Lesson Learned: I’m A Fighter.

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So one random thing I used to wonder about was if, in a situation of mortal danger, I would go with “fight,” or “flight.” I am pretty competitive (fight) but also extremely non-confrontational (flight—get my bootay out of there). I didn’t really WANT to be in an altercation, but I was a little bit curious.

A couple of nights ago, I got my chance to find out.

It was a little after 7PM on a weeknight, and I was headed to a cool nearby backpackers, Zombie Cucumber, to meet some friends for a goodbye dinner. It was a goodbye of sorts, and our friend who also manages the backpackers, Sabrina, is an AMAZING cook and I was really looking forward to spending time with her and the other people who would be there. But I had forgotten my camera! No way did I want to not get pictures of A. my friends at our special evening together and B. her amazingly delicious food for my blog. I ran back to my house to get it and then set back off.

I only had a few minutes to walk down my road, the marginal on the beach, to get there. It wasn’t far. I had my camera, but in my blazer pocket no one could see it, so I never thought I would be approached—that’s what happens to people with big purses who look like tourists. I speak Portuguese, I’ve lived here for two years! No problem. This is the kind of thinking that gets you in trouble…

Just two minutes outside of my house I saw two Mozambican guys talking under a streetlight. They were tall, maybe around 20 years old, just the type of people I’m used to seeing on the road. I greeted them in a firm voice—“Boa noite”—as I walked by, and thought nothing of it. I heard a weird grunt behind me, strange…

And then all of a sudden I had two arms grabbing me around the neck from behind, choking me. I tried to scream but no words could come out. He threw me to the ground, one hand choking me, jumped on me, yelling, “give me give me” while the other guy tried to help pin me down. Two against one. No one there to help me. Endless horrible possibilities entering my consciousness.

Okay, this is actually happening.

I get out a scream, not that anyone heard or would have come even if they had.

Reality sets in.

OH HELLLLL NO ARE YOU MESSING WITH ME.

I started flailing and kicking and managed to pry dude #1’s arm off of my throat and kicked dude #2 somewhere around his head, and then tuck and rolled just in time to hit dude #1 with an elbow.

This was much less badass than it sounds. Really it was me rolling around in the dirt trying to get away from (assumedly) two bored young men who thought I might have had money.

But I don’t think they expected me to fight so after a little while (it felt like ages) I was able to jump up and they let me go. I pulled off my sandals and ran, gasping, trying to catch my breath, to the backpackers where my friends comforted me.

What just happened?

I was in shock, my veins were full of adrenaline, my throat hurt, but most of all, my head was spinning, my brain full of the what-ifs.

This was a teaching moment for me.

First of all: don’t let your guard down. I HATE this because I hate walking through life constantly looking over my shoulder. But things happen and I need to be careful and make sure my friends are doing the same.

Second: I am STRONG. Sure, I’m not always happy with my body due to my intrinsic feminine insecurities but when I can fight off two dudes… I have nothing to worry about. (thought running through my mind as soon as my heart rate dropped: thank God I work out.)

Third: Support in a crisis (or near-crisis) is NECESSARY. I am so glad I had people to talk to and comfort me after this happened. If I had tried to handle it alone I would have gone crazy.

Fourth: women are targets. Every cell in my independent-feminist-woman body cries out at this. I AM POWERFUL! I AM MY OWN PERSON! I CAN DO WHATEVER I WANT, WHATEVER MEN CAN! Yes, but also no. it is a horrible and humbling reality to face but sometimes you will be targeted just for your sex. No, this isn’t fair, but I need to be more accepting of it and realistically assess risk in certain situations.

Fourth: I am definitely, most DEFINITELY, a FIGHTER.

Some delicious food and some gin & tonics later (I’m not a boozer and 99% of the time I think food and alcohol should NOT be used for comfort. This was not one of those times) I felt better. I am still a little in shock about the situation but am just so grateful that God was looking out for me.

 

I don’t have any pictures of us because as you might imagine I looked a little beat, but the only reason I got into this situation was because I wanted pictures for the blog, so dammit, I’m posting pictures. I don’t care if they are ugly. Redemption!!! Those guys didn’t even get my camera.

 

Camille: “take a picture of the drink!!!” Yes, I will. This was perhaps the best and most necessary cocktail I have ever had. Ever.

 

I am just so grateful that things happened the way they did but also wanted to post this as a wake-up call, especially for people moving abroad or considering PC: be careful. This stuff can happen anywhere–in my Mozambican village or in our backyards in American suburbia, but still. Please look out for yourselves.

 

Summary lesson: don’t walk alone at night. And take kickboxing classes.

 Cheers.

Have you ever been in a scary situation where you felt threatened? How did you respond?

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  • TIA: Home Improvement

    ROOFhole

    We interrupt our regularly scheduled travel and foodie and wordy reflective posts to bring you the latest installment of T.I.A.: This Is Africa, to provide a peek into the trials and tribulations of African life. Enjoy, I don’t have too many of these left! :)

    Home repairs are never fun. They are costly, take a lot of time and energy, and inevitably inconvenience everyone in their wake. In Africa, it is the same. Times fifty. A light bulb burns out or a crappy switch breaks, and it takes months to fix it. Because someone has to talk to the electrician to go find out how much the part costs, and then go ask someone else for approval to buy the part, and then once approval is granted go to someone else to ask for the money, and then that person has to go ask someone else to approve the money, and then the money is approved, and someone else has to actually go cut the check but actually the account is empty at least for the month, and then that message has to get passed backwards through the chain, and before you know it you have been showering by candlelight or getting dressed by headlamp for two months… not that this has happened to me multiple times or anything.

    Lights are one thing. With electricity that is the opposite of consistent, being stuck in the dark for days is no foreign concept. But when it is raining inside, that is a whole other issue.

    I have mentioned that I live in a bamboo house with a thatched roof. Up until a few months ago, I was pretty impressed by the ability of our house to keep water out—in fact, the only place that leaked in the heavy cyclone-season rains was the bathroom, ironically the only room with a tin roof rather than reed. But that all changed. This year, it started (drumroll please….) RAINING IN MY ROOM. I documented this briefly as a pretty good workout excuse (wearing a raincoat inside counts), but it got worse.

    A couple of hours of rain could fill a bucket…

     

    Completely flood two-thirds of my room…

     

    Slowly creep out through the doorway…

    And into the kitchen!

    And this was far away from one of the more serious incidences. No pictures of those. I was too busy trying to stuff my camera and everything I cared about into Ziplocs while floating away down the surging river that emerged from my bedroom. Okay I am maybe exaggerating. But only a tiny bit.

    So, complaints were lodged, and finally, just after the rainy season ended (of course), some dudes arrived and ripped off the thatch of my roof to redo it. However, this led to years and years of dirt and rat poop falling from the false ceiling and positively coating ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING with turds and other nastiness. No joke. Lovely.

    I saw a little piece of light popping through the false ceiling and nudged my way up into the little nook above my room to see what my roof looked like. Or lack of such a roof.

    Yeah, that’s a nice hole. Contingency plan for rain much?!?!  Of course not.

    So for a couple of days, there were some guys chilling on the roof, weaving in new reed.

    Imagine my surprise when fresh from the shower, still clean, damp, and toweled, two guys jump onto my roof and start shaking down more turds and dirt. “COM LICENCA!!!” I yell. (Excuse me. As in “Excuse me, I am naked and clean here, it took a month and a half for you to even get here in the first place, so can you hold it with the poo shower for FIVE FREAKING MINUTES PLEASE?!?!”) Unsuccessful. Grab clothes, clutch towel, hightail it out of there.

    Well, the good report is that the roof has been finished. The good and bad news is that there has not been rain. Good because there has been no opportunity for flood, bad in that I have no idea if it actually is fixed. (The first tree-trimming procedure that was done to “mitigate the problem” took it from mere wet annoyance to Noah-style, ruining-all-of-my-possessions type of flood.) So, I’m not getting my hopes up. But I have new sympathy for all those Americans who lament having to “redo the roof.” I now feel your pain. May I recommend bamboo?

    Now, since the roof incident, we have had a variety of other problems of the home variety. Most recently, our sink in the bathroom stopped turning off. As in, it would just run and run… potentially draining our tank and leaving us all without any means to bathe, wash dishes/clothes, or hydrate. We informed the man responsible for our house and in true Mozambican fashion, weeks passed. We waited patiently, succeeding in turning off the faucet with an eight pound hand weight. It was really fun running back and forth to the bathroom while working out to switch the heavy weights with light ones depending on what I needed (the unused set would be on the sink).

    Then while eating breakfast one morning, we heard a crash. The weight had fallen off and… our problem just got bigger.

    Who needs a sink that shuts off when you have a sink with a HUGE HOLE in it?

    It doesn’t get any better than this, folks.

    Got any “home improvement” projects of your own?

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  • “Estás a engordar,” or, body image in the Moz

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    No pretty pictures of scenery or food in this post. My blog is a bit all over the place: I created it as a healthy living & travel blog, but my life is distinctively shaped by the realities that I am a Peace Corps Volunteer in Mozambique, and there are things I want to write about. Sometimes I wonder if the things I post about are what people want to read—not enough food, not enough pretty pictures, not enough X or Y, etc. But then I remember that I want this blog to reflect ME, and so it will continue being a little sporadic. Here goes. 

    The other day, I led a training for about 30 of my Mozambican coworkers. I was in front of the group for most of the time, and I wore a new dress, made from local materials. I thought it was pretty, and I felt good in it.

    “Estás a engordar.” Literally translated, “You are getting fat.”

    More on this in a moment. The next day, a colleague and friend told me point-blank that the dress made me look big, and that “all the colleagues were asking me if you are pregnant.”

    Mortifying.

    Granted, I have gained a couple pounds in the last weeks. STRESS, not eating super well, not running (I am injured)… it happens. These things come and go. And I of course notice, but want to pretend that it is all going to be okay.

    But apparently everyone thinks I am pregnant. “Should I never wear this dress again?”, I wonder.

    Let me back up. Here in Mozambique, “estás a engordar” is a complement. Literally, you could have lost a couple of pounds but look healthy and some smiling friendly neighbor might walk up and tell you how fat you look.

    After two years I still am unable to completely shrug this off. (At least I don’t cry every time anymore. Kidding.) In my culture, this is a horrible thing to THINK about someone, much less SAY, much less if they look FINE! How DARE you say this to me?!

    But then I step back. In Mozambique, “fat” means healthy. “Fat” means rich. “Fat” means happy. Thousands of people are starving. Thousands more go to sleep each night not being sure where their next meal will come from, or when it will happen.

    “Fat” means you have food to eat.

    People are poor. The average income in most rural sites is less than a dollar a day. Every spare cent is scraped together to buy food or to send the children to school. Often, it is not enough.

    “Fat” means you have money to take care of yourself and your family.

    HIV and AIDS and chronic malnutrition are all widespread in Mozambique. People get skinny, emaciated, fraca (weak). To be magra is to be sick, to be not able to take care of yourself.

    “Fat” means you are healthy.

    We shape our body image around our societies’ ideals of beauty. For us, too often this is skinny supermodels or people who seem to champion the anorexic look. (Mozambicans would flip.) It is refreshing in a way to see how many of those ideas of perfection are shaped by our cultures and that there IS NO one ideal of beauty or best body type.

    Because of my culture, I will never COMPLETELY take it as a compliment when someone tells me I am fat, but I can recognize the differences. And while we are often very careful about how we describe people for fear of offence, Mozambique is not like that. Calling someone “the fat short white girl” or “the really dark skinned tall guy” is just matter-of-fact. Okay. I can deal with this.

    Part of me enjoys the bluntness and what I see as universal acceptance of body types. Okay, if you are skinny maybe you want to get a little bigger, but if you’re a little chunky, or maybe a LOT chunky, you OWN it. You love your body, and you know you look GOOD. I love that easy confidence that Mozambican women seem to have, and envy it.

    But at that same meeting, something else significant happened. We were talking about stigma, and I asked my colleagues to draw a picture representing a time in their lives when they felt isolated, rejected, or different. And one of my (presumably female) colleagues submitted this.

    This was a complete eye-opener for me. I sit here all at once resenting Mozambicans´ attitude towards bodies (stop calling me fat!) and envying it (none of you worry, why should I!) and then it made me realize that no matter what confidence we portray, women everywhere feel judged because of their bodies. Diferente.

    I recognize now that body image issues exist in every culture, regardless of what the ideal of beauty may be. But what I have learned is that “fat” and “different” and “pretty” are just words. What matters is what is on the inside, and how you feel about yourself. And THAT shows more than anything else… whether or not everybody thinks you may be pregnant. And I have Mozambique to thank for finally helping me realize that.

    Speaking of self-image, Tina over at Faith, Fitness, Fun is doing an amazing online initiative called “30 Days of Self Love and Reflection” which aims to, according to Tina, ”help us all learn to love ourselves more and to uplift one another in the process. To begin to realize our true beauty and value. To battle the inner dialogue that strives to bring us down.” If anyone is reading my blog who hasn´t gotten into this yet (highly doubtful!!! Or probably impossible…) please check it out, it is a really amazing thing.

    Being here and experiencing moments like the one  mentioned here give me reason to reflect on how I feel about myself and to recognize how those inner feelings affect every area of my life. I hope we can all take a moment today, whether through the 30 DSLR or on your own, to find something you love about yourself, whatever your society may say.

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  • T.I.A.: Name That Animal!

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    Question of the day: What is this the name of this animal?

    Extra credit question: What was it doing flying (literally) around my house, terrorizing my cat and dog and then taking up semi-permanent residence in my bathroom?

    These are the questions that need answers.

    No internet since Thursday morning (yes, it is Monday) so hopefully I can get those other World Cup posts up this week… if Simon doesn´t come back again. Yes, this guy´s name is Simon. For now.

    That is all.

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  • “So What Exactly Do You DO in Mozambique?”

    WORKwomenweaving

    Hi all! I JUST got back into Mozambique after the most AMAZING weekend at the Bushfire Festival in Swaziland… I took hundreds of pictures, heard great bands from all over, froze my butt off, and went running with zebras. I will start posting about the weekend once I get home and have a chance but until then, here’s some more entertainment for you : ) Hope everyone had a GREAT Memorial Day Weekend!

    I write a lot of random posts about life out here but I have thus neglected what it is I actually DO here. I have barely mentioned the work that I spend about forty hours a week doing! I figured I should take the chance to explain a little bit about my work for those who are curious what the heck I actually do in Mozambique besides stalk blogs and write random, rambling posts here.

    I am a Peace Corps Volunteer (to read my Peace Corps story, check here) serving in a tiny beach town right on the coast of the Indian Ocean in southern/central Mozambique. I work full-time at the sub-office of an international NGO, as the HIV/AIDS Mainstreaming Officer on a sustainable economic development project. The average Mozambican living in the rural areas and towns of northern Inhambane province (where we are based) lives in absolute poverty, on less than $1 a day.

    Many development organizations and projects have arrived in the area and have attempted to remedy the situation by giving handouts (free food, monetary help, etc.), which ends up perpetuating the cycle of dependency, keeping people in poverty. My project has a different approach: proverbially teaching a man to fish rather than giving him a fish. Instead of handouts, the project trains people to participate and run commercial economic activities in a variety of areas, including Arts and Crafts, Livestock, Cashew, and village savings groups. By providing technical assistance and linkages with the market, the project hopes to develop participants’ economic activities to a profitable and sustainable level. Working with the Mainstreaming sector, my job is to make sure social issues including gender equality, involvement of the woman in household economic activities and decision making, and the economic and social effects of HIV/AIDS and other chronic illnesses, are integrated into the work being done by the project. We also work with group capacity building (strengthening the group into its own independent unit), and I also do a variety of other work on the staff level, principally including health education and English classes.

    Our “Mainstreaming Activities” are tools—little games, almost—that are used to provoke discussion amongst participants about these critical issues. The most useful is the Income and Expenditure Tree, in which the roots of the tree represent household income sources and the roots represent household expenditures, which is then used to discuss the importance on having several different income sources within the family to be more resistant to economic shocks and other emergencies that can arise. It can be used to discuss benefits of involving the woman more in the household, for example (“If the woman doesn’t participate in any activities or know anything about them, if the man dies, what will happen to the family?”) as well as HIV/AIDS and a variety of other topics.

    We also lead discussions on the importance and advantages in working together in groups. Many people who are raising cattle, for example, do so individually, but being part of a grupo de criadores (livestock breeders) has myriad advantages: group sale to large-scale buyers, availability and streamlining of animal health care such as tick baths and vaccines, etc.) We have an activity called “walking blindly” in which we blindfold a person and make them walk a complicated course with no help—clearly, this usually ends unsuccessfully (but hopefully not in injury). Then the process is repeated—first, the blindfolded person receives verbal help from the other participants (much easier!). And lastly, the volunteer has two others walking on each side of him/her to gently guide through the course (even easier!!!) Then, we talk about how much easier tasks are with mutual support and why we should work together in associations.

    One of my favorite things to do is facilitate HIV educational activities with participants and fellow staff members. Recently, I had the opportunity to work with a bunch of elderly women who participate in our basket-weaving component. (The women weave traditional baskets, which they are paid for, and are sold through the tourist market both locally and internationally.)

    We played a game called “Elephants and Lions” that demonstrates the effect of HIV on the body and the immune system, followed by an animated discussion about HIV prevention and risks. A couple women in the group were HIV-positive, and played a very active role in helping to educate their peers about the dangers of the disease.

    I also conduct activities with my staff whenever I get the opportunity, and it is always a learning experience—not only for them, but for me as well. At our last planning meeting, I did an activity where we discussed the levels of risk for HIV transmission of a variety of sexual activities—I “learned” that unprotected anal sex is a “low risk” activity. (Nope.) I am often surprised by what comes through during these activities, and love being able to take advantage of teachable moments—like using instant coffee to show why blood is so much more dangerous (in terms of HIV transmission) than saliva is!

    I also, when I get the chance, try to display health information about various topics, not just HIV, in my office. I have a “health corner” where I post information periodically.

    And perhaps the most fun new activity is the English class I have been leading with my roommate. It has been really fun and never ceases to be amusing. Plus, I get to speak English instead of Portuguese. I normally love speaking Portuguese, but explaining “why anal sex is more dangerous for the person receiving because of the micro-tears that can be created in the skin” in a foreign language is never really that fun.

    With all being said, I love what I do here. But, it is chock full of challenges. It is easy to come out here thinking you are going to change the world and educate an entire African village about HIV but in reality, the person who changes most is you. People have been living the way they live for years and years before you arrive, and will continue to keep on living that way long after you leave. Behavior change takes time, and no matter how hard we work, we might not see any differences in our two years. With all of these obstacles, it is easy to get jaded, completely confounded and overwhelmed by the vastness of the problems from HIV to poverty that we are just not always capable of dealing with. No, I am not going to save a village from AIDS nor will I pull hundreds of people out of poverty. But that doesn’t mean I can’t do anything. I can’t do EVERYTHING, but I CAN do SOMETHING. And finding that pervading optimism in my work, no matter what challenges are in front of me, is what I strive for.

    And when all else fails, sometimes when I am working, a monkey will stop by to say hi. Who can complain about that?

    So now you know how you spend my time… I want to know how you spend yours! What’s your job? What are the challenges?

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  • Bem Vindo ao Meu Mundo (Welcome to My World)

    sunrise from my backyard...

    Welcome to my world! I chose that as the title of this post not just as an adaptation of the slogan of the national beer, 2M, but because I felt like it was fitting. I mention my bamboo hut here in Africa pretty frequently but thought the blog provided a sufficient platform to offer a small tour of my life here on the Indian coast for those who are interested!

    the hut.

    This is my house! Okay, probably not what you thought of when you heard “bamboo hut”, but I swear it is. As you can see on the veranda, the house is made of caniço, a local material similar to bamboo, with a big old thatched roof! It´s a pretty luxurious hut with running water (!!!) although just cold, and electricity (some of the time). In Peace Corps terms, we are spoiled rotten. But we pay our dues with the millions of infestations that come when you live in a house so naturale that you can see through the walls.

    check out my awesome "wallpaper." and my awesome "walls."

    We live in a beautiful compound with one large split-level concrete house (true luxury) where my bosses live, and two other caniço houses where two other colleagues stay. Camille, a fellow American volunteer, lives in the coolest house:

    Camille´s cabana

    Camille calls her house the cabana and it is pretty awesome–right up on the water. That little window on the top is the bedroom window offering sweeping views of the ocean. We called it the James Bond house for awhile (before she arrived and renamed it) because it seems like just the kind of bedroom where Bond himself would ravish some shockingly beautiful woman and then jump out the window and right into a speeding motorboat and go catch some bad guys.

    typical sighting

    Simba likes her house best. But the best part about the compound is not the houses–it´s the views.

    Simba loves his beach.

    sunrise from my backyard...

    rainbow.

    My place of zen.

    The picnic table above is where I have spent a lot of time journaling, meditating, and concentrating on just existing over the last… 16 months that I have been living here. (Time flies.) I love my house, but it is great to be able to come home and sit and take in scenery this beautiful every. single. day. It is a wake-up call to get over all the stupid stuff that bogs me down and just remind myself that I have been given this amazing gift to call this place home for two years. And plus, I have a beach gate. A beach gate!! Seeing how lucrative (not) my career aspirations are, this will probably be the only time in my life that I have a beach gate : )

    We also live with some other colleagues from CARE, and one of the house has this great veranda:

    Here’s the view of our non-beach gate, and this is where we or our empregadas (hired help) wash clothes and the like:

    Leaving the compound, take in the view of my street:

    my street, one direction...

    and the other!

    signage right outside the house.

    Down at the far end of town there are some boats that seem to never leave…

    As well as the money suck God-given establishment that is Taurus (South African export supermarket).

    THANK YOU. THANK YOU. THANK YOU. Goodbye, money.

    All joking and supermarkets aside, I feel blessed to get to live somewhere so amazing that people spend thousands of dollars to come and relax and take it all in. This is every day for me. Sure, it´s still really easy to get bogged down by stress and menial tasks and work obligations but at the end of the day, I live on the Indian Ocean. In my bamboo hut. So I breathe. Close my eyes. Smile. Remember that no matter what, I am lucky. People work their whole lives with a goal to retire to a beach somewhere, to relax, stare at the ocean and contemplate the meaning of life. And at the ripe young (old) age of 23, I get to do just that. Every single day. And when I am frustrated, I just need to remember the beach gate. Boas-vindas.

    Anyone else ever live somewhere CRAZY?! And if YOU lived in a bamboo hut, how would you make it feel like home? : )

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