Ten Helpful Portuguese Phrases to Know in Mozambique (& How To Say Them)

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While the language of Portuguese is obviously more intricate than a list of ten phrases, I’ve found myself using these phrases more than any other throughout the country. Call it survival Portuguese or small talk Portuguese, but these phrases are spoken more throughout the day because of how common it is to greet someone in passing or strike up a short conversation with a neighbor or friend.

  1. Bom dia (bohm-dee-ya) | Boa tarde (Boo-ah-tar-dee) | Boa noite (Boo-ah-noyte) = Good morning | Good afternoon | Good night

Seventy-five percent of the interactions I have with people in Mozambique simply involve these three phrases. When you’re passing someone in the street, it’s tradition to simply smile and use one of these three phrases depending on the time of day. While the first and second are easy enough to estimate (before and after noon, respectively), the latter is a hotly debated topic among volunteers and locals. When is the proper time to use “boa noite”? In my opinion (and from a conversation with my host mother), it’s after 6:00 p.m.; however, others will tell you it’s when it’s dark outside. The world may never know.

  1. Por favor (pour-fah-vor) | Obrigado/a (oh-bree-gah-doo/dah) = Please | Thank you

While the inclusion of these two phrases may seem like common sense, I’ve found that politeness is the one thing that can differentiate you (positively) from other Portuguese-attempters. In my experience, the former is used far less than the latter, but both are highly used and respected among locals. “Please” is simple enough to understand and used by everyone in the same way, but the use of “thank you” depends on the gender of the speaker. If you are male, you will use “obrigado.” If you are female, you will use “obrigada.” This never changes, so feel free to just forget the word for the opposite sex.

  1. Desculpe (desh-cool-puh) | Desculpe-me (desh-cool-puh-may) = Sorry | Excuse me

This is one that I’m starting to phase out of my vocabulary here in Mozambique. Back in the United States, I’m a constant sorry-er. Even when a sorry isn’t necessarily needed in the situation, I’m throwing them around like candy in a parade. However, the people in Mozambique are less likely to respond to a sorry with the same kind of empathy as in the states. Just as they tell us to walk tall and determined to avoid burglaries in urban areas, it’s necessary to be assertive in your speech in Mozambique to show strength, confidence. The latter (desculpe-me) is used when walking between people in a crowded market or trying to get someone’s attention. I think the general rule is to just not overuse either.

  1. Estamos juntos (Esh-tom-oosh-joon-toosh) = We are together

There’s potency in its brevity. When you first meet someone in Mozambique, it’s tradition to finish the conversation with this phrase. It’s already my favorite saying that I’ve learned, and I continue to search my brain for an American counterpart. Look forward to working with you? Happy to have you here? Welcome? While we might have a counterpart in English, there’s something stunning in the hopefulness about saying this phrase in Mozambique and genuinely feeling that you’re part of a growing country.

  1. Senhor (sen-your) | Chefe (chef-ee) | Boss (boss) = Sir | Boss | Boss

You would expect to use these three words with your supervisors at work (which you can, especially with Directors of Health or other high-ranking positions); however, in a country plagued by corruption, these words go a long way in protecting you from harassment from police officers and government officials. The country of Mozambique is all about respect. When you’re speaking to someone older or in a higher position, you’ll use a different verb tense to show admiration, formality.

When being harassed by a corrupt police officer to offer him or her a bribe, using “chefe” or “boss” will show that you know they are in control. While we all would rather tell them a different phrase with a little more sting, corruption belongs to a larger war outside our own efforts; however, it doesn’t mean you can’t calm the situation and win the battle, usually by just showing identification and saying you don’t have any money to offer.

  1. Não faz mal (now-fahz-mahl) | No problem!

Translating literally to “it means to harm” or “it does no harm,” this phrase is used often throughout the country in reply to someone saying sorry or excuse me. I like it, because it mirrors our own phrases such as “don’t worry about it” or “no problem.”

  1. Quanto custa? (Quan-too-coosh-tah?) = How much is it?

Knowing this phrase, as well as how to understand numbers in Portuguese and the value of Mozambican currency (30MT=$1), will help you get by in urban or rural areas when buying something from a market or vendor on the street. The difficulty is being overcharged because you’re a foreigner and they know you aren’t familiar with the pricings. A tip is to ask someone nearby how much the item is usually or having them ask the vendor.

  1. Bom apetite (bohm-ah-pay-teet) | Boa viagem (boo-ah-vee-ah-jem) | Have a nice meal | Have a nice trip

When eating with someone or a large group in Mozambique, it’s tradition to start the meal with this phrase, wishing the group a satisfying meal. We’ve all heard this used back in the states or throughout other parts of the world, but here it is a respectful and simple way of showing kindness to fellow travelers or Mozambicans. The second is used before any long trip or voyage to wish the traveler good luck.

  1. Chega (shay-gah) | I’m full!

Mozambicans are notorious for pushing more and more food out of respect for a visitor or foreigner, but the time comes when you’re so filled with rice, beans, and savory meats, that you simply have to tell them you’re full. Translating literally to “arrive,” the phrase lets your friends know that you couldn’t possibly eat another bite of food. You’ve arrived, or your belly has arrived, or a potential sleepy coma has arrived. Chega!

  1. Até já (ah-tay-jah) | See you soon

This is an informal phrase used to say goodbye to a close friend or colleague. While it doesn’t necessarily work in a more formal manner, it is used often throughout my community. Translating literally as “until already,” it doesn’t make literal sense, but it’s a phrase adopted to mean that the conversation will continue on.

Bonus Phrases that Incorporate English Words!

 

  • Ta Nice! (tah-nice) = That’s nice!
  • Estou biz (esh-toe-biz) = I am busy!
  • Hello! (Hello) = Hello! (Was that one so hard?)

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Questions? Comments? Need other phrases translated? Contact me!

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On Living in the Moment

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Photo: A bridge constructed for easier passage across a lagoon in Quissico, Mozambique.

I fall asleep at night wondering about the next day. What do I need to get done? Who is going to help me with my projects? Is it going to rain, and everyone in the community will stay inside their houses? Are we going to have power? These questions shoot through my mind, passing one another and forming other more complex questions that, against all of my attempts, don’t have a real solution or answer, because the real answer is: who knows.

I fall asleep at night wondering about the next year. Where do I want to plant myself at the end of my service? Where is the most competitive environment I could find myself? Where are my good friends planning to live? These questions collide with my thoughts about the next day, and soon enough I find myself in a sticky sweat, unable to sleep, and staring up at my mosquito net. The air in my room is humid. I walk outside my house to breath cool air.

I stare up at the sky and wonder why I had been worrying in the first place. Questions about my life, whether it’s tomorrow or a year from now, melt away and are replaced by countless balls of gas hanging low in the clear sky, burning their ancient light deep into the twisted center of my consciousness. The image calls back memories of walking across the street to my best friend’s house during middle and high school. For the longest time, I swore to myself that I would pursue astronomy, because to get paid to get lost in the stars sounded unique, and, at the time, I needed something unique.

I look around each day and wonder what I’m missing. Walking to and from work, Mozambican children run up and down the main road, still dressed in their school uniforms, and laughing together as they walk to the local store to buy a sucker or bread. I walk past the primary school, and young children poke their heads out the broken windows to yell my name. Many of them I do not know, but it doesn’t matter. I wave back and yell “good morning!” with a smile on my face and my hand high in the air.

I look around each day and wonder who I’m missing. In the faces of the children I see my niece. With her since she was brought into this world, I am now ages away, and the distance feels farther and farther each day, but I know exactly where she’ll be upon my arrival: either tucked in her bed sleeping after watching Monster High or Scooby-Doo or standing tall on a bicycle as the final light of a summer day hits her blonde hair and lights up everything in her expression.

I look around each day and wonder who I’m missing. I speak with my brother and his wife who are planning to build a new home together (literally, they’re moving forward with building a house). I look forward in the future to days spent in their new home, curled up in a warm blanket watching a movie, playing a board game at the kitchen table, or (attempting) to bake with my sister-in-law. My sister is there with her husband, and we’re all standing in the kitchen laughing at a story from the day. My younger brother pops his head in after a cross-city run, as he describes getting honked at for his short shorts.

I look around each day and wonder who I’m missing. I speak with my mother and my father, and they’re both proud of the work that I’m doing in Mozambique. I tell them that I’m putting pressure on my shoulders to deliver something great, and they respond by reminding me that the world wasn’t built in a single day. People take time. Health takes time. I wish the best for them, and streams of memories flow through my mind as we speak.

I look around each day and wonder what I’m doing here. I remind myself of the path that I’ve chosen for myself. I run through the list of reasons that this will be good for my future. I explain to myself on the walk home that not all days will be a success, and that change will come in time. I challenge myself to stop overthinking life. I push myself to remember that, soon, all of this will be gone, and I will only have memories of the experience.

I fall asleep at night wondering about the next day. Who will I be able to help? Who will I have a good conversation with? Who will yell my name from the road? I calm my mind and remind myself that the next day is bound to be better than the day before. How couldn’t it be? It is on these days that we accumulate shared experiences with the world, the environment, and it is on these days that I remind myself to stay present, stay focused.

To live in the moment.

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On God and Finding Faith in the Shadow of Uncertainty

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The woman points toward an unimpressive house adjacent to the recently constructed gas station parking lot. The cement extends toward the house before breaking up, exposing thick grass that rests upon a lanky, wooden fence that obscures the view of the yard.

“A woman used to live in that house,” she says staring in the direction of the house and barely blinking. “She died last week.”

“That’s so sad,” I say in response, now also staring toward the house. “What happened?”

“She died from some disease,” now she’s looking in her lap and fiddling with her cell in her hands. “Not sure what disease.”

I tell her that I work in a hospital up the road about 100 kilometers and see a lot of patients who abandon their treatment early for various reasons and end up dying from the complications.

Seemingly unsurprised by this information, she raises her eyebrows and rises from her chair to go and help a customer who is putting gas in his car’s tank. “If it’s God’s will,” she says as she continues toward the man, “it’s God’s will.”

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I’m taken aback by the sight of it. A familiar symbol (above) is painted above the entryway to the church: the thick, black cross with the red cloth resting upon the arms. The words Igreja Metodista are painted above the symbol.

Until this moment, I had not seen a Methodist Church in Mozambique. Sure, I’d seen places of worship for other beliefs – Muslim, Catholic, Evangelical – but this was different. This was personal.

It’s a few days before Christmas Day, and I’m visiting close friends in the southern province of Inhambane in Mozambique. I take a moment to let the sight of the church sink into place before continuing on to my friend’s house located next door.

A few days later, I excuse myself from my group of friends and head toward the church. I expect to encounter life and jubilance and, instead, am surprised to find the church completely empty. The front door is propped open, and the wooden shudders that act as windows are spread wide, flooding the interior of the church with the remaining light of the day.

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I slowly move through the small church, taking in the familiar and appreciating the unfamiliar. Long, wooden pews stretch in rows through the room. Tucked in the back of the pews are hymn books. I brush my fingers along the smooth wood as I pass toward the front of the room. Each window I pass reveals something new: a child running past, thick trees producing fruit, the sun setting in the distance.

I find myself at the front of the room looking down at a table adorned with flowers, books, and pieces of cloth. In front of the table is a podium. I let the image of a packed church fill my senses.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I turn it on to find messages from home wishing me a Merry Christmas. It didn’t feel like Christmas before, but today it does.

I sit down in one of the empty pews, lift a hymn book from the back of the pew in front of me, and I open it to a random page. I tuck my nose into the crease of the book and inhale deeply, pulling from the book a familiar scent and welcomed calm.

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I’m standing next to my father in a packed worship hall with the rest of the congregation. We are all singing a hymn while the pastor and co-pastor walk up the aisle and out of the room following the service. I notice that nobody is really singing, and I strain my voice to match the volume and pitch of those around me. I know I can sing better, but I don’t try.

I’ve been going to church with my father and siblings for as long as I can remember. The church is a beautifully constructed building tucked in my small town in my small state. The triangular, main worship hall is home to a towering plate-glass window that stretches from the floor to the highest point in the ceiling.

In front of the window is a sizeable, wooden cross that hangs high above the heads of the congregation, held in place by chains. The pastor stands below this cross in sermon, and during each service, it’s hard not to worry that one day the cross will fall. It doesn’t.

I grew up in the walls of this church, attending summer programs, joining my family for Sunday and holiday services, and volunteering to help younger kids. Some of my closest friends grew up in the walls of this church. Some of the cutest girls in our town attended this church. Each Sunday, I would scan the room looking for a current crush.

We follow the congregation out of the church and head for our car. We won’t return to the church until the following Sunday, but that doesn’t mean that I leave everything inside its walls.

Each night as a teenager I find myself praying in a similar routine before I sleep. Using the same script but splicing in names of people or concerns of the week, I fold my hands together, close my eyes, and whisper my message into the world. I don’t know who’s listening, but I have hope, optimism, faith that someone is.

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The document is opened on my computer at my desk, but I’m staring out the window. On the opposite side is a row of bushes and a patch of grass that stretches to the cement parking lot. A grasshopper has landed on the window. I rise from my seat and get closer to the window to look at the colorful details of the insect, but it jumps away as I approach.

The next day I decide to quit my job at the bank. It’s a great job working with friendly, passionate people, but I didn’t share the same passion for the work. Something inside me had been leading me to this day, shaking at me and alerting me to a life unlived. I pack up all my belongings and make the drive from Nebraska to Washington State.

During my two years in Seattle, I spend my Sundays at a middle school located close to my house that hosts Mars Hill, a popular Christian congregation in the northwest and west. The group isn’t without controversy with some members calling the group a cult and denouncing the church’s leader, Mark Driscoll, for his sometimes radical practices.

For me, the group is a place to find the familiar calm felt growing up. While that calm had since been replaced with stress, sadness, insecurity, and uncertainty, deep within my soul was a faith that everything will turn out fine.

I continue to spend my days living with this notion in my heart, although my faith has always been a private one.

Looking back, the decision to leave Nebraska saved my life, but whose decision was it? For the longest time (and still today), I knew it was my decision, but I also know that it was driven by faith, a belief strengthened through the church.

So I ask again, whose decision was it?

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I’m sitting with a book in a restaurant in my small town in Mozambique. A doctor friend who is visiting from the provincial capital to work with cataracts patients in my area approaches my table. Behind her is a short man with a large smile on his face.

“Alek, I want to introduce you to someone,” my friend says as she gestures toward the man. “This is Jose, he is the pastor at the Catholic church here in Namapa.”

“Nice to meet you, father,” I say and extend my hand.

He grabs my hand and, with a smile on his face, says “It’s very nice to meet you too. I’m very happy that we are able to meet.”

He continues to tell me that he’s been living in Mozambique for about a year, is originally from Mexico, and wants to learn English because he has family in Scotland. I tell him that I’m happy to help, and he leaves the restaurant thanking me numerous times.

A few weeks later, the father contacts me and says he wants to have lunch with me at his house. Joined by another volunteer from a nearby town, we head to the church and meet him by the main road. He leads us through a set of large, metal doors that lead to his house and main yard.

He tells us that 14 young boys work with him at the church, and that with time they’ll be able to preach as well. My friend and I meet a couple of the boys, and we continue into the pastor’s main living area that has a table set for our lunch.

On the walls are pictures of religious leaders, including Pope Francis. The pastor has bookshelves stacked with literature on religious practice, language books, and other materials. Set on the table alongside the plates is a small speaker. The pastor turns on the speaker, raises the volume, and The Beatles’ Let It Be fills the room.

“I love this music,” he tells us. “The Beatles!”

We tell him that we also love the Beatles, and the smile seen at the restaurant grows across his face as he gestures toward the food to help ourselves. The meal consists of corn on the cob, potatoes, salad, and rabbit, which the pastor raises at his house.

We finish the meal, and the pastor tells us how happy he is that he met us. “Thanks be to God,” he says as he raises both his hands toward the ceiling.

“Thanks be to God,” my friend and I say in unison as another Beatles song plays from the speaker.

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Her comment catches me off guard. How could the death of a woman from a preventable disease be the will of God?

It isn’t the first time I’ve heard this in Mozambique. When someone passes of old age or disease or accident, it is common for the people to find their comfort in knowing it’s God’s will.

While it’s easy to be cynical of this view (and many volunteers are), who are we to try and tell anyone how to find comfort, how to find faith?

How are we supposed to be strong volunteers without faith in something? Having faith in the better, the stronger, the more righteous can guide our hands, our actions.

Will we be able to work in cooperation with the many churches here to deliver beneficial health information? Information on prevention? Long-term behavior change?

Perhaps the answer is simply: If it’s God’s will, it’s God’s will.

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Questions? Comments? Contact me!

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On Volunteerism & Development: A World Just Within Our Reach



A Peace Corps staff member assesses the projects planned and presented at the Community Health Project Design & Management conference in Nampula City, Mozambique.

Half the room is made up of American (and one Puerto Rican) volunteers, and the other half is made up of our Mozambican counterparts. We enter the conference room for the start of a three-day training that promises to introduce all of us to project implementation in our communities, a topic that all of us need to understand as projects start to get off the ground.

The all-Portuguese training begins, and I realize the importance of the situation. Roughly 25 years ago, this country was tangled in a civil war that crippled the country, destroyed infrastructures, and left emotional scars that still remain today. While not many people here openly speak about the war, it’s clear to see the effects on the developing country.

However, one product of the end of this war was pure, and understandable hope for a brighter future for the country and its people.

My counterpart is sitting next to me as we spend the day learning about the role of Peace Corps volunteers in Mozambique, developing goals and objectives for our plans, and starting to list out the activities which we are going to complete once we return to our sites.

The American volunteers are familiar with this environment as we scoff at the pile of papers and handouts we receive throughout the day. However, to our Mozambican counterparts, the information is (mostly) new and (mostly) exciting, sparking an energy in the room that is hard to resist.

A fellow PCVs counterpart is a community health worker. He lives a very simple life, but today he is attending a conference in an urban hotel surrounded by accommodations, intelligent discussions, and a bountiful supply of water and food. 

To say that he was elated would be understating it. He was completely and totally beyond himself. Literally, a world had been opened up to him. Not one of excess, but one of deserved recognition for the work that he and the other Mozambican counterparts do on a daily basis.

While employment is hanging over every conversation with volunteers as the country faces high unemployment, especially in rural areas, he sits in his seat for the remainder of the training with a smile across his face and a shirt nicely ironed and buttoned all the way to the top.

We spend three days exchanging ideas, mapping out our activities, and providing advice to one another. While us Americans see this as a normal, everyday brainstorming session, Mozambicans embrace this dialogue as the new foundation to their newly developed home. These conversations provide them a glimpse into a world that is not fully their own but, at the same time, just within their reach. A world of community health and progress. A developed world.

I share a table with my counterpart, and he is also elated. He speaks up often, shares his insights, thanks for me bringing him to this place where he is learning much. 



Ivan with the final project proposal.

As an unemployed member of our shared community, my 28-year-old counterpart, Ivan, thrives on giving back and offering his hands and heart. He describes to me in detail during a lunch break that his last name isn’t actually his last name, as his parents disappeared when he was very young, leaving him to grow up in an orphanage. When asked about his parents, he only knows that someone told him his parents were taken away with the trash.

Today, he’s advocating for youth and health in our community. He is engaging in difficult conversations to move the efforts closer to success. At the conference, he develops a plan to work with the HIV-support groups in our town to raise chickens for sale, gaining money for the groups and the promotion of support groups.

We can learn something from Ivan and Mozambicans: conversation with peers about moving forward should be our constant motivations in life. Why can’t we all see the bigger picture for the future of our own country? Instead of bowing our heads during brainstorming sessions, let us raise our fists and demand change.

The conference asked us to design a project. However, the conference also asked us to be better listeners, not only to our own peers, but those on the outside who still have the motivation and energy to love more, push harder, and seek results.

Ivan, as well as the other counterparts, receive certificates for their work during the conference. A piece of paper to us, the next step in changing their home for the better to them.



Ivan with Peace Corps staff receiving his certificate for completion of the training.

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Questions? Comments? Contact me!

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Health Journalism: Our First Meeting



Today was the first meeting for our new health journalism group we are starting in the community to provide practical writing and speaking skills to teenage students in Mozambique.

After explaining to the students that they would not be learning English in the group (“the people who we will be helping and listening to in the community don’t speak English, so why should we?”), we started with a (seemingly) simple question: What is journalism?

The students broke into pairs and had five minutes to think of an answer in one word (which helps keep it simple, but also helps my limited Portuguese). The following answers were given from the group of 18 students, ages 12-19: 



The translation of the answers is: organization, messages, information, words, collect, organization (x2), means. I wanted to see where the knowledge of the students landed, and me and my counterpart helping with the group were happy with the results! The collection of information and the use of messaging seemed well known to them. We are on the right track.

We finished the hour-long group with a game of the human knot (header photo); however, explaining the game in Portuguese proved more difficult that first expected. The students locked hands but started to spin in a circle as a group. After a few attempts, we broke up, collected contact information, planned the next meeting, and dismissed.

We hope to connect the group with this blog to provide an avenue for the students to share their thoughts, their findings, their lives with people around the world. This is an ongoing series and will result in a better understanding of Mozambican youth through health, journalism, and cooperative learning. 

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California Teacher Found Hanging Knew Suicide’s Devastation

Chilling and devastating account of family, education, and mental health in our current landscape. My heart goes out to the silent sufferers who wish to share their knowledge with others but don’t know how to quite solve their own mysteries. An important story, and one that I share with a heavy heart for this teacher.

Peace & Inspiration from Unconditional Kindness



With Peace Corps Week in full steam and Michelle Obama’s declaration for more opportunities for girls around the world, I’m thinking back to my first two months with my homestay family, who provided me so much without them ever really knowing or understanding why. It’s simple for me to say, “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me,” but it’s harder to show them how deeply their love for a stranger, a foreigner would shape the rest of my service, or how I view Mozambicans and my purpose of being here.

When you are only able to communicate through non-verbal gestures, especially in the first two months with a new language, it’s difficult to explain the impact of a positive homestay experience.

So, instead, we danced and played.

Usually my days were filled with training and language, but during the evenings and weekends, my sisters and brother would pass the time with listening to music and dancing in the kitchen or on the veranda, much to my host mother’s amusement.

Together we developed a beat-box rhythm that all the neighborhood children would sing as I walked through to my house. Without audio, it sounded a lot like boom-chicka-chicka-boom-boom, but with more bass and the backdrop of the rolling hills of Namaacha in southern Mozambique.

Wilson, my brother, was best at laying down the beat, and my sisters, Ester, Diana, and baby Ayume, filled the air with high laughter and enormous energy. Ayume slapped her hands together or against the table to try and keep the rhythm.

Little do they know – I speak to them when I can, which is far in between – that the time with them has shaped my perception of the people here, the country, and my role. They are forever in my heart and mind as I journey into the unknown of service. The beat is always in my heart, and I look forward to new rhythms, new moves.



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Photo: Learning with a View

A classroom at the Secondary School in Namapa, Nampula in Mozambique.



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Ten Things You’ll See In Mozambique that You Won’t See in America (But Maybe We Should)

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Same-Sex Friends Holding Hands

A recent study (LiveScience) in the United States found that the majority of the population still feels uncomfortable when they see two people of the same sex holding hands. While our country has, thankfully, made much progress in terms of accepting and understanding the diverse communities that share our home, we are still far behind in creating a safe climate, especially when as individuals we are not questioning our own thoughts and beliefs.

A couple months into my site, and I found myself holding hands with a male friend of mine as we joked, laughed, and walked back to a mutual friend’s house. Walk around Mozambique and you’ll quickly notice that the gesture of holding a friend’s hand (regardless of sex) is common and just as beautiful as it sounds (header photo).

Teenage students walking out of a school, an older adult leading his friend through a busy market, two doctors having a conversation in the middle of the hospital, two friends walking and joking down a street. How simple life is if we can simply let go of our uncomfortable thoughts and hang on tight to the one thing that bonds us: humanity.

Respect for Different Religions

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While this may be slightly unfair to say about our current American climate, nowhere else have I seen people with drastically different religious beliefs living in such unified harmony than in Mozambique. On any given day, one can see the congregation of the Catholic church gathering in the main lawn while the daily prayers from the mosque’s loud speaker fill the air above.

In the United States, a person is often not only judged by what they do but also what they believe. In our current climate, an individual’s beliefs are firmly tied to the actions and beliefs of others who identify themselves under the same religious umbrella, and we are quick to label the individual as a bigot, an extremist, a terrorist.

However, what an individual believes in Mozambique is the sole property of the individual. Their beliefs are not questioned, denounced, analyzed. One face is equal to another, and in a country that thrives on development and moving forward, it’s refreshing to see that the people of Mozambique have already learned something that American’s haven’t: tolerance.

Fun FYI: While writing this portion of the post, I was introduced to a Pastor who works at the local Catholic church. He is from Mexico and wants to learn English. Serendipity or divine acknowledgement?

Watching (As In Watching) the News

In a packed bar in my town, people crash glasses together, laugh loudly at inside jokes, and join together in singing and dancing. The television is showing a movie with the audio projected from speakers. Nobody is paying any attention until the movie ends and the program switches to Jornal da Noite (Nightly News). Silence blankets the bar, and all eyes turn to watch the television or screen and listen in as the anchor delivers the news.

The country is large, but when it comes to the news, everyone in Mozambique wants to be informed of the happenings across their homeland. Whether they’re getting updates about the floods in Zambezia or watching as two burglary suspects are placed in front of the camera in a display of public shaming, Mozambicans love their news. While one could argue that it’s simply an issue of variety (Mozambicans usually watch either the news or telenovellas), the amount of interest in the news is hard to ignore.

Election Season Enthusiasm

Coupled with Mozambicans’ love for the news is their commitment to national elections and choosing the best leaders for their communities. During the 2014 Presidential Elections (which usually only occur after two, 5-year terms of the sitting president), the energy in the air around the election was thick and loud. From the rallies that filled the streets in a color-coordinated act of support or the political posters that blanketed the town, Mozambicans made it clear that they are pushing for progress.

One of the better sights of the election season last year was seeing a truck full of older women (mid-50’s) with large signs, megaphones, and matching shirts yelling as they drove through the community to promote their political party. Regardless of sex or age, Mozambicans will put work on hold for the possibility of improving their daily lives. Crazy, right?

Rainwater as a Resource

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When I first got to the country, other volunteers as well as Mozambicans described the impending rainy season. “It’s horrible,” my German neighbor told me. “The roads become rivers, and the rivers become seas.” It was hard to believe him at the time, but upon returning to my site following a trip south for the holidays, the rain was heavy, the power quickly went out, but one thing surprised me most: the use of rainwater.

Children were using falling water from the roofs to wash their bodies (photo above). Teenagers with large buckets were collecting the water and carrying it out into the neighborhoods. Women were using small, plastic bottles to refill their beverage with fresh rainwater from the hospital roof (photo above). At first, it was hard to join on the rain-wagon. “I’ll just carry my water from the mosque,” I said. “I don’t need to use the rainwater.”

When the power finally went out for the month, it was clear that rainwater was the best option. I bathed in the water with the kids from my neighborhood, it became routine to set out my buckets during a heavy rainstorm and even wash my dishes and clothes with the falling resource. While we don’t necessarily need to establish a similar routine in the states with our abundance of water (in most states), the notion of this reusable resource is intriguing.

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With the increase of products being imported into the country (looking at you Coke), the amount of litter that is filling beaches and roadsides is staggering. However, people of Mozambique have learned to reuse these some of the resources found throughout the community in the house, in the market, and in their gardens.

Acting as water bottles, small Coke bottles are used to refill water (photo above). Vendors in the market use the same bottles to fill with oil to sell on the side of the road. Plastic coverings from mattresses and plastic bags are used to cover bananas as they hang on the tree, preventing insects from destroying the plant. While the country is still in dire need of a recycling plan, the community is attempting to reduce the abundance of trash by recycling it themselves.

Gardens & Fresh Produce

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The rainy season not only brings the floods and abundance of drinkable, usable water, but it is prime time for Mozambicans to build their gardens (photo above). The community is transformed from dry and dirty to fertile and lush lands, producing not only fresh produce for consumption and sale, but also providing local community members more work in the building and maintaining of the large gardens.

Children, teenagers, adults, and older adults will all be in the garden throughout the rainy season, tending to the crops, harvesting, and selling them in the local market. For this reason, there is a constant supply of fresh produce for the community. However, the issue still remains the cost for those who can’t afford the produce and the need for education of the community to learn how to build and maintain their own gardens.

Bicycles, and Motorcycles, and Walking, Oh My!

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While this just may be a circumstance of both income and increasing development, there are far more bicycles and motorcycles on the roads of Mozambique than large cars. The main highway that runs north and south through the country is packed with larger vehicles used by those who can afford them, but as you travel inward and away from the main highway, the local villages and towns are thriving on smaller, more cost-effective and environmentally friendly (whether they know this or not) means of transportation.

If walking through a small town in Mozambique, you’ll notice people yelling “taxi mota” in your direction. You’ll recognize the word taxi right away and realize that they are providing a service for those who don’t want to walk and need a ride. Usually this is cheap, helps the driver pay for gas, and builds a sense of a growing and thriving community.

Fun FYI: Peace Corps does not allow volunteers to own or use a motorcycle due to the dangers. If a volunteer is caught owning or using a motorcycle, it’s terms for immediate removal from the country. Bicycles, however, are warmly welcomed and recommended.

Hitchhiking (Boleias)

In the United States, hitchhiking brings to mind plenty of movies and stories about the dangerous men and women who walk the interstates and highways in search of trusting drivers. For this reason, hitchhiking is both illegal in the states and generally looked down upon as a collective culture. We’d rather drive to our destination with the doors locked and eyes forward.

In Mozambique, it’s not uncommon to see people receiving boleias (Portuguese for lifts) from friends and strangers both inside the community (on the back of motorcycles) and along the national highway. This is an ongoing topic being discussed by both Peace Corps staff and volunteers, because it could potentially be dangerous; however, the consensus is that it’s a safer option to the country’s national transportation, which is dangerous and often leads to more accidents than hitchhiking.

Business Owners, Community Members, Thriving

With the discovery of gas in the northern province of Cabo Delgado and other natural resources that are underneath the country, more and more international companies and organizations are moving in to harvest and export the resources. While this is creating additional jobs and increased money into the country (although many doubt that the money will be put back into the communities because of unchecked corruption), it’s also creating a dependency on international companies instead of looking inward.

Walk around a smaller community, and you’ll see small businesses and shops owned by members (even families) of the community. With enough motivation and resources, a person in Mozambique can build and maintain a rather successful small operation in a small town. The country has yet to build large factories or companies, so in the meantime, the age of the local business owner is still strong and vibrant, including agriculture.

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