. Unimpressed with his work performance in the field back then, it’s remarkable to see him go at it now. When he started as an AIC (Community Intervention Assistant) it was one of the lowest, most ambiguous positions on FGH’s totem pole. Now however, after countless rounds of hirings and a tremendous organizational restructuring, suddenly the AIC position sits practically as second-in-command at the district level. Rocha now efficiently and ruthlessly manages five area Community Facilitators (other FGH field workers). The added job responsibilities, although largely undeserved in my opinion, suit Rocha well because he can sit in a comfortable office all day checking emails, writing reports, and not have to actually get his hands dirty in the field. Every once in a while, after letting some underling organize an event, the high-ranking position also allows him to swoop in, say a few words as a capstone, and claim everything as his own baby. Which is just what he’s good at! Glad to see things working out for him… %-)
Next up, Mopeia! (and this is where things start to get rough…)
Finishing up the Permaculture training in Morrumbala on Thursday morning, I have exactly 10 minutes to gather my belongings before traveling two hours along a terribly bumpy road to Mopeia in order to start another training that very same afternoon. The transition day takes a lot out of me, but I’m still going strong after having gotten a glimpse of the light at the end of the tunnel. The Mopeia group, while interested in the material, is very moody and skeptical. It’s understandable though because, due to some miscommunication with FGH, the group of 29 individuals had been incorrectly informed twice about the starting time and date of our training. Thus, when I appear on Thursday afternoon and begin the session, many people have already been waiting around a day and a half for my arrival.
During the second day of the training in Mopeia, my body finally succumbs to the external forces long acting upon it and I take a sharp turn south. I begin feeling it a little after lunch - fever, stomach pains, a sore throat – by night time it has progressed to an all encompassing illness with flu-like symptoms.
If I haven’t said this before, I’ll say it again: It’s tough in this country to accurately diagnosis illnesses.
What I mean by that is best seen in this example: if you walk around Zambezia and ask someone who is sick what they have, they’ll probably say “Malaria”. That statement can mean many things, but most likely doesn’t imply they actually did the clinical test that confirms their malaria diagnosis. Coincidentally, Malaria can produce many of the same symptoms that the common cold or flu would. However, the medical treatment for malaria, being caused by a parasitic infection, is significantly different than that for the persistent cold or flu, which are both caused by viruses. Thus a correct diagnosis is pivotal for a relatively quick, successful recovery. What makes the diagnosis problematic though is that malaria tests can be hard to come by and a lot of times the tests don’t give conclusive results. Despite all the attention surrounding HIV/AIDS, Malaria is ever present and still the number 1 annual killer in Mozambique - a fact I’m very cognoscente of now.
Aided by an entourage of multi-colored pills, I manage to finish the training in Mopeia and retreat back to Quelimane for the weekend to lick my wounds and rest up before eventually making my way back to Nauela.
The following are some views from my agriculture teaching moments in Mopeia:
Me talking to talk to talk to talk to talk….
Me trying to get down and dirty with a hoe.
Me doing what I’m actually best at… supervising ;-)
A good view of the permagarden plot
Double digging it up…
The Mopeia training group after completing our permagarden…
Amanda and I smiling wide for camera
***
The trip home is going well. FGH has been kind enough to take me all the way back to Alto Molócuè in their car, but I’m on my own from there.
Next thing I know, I find myself somewhere between Alto Molócuè and Nauela squatting down in a field of cassava with my pants scrunched up around my ankles while something sharp and prickly is sticking me in the rear. I’m not sure what exactly is causing the sensation, but that’s the least of my worries at the moment. Staring through the tall grass at the idling truck 20 meters away, my oscillating health status is an accepted, mute point. All I am concerned about now is the fickle motorista possibly driving off, leaving me to fend for myself in the wild, African bush as the sun is dipping low in the sky and, worse yet, takes my backpack (and my computer) with him.
In the 30 minutes leading up to this impromptu chapa stop I had been mentally debating about whether or not to signal to the driver. But in the end, the force building up inside of me couldn’t be held captive any longer. The driver promptly complied to the request (probably having been in my situation before) and was patient up to this point, but now he is revving his engine, obviously in a hurry to get to Gurue before it’s completely dark…
No one likes driving at night here in Mozambique. It’s much too dangerous. After all, if the treacherous roads, sketchy vehicles, or ever-present thieves don’t get you, the evil spirits surely will.
Tuesday April 19th - Friday April 22nd, 2011
Back safe in Nauela finally, I’m totally spent from the journey.
Most of the next several days are passed hanging out on my veranda, teaching chess to the area school children. Even while just sitting around outside though I get tired and must almost hourly take refuge in my comfy bed. Turns out, whatever illness that has taken over my body is quite reluctant to relinquish it to its rightful owner. The raging battle over my body’s cells isn’t tipping in my favor at the moment and my body must be calling for reinforcements, saving all its energy for fending off the infection.
It’s in this semi-catatonic state that the visiting FGH workers from Quelimane and Molócuè find me on Thursday morning. They are here to meet with Muretchele, the local association partnered with FGH, and the União Baptista Church in Mihecane. Rather than taking pity on me though, they quickly instruct me to get cleaned up and accompany them on their day’s adventure through Nauela. I’m so out of it and exhausted I can’t protest too much, so instead I simply tuck my tail and obediently follow the orders.
***
The death and birth of an association
What happened next was terribly predictable and illustrates perfectly some of the many field problems with NGO work here in Zambezia. The FGH workers show up relatively unannounced (supposedly the AIC that lives in Molócuè left a card with a random girl last week to inform the association to meet with FGH sometime this morning – they frequently do this but then don’t actually show up themselves), become offended by the fact that so few community members have bothered to participate, and start the conversation openly discussing how little work ethic this group has.
It is quite the sight. Sitting across from one another on the benches outside the rural health post in Nauela couldn’t be two more distinct sets of individuals: one group whose hands are heavily-calloused and suffer from overworked, decrypted toenails, don simple tattered rags, but present haggard smiles, the other group, meanwhile, with their perfectly manicured features and fresh set of business attire, are all frowns.
Rendered all but completely helpless by the mounting pain, I witness this interaction up close, sitting as a passive intermediary alongside both groups. Angrily lecturing the few, nonresponsive association members, it doesn’t take long for the Western-minded NGO workers to lose their patience and want to be done with the entire situation. Suddenly and unanimously it has been decided, “This association must die!” Not in such a harsh manner, just dissolve really. The NGO workers had already dismissively left their seats before taking a step back and firmly instructing the association members to write up and sign their own dissolution letter to be presented by FGH at the district government’s office - a public recognition of the association’s failure aimed at separating any lingering ties between FGH and Muretchele.
In my opinion, should the association dissolve? Yes. But who is suffering and being punished? Not the right people. These are the few individuals who are persistent/naive enough to have stuck it out with the absentee NGO that FGH is. Meanwhile, the person who founded this group, sowing fictitious thoughts of grandeur and profit among the early members is long gone and being held completely unaccountable (as I recently discovered he transferred to Morrumbala and actually received quite a promotion of sorts – see earlier post).
Then, the FGH workers and I pile into their car, them feeling borderline jovial now that they have ridded themselves of some serious baggage, and leave behind a group of disenchanted locals who never even saw it coming. Seconds later we’re back on the road speeding toward Mihecane to start a new FGH partnership with the church there - a little messed up if you ask me.
There’s no doubt in my mind that eventually FGH will form some sort of partnership through a newly proposed association with the church here. The longstanding mission is already incredibly active in the community and is relatively independent in their actions - exactly what FGH is looking for because they’ll likely provide very minimal support but claim all the credit for the results. I really do hope this budding partnership will work out better than the last for both parties. I really do. I can’t wait for us to visit Mihecane and get going… turns out though, I’ll have to wait a little while longer because, first, the car must stop at the Nauela market to allow the NGO workers to buy some flashy bras that caught their attention. While they absent-mindedly peruse some of the other merchandise the grass stalls have to offer, I sit in the car reeling back and forth with a colossal headache, unsure now if it’s being caused by my illness or simply the irony of it all.
***
Random reflections:
Although so much positive is said in the NGO world about creating community associations that work together towards a common goal, I have now had the displeasure of witnessing the other side of the coin – the sudden abandonment of a group of individuals who couldn’t meet an NGO’s lofty expectations.
Founded by my former FGH counterpart Rocha, I’ve always believed that the association members in Nauela had long been misled into thinking that, after starting an association, FGH would give them “lots” of money (in Nauela lots of money could be less than $10). Having long seen the manner in which NGOs operate, the way they can throw around so such money, many people jumped on board without even knowing what the association’s purpose was. In their minds, when Rocha said key words such as the association will be “financed by FGH” and the members will be “trained” in various things. One thing came to mind: Money.
In the past, NGOs would do their trainings in cities and be required to give all the attendees per diem ($15-20 a day to help cover the cost of meals and incidentals). Nowadays, the trainings for community volunteers often happen on-location so people are fed well (a snack and lunch at least) but left to fend for themselves outside the training without any per diem to line their pockets. Thus, even when Muretchele completed a small, on-location training back in October about medicinal plants, the association members unhappily received no benefit other than the knowledge they were able to retain (something I was ironically very happy about at the time).
Oftentimes, FGH workers criticize community activists for only seeking out financial gains, but, in reality, Don’t you think the whole system is a little bit hypocritical? The NGO workers definitely are making a pretty penny and most are seeking to help the project’s beneficiaries in words only. At the end of the day if they could get paid without lifting a finger, I believe that most of them would. Furthermore, the local participants are dirt poor and living by the skin on their teeth. Don’t you think it’s a little ridiculous to expect them to try and volunteer their precious time towards some ambiguous cause that even FGH can’t tell you what it is?
Even with microfinance projects where the objective is to make money and be “sustainable” (all the rage in the NGO world nowadays), beyond addressing the limited math and business skills that most possess, there exists a far bigger problem: - a great cultural conflict of sorts. For better or worse, people in Africa share… Everything! If you are ever in need, you go to your neighbor and ask, don’t worry, it’s not considered rude. In fact, oftentimes even dirt-poor individuals give something when asked because they know that some day in the future they might be down on their luck and have to turn around and beg their neighbor for help. There’s very little incentive to strive and achieve more for those capable because at the end of the day, even if you succeed, friends and family will likely notice your good fortune and hit you up for all you’re worth. And you, not wanting to burn bridges, can’t turn them away unless you are willing to risk social isolation.
Saturday April 23rd – Tuesday April 26th, 2011
April 25th is quickly approaching and what does that mean? I, along with several other PCVs, need to hightail it to Morrumbala for Amanda’s Disney-themed birthday party. Yay!
Despite my lingering illness that is keeping me coughing and feeling fatigued, I successfully make the arduous, day-long journey down from Nauela without incident. My health regresses a little bit because of the stress but, with the help of some strong med dosages, I am able to suck it up and enjoy the festivities :-)
Yohko and Amanda getting ready for the evening’s festivities.
Feijaoda lunch… yum!
Amanda and I acting our parts: Abu from Aladdin and one of the Siamese cats from Lady and the Tramp :-)
The full group in their Disney costumes
Amanda and Mica blowing out their candles
***
After the birthday brigade came and went, Amanda and I went out into her neighborhood to take some pictures with her friends and colleagues….
Friday April 29th – Monday May 2nd, 2011
Thanks to the mandatory flu shot PCVs are required to get annually, Amanda and I get to meet up with Dr. Edson (the Peace Corps Medical Officer for Northern Mozambique normally located in Nampula) this weekend in Quelimane to talk about some of our various nagging health problems. Upon completing the consultation Dr. Edson worries aloud about my prolonged illness possibly being a result of malaria. When the field test comes up negative however, the only thing left to prescribe is a high dose of general antibiotics to see if that’ll do that trick (After 10 days of medication, vitamins, eating well, and some R&R I feel normal again for the first time in nearly a month!).
Random shots from the weekend in Quelimane:
Panoramic from a shot from the top of Hotel Chuabo in Quelimane
Amanda and Jordan enjoying the Chuabo view
Amanda and Jordan after making a wonderful French bread pizza from (almost) scratch!
***
All this medical talk reminds me… during my last trip to Quelimane I had the pleasure of visiting and saying goodbye to the Hiltons (they’ve been in Quelimane for over 17 years working with World Vision but are finally moving to Australia to be closer to family). As luck would have it, the Fosters from Gurue were staying with them on their way to Maputo for a biblical seminar and we all got to chatting about our experiences in Mozambique and abroad. Stuart Foster eventually mentioned his brother’s work as the resident surgeon at a mission hospital in Angola and the night ends with them promising to introduce me to their various international medical contacts via email, including Stuart’s brother.
Since that fateful meeting, the Foster’s have sent various emails to people from all over the globe and I’m looking into the possibility of visiting Angola next summer (as a Portuguese translator for expat doctors all the while doing some medical shadowing)… we’ll see how the logistics (timing and money mainly) go, but regardless… the possibility is exciting!
***
On my way back up to Nauela on Monday I discover two bits of news:
1) A Moz 15 health PCV who was placed in Quelimane in December 2010 has decided to go home. Why? According to him, it’s because the organization he has been paired with was not giving him any work to do – seems to be the general story for Moz PCVs in the health sector.
2) Osama Bin Laden’s death – The headline spurs surprisingly a lot of talk amongst Mozambicans even in a rural place like Nauela (people get the news via community radio stations). The narrative that seems to be widely circulating here is the same one the Western media is favoring (Bin Laden was a terrorist, not a freedom fighter). Interestingly enough, with this bit of information everyone I’ve talked to about it here in Nauela has said that, since Bin Laden is responsible for the deaths of other people, he deserved to die too… in their opinion it’s as simple as that… Or is it?
Tuesday May 3rd - Wednesday May 12th, 2011
Largely because of this waning (finally!) illness, it appears that a lot of my last memories at site will be of teaching and playing chess with the area secondary school students. Most of my other work involves hours of biking and, even though I have moments of strength, in general I always feel pretty weak. Sadly though, even as I’m teaching the basics of the game to eager participants I am having serious doubts that anyone will continue to play after I’m gone. My most avid students, for example, admit to not having practiced at all while I was away – to their credit, they have no board, no pieces, and few people to play with… but it’s still a glimpse into the near future, post-Michael.
I have hopes that chess can gain a presence in the area before I leave, but I just don’t know if it can. Right now, many people are stuck on playing checkers (they actually call it damas, which has slightly different rules), but (and no offense to those of you out there who are avid checkers players) I feel like that game is pretty straight forward and doesn’t involve too much advanced strategy or outside the box thinking – something young aspiring students could really benefit from being exposed to at an early age. Having all these grandiose ideas about how chess can help develop kids’ ability to strategize and plan for the future is good and all, but at the same time I realize that, for most, just learning how to move the pieces is an accomplishment.
Salimo, one of my youngest, but most promising students
***
Random happy views from a Nauela sunflower field:
***
As I lounge around Nauela playing games with kids, several individuals with some large machinery are running around every which way making a huge impact on the lives of local residents. Yep, that’s right! The next, long-awaited Afrodrill campaign has arrived. You might have never heard of Afrodrill before, but they are a company based out of Mocuba that is being sub-contracted by various organizations to go around Zambezia drilling boreholes for water pumps.
This year, the operation is focusing on reaching out to more distant communities in the administrative post that they weren’t able to get to in previous years. Mugema, Guilherme, Vehiua, Cololo, and Mohiua (household names for you all back at home, right?) are all slated to be dug this year, with only one, near Nauela’s market, being located in somewhat close proximity to me.
With all the hubbub, I just had to go bike over to see the magic happen in person… Once there, the workers informed me that the pump is actually made it in three phases: first drill the hold, then set a surrounding cement slab, finally install the pump mechanism. At this moment these workers are here only to complete the first stage. Others will be close behind them to finish up the job.
As you can see from large crowd gathered around in the pictures below, the digging process was definitely the day’s biggest event in Nauela:
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