In transit from Mozambique to the United States

I like to think this final entry is belated because I took every opportunity that presented itself to get to know Mozambique. My internship work was concentrated in the first three weeks of July. I returned from the field to my nightly routine: processing initial observations and identifying questions to resolve the following day; cooking and eating dinner; buying bread and bajia (fried bean cakes) for my morning snack; and watching the news with my host family while performing my physical therapy exercises. My work took on more importance than I imagined not only in terms of the amount of time that it has (and will continue to) consumed, but also because the more versed I became in the local culture, the more people opened themselves to me and the more I was able to give in return.

I gave little in comparison to what I received: hardly a field day went by when I didn't come home carting a heavy sack of cassava, sweet potatoes, corn, oranges, tangerines or a hard-shelled fruit with large seeds called masala. This capulana-wearing mulungo's arrival—greeting, thanking and inquiring parents, committee members and focus groups about their wellbeing in their mother tongue—almost invariably brought pleasantly-suprised laughter. In all eight communities, interviews began with a brief introduction to our “conversation” designed to put the interviewee(s) at ease; I took on the local customs of removing my shoes and profuse and repeated thanks-giving. In return, time-strapped farmers and merchants (21 parents and 14 preschool committee management members as well as 8 focus groups and 6 community development associates) provided me hours of genuinely-open responses about sometimes-difficult topics. The days that I felt both most useful and least hopeful were when my parenting focus groups turned into genuine community discussions troubleshooting serious roadblocks to preschool functioning. I not only gained an understanding of daily life and the trajectory of cultural change in rural Mozambique but also a wealth of first-hand data upon which to build my masters thesis regarding the barriers to participation and sustainability in voluntary community development projects.

My work with Save the Children became personally meaningful because of the time I invested and the friendship I developed with my driver/translator. But most powerfully my commitment to study strategies for improving parental participation has given hope to the preschool's volunteers teachers who are still waiting to receive from them a monthly “incentive” in money or kind. The more communities I visited, the more individuals it became clear will seriously consider my recommendations for how to move forward. It seems—and I hope—I can really make a difference.

But my personal journey didn't end there. After I stopped using my crutch and then cane, it was clear that surgery had marked me: I had not been fully myself. Walking without an aid gave me the freedom to remember and reclaim the free-spirited traveler in practice. I wish I could say that often danced on Xai-Xai's coast, but at least I danced to live bands at the Casa de Cultura, made friends with local artists/dancers/artisans and traveled regularly by public transport. My family laughed when I said that I traveled north because although I spent a full day by bus heading in that direction, I never made it past the southern provinces. The chapa rides were invariably perfumed by body odor and physically uncomfortable—standing at worst and four to a bench made for three at best. But traveling with my partner, also a seasoned traveler, was nonetheless a painless, pleasant adventure! From Vilankulo we chartered a two-day “ocean safari” to celebrate my birthday in Bazaruto Archapelago's serene, snorkeling paradise. In Tofo, we swam with the world's largest fishes, a rare pleasure afforded by the fact that 30 percent of the world's 1000 whale sharks frequent Mozambique's coastline. In Quissico, we hiked through palm trees down a populated hillside to expansive blue lagoons. In Xai-Xai, we ate cove matapa in the market and drank smooth, dark beer on the beach.

And when I arrived back home, there was my host family: relieved and proud that their “youngest daughter” had the linguistic and cultural skills to safely navigate the homeland back to their open arms. The morning we said goodbye, I learned that Madalena and Meque “always had their hearts in their hands” when I traveled. I explained that the ease I felt to converse, come and go with them and their extended family was central to my positive experience in Mozambique. Indeed, through our mutually heart-felt exchange it became clear that in one another's company we cultivated a true family. I was deeply touched by their genuine offer that anytime my family or someone of my confidence travels to Mozambique—with or without me—they have a family to receive them.

In my last entry, I wrote but decided not to publish the following: “ As my catalog of experiences expands and my telephone book fills up, I feel more and more comfortable in Mozambique. Rather than being perceived as strange, I feel increasingly valued for my differences. Dona Madalena has made me promise to call from the States; there’s no adequate translation for saudade, but suffice it to say that she hopes I’ll miss her as she claims she’ll miss me.” In early July, I didn't fully believe that either of us would in fact feel that way; but just hundreds of miles away, I'm feeling the pull to return to the families I'm leaving behind. In two and a half months, despite the cultural norm of rarely bringing people into one's house, I have several homes to which I can return.

Dance for Peace!

http://www.dance4peace.org/