Most houses in Mozambique are made of local materials. In the north, a typical house is made of mud blocks with a thatched roof. To get the blocks, you dig a hole next to where you want to build a house to get your mud. This way you don’t have to transport the blocks, and you have a nice trash pit for when the house is finished. You mix the mud with a little bit of water and put it in rectangular (brick-shaped) molds to form the blocks. Then you let the blocks sit in the sun for a few days. To construct your house, you dig a small trench about 8 inches deep for the foundation, including the outer and inner walls. To lay the blocks, you start at the corners and work your way out, making a sort of step-pyramid at each corner that grows with each additional layer of blocks. To hold the blocks together mud is used. Sticks and string are also used in this process to guarantee that the walls are being built straight, both horizontally and vertically. When you want to leave space for windows or doors, you can put bamboos across the top to support the blocks above the space.
A typical house is about 15 feet wide and 30 feet long, in my estimation. It will include the main living room, two bedrooms, and a dispensary, which can be used as a kitchen, or another bedroom. Each of these four rooms will be based in one of the corners of the house. (The cooking is done outside, and meals are usually eaten outside as well.) It will usually have two doors, each exactly in the middle of the 30-foot walls, positioned such that if both are left open you can see directly through the house. If the house is made with just one door, you may not later knock out blocks to make a second door. If you do, someone in your family will die. It will have either three or four windows, all on the 30-foot walls. The 15-foot walls never have windows. An average house of this type will have about 7 people living in it.
Roofs are angled in the typical manner that one might imagine, with sloping sides that peak in the middle of the 15-foot walls. To make the roof, you first lay a tight grid of bamboos. Then, if you can afford it, (which most people can), you use rolls of what resembles trash-bag plastic or a very flimsy tarp to cover the bamboos. On top of that, you put roof thatch, which looks pretty much like straw, or like dried reed-grasses. Then, so the thatch doesn’t blow away, you cover it with a widespread grid of bamboos. The peak is reinforced with extra plastic and thatch. The roof hangs about a meter in front of and behind the 30-foot walls, creating small verandas in front and in back. You will rotate your cooking/sitting spot around the house, depending on the time of day and positioning of the sun so that you are always in the shade.
Pretty much anyone here knows how to make a house. If you’re really poor, you will make your own, maybe with the help of some neighbors. If you’re not so poor, you can pay someone to make it. If you don’t have much else going on in your life, you can make the blocks in about 5 days, construct the house in about 6 days, and get the roof done in about 2 days, if the supplies are ready. All in all, a house can be made, from start to finish, in about 2 weeks. Most people don’t do it that fast because they have to go to their farms and do other stuff, but if you hire someone to do it, it can be really quick.
In the south, houses are often made of sturdy reed bases, with woven/braided banana or coconut tree leaves as the roofs. The bases will have vertical wooden posts periodically, which support horizontal bamboos, which hold the reeds in place. I imagine that the roofs are made in a similar fashion to roofs in the north, with bamboos and plastic, but I’m not sure.
I was going to leave the bathroom out, but I just decided to include it. Your bathroom will be separate from your house. First, you dig a very deep, but not too wide, hole. Then you put boards across most of the opening, leaving a 6 x 6 inch square uncovered. This is the hole where you will do your business. The boards are then covered with mud. This area is enclosed by roof thatch walls, using bamboos to hold them in place. The bathroom is roofless (I still can’t figure out why, it would be cheap, easy, and convenient for it to be covered, but no one does it!), which makes it very cold to take a bath in the wind, even with heated water, and very inconvenient to have to relieve yourself when it’s raining. A cloth can be used to close the doorway.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Greeting Children
The school is about a mile from my house. To get there, I take a path that cuts through my neighborhood. About 30 seconds into my walk the first kid sees me. “Good morning!!” he or she shouts to me. I respond. The kids in the next house hear and come to the path to yell good morning, which alerts the kids in the following house that I’m coming, who then come to greet me, which signals to the kids in the house after that to come out, and so on and so forth. All in all, there are about 3-4 solid minutes of greeting kids as a walk through my neighborhood. The main road that goes to the school doesn’t have many houses, so the only greetings there are with the people who pass going the other way, but seeing as how those people change every day the greetings aren’t as enthusiastic.
Now most young kids in Nacaroa don’t know how to speak Portuguese, or they know how to say certain phrases, but don’t know exactly what each one means. Therefore, common greetings with these children go as follows:
Me: Good morning!
Kid: Good morning!
Me: How are you?
Kid: How are you?
Me: I’m fine.
Kid: I’m fine.
Kid: Good morning!
Me: Good morning!
Kid: Good afternoon!
Me: Good MORNING!
Kid: Good morning!
Me: Good morning!
Kid: How are you?
Me: I’m fine!
Kid: Good morning!
Me: Good morning...again!
Sometimes we greet in Macua, but I think the kids (and their parents) enjoy it more when they greet me in Portuguese. And once isn’t enough! When I come across a group of them they all should “good morning” together. I respond. But they don’t know which one the response was for, so they all keep shouting “good morning, good morning” repeatedly as I walk by. The kids on the way to the school are used to seeing me every day and get excited to come greet me. Kids who I come across in random places have various reactions. Some hide behind the other people they’re with. Others cry. Others wait until I’ve passed, and then yell good morning after me. Others respond normally, but then giggle excitedly with their friends once I’ve passed. Others yell “good morning,” but then run away and hide without waiting for a response. Others just stop and stare at me.
Now most young kids in Nacaroa don’t know how to speak Portuguese, or they know how to say certain phrases, but don’t know exactly what each one means. Therefore, common greetings with these children go as follows:
Me: Good morning!
Kid: Good morning!
Me: How are you?
Kid: How are you?
Me: I’m fine.
Kid: I’m fine.
Kid: Good morning!
Me: Good morning!
Kid: Good afternoon!
Me: Good MORNING!
Kid: Good morning!
Me: Good morning!
Kid: How are you?
Me: I’m fine!
Kid: Good morning!
Me: Good morning...again!
Sometimes we greet in Macua, but I think the kids (and their parents) enjoy it more when they greet me in Portuguese. And once isn’t enough! When I come across a group of them they all should “good morning” together. I respond. But they don’t know which one the response was for, so they all keep shouting “good morning, good morning” repeatedly as I walk by. The kids on the way to the school are used to seeing me every day and get excited to come greet me. Kids who I come across in random places have various reactions. Some hide behind the other people they’re with. Others cry. Others wait until I’ve passed, and then yell good morning after me. Others respond normally, but then giggle excitedly with their friends once I’ve passed. Others yell “good morning,” but then run away and hide without waiting for a response. Others just stop and stare at me.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Quality vs. Quantity
Quality vs. Quantity
Quality and quantity are enemies. Where there is quantity, quality is often not important, and rarely achieved. Where there is quality, quantity suffers. But how do you balance this inverse relationship to get what’s best for everyone? If you focus on quality, what will change if you increase quantity by 1%? Probably nothing. What about 5%? 20%? 50%? How do you draw the line between doing what’s best and what looks best?
Let’s look at schools in Mozambique. They say that completing 7th grade is mandatory (but in reality it’s no more mandatory that having a driver’s license to drive) which makes putting caps on class size difficult. An average primary school classes has about 50-80 students. Even with optimal resources, well-trained teachers, and involved parents, getting a good, quality education would be difficult. Now change that to minimal resources, minimally trained and minimally dedicated teachers, and illiterate and uninterested parents, and what do you get? Students who enter secondary school (8th grade) without knowing how to read, write, understand or speak Portuguese very well. Students who can memorize that A=B and B=C, but can’t deduce that A=C. Students who complete 10th grade without being able to locate their own country on a map of eastern Africa. Students who need to use a calculator to do 3x7.
So my question is this: is it better to have 80 students who kind of know a little bit about a few subjects, or 40 students who know a fair amount about most subjects, and 40 kids who are illiterate? Because, in my opinion, if the lower achieving 50% of the students just got kicked out of school, the remaining 50% would be able to learn a fair amount. The “humanitarian” has to answer that all children have the right to education, and that all 80 students have the right to go to school. But what if realizing this right for the lower achieving 50% jeopardizes the education of the higher achieving 50%? What if, in the higher achieving 50%, there exist students who would be capable or learning how to be engineers, doctors, and various other professions that Mozambique imports from China and South Africa, at the benefit of these other countries? But these students never have the opportunity to show what they’re capable of.
In my opinion, from what I’ve seen here, Mozambique would have a better future sooner if all kids didn’t have the right to education. I know it sounds awful, but it’s true. At a public school here, it’s nearly impossible to get a quality education, and rare to get even a decent education. Example: I give tests that have 20 multiple choice questions, each question having 4 options. In two of my classes I asked the students what grade they would statistically get if they randomly guessed for every question. Out of approximately 70 12th-graders, exactly one knew that the answer was 5. If that’s half-way through 12th grade, imagine what all they don’t know after 7th grade. Is Mozambique educating its citizens to be able to lead and develop the country in the future? Will it always have to hire people from other countries to do things that are too advanced for them to do themselves? Will it always depend on foreign aid to fund all aspects of its functioning?
I know I sound pessimistic, but I’m also being realistic: Mozambique does not currently have the resources and infrastructure to give every child a quality education. Yes, we can say that they should work on building more schools and training more teachers. With what money? And what about right now? I know as a democratic American I’m supposed to say, “but even if the child can learn one thing that will help them in their lives, then it’s worth it for them to go to school.” Fine. If there were enough schools and teachers I would be 100% for that. But given the conditions that actually exist, is it worth it for one child to learn one useful thing while robbing another child of learning five useful things?
Quality and quantity are enemies. Where there is quantity, quality is often not important, and rarely achieved. Where there is quality, quantity suffers. But how do you balance this inverse relationship to get what’s best for everyone? If you focus on quality, what will change if you increase quantity by 1%? Probably nothing. What about 5%? 20%? 50%? How do you draw the line between doing what’s best and what looks best?
Let’s look at schools in Mozambique. They say that completing 7th grade is mandatory (but in reality it’s no more mandatory that having a driver’s license to drive) which makes putting caps on class size difficult. An average primary school classes has about 50-80 students. Even with optimal resources, well-trained teachers, and involved parents, getting a good, quality education would be difficult. Now change that to minimal resources, minimally trained and minimally dedicated teachers, and illiterate and uninterested parents, and what do you get? Students who enter secondary school (8th grade) without knowing how to read, write, understand or speak Portuguese very well. Students who can memorize that A=B and B=C, but can’t deduce that A=C. Students who complete 10th grade without being able to locate their own country on a map of eastern Africa. Students who need to use a calculator to do 3x7.
So my question is this: is it better to have 80 students who kind of know a little bit about a few subjects, or 40 students who know a fair amount about most subjects, and 40 kids who are illiterate? Because, in my opinion, if the lower achieving 50% of the students just got kicked out of school, the remaining 50% would be able to learn a fair amount. The “humanitarian” has to answer that all children have the right to education, and that all 80 students have the right to go to school. But what if realizing this right for the lower achieving 50% jeopardizes the education of the higher achieving 50%? What if, in the higher achieving 50%, there exist students who would be capable or learning how to be engineers, doctors, and various other professions that Mozambique imports from China and South Africa, at the benefit of these other countries? But these students never have the opportunity to show what they’re capable of.
In my opinion, from what I’ve seen here, Mozambique would have a better future sooner if all kids didn’t have the right to education. I know it sounds awful, but it’s true. At a public school here, it’s nearly impossible to get a quality education, and rare to get even a decent education. Example: I give tests that have 20 multiple choice questions, each question having 4 options. In two of my classes I asked the students what grade they would statistically get if they randomly guessed for every question. Out of approximately 70 12th-graders, exactly one knew that the answer was 5. If that’s half-way through 12th grade, imagine what all they don’t know after 7th grade. Is Mozambique educating its citizens to be able to lead and develop the country in the future? Will it always have to hire people from other countries to do things that are too advanced for them to do themselves? Will it always depend on foreign aid to fund all aspects of its functioning?
I know I sound pessimistic, but I’m also being realistic: Mozambique does not currently have the resources and infrastructure to give every child a quality education. Yes, we can say that they should work on building more schools and training more teachers. With what money? And what about right now? I know as a democratic American I’m supposed to say, “but even if the child can learn one thing that will help them in their lives, then it’s worth it for them to go to school.” Fine. If there were enough schools and teachers I would be 100% for that. But given the conditions that actually exist, is it worth it for one child to learn one useful thing while robbing another child of learning five useful things?
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Giving Birth
Giving birth is a battle. Sometimes there’s a cry and a sigh. The result of the birth being a tie in which mother and child win life. Other times there’s a cry and silence, the child killing the mother and taking her soul as a trophy. Or there’s a sigh and silence, the mother killing the child, but preserving her own life. And finally, there’s total silence, the result of the birth being a tie in which mother and child kill one another in the fury of the battle.
From Paulina Chiziane’s “O Alegre Canto da Perdiz” (The Happy Song of the Partridge)
From Paulina Chiziane’s “O Alegre Canto da Perdiz” (The Happy Song of the Partridge)
Monday, June 6, 2011
Cinderella: An Ungrateful Crybaby
When we read the story of Cinderella in the US, we hear about a poor, mistreated girl who was unjustly forced to do housework, sleep with rats, eat left over food, and wear old, torn clothes after her mother’s death and father’s remarriage. In the US, Cinderella is a fairy tale; something so sad and unfortunate that it could never happen. In Mozambique it is the life that many children are happy to have. Children here, even those with both parents living and married (which is rare), do basically all of the cleaning around the house. This includes washing the clothes and dishes by hand, sweeping the yard, helping to care for younger children, helping cook, going to the market, helping in the fields, and carting water in 20 liter jugs carried on their heads, etc. But many children here don’t grow up in a house with both of their parents. For children who have lost one or both of their parents, or come from poor families, common situations include:
1. One or both parents died. The child is adopted by a neighbor or relative.
2. The father abandoned the mother or denies that the child is his. The mother probably has no money, so A) she sends the child to live with a neighbor or relative OR B) the child has to help a lot in the fields and doesn’t go to school.
3. The parent(s) have no money. They send the child to live with a neighbor or relative.
4. A neighbor or relative wants help around the house or caring for a child so they ask the child’s parents to send the child to come live with them.
5. There isn’t a school near the parents’ house, so they send the child to live with a friend or relative in a larger town.
6. The parents split up and neither one wants the child, so they send it to live with a relative.
7. The parents are young and want to finish school, not get married or start a family, etc, so they send the child to live with a relative.
Notice that almost all of these situations end with the child living with a neighbor/friend/relative, which the child will refer to as aunt or uncle, regardless of biological relationship. These aunts and uncles are then responsible for feeding, clothing, and in general caring for the child. In return, the child must help a lot around the house, in the fields, caring for younger kids, etc, which these children do obediently, respectfully, and without self-pity. They brag about how much water they can carry and debate who’s stronger. They show pride when they can make their nieces and nephews (the kids of the “aunts and uncles” are referred to as nieces and nephews) stop crying or go to sleep. They responsibly hold the money they are given when they are sent to the market, giving their friends glimpses to make them jealous. At mealtime, children are often given a communal pot of food to fight over. It includes the leftovers from the adults, which are usually high in starch and low in vitamins and proteins. Almost all of these kids, and many adults, sleep on reed mats on the floors of houses with rats. In terms of clothes, most children own one school uniform, less than 5 skirts/pants/shorts, about 5 shirts, and one pair of flip-flops. All of these items, except maybe the school uniform, are used and well-worn. And this is life. There isn’t any reason to cry about it, whine about doing work, feel bad for yourself, or expect this to change. And luckily, there’s no fairy god-mother to throw you off with images of dances and princes and beautiful things that will never be yours.
1. One or both parents died. The child is adopted by a neighbor or relative.
2. The father abandoned the mother or denies that the child is his. The mother probably has no money, so A) she sends the child to live with a neighbor or relative OR B) the child has to help a lot in the fields and doesn’t go to school.
3. The parent(s) have no money. They send the child to live with a neighbor or relative.
4. A neighbor or relative wants help around the house or caring for a child so they ask the child’s parents to send the child to come live with them.
5. There isn’t a school near the parents’ house, so they send the child to live with a friend or relative in a larger town.
6. The parents split up and neither one wants the child, so they send it to live with a relative.
7. The parents are young and want to finish school, not get married or start a family, etc, so they send the child to live with a relative.
Notice that almost all of these situations end with the child living with a neighbor/friend/relative, which the child will refer to as aunt or uncle, regardless of biological relationship. These aunts and uncles are then responsible for feeding, clothing, and in general caring for the child. In return, the child must help a lot around the house, in the fields, caring for younger kids, etc, which these children do obediently, respectfully, and without self-pity. They brag about how much water they can carry and debate who’s stronger. They show pride when they can make their nieces and nephews (the kids of the “aunts and uncles” are referred to as nieces and nephews) stop crying or go to sleep. They responsibly hold the money they are given when they are sent to the market, giving their friends glimpses to make them jealous. At mealtime, children are often given a communal pot of food to fight over. It includes the leftovers from the adults, which are usually high in starch and low in vitamins and proteins. Almost all of these kids, and many adults, sleep on reed mats on the floors of houses with rats. In terms of clothes, most children own one school uniform, less than 5 skirts/pants/shorts, about 5 shirts, and one pair of flip-flops. All of these items, except maybe the school uniform, are used and well-worn. And this is life. There isn’t any reason to cry about it, whine about doing work, feel bad for yourself, or expect this to change. And luckily, there’s no fairy god-mother to throw you off with images of dances and princes and beautiful things that will never be yours.
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