Welcome to the Motherland

Africa. No sooner had we touched down in Johannesburg than I felt her buzzing throughout my entire self. Some call it “depressurizing-the-airplane-cabin”. But I think there was more to it than that.

An unexpected delay in the flight leaving Atlanta (a 16 hour flight, half of which I was able to sleep through having lost every ounce of dignity associated with the use of neck pillows) found us (me, two other volunteers, and another young woman we befriended enroute) in a bed and breakfast which turned out to be a wing off of someone’s private home in a walled compound otherwise surrounded by a desiccated landscape. At night, it could have been any highway. By day, it was a burnt, flat landscape pock-marked with industry and bundled up morning walkers with mysterious destinations. Of course, we didn’t notice any of this at night, and weren’t fully aware of anything until we had a few hours of sleep, a shower to expunge the old plastic/BO smell that has apparently settled into my backpack straps over the years, and a power-protein breakfast cooked by – you guessed it – the grade-school-age daughter of the house. Sausage, ham, fish cakes and eggs all in one meal, and then it was back to the airport for the final leg of the flight which would take us to Maputo, capital of Mozambique.

We were received, with significantly less pomp and circumstance than my arrival to the DR, by one man from the office holding a Peace Corps sign who was incredibly kind and made me feel very at ease flexing my ultra-flabby Portuguese. He took us to the office – a humble affair overlooking the ocean, similar to the DR office in many ways, but with no frills in operation or accommodation, and zero sunburned volunteers hanging around and soaking up all the bandwidth. We even have our very own Alfredo! In the DR, this was the man who always had a smile on, knew everyone’s name, and whose job title you were never quite sure of because he will do anything for anyone at anytime. Turns out the man who picked us up in the airport kind of fills that same roll in Moz.

After a brief meeting with the country director, who actually worked for TVA for 25 years as tiny world fate would have it, we enjoyed the gorgeous temperate weather on a walk over to the embassy for lunch – curried lamb and coca-cola made with pure sugar. Apparently it will soon be summer, meaning it will be light outside starting at 4:30 and in my particularly muggy province, unbearably humid. But for today, we welcomed the moderate weather, and strolled back to the office with full bellies.

The rest of the day was spent hammering out details regarding our posts, where we will be headed on Thursday. I will be in Alto-Molocue, a town whose population no one seems to know, but whose size can generally be gauged by the fact that there is a bank and a gas station. There are also other volunteers nearby, which is always comforting. It seems that we Peace Corps Response Volunteers have been brought to Mozambique to begin conversations between farmers, organizations, and government agencies regarding how they can all work together to insure the future of food security for Mozambicans. We’re essentially mediators, brain-stormers, and have a lot of say on where this project can go, and if it’s even viable considering the ministry of agriculture hesitance to look outside of the government to achieve these goals. It’s a little intimidating to be assigned to such an abstract, conceptual project after doing so much hands on work, but I look forward to seeing where our conversations will lead us. Well, that is, after I remember how to have a conversation in Portuguese. But really, after just 2 days, I can feel it coming back, starting to stew with my Spanish and give it an African flavor.

After a quick nap at the hotel, which left me feeling off kilter and more jet-lagged than I had before, we were off to the director’s house for wine, a home-cooked dinner of shepherd’s pie, coleslaw, and brownies and espresso for dessert, and our turn to use his international phone to touch base with home. So far so good; I am shocked at how un-shocking everything has been up until now. But we’re still in the capital, and I’m sure the real differences in Africa and my previous experiences remain to be seen. After walking around town today and seeing the local artisan work and clothing, I know one thing is for sure; I’m going to need a bigger suitcase when I come home from Africa.