Blog About Malaria Month

April is blog about malaria month, and I thought I'd give it a shot.

For loads of information about malaria and it's effect, visit http://stompoutmalaria.org/

A few factoids:

• Malaria is spread by mosquitos.
• "In the year 2005 alone, World Health Organization estimates indicated that malaria infected between 350 and 500 million people and killed over 1 million, 90% of whom lived in sub-Saharan Africa. Most of those were children"-stompoutmalaria.org
• By 2010, malaria deaths had dropped to 655,000, mostly due to the widespread distribution of mosquito nets

I have no experience with malaria, but I hear that it is a terrible sickness that I could experience during my time in Moz.

I have a friend named Peter who spent some time in Africa a few years back and was unfortunate enough to get malaria.  I've not forgotten his description to this day: "Imagine that you had killed the flu, and that its bigger, badder ex-convict cousin was coming back to exact revenge on you."

PCV's take one of two types of medication for malaria profylaxis.  One is doxy, which is taken orally every day and in one friend of mine has also helped to clear up acne.  The other is lariam.  I take lariam once a week on a full stomach.  One of the more exciting side effects of lariam is lucid dreams.  I can't recall any specific dreams, but I try to take my lariam pill as closely to bed time as I can (I want to get my monies worth).

In all seriousness, malaria is a serious sickness in Africa which effects nearly everyone.  Many PCV's, as well as countless workers from numerous organizations, spend a significant amount of time battling malaria.  I've heard more than one story from PCV's who have had students, friends, or even foster family members die from malaria during their service.  With continued focus on educating against and battling this sickness, the number of deaths will continue to fall in Africa and Mozambique.

Animals of Mabalane

Animals have become a large part of my life in Mabalane.  Partly due to the large graze-fed domestic animal population, and partly due to the open door, open window life-style of Mabalane (see Summer Swelter blog).  I’ll take a few minutes to introduce you to our newest neighbors and house guests.

Cows and Goats

In the district of Mabalane there are approximately 45,000 cattle.  Everyday, roughly 200 wander through our front and back yard.  Many of these cattle have horns.  The females’ horns appear to be the biggest, although when I came to Moz I thought only bulls had horns.  They’re not afraid to come right up to the door and give a hearty hello either.  One can be surprised to glance out the door and see a 1000 lb cow staring at you as it literally floods the path between the house and the bathroom.

I’ve not had much experience with goats in my life.  What I’ve learned so far in Mabalane is that they’re rather silly animals.  For our first few weeks in Mab, the sound of someone screaming would often take to the door, only to lead me to look upon a goat grazing in the yard.  Some goats sounds something like the last middle-aged man to leave the bar on a Thursday evening after he’s fallen in the street and is yelling at apparently no one in single syllables.  If the door to the house is left open, the goats have no problem trotting into the house to check out the food stores.  I have fun with those goats.

Chickens and Ducks

Our neighbors have a family of ducks, one of whom has recently hatched a group of nine little ducklings.  They are very cute to watch run around after food, mostly escaping insects.  However, one of the ducks, who I consider to be the alpha, is not cute to watch.  He often takes the female ducks, and I say takes very intentionally.

Our neighbor also recently bought a hen and a cock.  At sunrise, every day, I hate that chicken more and more.  It was interesting to watch the meeting of alpha and the cock.  The alpha asserted his dominance quickly and there has been no quarreling since.

Insects

One of the hardest things to get used to in Mabalane and the open-door lifestyle is the constant presence of insects in ones life.  The flies come in two varieties.  Your typical housefly who is a constant pest, and a giant fly whose bite actually hurts.  The big flies make for good sport though, as they move quite slowly.  Cockroaches are a constant presence both in the house and the latrine, but are a quick fix with the broom.  The wasps and hornets have put the real problem forth.  Since moving into the house, I would venture to guess we have removed near 20 nests, some the size of a cigarette butt, others the size of a baseball.  No stings have been suffered to date, and it appears that the colonials have more or less retreated.

Mabalane/Our house also showcases an exquisite mantis population.  These cool critters tend to show up at night and vary in color from a leafy green to a sandy brown.  Camouflage is big in the animal world here I’m finding.  Several stick bugs have graced our estate as well.  Just last night Charlie encountered a stick bug that was nearly ten inches in length.  The lower mandible is like something I’ve never seen before and is, to be scientific, gnarly.

Oh, and scorpions.  Don’t forget the scorpions.  They are a scarce sight, but they’re about.

Spiders

As far as spiders go, I expected to find your typical daddy long-legs wherever I ended up.  They aren’t so bad and they do a decent job of maintaining the pesky flies.  We also have a few small spiders living with us who are relatively flat and can scale the walls with ease.  They tend to hide themselves behind and under objects.

On the other hand, one night, upon our return from the village, the biggest spider I’ve ever seen ran out of my room.  I’m uncertain if camel spiders inhabit Mozambique, but this guy was a close cousin if not one himself.  Quickly reaching for the broom I banished this foul creature from our house before it could make an attempt on our lives, as I’m certain was its intention.  Sleep was uneasy that night.

Currently, a large, black spider with long, skinny legs and yellow markings (four, quasi-elongated hexagons) on an apparent plate covering its back inhabits the space below the tin roof above our veranda.  Watching this master of death spring onto the insects (including preying mantes) that get caught in its double-layered web is better than TV.  We’ve grown to appreciate this spider and are hoping it continues to grow and reduce the insect population.  However, if it enters the house, for fear of my own life, I’m going to destroy it immediately.

Frogs and Lizards

The frogs of Mabalane are somewhat skinnier than the frogs one finds near the water logged areas of Iowa.  They also have the ability to change color.  I don’t know if this is completely voluntary or a effect of the heat and light of the daytime hours, but they tend to be docile and of white/grey hue during the day and are more active and of darker greens and blacks during the night.  I don’t recall often seeing frogs during the daytime in Iowa, but maybe this is true of them too?

The lizards have a generally speckled appearance, with a coarse texture, but have the ability to vary in the color with which they present themselves.   For instance, the large lizard that has made his residence behind my trunk/nightstand has a dark hue to him because he lives in the dark most of the time.  Whereas the lizards who spend the majority of their waking hours (our sleeping hours) crawling our walls in search of insects drawn to our lights tend to have a lighter color to match the cream color of our walls.  I don’t know how many lizards live with us, but I’ve counted as many as seven visible at one time (plus the big mother living behind my trunk).  Another type of lizard (who lives on and around our house, but scarcely finds it necessary to grace our home) is black with two stripes down the sides of its back and has the appearance of a snake with legs.  Unlike the other amphibians of our home, these lizards seem to be more active during the daytime than during the night.

Bats

I’m not certain of where the bats lived in Mabalane before the construction of the secondary school, but I know where a great number of them live now.  As the sun begins to set in the west, one can have a seat and be absolutely astonished at number of bats that fly out of the concrete/tin roof structures.  Try to remember the “Fly my pretties!  Fly!  Fly!” scene from the Wizard of Oz.  Upon the settling of darkness, the bats hunt recklessly.  We’ve taught more than one night class with a bat circulating the classroom to collect the insects drawn towards the lights.  During the daytime the bats return to their “caves” (read: our house and other school buildings) to sleep through the day.  The family living with us is relatively quiet during the day (we hardly ever see them except when they leave the house), but will sometimes get riled and have a minute or two of annoying bickering.  The same is true in the classrooms. 

The main drawback of the bats is…the feces.  It’s enough having to walk through the stuff on the classroom floors, but the time when they’re dropping their droppings is primarily when you’re teaching.  The chalkboards are on the walls under where the bats are residing.  Check your hair. 

Sheeba

Sheeba.

Ohhh Sheeba.

Upon our arrival in Mabalane, we found out that we inherited a dog named Sheeba.  He appears to be some type of breed between a yellow lab and a greyhound.  These types of dogs are prevalent in our area, and often are used to herd cattle and goats.  Sheeba can be rather playful at times, and rather stupid at times.

“If you’re a child, you’re a threat.”  That’s a direct quote from Sheeba; at least I imagine it would be judging by the way he reacts to any sort of adolescent who wanders into the proximity of our home.  You can imagine the problem stemming from this as we live roughly 200 meters from a secondary school.  The trick is not to run, but to stay calm and just stare him down.  However, the kids in Mabalane (and from what I understand much of Mozambique) are scared to death of dogs, so they run.  I’ve seen a kid leap into a bush to get away from Sheeba.  I’ve seen a kid freeze on the spot and start crying.  I’ve seen a kid drop everything he had and run away.  I wont deny that I laughed really hard each time, but it’s annoying when kids come to ask for water or for me to teach and they can’t get within 10 meters of the house without me having to reign in Sheeba.  He’s also very protective against any sort of cow that tries to get close to the house.  Altogether, Sheeba seems to be very loyal to us and, most of the time, we’re happy he’s here.

The Questions

“Life is not about the destination, it is about the journey.”-Uknown

“There is no way to peace, peace is the way.”-AJ Muste

This is a blog about having questions that might not have answers, but looking for the answers anyway.  At times I don’t even know if I can completely define the question.  I only know that there is something compelling me in a certain direction, something that can only be began with the words, “I wonder…”  “I wonder if there is a god?”  “I wonder if I know what is true love?”  “I wonder if I should be doing something else with my life?”

I feel trying to definitively answer these questions would drive me mad.  However, I feel they are essential to my growth by giving me a frame of reference.  In science, the observer can often construe observations of a given phenomenon because he/she was looking for something specific and was blinded to all of what was occurring.  In other words, you find what you are looking for.  I feel the questions I have give me direction.  Not necessarily to a given point, but along a path that allows me many viewpoints to consider within my conceptual frameworks of god, love, and purpose.

What I try to avoid, are answers.  In the sciences, we recognize that no theory can ever be proven, because for a theory to have been proven means that it will have to have predicted the outcome of a phenomenon in any circumstance.  At this point, no human, or collection of humans, can claim to have tested all known circumstances, because to test all known circumstances requires to have found all knowledge.  This is part of the beauty I find in science.  By never claiming to have an absolute answer, there is room for constant growth and increased precision.

Answers often set boundaries, boundaries of thought and discussion, which can become the basis for dispute.  So many people feel they have the answers.  I wonder if they have ever stopped long enough to define the question and decide if it is a question that can be answered.  If a question can be answered definitively, is it really worth asking or is it by extension redundant?

Of course, a teacher suggesting that all answers are redundant would be utterly blasphemous.  To suggest to an 8^th grade classroom that there is no right answer would likely be the start of an uprising and get me fired.  For students at that developmental level, a certain amount of stability and structure is required for effective thinking.  However, I think that as educators and as a society, we need to start worrying about the questions our students have, or worse, the questions they don’t have.  An obstacle that I’m seeing on many days in my classroom in Mabalane is that my students do not have questions.

To my students, school has become a house of answers.  Each day they take pages of notes, which ultimately derive from a textbook, and are rarely asked to do work of their own.  My students are typically not expected to contribute their ideas or their questions in the every day educational setting.  This has led me to wonder, what do my students wonder about?  I’ve been in Mozambique for over six months and I still don’t know the word wonder in Portuguese or Changana because you never hear it in everyday conversation.  As my students are walking home from school, pilando amendoim (crushing peanuts), or falling asleep, what are they thinking about?  I wonder if they’ve ever been asked to express these ideas in school?

I think I will try to find out what my students are wondering about.  I’m also going to continue to pressure them to wonder about things in the classroom.  It’s been an up hill battle thus far, but I’m starting to find ways to get my students to think and make their ideas visible.  I plan to continue to integrate thinking-out loud in my instruction to demonstrate the importance of questions in thinking and how to go about responding to questions to further understanding.  My classes will continue to demonstrate that the product of learning pales in comparison to the process.

From Scratch

I don’t recall ever having fresh squeezed juice before, let alone making the juice myself.  However, I’ve been sitting here for about 30 minutes peeling the shells from the canoe, which will be mashed, strained and left to sit for a day before we will drink the juice.  The canoe fruit is one of the few fruits that grow in Mabalane, and it is just coming into season.  The juice only surfaces once a year, but it is a staple in Mozambican culture.  The history teacher at the school informed me that selling the canoe juice is illegal because of it’s significance to the people.  The canoe has a skin that I might put somewhere between the consistency of an orange and the texture of a peach without the fur.  It’s about the size of a golf-ball and has a large pit that the majority of the “meat” of the fruit is connected to, but it has a decent amount of juice and that’s why we’re working.

After I finish peeling another canoe, I pop it in my mouth to suck on as I work.  As I’m working, Francisco rides up on his bike to let us know that there is a lady in town who is still selling chickens.  The energy and the railway have been out for nearly two weeks at this point (due to rains and flooding) so I don’t hesitate to retrieve the 150 metecais for the chicken.

A short time later, Francisco returns with the chickens, one for Charlie and I and one for senora directora (Chefe).  This is the first live chicken I’ve ever owned.  The sky has turned dark now and the plan is to cook it tomorrow, but I am clueless as to what to do with this chicken overnight.  Chefe says to put the chicken in a basilla (a 10-inch deep, 18-inch diameter tub that’s used for anything you might use a sink for in the States) overnight so it doesn’t run all over the house.  I carry the chicken in the house in the basilla.  Charlie is busy cooking supper and I mention the chicken has arrived.  I put the basilla under the table Charlie is working at and cover it with another, larger basilla (which I note fits very snugly) to keep the chicken from causing a ruckus during the night.

The following day around 10, my stomach is thinking about making lunch and my brain begins to prepare itself to cut the chicken’s throat, when I realize I haven’t heard the chicken moving or clucking today.  Then my eyes catch the rim of the upside-down, larger basilla that is an inch away from the floor.  I then remember how snugly the basilla seemed to fit together upon placement.

“Surely it couldn’t have been air-tight,” I assure myself.

It was.

My hand lifts the top basilla and before my eyes can see it, my nose verifies my suspicion.  Both basillas are plastered with crap.  The chicken is laying motionless, dead.

Wasting no time, I wash the chicken and the basillas.  A tinge of remorse hits me when I realize how much longer the chicken’s death was due to my mistake.  In any scenario, the chicken would’ve died, and I tell myself I won’t make the same mistake again.

After plucking, I remove the head, feet, and entrails, just like my language group practiced in Namaacha.  One super-market chicken, thawed and ready.  After Charlie returns from classes, we create a marinade/baste consisting of garlic cloves, vinegar, oil, and a Texan seasoning concoction left by the previous Mab volunteers (thanks guys).  The moment the chicken hits the grill, the smell is intoxicating and my mouth is salivating.  Charlie and I devour the legs, wings, and thighs, but save the breasts for later.

Around 4, I place the head and feet into a pot of boiling water to create the broth for our chicken noodle soup.  While that’s boiling, I throw together flour, egg, and salt to create the noodles (I had no idea noodles were that easy), and roll it out to let sit a while.  As the noodles are setting, I walk to the schoolyard and collect a couple handfuls of leaves and flowers from the moringa trees.  The leaves, flowers, cut noodles, an onion, the grilled chicken breasts, and a little bit of caldo (chicken bouillon) all go into the boiling pot for about 20 minutes.

Sitting down to eat our chicken noodle soup, Charlie tells me a story:

“So remember when you were telling me the story of how the chicken must have suffocated during the night.  Well, last night when I went to bed I had no idea we had a chicken in the house.”

*At this point, I should note that Charlie sleeps in the main room because his room is on the west side of the house, and is unbearably hot when we’re trying to fall asleep.  The main room, however, has a nice cross-breeze during the evenings; and, also, on this particular evening, a slowly suffocating chicken.

“So around 2 or 3 last night, all of the sudden I hear this really load crashing and thrashing noise 3 feet from my head.  I had no idea what it was at the time and it scared the s*** out of me.  When you told me about how the chicken suffocated today I realized it must have been the chicken’s death rattle.”

The Rain Blog

Within 10 minutes of the start of the downpour, the few drains there are in Chokwe have reached their limit and the level of water begins to rise in the street.  As Charlie and I sit back to watch the rain fall with a couple Fanta Laranjas, I can’t help but think that if it rains like this for very long, we’re not going to be able to pass the 80 kms of dirt road that lies between Chinakanini and Mabalane.  This Friday trip was our last to Chokwe before the start of the school year, so the implications of us not being able to make the return journey are weighing heavily on my mind.  Luckily after 45 min. the rain stops and we’re able to puddle hop to the market and grab the first chapa (mini-bus) to Chinhakanini.

By the time we cross the Limpopo River and reach the small village, the rain has stopped.  Spirits are high as we quickly run into some friends who know a guy taking a truckload of stuff to Mabalane.  The goods are tarped over, but I know my seat is a sixer of glass bottles.  Ten minutes into the trip, the rain starts.

Normally, the trip over the dirt road takes two hours, is hot, and leaves pain shooting through your joints (which were contorted to fit as many people as possible on or in the vehicle) and butt (large, flat-bed trucks are typically your only option going to Mabalane).  This trip was different.  This trip took four hours due to the care the driver had to take to prevent us from getting us stuck.  Because of the slow speed, the sensation of being vaulted off a quarter inch thick sheet of steel was replaced by slow rocking on and off my six-pack whenever we hit a pothole.  Instead of being pelted by the Moz. Sun, I was enveloped in a wet, grey cocoon.

One hour in to the trip and I’m vowing never to forget my rain jacket again.  Around two hours into the trip I notice the halfway tree, I am starting to notice shriveling in my fingers, and don’t know if I am going to be able to take two more hours of this cruel punishment.  Three hours in, I’m near hysterical and realize that I’ve never sat this long in the rain before. Closing in on the fourth hour we finally see Mabalane.  I let out a relieved sigh and the rain slowly comes to a stop.  After four hours in the rain, we reach our destination, and the rain stops!  I have to laugh to keep from crying.  Upon reaching the house, I get into some dry cloths and make some hot chocolate, which we just bought in Chokwe.  What a trip.

Saturday and Sunday were both relatively dry days.  Monday, the day of the parent, student and teacher reunion, came around and it was an overcast morning.  Just as we were finishing “Patria Amada” the rain started coming down and continued all day Monday.  And Tuesday.  And Wednesday.  And Thursday.  Friday and Saturday were more or less dry days, but by then the school week had been abandoned due to the rain (many students have to walk considerable distance to get to the school).  On Sunday, the rain returned with a vengeance.  The only comparison to the noise created by the rain on our roof is the sound created when an end-loader bucket is dropped into the bare bed of a truck.  This continued through Sunday night and into Monday. 

By the time the rain stopped, the swollen Limpopo was reaping havoc across the river valley; Chokwe, Guija, and many other smaller towns inhabiting the valley, which from my best estimates is near 5 miles wide in some areas.  I found out later that South Africa had opened up several damns upstream, which served to augment the water level greatly.  On that Monday our energy went out and remained out for nearly two weeks until repairs could be made.  The rocks under the railway we’re wiped out in some areas, in others the line had actually been parted.  The paved road was completely displaced in some areas and heavily damaged in many more.

Luckily, Mabalane is above the flood plain.  Life here continued as normal without energy or the Thursday (quinta-fera) market that brings in vendors from Maputo via train.  Some people were worried about what would happen if more flooding occurred and we weren’t able to get more rice, flour, pasta, and other essentials, but life is slowly returning to normal.  Onions, garlic, plant leaves and bread were never in short supply and now tomatoes and fruits are returning at a somewhat elevated price.  However, we haven’t seen much more than a drizzle since that last Monday and in this heat, I could sure use a little rain right now.

Summer Swelter

Laying down to sleep, I knew my consciousness wouldn’t be subsiding for a while.  Even after the sun has gone down, it takes 2-3 hours before a person might dare to say the air has “cooled down.”  The mosquito net around my bed is a lifesaver, but it seems only to trap the heat produced by the Mozambican sun hitting our tin roof.  I could feel my sweat being soaked up by my pillow and bed sheets.  Every breeze seemed a gentle nudge towards comfort and sleep.

It’s part of Moz culture that most people eat and rest from 12-14, and it doesn’t take much imagination to understand why.  In our first weeks of living in Mabalane, Charlie and I would make the mistake of making trips to town or the penitentiary in the late morning/early afternoon.  Within the first five minutes of leaving the shade of the house, we would be sweating and more than aware of the way the sun seems to be dodging the clouds in the sky.  There is one or no trees on the road to the market, depending which path I decide to walk.  By the time we reach the market a solid layer of sweat has soaked through my shirt and my mouth is dry.  We’ve “inconveniently” forgot our water bottles; guess we’ll have to spring for the chilled bottles of water they sell at the barraca or Portuguese store.  The return journey is always hotter, it seems.  The cold water helps, but the sun is relentless and by the time we reach home I just want to sit in the shade for a while to cool off.  If there’s a breeze, it’s a godsend.

However, those days are typical.  On the bad days, I’ll sit in the shade reading, writing or planning a lesson, but I’ll still be hot.  There’s been more than one day when my sweat starts beading shortly after I get out of bed and continues through the day until after I’ve fallen asleep.  On days like this a sheen of sweat covers my arms and legs, and I wish for rain or a breeze.  Because we don’t have a refrigerator, the warm water we have hardly seems to quench the thirst brought on by ceaseless sweat and we easily drink 2-3 liters of water each.

I tell you what though.  I’m currently writing this on the shaded east side of the house as the sun sets on what was a mild day.  A steady breeze is coming out of the south and in front of me lay dancing bushes and trees as far as the horizon.  Yeah, I was sweating constantly from 12-15 today, but I’ve come to appreciate the simple shade and breeze.  Sweat is a cheap price to pay for the way I feel right now.