Coveiros

This past Tuesday morning I got a text message from Dona Rachel, my empregada, that her brother had died. She usually comes to my house every Tuesday to get water, wash clothes and mop the inside of my house.  In the text she didn’t say anything about not coming, but I immediately texted her back “Meus Sentimentos” and not to worry about working that day. I called her later to give my regards. Luckily, I had learned the last time I heard of someone passing that “Desculpe” or “I’m sorry” doesn’t exactly translate like it does in English. I only had to make that mistake once to learn that lesson. People do not use “I’m sorry” to console someone when they hear of a loved one dying. In Portuguese, when someone says, “Desculpe” it directly means that they are apologizing for something that is their fault. When I talked to Dona Rachel on the phone, she said the funeral would be the next day, but she would let me know where and when. I figured that was her way of saying “you will be there.” The next morning, I got a text that the funeral would be at 14h here in Chicumbane. She didn’t say where in Chicumbane.  That morning when Calvino stopped by, I asked him where funerals generally commence. He said they usually start at the family’s house and then everyone walks down to the cemetery together before returning to the house following the burial. I was a little nervous about what to expect so I texted Anne, one of my PCV friends, who is at the end of her service and is known for going to a number of funerals in her community. “What do I wear? And if they say it starts at 14h, does that mean it will actually start then?” She responded to wear a capalana (a piece of fabric that all the women typically wear tied around their waists), a shirt that covers my shoulder and a head scarf. And that unlike most other things in Mozambique, funerals generally do start on time.

We had learned a little about funerals and the way Mozambicans handle grief and loss in training, but this would be my first time experiencing it firsthand. But, I had a feeling it wouldn’t be my last.

Just before 14h, I wrapped a capalana around my waist, which I recently learned in Changana is called anvulu, and headed over to Dona Rachel’s house. (I recently started Portuguese and Changana tutoring with a teacher from the primary school nearby.) When I arrived at Dona Rachel’s house, there were a number of women sitting on esteiras (straw mats) laid out in the yard. I thought that maybe I was late so I tried to discretely sit down with the others already seated. Dona Rachel saw me (I am kind of hard to miss, I guess) and brought me to the back of the yard where she told me to sit in a chair with some other women. The mother of one of the boys who goes to CACHES every day was sitting there and I had actually just met her the other day, so we started talking. Mid-conversation, she leaned over and told me that my capalana was on inside out. Who knew there was a front side and back side to a capalana? Since I had the bright idea to just wear bike shorts under my capalana—I thought that would be the coolest thing on such a hot day—I snuck into the latrine to rearrange my capalana. Phew, glad she helped me on that one.

Around 15h, a truck pulled into the yard with a coffin and a lot of people in the bed of it. Everyone stood up from the esteiras at this point and we all processed some on foot and some in cars to the cemetery. At the cemetery, we all gathered around the plot. I would say it was about 100-150 people in attendance. A representative from the church said a few words and then there were several songs. The whole ceremony was in Changana. For the burial, about six men carried the wooden coffin into the hole that was already dug. Some of them even entered into the hole as well. Then everyone gathered could walk up and scoop dirt over the grave. Once the site was covered, family and friends put plant stems into the dirt on top. Then, family and friends were invited to sprinkle water over the grave. It was a pretty emotional service. I even caught myself almost crying and I had never even met Dona Rachel’s brother. But, I think what got me was more the greater significance behind the funeral. I didn’t know how he died or how old he was. Did he have kids? A wife? Was he sick for a while? Was it unexpected? I didn’t think it would have been polite or very culturally sensitive to ask all the questions I wanted to. I could assume that it was HIV/AIDS, but I didn’t want to make assumptions. It wasn’t something people were exactly talking about either. What struck me most was how the whole community was there to pay their respects even if they hadn’t known him. The ceremony was nothing new. They had attended funerals like this one in the past and there would be more in the future.

Following the burial, we all processed back to the house where there were two women set up at the entrance of the yard with basins to wash hands. It is customary after a burial for everyone to then wash their hands back at the house. Then people either left or sat down on the esteiras again to have a meal together. I sat down on the edge of an esteira, but was quickly summoned by some of my neighbors to go sit by them. I moved over. They were then able to translate into Portuguese for me what was going on when the church representatives said a few words before passing around a plate to collect money for the family. It is customary for people to chip in 5 to 10 mets to help the family cover the cost of the funeral. Then, everyone was passed out a plate and the family served rice with either beans, couve (cooked greens) or chicken caril (stew). Unlike funerals in the states where usually the family is waited upon by friends and neighbors, here in Mozambique, the family was responsible for serving lunch to everyone in attendance. After eating, it was time for everyone to go home. My neighbor Dona Orlinda waited for me to walk home together. On the way home, she had one of the neighbor boys who was up a tree collecting mangoes, throw one down for me.

That night at CACHES, Professor Mario, a teacher who comes to do music with the kids, asked me what I thought of the funeral. He had also been in attendance. He then told me how I should have been right up in the front so I could have seen what was going on. I said I was fine where I was, a couple rows back, because I was with one of my neighbors. We then got into a discussion about the differences between funerals in the United States and Mozambique. Calvino, one of the jovens, popped into the conversation and explained how in the states we have coveiros at cemeteries. Coveiros? I wasn’t familiar with the vocab. But, Calvino explained how coveiros were the ones who hang out in cemeteries and dig graves, but here in Mozambique, they do it all themselves. I had to consult my dictionary to understand exactly what he was talking about. Coveiros=Gravediggers. Got it. After Professor Mario left, I then drilled Calvino with all the questions I had been dying to ask someone. He is already used to my way of asking 20 questions at a time. Eek. So it was no surprise to him, when I asked him if I could ask him a few questions. In the end, he learned from it as well because we continued our conversation from earlier discussing the differences between American and Mozambican funerals. I was just working on Peace Corps Goals #2 and #3: To teach host country nationals about American culture and to teach Americans about the culture of host country nationals. But more than just that, we were finding common ground between cultures that usually seem worlds apart.  

Two Months In

It has been forever since I last wrote a blog post. Or at least it feels like it. It has really just been a little over two weeks. But, it has been a busy couple of weeks. Since my last post a lot has happened. I went to Chibuto to visit my PCV friend Alden; Grupo Amizade, the group of jovens I work with, came in 3^rd place at the English Theatre Competition; I baked for about three days straight in preparation for Vivienne’s Despedida; we held Vivienne’s Despedida at CACHES, which was an epic water balloon/water gun extravaganza; I went to Xai-Xai Beach; learned to pickle beets; started Portuguese and Changana tutoring; moved into my new house and went to Chidenguele. Yeah, I guess you could say things are in full gear here in Chicumbane. I am finally on my own at site and really getting a feel for what it is like to be a Peace Corps Volunteer. I am so grateful for all of the preparation I had in training in Namaacha and for the past two months with Vivienne here, but I am definitely ready to “spread my wings” if you will.

I spent the last few weeks helping Vivienne prepare for her Despedida, but she started preparing months ago. Despedidas here are the customary thing to do when someone is leaving. We all had a despedida when we left our host families in Namaacha. Despedidas typically imply a lot of food, drinking and dancing. Vivienne’s Despedida was not your typical despedida. The despedida was held at CACHES with all the kids, she wanted to do things a little differently. She bought about 40 water guns along with hundreds of water balloons and then we made six piñatas and countless baked goods. It was pretty epic if you ask me. We started baking days in advance. The Sunday before the Despedida, we made 300+ donuts with a recipe from Plautilia, my host sister in Namaacha. I called her just after making them and she was so proud. The next day, I made no bake cookies and brownies that I turned into a whoopee pie type cake with peanut butter frosting in an attempt to disguise the burnt outside from baking in my pot-inside-pot-with-sand oven. I am still getting the hang of this whole pot oven thing. And then I made rice krispie treats and popcorn. The days leading up to the Despedida were spent not only baking, but also making piñatas. Vivienne, Nelio and I made two huge piñatas. We used punching balloons Vivienne had. And then that Monday before the Despedida, we brought basins, flour, water and balloons to teach the kids how to make piñatas. They had a ball. The following day, we gave them paints and they all painted the piñatas. They had never heard of piñatas before. I guess you could say we were completing Peace Corps Goal #2, to teach host country nationals about American culture. I guess it could be argued more Mexican culture, but Americans have adopted it. On Wednesday, at the Despedida, the kids went crazy with all of the activities. We split them up into two teams to complete the various water balloon activities and then have the water gun fight. Vivienne and I were the captains of the two teams. When all was said and done, no one made it out dry. Following the water activities, we hung the piñata and chaos ensued. The kids went crazy. I was so nervous that someone was going to get hurt because all of the kids were so excited. We were set up in the outside concrete rotunda at CACHES so every time someone broke the piñata, the kids would dive onto the floor in an effort to grab as much candy as possible. Several water guns broke in the process and a few tears were shed, but luckily that was it. Following the piñatas, all the kids had popcorn and donuts before heading home. During the time Grupo Amizade meets, we brought out the rest of the baked goods. They read a letter to Vivienne and presented her with a t-shirt with a picture of the group and “We love you. Kanimambo” written on it. Kanimambo means “thank you” in Changana, the local dialect here. Vivienne then gave each of them a picture and we spent the rest of the time just hanging out. The next day at CACHES was pretty anticlimactic, but most of the kids had brought their water guns so they had a water gun fight of their own.

Baked goods galore at Vivienne's Despedida.

Leo is ready for the water gun fight!

Team "Wrong Turn". The activistas chose the name. Don't tell Vivienne, but I would say we won the water gun fight! J/K

ATTACK!!!

What else? BEETS! One of my neighbors, Dona Rachel, gave us two HUGE beets. By HUGE, I mean each one is the size of a person’s head. I always have to pass by her house on my way to the center of Chicumbane and she is usually always outside and gives me a big, “Ola Amiga.” One day she invited me to have a soda with her in her barraca (stand). One day she presented Vivienne and I with a HUGE beet from Manjacaze, another site in Gaza where my friends Linda and Evan are PCVs. When she gave us the first beet, I first boiled it, then tried to fry some of it before deciding to make a salad with shredded beet, shredded carrots and onion. Still having more beet left, I looked up how to pickle it. All it takes is just water, vinegar, sugar and garlic. A week later, we had a jar of pickled beets in our fridge. Who knew it was that easy? So when she presented me with another beet a week later, I was more than excited to pickle it. The other day, I brought over a jar of pickled beets for her to try. She opened the jar and took a big sip. I explained that it was not a drink, but rather the beet she gave me and she should eat with salad, by itself or really however she wanted. She said next time she goes to Manjacaze, she will bring back another beet. Pickling beets might just be a new hobby of mine.

And most recently I have spent the last week moving and rearranging my new house. Woot! Woot! It has been pretty excited because aside from three months in Boston University’s South Campus housing, I have never lived on my own. Vivienne left early Monday morning. Dona Rachel, our empregada, and Nelio, one of CACHES activistas, came to see her off. After she left in the chapa, Dona Rachel offered to help me move in. Mind you, this was just before 5:00 a.m. I thanked her kindly, but figured I would go back to sleep for an hour. But, after she left, I changed my mind and decided to just get the move over with. After all, I had three hours before I had to be at the hospital. Little did I know, this was just the beginning of a weeklong project. That morning I moved everything into my new house. I then spent the next four days cleaning out and rearranging everything. Since this house has been inhabited by Peace Corps Volunteers for at least the last four years (maybe more), it has accumulated a fair amount of stuff. I found everything from Oregano spices from 2008 to expired medicine from Peace Corps, from an entire bookcase of books (before Kindles, PCVs just had paperbacks) to travel size chopsticks. My empregada Dona Rachel was instrumental in helping me clean out some of the surprises we discovered in our cleaning together. In the end, she made out pretty well because I gave her a box of things to take home. I also gave a box to Nelio and then made a box for other PCVs to go through. Needless to say, a week later, I think I have gone through every corner of my new house. I definitely made out pretty well in the end though, inheriting countless kitchen supplies, arts and crafts supplies, books, spices, sheets and furniture. So much for having the typical PCV experience starting from scratch on my own, but I am okay with that. There will be enough challenges down the road. So I am just going to be extremely thankful for how fortunate I have been over the past few months settling into Chicumbane. 

A big thank you goes out to Mana Vivienne for basically supplying me with a fully furnished house. I truly feel spoiled. I have to recognize how lucky I am and remember these blessings to help me through the tougher times ahead--because I know they are coming. Thank you to Vivienne for also being so patient with me as I learned the lay of the land here in Chicumbane. She was not just the PCV I replaced, but a friend and mentor. I will always remember my first two months with Mana Vivienne. And like a kid taking off the training wheels, I am now starting to ride the two-wheeler. There will be bumps and bruises, but I am grateful for the support network I have built over the past two months.