Adventure's in Mozambique

Chelsea is 23

2006-10-07T04:07:00.000-07:00

Well, i have gained another year... and i stand (proudly?) 23 years old. Oh how this Birthdya celebration differed from teh last. Erin, my roomate, and I had the best intentions of planning abirthday bash, chatting a month before about its potential, but of course like many things in are life that dont hold weight in our day to day it slipped our mind. So 3 days before Bday I casually started invinting "my friends" aka people who i communicate with on a daily basis.. the concept of friend here needs to be reoriented. I have conceeded that i will have no deep intimate connections that my friends from teh states and I pride ourselves on. rather my relations, hellos and chit chat about daily life, and sharing the occasional beer must suffice the friendship need.

To be honest planning a party here is a very stresful event. There is no casual invite friends for a drink. Patys are very formal special occassions, because the majoity of my friends cant afford to go out and have a soda or drink, and a party provides teh opportunity for drinking soda and eating food other that xima, rice, and leaves. tradtionally people ive formal inviatins and ask for a contribution. but i wanted to invite people who couldnt contribute- he stress was inhow much food and drinkto buy due to the ambiguity of the number that would and and of course my limited salary... was difficult to find the balance between enough, but not t much. which seems quite trivial now, but i assure you it was the topic of the majoity of erin and i conversations in the days preceeding the party. And of course i was stressed because i would judge my level of intergation and acceptance in teh community by the number of invitees who soed. So the day trudged on, and as the hour near i put on my party girl outfit, a hot pink skit and heels, what else would chelsea wear?

We walked four abreast to the determined party location, chatting nervously to ease my mind from my social destiny. Thankfully when we arrived the Donna had set up our table, check, first disaster avoided, now we jsut needed peole. I waited nervously for the guest to arrive, trying to soothe my mind, by reminding myself 9pm mozambiquan time was 10-1030.... but by 930 guests started arriving.. must admit the first guest was a schock. instead of saying welcom, i said, you came! and slowly they trickled in. A modge pode of my life in dondo... various collegeus, students, my frinds from teh library, neighbors, the random community members i chat with but dont know there names, and of course my dear friends erin, gildo, samito, kelly and hisae. But somehow we congelled together to have a spanking good time. offcourse we danced the night away and people stammered out around 2 in the morning overthanking me. overall a success

moral of the story never underestimate the power of free food and drink.

Missionaries??

2006-09-02T07:09:00.000-07:00

I can't get the forceful words of a missionary I heard last Sunday out of my head. "Preperar! Para est vie de Juesus Christo est perto, abri seu corazons, tirar pedras, coisas est que prohibrir voce de viver na caminha de Deus." Its not that here words were profound or original, you can here variations coming from any missionary, that resonates with me, but rather the manner in which they were delivered. With Whole hearted belief, that the book that she grasped in he hand was the truth and the way, the only way, to the foretold promise land. How odes such an unwavering belief develop? I am bewildered by this tenancity of faith. But, more importantly I have been grappling with how I feel about missionaries.

Sitting around your dinner table in the United States after you have had a filling meal, probably accompanied by a glass of wine, it is easy to condom them. Propergating faith, converting by providing basic human needs to those who dont have the means to provide them. Evangelizing is demonized in the liberal circles i ran in. It took me coming to a developing nation to get real prospective. The missionaries do Damn good work here. The run the majority of, and the best orphanages int Mozambieqe. Their churches act as a community center. Church becomes a social event, provides an opportunity to do something, it becomes an event that presses on for 3 hours full of music, singing, and dancing. whoo the dancity their quasi routines, where everyone participates formt eh baby strapped onto the mothers back to the Avo who gentle shuffles her callaoused feet.

But how do the converted Mozambiquans feel about the words being said (the words of god)? The words that disencourage ancient cultural practices, that demonize tradtional healers, once highly respected leaders int he community. I look a the faces of the congreation and often there eyes are vacant and lips are tight, in neither a smile or a frown, he stationary not moving in consent or dissaproval. So how do they feel... are they just waiting for the next opportunity to sing and dance? Have they seen the light, or is going to church a practice accepted in return ofr a community gathering and the perks the church provides. What if there were another facet way to organize the community, would it thrive as christainity does?

India «the trip»

2006-09-02T06:30:00.000-07:00

India is an amazing country, rich with heritage and religion. It is difficult to put my experiences into words, especially under the time crunch of the internet cafe. But my trip took me from the financial capital of Bombay, which was bursting at the seems with people. The sheer density of people and things was positively overwhelming and astonishing.

Next we traveled to agenda where 26 Buddhist caves were painstankingly carved into a ridge from the 5-10n century. Those with only true devotion to a faith could create, every nook and cranny intricately carved with testament to Buddha, ceilings, walls, and pillars are decorated in elaborately detailed paintings depicting scene's of carnivals, worship, festivals. The religion appears so humanistic to so the Buddha sleeping or decibels depicted with voluptuous bare breasted ladies. From the Buddhist caves we traveled to an incredible Hindu temple. Words nor pictures and do this temple justice. The complex was huge with a man temple in the center without a surface not designed or carved in representation of a god. To the surrounding walls which were also roams dedicated to different gods and goddess. Tourist wanting in and out of each room heads moving up and down and back and forth trying to take the immensity and the details of it in. Snapping a photo, only to be disappointed with the digital image.

We spent the weekend in Pune, a quasi-suburb, 2 hours south, of Bombay, where a Jewish community resides. Pune has been heavily influenced by the west. I had a minor freak out as I entered a 5 story mall, I guess a year in Africa can make you forget consumer's capitalistic tendencies. Then we headed north to New Delhi, did the sites in the city. But the real highlight of this leg of the trip was obviously the TAJ MAHAL!! It most certainly deserves to be one of the 7 wonders of the world. In perfect symmetry it stands as an attestiment to a mans undying love to his wife, I only hope to be so lucky. The narrow reflecting pools perfectly align to reflect the entirely of the beautiful building. I am no conisour of architecture, but I stood and stared at the this wonder, I cant bring myself to call it a building, for 3 hours.

Then we headed up north to the Himalayas on an overnight bus. In the soft morning light we climbed up a steep windy road, that more holes then pavement. The single lane was bade double by the generous, but benevolent honks of horns. The road ended at the top of a steep hill, which I thought I would end up walking up, and before us lay lush mountainside, steep like the Rockies but green has the hills of Vermont. Nestled into the natural steeps were houses, and the landscape was decorated by lines of color, hanging between trees, off of houses, on rock ledges. Although the colors were primary and bold they have become part of the environment, and are symbolic of the seemingly harmonious balance between man and nature in this tranquil land. We had arrived in daringly, the Tibetan Exile community were His Holiness resides. There your found shaved heads clad in maroon robes, whose gentle steps climbed steep mountainside, each step was with prayer as a string of beads moved effortless through fingers. So apparent it was, it is about the journey, the means, that provide the profundity of the end, the destination. The Buddhist community lives along side a transient but continuous population of hippy foreigners from various parts of the world, who have come for various meditations, homeopathic healing, and crunchy things of the like. Their only distinguishing character was the length of their dread locks. We passed our days appreciating the beauty and walking through the mountains.

We then continued a little farther into the mountains. And spent the last days in Vashisht, relaxing, visiting natural hot springs, and appreciating out last days together. To my best friends I want to say thank you for an amazing trip, your continual support, and sense of adventure. Africa 2007 or bust !?!?

Chelsea goes to India

2006-09-02T06:00:00.000-07:00

So yes I live in Mozambique, and I traveled to India to meet three of my most favorite people in the world, you know who you are

The trip started at 4am July 12th, where I waited on the side of the road for a bus to drive me to mapped (approximately a 24 hour bus ride). Well 100km in the bus had broken down 3 times so with a plan to catch in Joburg in 4 days I decided to take matters into my own hands. Hence commenced a 4 day hitch hike of over 1,000 miles. I fell into the good grace of meeting to middle aged, rich, south Africans who took me into their care. I was able to overlook there not so suddle racists comments, due to their extreme kindness, paying for my accommodations and food at one on of the necessities beaches, Tofo, in MOzambique. They brought me across the boarder to Nelspritz, the next day I took a bus to joburg to get my Visa.

well, easy you think, go in get the visa. Not quite. I arrived a t 1230, and the stop processing visa applications at 12. No amount of sweet talking could persuade them. With my plane leaving the following day, limited funds, and being alone in joburg, I knew I was a bad situation. The following day I went to see if I could get on the plane without a visa, ehm, apparently even for Chelsea Keyser, that is not allowed. (That is even with crying). So I changed my plane ticket to give me 4 more days in Joburg to get the visa, and tacked one 7 more days in India.

I camped out in the airport book store scouting out cheap hostels near the Indian embassy then . A chance, or good fortune would have it I ran into a man who ran a Buddhist center in joburg. He offered me accommodates for free, I eagerly took him up on the offer. But here's the icing on the cake, and one of the residents was the son of the Indian ambassador. So after a relaxing weekend at the Buddhist center, which included shopping, entered (and nearly had a panic attack) my first mall in 11 months, gourmet dinners, and meditation. The following Monday I drove to the embassy walked directly into the ambassadors office, accompanied by his son, had tea and got my visa.

The following morning I was on my way, 4 days later then expected but no worries.

Cultural Mishaps Happen

2006-06-24T05:01:00.000-07:00

So last week the to-do's of Dondo-Beira district came to visit my school. During 1st period I received a very official looking letter stamped and sealed declaring everyones presence was requested during the interval maior. So my lessons carried on, and in typical fashion my 4th period class ran a little late. So i rushed out of the classroom to see the majority of the students and the entirety of the staff organized. I slipped through the lines of student as about discretly as a Pagan at a Morman mass. I made it to the line of teachers and ofcourse im one of four people not wearing my Bata, the mandatory uniform of teachers, that out of principal I refuse to wear. Forgot to mention the other three not in uniform were decked out in 3 piece suits.... ooopppss. There was only room at the front of the line which meant I was closests to the Big bosses, and consequently blocking half of the doorway to the teachers room, which has been claeaned adn the red table cloth laid out for their arrival. So I sand in polite attention while each person in introduced and the Hohays for FRELIMO and Education are done. Normally political talk, nice words strung together but not really saying anything.

I wonder if they even looked into the salas- took note of the condition in which the school is in. Here its all about show and presentation, the Chefes roll up in nice cars, suits, and body guards (i mean really who would try to kill the dondo minister of education?) Gleaming smiles they ask Tudo bem? I wanted to say.. Nao! Em realidade nos salas sao horivel. O chao tem couvas muinto fundo, tudos os dias eu quasi torco meu tornozelo, esta perigoso... But of course i kept my mouth shut and smiled. But i was quite pleased when a girl in 12th grade spoke up- to complain about the conditions of the salas. She received the robotoic response of next year we will start improving the school. I found out afterward this cerimony and dialouge has been going on the same way for years, with no changes!

So after they all said their unmoving words they turned towards the line of teachers, and dumb old me standign at the front of the line thought they were going to enter the sal do preofessors again. So I turned to allow them more space, as they were not men who only subsisted on xima, but in acutlaity they were coming to compliment all the teachers. It apperaed as if I was turning my back to one of the most respected members in my community, hencing thouroughly embarrassing myself and disgracing the school... . My director snapped at me, and when I turned back I only had to shake the big mans hand, so my actions went without explanation. My bad... I'm just an American trying to teach in Mozambique don't equate my ignorance with disrespect.

Because in this society demonstration of respect and presentation are weighted above everything here... it doesnt matter that I show up everyday, on time, with a well prepared lesson. I will continue to be referred to, atleast in a light joking manner by my collegues, as the white girl who snubbed her chefe.

Where does change come from?

2006-06-03T05:58:00.000-07:00

The promlem of AIDS... how do we change the behavior. Soulutions are not found in rope memorization, abstinence, fidelity, condoms, these words are regergitated on demand in Portuguese, English, or dialect, your choice. The wear the button, get tested, society chalk full of propaganda, red ribbons painted on every tree and building. But the behavior isnt changing, WHY? Where are the change makeers- the leaders that claim "I am Positive." Babies suckign on poision milk becasue formula is too expensive, women forced to submit to unfaithful husbans- polygomy is a breading ground- Who are the change makers? Who will step up, because AIDS has one and four here, and soon it will be taking your first born

So how do we get through?

Well bribery has worked for me. After a turma bombed there first test I offered 2 recooperation points for everyone who got HIV tested and showed me there cards. (The GATV, free voluntaring testing site, give cards that keep a record of the date your tested, not the result) Granted this is walking a very thin line on the voluntary aspect of the clinque, but I thought it was a risk worth talking, no pun intended. The offer was greated with moans and "but teacher." But sure enough the following class 8 people appeared with new GATV cards in hand.... 5 of them got tested for the first time.

Pouco e Pouco, right?

Organized Chaos

2006-06-03T05:44:00.000-07:00

The story of two Americans who tried to organize "A Language Festival"

A few weeks back Erin, myslef, and a French teacher organized a language event. An opportunity for students to practice, demonstrate their ability by giving, speeches, poems, theater, dance in Portuguese, English, and French. The day of the event Erin and I arrived early with hand written schedules, post it notes, seating charts, and eager smiles. But as we should have known, Type A personalities are in direct opposition ot the Mozambiquan way of life. So we sat with your color coated supplies for 2 hours, and with 5 minutes until show time, Niguem, Nada, Nobody, was there- were talking neither participants or audience. All we could do was sit, wait, and make passing jokes about the huge cultural elephant. But in typical Mozambiquan fashion 1 hour late for us, or on time for them, everyone arived and we began. The auditorium was bem cheia (packed), and although the purpose of the event was lost due to the lack of a micropohone and an amazing sound system that insisted on blasting 50 cent during the intervals of the acts, ther was a positive energy and a feeling of pride that radiated from our students. I felt like a god damn parent, moving about, congradualting my students with high fives and hugs, I was even moved to tears as one of my favorited students belted out, in almost perfect English, Martin Luther King's "I Have A Dream" speech. The event lasted for 3 hours, and following the last act we had a huge dance party that lasted well into the evening... so i give myself a pat on the bag, and will gear up for Language festival #2 next trimerster.

Value of color

2006-06-03T05:17:00.000-07:00

They come from far and wide to see the Americans, flashing neon lights advertising the Main Attraction, namely our presence. It is unescapable, life defined by something you lack the ability to choose. The age old cry "I am not just the color of my skin." I forget what it is to blend into a sea of people, even at the highest level of integration I will always be the other. But my coming to Africa, to Mozambique was a choice. A choice to willingly put myself in the minority, a choice the only a social class and a degree from a private University could provide. A Privelaged Choice. A choice that escapes those native born to racists societies, ok lets stop the abstract. A choice that non-white Americans will never have. My journey here was in part an attempt to further my understanding of racism in the USA, by experiencing it for myself.

But can I ever fully understand discrimination in the USA, if all the assumptions made about me are positive? (also, the singling out I feel is a result of both racial and cultural differences, but putting that aside.) I experience positive discrimantion, maybe liken to how white americans view asian americans. People assume I am rich, educated, and can provide for them the opportunity their society fails to give. But I think there are some similarties between my experience here and the experience of minorties in the States.

Discrimaination is the resulting veiw of the other, people are categorized and defined in to social hiearchy not by their personal opinions, but by the opinions of the other/outsider. This outside view is eventually internalized to depict the individuals self worth in terms of their group status. In turn each individual of a group is stripped of individuality and thus able to speak on behalf of the totality of the group. I am no longer Chelsea Larkin Keyser, born and raised in VT, with individual experiences and thoughts, I am the white female American. My opinion has become the American opion, which frankly at this point in time, I rather have my beliefs values, founded in Liberalism, stable family and a Unitarian Universalists church, repersent American, than the violent many times ignorant words of our dear President Bush.

In Mozambique the issue of race is not tip toed around or cloaked in delicate phrases like 'celebrating diversity' The difference here, is people have no shame in calling white white (or rather Mulungo) and black black. And my attempts to describe the race relations especially cultural sensitivity in calling non-white Americans by the politically correct name are lost in confusion and blank stares. Mozambiquans come form a colonial history of oppression, were rules were imposed to hold the native, black mozabiquans down, while the Portuguese exploited the country. Yet, the present seems to carry no scars of the divided past. Although Americans golor blind goals are noble our continual failure to combat the institution or racisms in our society- to live by our catchy motos- is like a continual cold slap in the face. Maybe its better to call the Kettle balck, and then appreciate the cup to steaming tea it provides?

irrelevant insights

2006-04-05T04:37:00.000-07:00

Brief comparision on the 'nimal Facts of Life'

Here people know the animal facts of life as few people from the developed world will ever know again. Without embarrassment they accept life and death. They can kill a chicken, dress it , and eat it afterward with little repugnance, and i am prould to say i can now put myself in this category. Which beofre arving here I would think impossible. We have been conditioned to think of chickens as neatly sorted cellophane packages of breasts, wings, legs, and thighs without guts or mess. and the whole process of course absent of death. Death and life are everyday affairs here. After compliments its norma to mention the loss of a husband or smile - information deleivered with a smile- the appropriate responese is aknowledgment, brief condolnensces and and then a comfortable transition into another subject. Here peole suffer a degree of pain that I could not tolerate. They live life hard, grieve loss briefly, and bear children without anesthtic.

Note Worthy

2006-03-28T03:31:00.000-08:00

Fidel Castro polo shirt sitings -----» 5

Osmin Bin Laden T shirst sitings -----» 3

Taliban bumber sticker sitings -----» 4

Number of anti american attitudes encountered ---» 0

Number of pro islamic extermist pro jihad mozambiquans ----» 0

Qual e a Çena????

lesson learned

2006-03-28T02:55:00.000-08:00

He was the third vistor that day, "Acença" rousing myself from myn afternoon routine that I was trying, invain, to begin. "Acença" this time a little louder. "Um momento" retying the knot of my capulana, I have taken to changing out of my work clothes immediatly upon returning home. Whne I pushed open the screen door I was greate4d by the wide toothed smile of Davis, he looked like a sweet toothed diabetic in a candy store, gratifying a guilty satisfactrion. Davis is one of my favorite students, amibtions, intelligent, kind, most accurately likene d to a sponge - not the kind that is pilled and disengrated after one too many uses on stubbor pots and pans, but rather freshly unwrapped from its protective covering ready to absoard everything and take on the world. Offcourse his boyhood innocence, as I would have hoped, did not prevent the seeminly inevitable destination of all my friendships with men here. (I've tried to explain the meaning of platonic realtionships but the result leads me to believe that I am a complete failure as a teacher) Anyway, the story of Davis.

Two weeks ago I received a letter, slid under my front door, that had my name eloborately written on the front, the style of writing was foreshadowing for its fantasticaly dramãtic contents, confessions of undying love, and better yet a desire to present me to his parents as his esposa. While the formaily of the courtship was briefly flattering. His 'heartfelt' words only seemed to emphasize our cultural differences, further cementing my identity as Muzungo. I mean he doesn't even know my last name!

After a grueling conversation where he sate endearingly naive, his dark tear stained skin gleaming, as I explianed, in suprising clear portuguese, my idea of a student-teacher relationships, which is at most friendship. Then I had to dissuade him from switching schools and ensure him that he was not a disgrace to his parents.. (sounds like a plot to a spanish soap oprea) I couldnot help but take a bit of hpity on this boy, so fI left my hardline approach that has piereced the parade of pompous illintenioned suitors in the past, instead I found a honey coated tone to coax this impressionable student to understand the value of frindship. The whole ordeal was so dramatic, I had to stifile my laughter, it was as if i was breaking up with a long term boyfriend, but inforn t of me sat a 19 year old boy who i have known for 3 weeks... a bit absurd but i asure ~you this is just one of countlessstories female PCVs can recant.

So yes two weeks later was at my doorstep, per my request (as we had settled in to a comfortable friendship) to h~elp teach me portuguese. We began the lesson, but w~hen conversation lulled, and his material had run out, I accepted an invitation to visit a friend of his. The day was crisp reminscient of Vermont o fall, uincharistic for Moz, >I half expected to see mpale trees abalze and hear the whistle of a soccer refferee. (Instead I saw Mozambiquan~s bundled up in jackets, sporting varios types of hats, mind you it was a crisp 70 degrees!) Davis leading the way we turned lefot out of my house, with Zua in toe. We exchange the usual compliments with Donna Arminda, a sugar plum woman whoswe breast sag close to her belly button, the left starp of her dress is perpetually sliding down her thick arm, giving her a disheveled but matrinely look. Shem beamed and tried out her newly aprendou English greating, "good morning" Although it was afternoon I liet is slide, allowing my admiration to take precent over 'the grammar stickler in me' I am utterly impressed with this woman, rearing 4 children, working during the day, and continuing school at night ( I often see her studying by candle light) The womans day starts at 5 and ends at 11. Her situation is not unique the woman here have a resolute strength that I can only hope ot emulate after 2 years.

Next David and I passed a line of corn- every avaliobale space is untilized for subsistence farming, imagine suburban houses whose property is defined by corn husks and rice patties. The joys of practicality! Follwing the road out of Barro Seish exchanging compliments iun Portuguese and sena, we vered right at a small caminho, so small i had nver noticed it before, weaving are way through backyards as we buired deeper into this unchartered territory. Cement houses grew scarce, there is no order here, mud and caniço houses built in the same system that defines chaos. We arrive unbeknowest to me, at a 2 room half wood half cement house, a porch supported by discarded timber and covered with scraps of metal. Strangely radiated a homely feeling...

We were greatred timidly, I could tell they were wondeing what a whie girl was doing at their humble home, by a young mother laying on an esteara with her 3 children, the oldest was playing with the baby. Behind runing loses were goats, ducks, and chickens, my first thoug was this family is well off to have such an array of livestalk. An older woman, her face creased with lines thast indicated years of hard work and laughter. She sat akwardly upon a rickidy chair- waring a praire style dress, 2 sizes too big, with a rip in the seam that exposed her powerful upper arm. Her smile was mischevous, maybe it ws the missing front teeth? We began bater popa in portugeues- asking if Nelso was there... Then allof of a sudden with a gleam in her eye, the old woman belts out.
"He has gone to the neighbors to get medicine" in PERFECT English! I was bewildered, stunned, all i could do was whisper "?Como?" Did I just hear english from a woman who i was suprised she s~poke portugues.

She was born in MOz- but her husband was killed by RENAMO during the war. She fled with her children to zimbabe, they live hand to mouth, literaly eating what they had the capacity to grow. But this woman was more than a survivor she quickly7 learned English and got a job ina small bar, making enough to suport her family. She returned to MOçcambique becasue she recieved a small piece of land (how remains unclear) anbd now is staying with her borthers first wifes family, (families homes are an open door, no questions aske, no matter how distant the relations~)

We sat and chit chatted, a mixture of English Portuguese and Shona, dialect of descended from Bantu tribes near zimbabwae. (Well i only partcipated in the English portuguese part).-

I walked away from that conversation awe struck. I have only a cliche to offer... never judge a book by its cover.

"Teacher Chelsea"

2006-03-07T01:16:00.000-08:00

Its official i am a teacher... one month of teaching i think cements my new identity, and if i ever feel insecure about my status, all i need to do is walk out my door and i am greeted by a chorous of voices ranging for the pre pubscent shriek to a fully developed baritone, all saying the same thing "TEACHER", off course lets not sugar coat it, I also hear Mazungo, which means whitey or foreigner. I havent come up with a witty unoffensive response to that one, suprising, i know, im open to suggestions.

So i have found myself shying away for the blogs, feeling insecure in my ablity to capture my feelings and find the right words to do justice to this experience. Also i find it difficult to differniate what is important to talk about. Everything in my life has become so routine, its difficultfor me to remeber that this is not the reality, not even close, to the life's of my friends and family in the states. But I suppose the first step to feeling at home, is falling into a routine, so i guess, what i mean to say, is im progressing. But of course my routnine in Moz. is punctuated by the frequent lack of necsities.. ie i can not count on anytthing, i wake up each morning hoping that the water will run, and we wil lhave electricity... always keeps me on my toes. the frequent deprivation is not a complaint, rather i see it as a way to remeber the simplicity of life, and never to take thins for granted, and off course the opposing emotion comes hand in hand-- im grateful for each shower i take and cup of tea i drink. (Update I have given up coffee, ive been over 5 months with out it! if you told me a year ago, when i was working on the MoveOn campaign I could survive a day without 5 cups of coffee i would have laughed at you, with my latte in hand).

I've been struggeling with images of children in my village. They live in mud houses with out electricity, they wake up early to sweep the yard, carry 25 lbs of water on their 6 year old heads. They are with out toys or material possessions. But somehow my attention is always brought to their bright shinning eyes that radiate with a simple joy of life. I would like to think that its not that I lack compassion but rather, have changed the framework, the standards, in which i validate life.

I recently wrote this in my journal "With bare dirty feet, skinny bodies clad in clothese two sizes to big or two sizes to small, they run through the streets, dig through my trash pit, yelling in joy, using mother nature as their toy chest, this snap shot of children in my village has never envoked a feeling of neglect and pity, but rather reminded me of the power of generosity, love, and care."

A little more about school:

To envision my school, think of a prarie style house... the classrooms are all next to each other in a long row, 18 classrooms. but the hallway is outside, the doors open up to a veranda type thing that stretches the length of the building. Ie i have to go outside to get to my next classroom, although it helps keep the rooms cool, also makes it painfully easy for kids to cut class.

I arrive at school at 6:45, all the students line up infronot of the teachers, the teachers stand on the elevated veranda, and they sing the national anthem, no joke the anthem is literally 10 minutes long, and if the asst. principle isnt satisfied the first time they sing it agian! this country does not like formality... then they students mosey, walking quickly doesn\t exist here, to the classroom. first thing i do is call roll, easy you would think, but when you have 70 students, and you cant pronounce their names, it proves more difficult, and time consuming. its my nightmare the 10 minute attendance... so now we're 15 minutes into class time.

As for the actualy teaching i love it! Students think im crazy, I make the stand up, act out vocab words, bring in endless props, visual aids exc. My latest trick is using a hacky sack. when i want a student to answer a question in throught the hacky sack at them, saves time, and keeps everyone engaged and on there toes. Over all im enjoying my job. feels good to like what your doing. thats for sure.

Hard Knock Life... the good the bad the ugly.

1. zua, my puppy, proudly brings home different parts of animal carcus everyday, and deposits them at my feet like a proud daughter. The most revolting was an unidentfiable tuft of hairy skin, that smelled as if it had been rotting in the hot african sun for days (which it probably has)

2. I have had 4 ant infestions--- woken up with little ants crawling all over my body-- in the past two weeks. Try getting rid of a creepy crawly feeling and going back to sleep after that one.

3. Its been raining here for the past 3 days, and when in rains in Moz. life stops. Its like a killer snow storm in NYC. Its a liscense to stay in your house and do nothing, and you dont even have to call to break plans, its expected. beautiful!

The first day of school?

2006-02-04T04:16:00.000-08:00

Well the first day of classes was supposed to Wednesday. I spent Monday and Tuesday night reading the 11th and 12th grade books, grueling over the best way to introduce myself, and present my class as fun, exciting, and passable with out cheating or sexual favors. I wanted to convey to my students that I want them to learn English, that my successes are their successes, that they can have confidence in me to give their work the grade it deserves, sound pretty rudimentary right. Well the educational system is a little different here. English is often viewed as impossible to pass, bc the majority of the teachers dont speak english, and are threatened when students speak better then them, so they give unfair tests exc. Social status and student-teacher relationships unfortunetly weigh just as heavily into the final grade as the quality of their work. So hours of prep work I emerged with 2 90 minute lessons that i felt comfortable with, incorporating speaking, writing, reading, and critical thinking. We would have a discussion on why its important to learn English. Write the class rules together. I would go over my expectatons (which the dork in me came up with the 4 p's punctual, prepared, participate = pass) was so excited to write it on the board. Then the students would pair up, difficulty in itself student are not use to pair group work... The style here is a 90 minute lecture where students rapidly take notes and discouraged from asking the every importan Why question or challenging the teacher.... anways the students would pair up and interview each other, question sin different tenses so i could evaluate where they were at... it was going to be beautiful but.

When I arrived hour early visual aids in hand there were no students to be found. Apperantly the school posted the Turmas (class list late), because students didnt know their schedule they were not able to go to class... Take about an adrenline crash... APPARENTLY the directo decieded the first day of class should be monday, even though wednesday was nationally the officially first day of school... somehow the entire town of Dondo recieved the memo memo but the american teachers. eu esteve um pocou frustrado.

Ate Segunda Feira!

The nitty gritty

-Teaching 5 Turmas (Classes), 3 11th grade and 2 12th grade, totaling over 300 students. Should be quite the adventure.

- I have a dog her name is Zua, Sol in Sena. She is my closest friend here, yes i may return a strange peace corps volunteer that talks to animals like their people.

- Got tricked into going on a date with a man who loved to hear himself talk and hated to listen. long story and not enough time to explain. But it included a sunset walk on a beach, a concert, dinner, sounds romantic! Well it would have been if i wasnt tricked into going with one of the most pompous men on the planet. going on a date here is like stepping back into gender roles in the 1950s he spoke for me at the restaraunt, told the waited to stop serving me soup, two ladels for were enough, had to listen to ramblings, that fwerent even interesting thoughts or ideas, and was cut off or ignored when i gave my opinion or tried to bring jup a more 'academic' topic... frustrating to say the least, im happy its over and it was free.. he did pay for everything...

rambling thoughts

2006-01-28T05:47:00.000-08:00

Music is everywhere. I can speak poetically about nautres ancient sounds the stiffiling silence of her humidity the crack of devilish thunders so powerfully adult jump in fear of falling in to the abyss below. rain, no thte gentle summers rain that mists the landscape, we are talking rain that comes with urgency afterthe incessant prayers of farmers whose livelyhood depends on a WET rainy season. The droplets smash into the ground with authority to penetrate the very roots of every plant. The rain dances on my tin roof... A sound I can only equate to a full percussion orchestra. and as quickly as the glorious storm ascends it descents, and we are left with only the brief moments of a cool breeze, which we savor, like the last piece of chocolate. Unwrapping it slowly, inhaling deeply, gently wrapping our tounge around its sweetness, enjoying savoring each moment with restraint... until it diesengrates into an aftertaste a memory. Soon enough the humidity will build again she will show her mercy through another one of her fantastic displays.

But I falter and fell into a Robert Frost like description of music and nature... So the music here... Music is continuous here, ringing out from churches, young girls clapping to make a beat to move their bodies too, bomboxes blair Americas newest rappers. There is a sound track to every moment, it begins a 6 am... woken up to 'Lonely, I'm so Lonely' (a Mocambiquan favorite)... The Mamas rise from their straw mat beds, cover there curvaciious bodeis in capulanas, bueatifully woven sheets of fabric that are the standdard dress, and begin their daily routines to the agressive voices of american rappers talking about hardship in the ghetto... There bare feet shuffel over cement or dirt flours to collect bacias to make the daily trip for water, then they begin cleaning there house. dropping to there hands and knees with a warn piece of clothing scrubbing the ground and every service. By this time the men and the children are rousing and she begins to prepare breakfast, reheating last nights dinner rice topped with assorted foloage on the coal oven,. the carry out these daily tasks singing the words of 50 cent, but they dont know that there are black people in america. they dont understand the americas history drips with the blood of there people, they cannot see the social injustices, corruption, economic hardship...how could they, in america we have running, kids have food to eat, shoes to wear, books to read, school is free.... its hard to explain cross cultural diffrences when your country offers and people take for granted lifes necessities that people work so hard here for.

Write me letters!

2006-01-11T07:15:00.000-08:00

My new mailing address>>>

chelsea keyser
caixa postal number 717
beira sofala

*dont worry, you dont need a zip code*

The shortlist of what I appreciate about Mocambique

2006-01-11T06:40:00.000-08:00

1. There is no social disgrace or harm in picking your nose in public places or during conversation. On the contrary, it is highly encouraged to alleviate itchy nostrils or unsightly buggers in a timely fashion no matter the location or circumstance.

2. You are expected to great each person you see, children included, with the time appropriate, boa dia;tarde;noite, and off course inquire about their health, their families health, and how they slept. There is a rhythm to the conversation with expected answers. People are patient the cadence is slow, and strangely endearing.

3. People know how to stroll, in fact there are only tow speed ins Mocambique, slow and slower. I actually had to train myself in the mocambiquan pace, by seeking out the slowest waling mamas, stepping in pace behind them, restraining myself not to pass on the left. There are some serious benefits to strolling
a. You don't sweat as much.
b. You have more time to great more people
c. People have nothing to do in moÃ§cambique, so walking slowly helps the day go by quicker,how'ss that for logic.

4. It is perfectlyacceptablee toentertaina guest in complete silence. People are continuallystoppingg by my house, we sit together in plastic lawn chairs on my Veranda, exchange pleasentries, and if there is nothing else t say, wedon'tt say anything at all. Strangely refreshing.

5. People are direct... Nao faz mal *its all good or you did no wrong* It is acceptable to openly discuss physical imperfections, weight, but hereit'ss a bad thing if your too skinny, so but that in your ceramictoilett bowlAmericaa, unsightly blemishes, unusually largeappendagess, were talking about the human head , you perverts. Also there is no shame of disgrace in talking about physical deformities scars, limps, missingappendagess *many people have missing legs arms due to land mine explosions* many conversations start with What happended to your... Anything visible to the naked eye is fair game for coversation.

6. The common way of carrying objects, any size, weight, or shape is on top of your head. Enough said. *YES, People I am finally able to carry buckets of water on my head!!!

7. MoÃ§cambiquan time, or lack ther off. Events will start 2 hours after the intended time, you cannot expect people to commit to meeting at a specific hour, your best bet is to narrow it down between de manha or tarde, and lastly if you wait long enough what ever you arwearingng for, person or info, will come, sometimes it is a mater of days. It is like living in a romantics dream. Life is not governed by the hands of time but rather the whims of peoples needs and desires.... it is quite likely that you will see MoÃ§ambiquan time in the soon to come shortlist frustrationsons with moÃ§ambiquan culture....

8. Friends, family, collegues, and aquitences demonstrate their fondness and appreciation for eachother through hand holding. It shockingking at first to see men of all ages holding hands as they walked down the street, but i have grown to love it.

9. There is no polite, non self promoting, pompousmpus, or assinine way of putting this. But i hear gosta voce, adora voce, exc, exc on average once a day. While I realize MoÃ§cambiquan men view my white skin as a dollar sign of flashing opportunity, it certainly does help the self esteem to have different men, some quite attractive, falling in love with me every day. And that is all i will say on that point.

10. I pay 5 cents for a bottle of coke, and best of all they recycle and reuse the bottles! Yes environmentalistsalist in me livs on... i am biting my tounge, ok not really, about how coke practically owns moÃ§ambique, but why not support the tenets of capitalism and globaliazation while living in a 3rd world country... ok to make myself clear, i am being completely facious.

Thoughts in Barada

2005-12-28T06:21:00.000-08:00

Walking through those straight lines of coconut trees that only a mans hand could create, too crisp for the scattered seeds of natures unpredictable wind, brillinatly tall smooth bark. Magnificient. But, not like the wise pines i know so well, thick barried deep in Vermont woods, these treees are clean, the ground strewn with dry damp palm branches, I step on the stems to soften my step. I can see a time ago where they used these same palms to make bow and arrows, as the tired rembremts of the life above ease each passing step, aiding my feet along the sandy path, they secure another prupose today. Braided together to form the walls in which life is lived, culture is formed, my hnd not capable of creating such strength and beauty. These cocunt trees are life in Barada, there fruit nuirshed the peoule, the hard exterior creates roads, the leaves the bark makes shelter, the excess provides income.

The near destruction of a small fishing village

2005-12-28T05:49:00.000-08:00

The Eve before Christmas in Barada (a small fishing village only accesiable by a 2 hour boat ride in open ocean. The boat being 40 feet long 10 feet wide made of wood, carrying 50 people, 4 goats, countless chickens, and atleast 2 screaming babies) letºs recount the days events:

Woke up at 6:50 after sleeping a restless night on an estara, reed mat, on a cement floor, half covered by my capulona (make shift mosquito net), after a night of terrifyying dreams, mixed with some truth, of ants passing over my flesh, sprung out of bed with the rootsters cry. With a parched mouth and an unfortunate smell to my body, i looked at the water drum, which off course ws practically empty... looks like my amigas and I would be making another trip to the bumba= imagine a manual pump that brings rain water out of the ground. The rains have come late this seson so the well is really low anda requires a manual bucket and rope, throwing a yellow badone down a 40 foot hole..

We watied patiently for tthe rope to tightetn, knot by knot green plastic ran through my fingers, suddenly splash, sucess water! Thats when i had the rude awakening, this is not a quaint cross cultural experience, I need this water to drink, to eat, to bath. The yellow badone down the well 3 or 4 times until my 25 gallon bnucket was frull, each time waiting in anticipation for the slack to tighten, contact to be made. My bucket now brimming with unrefined water, with pride and a bit of bashfulness I hosted the bucket to my shoulder, as I have not developed the musecles in my neck to crrry it on my head. With both arms steadying the precious load, eyes focused, feet shffeling quickly thorugh the sand, grimacing under the akward weight, but knowing this was the only option, and the process would have to be repeated several more times.

Bucket #2

But round 2 I dropped that g=d d=am yellow badone down the well, that cheap plastic rope slipped right through my tired fingers. The Livelyhood of the small fishing village of Barrada flashed before my eyese, headlines of the following days noticias appeard in bold letters WHITE GIRLS FAILED ATTEMPT OF PROCURING WATER CAUSES DEHYDRATION AND DEATH, (The Onion subheadline, couldn~t she have afforded the bottled water). Panicking, Freda, my best friend who lives in Barada, slaped her head, sighed and disbelief then immediatlygoing into strategic mode, Letºs use the palm leaves from the cocunt trees to braid rope. but with each twist of the bread, primarily due to make lack of craftmanship, crumpled leaves fell from my hand. With her NYC pessimism, cherp3d its not going to work, a silent, anxious, and most likely pissed mocambiquan evaluated the situation, then wandered off... Then we noticed a long stick with a nail in it, a light bulb appeared above this natures wonder, and I had a reaction that could be compated to the sighting of the holy grail.

I could write the wrong, safe the fishing village, with unbridled enthusiasim i plunged that smooth cocunt branch into the well and with slow unbelievable attention to detail I got the yellow baldone and silently celebrated my small victory on Christms eve.

And away she goes...

2005-12-10T02:26:00.000-08:00

Well the first leg of my peace corps adventure is coming to a close but, in typical chelsea fashion, not absent of debacles and diabotuary. The last week of peace corps training can be equated to senior week in college in a country where there are no open container laws. So I passed my Portuguese proficiency test, and all 40 molungos had to do was celebrate, and celebrate we did. Frequenting all the discotecas and barracas Boane has to offer. Our adventures encompassed Peace Corps goals of cross cultural exchange, whether it be teaching a group of mai's the Macaranea, in exchange for learning local dance, swapping drinking games with the Pai's not suprisingly Kings is quite popular here, or showing the criancas (kids) a new move or to on the futebal field.

All in all training has been quite amazing. I feel so blessed, yes I am using the word blessed, to describe the Peace Corps staff in Mozambique- they are down to earth, really truly believe in the tenets of grassroots movements, always soliciting our feedback and putting our suggestions in to action. The language trainers are superb, will absolutely ride our assÂºs on pronunciation, but an hour later we will be chatting easily with them over a beer, where the skeptically tell us the naughtyPortuguesee words saying.

And who know how amazing mocambique is as a country...Thee people are so genuine and relaxed.Thiss country is absent of ethnic and religious tension, truly amazing. The longer I spend here the moreIi come to believe that there recent violent history ismischaracterizedd as a civil war--- its was other countrys ideology-- racist ideology driving and funding the rebels-- but perhaps more importantly those who joined renamo were not ascribing to the ideology but rather were the estranged rural population of mocambique who sought to fulfill their basic needs, and Renamo who scarred the memeories of so many, for raiding and pillaging villages were able to provide food and land. The lack of and distruction of infrastructure during that time is so telling, I'm reading a book now A Complicated War which i highly suggest, that interviewsdisplacedd rural people post renamo invasion of there town. The majority them did not know the difference between Renamo and Frelimo (the governing power who freed them from Portugueses colonization), had never heard of Somara Michel, the president of Mocambique. Truly astonishing, the poorest citizens bearing the brunt of a outside funded war, who did not know enough even to determine who to pledge their allegiace to. Now, nobody likes to talk about the war, its as if people have locked the door and throne away the key. Mocambiquans are famous for understating the situations that they have sufferend through and problems that thy face today. (another example there was a deadly drought in sofala where many people died, and when i inquired about the gravity of the situation, people referred to as a bit of a dry spell, nao problema!?!?) This lack of attentioun to detail has proven a bit frusterating for me (a bit ironic)... inquring minds always want to know.
(ok so that was a bit of a tangent)

So to quickly recap the last 72 hours of my life
1. I got really really really sick, my doctor thinks it was 3 back to back cases of food posioning... just imagine wierd colors and uncomfortable textures pretty consisently coming out of anywhere you can imagine. But now worries Cipro did the trick and I was good to go to for swearing in!
2. I am officially a Peace Corprs Vol, i was sworn in a the ambassador house, really really chique swanky party with all thministers of educatioun, where i vowed to protect the constiutioun of america (same oath the military takes, yes, it made me feel extremly uncomfortable)
3. Then we went to this sweet resort in the mountains, where we all had to shell out $20 to spend the night-- but this place was off the heazy, 2 bedroom apt, full kitchen, living room... so we lugged in lots of food and drink and partied until the sun came up!
4. Monday I fly to Dondo Sofala (the running joke is they sent me to Sofala becase (so fala = only talks, aka i talk a lot) to begin my new life!

life is calling how far will you go?

Eu falo Portguese e Sena?

2005-11-30T23:29:00.000-08:00

Boa Tarde, Muwanga?
Ndawanga, peno imwe.
Ndawang, Obrigada.
Ine ndini Chelsea. Ine ndinenda a donde, Sofala. Munanguan dinenda scola ca funzissa. Ndissafuna on amaningui Mocambique!

Taenda, Chelsea

(Good afternoon, How are you?
Iºm fine, and you?
Iºm fine as well thank you.
My name is Chelsea and I am going to live in Dondo, Sofala. I goig to be a teacher. I want to travel around all of Mocambique. Later, Chelsea)

That's right people i am learning how to speak the local dilect of Sofala, Sena, and to make things even more complicated, i'm learning Sena in Portuguese. My notes are entirely in Portuguese, i hate to say it, but i am seriously impresed with myself.

Quicky udate

I am going to live in Dondo, Sofala. Sofala is in teh center region on the coast. Historically its important to Mocambique because it boasts the port city of Beira, ill be 45 min from there, which was a major trade avenue with Zimbabwae and South Africa. But, dring the Portugues colonization much of the trade was directed to Eastern Asia away from Africa. Sofala has a really interesting political history, because it was a strong hold and some claim the birth place of RENAMO... the opposition to FERLIMO during the civil war... RENAMO was funded by South Africa and Rhodesia, becasue these coutnries wanted to destabalize the black mocambiquan govt )FERLIMO) that came to power... god, i had no idea how far the effects of South African Aparthied stretched. So Im really excited to live in a nother post conflict situation should prove interesting.

I had Thanksgiving Mocambiquan style, boiling a vat of potatoes over an open flame for 10 hours, chicken instead of turkey, and off course rice and kovi were served. but all in all the food was good, the company warm, and the wine plentiful. Yes, i got a bit tipsy with the American Ambassador!

On a sad note My cell phone was stolen last weekend at the discotheque... ill try to purchase another one. sympathy emails and or donations will be accepted ;)

Patience is more than a virtue, its a way of life

2005-11-12T04:04:00.000-08:00

If i learn one thing in the next two years it will be patience! Life here is slow, each event or task is sandwhiched between half an hour of waiting, for no apparent reason. people don~t ask why, they merely are content to sit and be, and then for no apparent reason the program, or what not will commence. If i can learn to sit and be I will be happy here... American culture has engrained in us that waiting or unstructured time equals unproductivity and slothfulness. But, like a cross cultural warrior im trying to overcome this, and using the time to jsut become aware of myself, my breathing, my surrounding, validating the time for what it is life. Very much thanks to Sarah light who gave me Peace is Every Step, much of this zen~mediative words a spout are inspired from ideas found in this book.

Some quick updates

1. Everyone needs a little Pologomy in their life.

I learned last week that father, seniour chefe (ie sherieff of my town) not only has one adoring wife, BUT 3 Wives. Yes folks, that is right. Pologomy is still widly practice in Mocambique, im leaving with his primera mulher (first woman) so this family is definatly better off. The kids across the stree that live ina partly constructed cement house, which is missing a roof, i learned are not my cousins, but his second wifes children. But, his second wife lives in Maputo (capital city) so ghis 13 year old daughter takes care of the 4 children. Bit your ethnocentric tounge chelsea. His third wife lifes in Xai Xai, the city inwhich he was born... so he travels there a few times a year. So my father has around 15 kids, the family situation gets sticker by the minute. Its ahrd for me not to lose respect for the man. But by Mocambique he is a good man-- he has three beautiful woman, healthy children, and he is a good father (provides money, doesnt drink too excessively, and is not physcially abusive). I am coming to realize it will be close to impossiable to date, seeing mozambiquan men donºt understand teh word monogomy and their manhoods is judged on there number of girlfriends.... only time will tell.

2. The Traveling Bacia

Literally my livelihood is in my Bacia, a green plastic bucket that i depend on! So let me take you through the day in the life of my Bacia.

Night

I fill my Bacian with water from the well in my yard for my bucket bath shower, third of the day. Afterwards I fill my Bacia with more water and bring it into my room. After Dinner the Bacia is then used to wash my hands, face, and brush my teeth. Then, this sounds really gross, but everyone does it in mocambique bc its to dark to go outside at night, I pee in the bacia! and don~t you all front like you dont have to pee in teh middle of the night, its out of necesity.

Morning

Empty the Bacia into the bano. clean the bacia and then use it to take a bucket bath shower, then my dirty socks and running closthes are soaked in the bacia.

Afternoon,

Remove the dirty running close, use the bacia to collect water to pure through my filter. I have to Boil and Filter my water here. Then the Bacia is filled for the 2nd bucket bath shower. The Bacia gets to rest between lunch and dinner, much needed and well desereved.

i thought this would provide an interesting insiet into my life... Chelsea and her green Bacia.

3. ESL teaching has begun...

We started model school this week, where kids voluntarily come to school on their summer break, because its summer here. It feel so good to teach, and the kids really respond to my lessons. although sometimes a little too much, i had 2 students in my 9th grad class ask me out. its wierd here, because in 9th grade people are anywhere from 13 to 25... i told them private tutoring wasnt part of my policy. The whole dynamic between teacher student is crazy, is commonly accepted fro female students to sleep with male teachers to get a passing grad, were talking 12 year old girls. but i have to keep my feminist mouth shut! diffcult to say the least. Next week im teaching my 9th graders how to structure a paragraph, woo hoo!

I

Taking a Ride of the Roller Coaster

2005-11-06T05:24:00.000-08:00

Roller coaster of my emotions that is! I've been up, down, back, forth, and inside out this past week... So on Wednesday I woke up at 3:30 to embark upon the long awaited and much needed site visit (aka go stay in a volunteer at there site for 5 days to hang out and party). We took only midly overcrowded Chappa 4.5 hours norht to the small town of Malehize, which is definatly in the Bush- very few houses have running water and electricity, there is a small market the sells only tomato, onion, lettuce on a good day, eggs, potatoes, soda, and the staple of beer. I spent 3 days sleeping and laying out on a straw mat reading. I desperatly needed time to decompress, living with a house family is not easy, and id didn't realize the stress i was under and tell i left it. It was fabuluos to not eat rice at every meal as well.

This weekend was amazing-- one of the volunteers hooked us up with a FREE beach resort house! Were 20 people came to drink beer, eat well, swim and tan. Late nights of talking drunking politics and midnight skinny dipping in the Indian Ocean. I have never felt more a live. There is somthing so liberating, almost like a return running naked in the starlight... amazing.

Now I return to my host family for 5 weeks of intensive model school- where i teach everyday practice lesson planning, then i go to sight to my own house, thank god.

Hope everyone is well. Keep working your magic and making change.

on a side night, mozambique is teaching me patience and the value of unstructured time, a challenge to say the least.

(My views do not represent those of the US govt of peace corps) I just found out i have to include that in my blogor it could be shut down, i let you make the comments about our totalitarian government.

2005-10-22T07:03:00.000-07:00

She opens her land for you, out of rusty red blood emerges your matope houses, she is looking for life- bright skies, fiery sun, salty tears kiss the shore of Mozambique while fort prints are left by brown toes bearing there burdens of life. Walk in the roots of her rhythm, you have arrived, chelsea to find your place in a community of strangers, to make a difference, to teach, to learn, to give, to take, and to be humbled by the simply complex web of life.

I find myslef timidly approaching my task. First I had to relieve my mind that this is not an imperalitstic mission formed by George Bush to export Capitalism and American Culture. I am here becase the Mozambique government asked me to be. I am at the start of something beautiful, shaping the minds of those individuals who will dicate the outcome of this fragile country- the posibilities are endless and the vision so big. But in order to process my day to day reality the vision must be scaled down. Cross cultural exhcange is built by individuals interacting, success can be measured in new friendships, sharing new ideas, or a student who is inspired to learn, becuase it is these individuals that make communities, communities that make people, and people who create changes in their country.

I continue to grow here mentally, physcially, and spirtually, but no one could have prepared me for the amount of religion I would be bombarded with here. Were not talking touchy feely UU, were talking soul clapping bible thumpin church! My family goes to the type of church you can hear before you can see... their voices are not delicate and harmonies in the western fashion but deep and beautiful singing from somewhere I've never been before. The men sit on the left, the women on the right, while the children roam free in the back. Voices were accompined by drums and dancing, people move freely with out fear or upsetting some ancient traditonal worship. We sang for a solid 45 mintues, then the preaching began, every phrase reafirmed by an Amen I undrestood nothing because the bulk was in Chanaga.. then the doors were abruptly closed blocking out all light from the chruch and the people went into a trance like state speaking in Tounges- I think. I tried to find my 'happy place' but it was difficult due to the sheer volume in which people portrayed.... to cut the story short. I was asked to go into the front of the church and say a few words. I struggled to find words that could sit comfortably between my personal convictions and the evangelical church... I was somewhat succesful because I got a few amens and halleliuas

theres a story!

so write me at:
Chelesa Keyser
Corpo da paz
CP 4392
Maputo, Mozambique

Call Me 258-824-101-232

Love you all!

Nao entendo...

2005-10-08T01:55:00.000-07:00

The most used Portuguese phrase "i dont understand"

Well folks i survived my 17 hour plane ride to Maputo Mozambique just one week ago, but oh my god do i feel like i have lived a lifetime! So my first days were spent at Kaya kwanga a plush hotel where we got soo many shots like 8 and had intense orientation. This hotel was off the hizzy, the contestents of moZAMBIQUuan IDOL were staying there (yah for globalization american idol has even made it to mozam). so after 3 days of luxury we boarded chappas (12 passanger vans, except in Moz a minimum of 18 people are on each van)and rolled nto the narrow sandy streets of Barroi Fishe, the streets are lined with houses made of cement, rock. or reed, smiling phases emerged, mainly women wrapped inbeautiful barbirs that ere worn from the days work. Barley understing what our PEACe CORPS insturtcters were saying, one by one we wree booted out of the van- excitment and fear as i met my new family. So im runnin out of time. I have 3 brother and 3 sisters all living in a 3 room house, one of which is mine). I WAKE up everymorning at 5:30 to sweep and mop my room and the house, take a bucket bath shower (thre's no running water), and go to class until 5 or so. The languages classes are really intense but realy necessary. Times running out so know that i am happy here!

I'm going to Africa

2005-09-27T06:47:00.000-07:00

Ok i'm off to Africa today!

I will have a cell phone, number to come, and i get free incoming calls. So holla at your African chelsea.

Peace and love to all