Let's Take a Walk

Let’s see if I can try to paint a picture for you of what I see on my couple mile walk to school in the afternoons.

Leaving my house and heading out towards the highway road to the school, I take the path that cuts through the primary school.  Children run around everywher, and I always hear them yelling from afar “Ecunha”, to which, depending on my mood, I will ignore, reply “Boa tarde” or give a wave.  I have started telling kids that that’s not my name, and if they want me to respond they have to learn my name.  I always respond when they greet me as Senhora Professora though. But anyway, I continue on.

It is not uncommon to see sheep grazing on the grass alongside the school buildings.  These aren’t the white fluffy sheep from America, but are brown, almost resembling goats.  I pass the school and continue down the cobblestone road leading out of the Vila de Murrurpula, passing the understated white Catholic church and houses.  There is always music blasting from these houses, kids playing around, people sitting under the shade of the trees. 

Walking now for about ten or fifteen minutes from my house, I now reach the highway, a paved road (one of a few in the country, this is the major highway that spans the entire length of the country) with no painted lines, just wide enough for two cars.  A car, semi-truck, or, more frequently, motorcycles, pass about one or two every minute or so, so not heavy amounts of traffic on this major “highway”.  At least one motorcycle rider almost always stops to offer me a ride, to which I quickly have to explain PC’s strict rule against riding motorcycles and they shake their heads not really understanding but accepting another crazy thing from the American.  Other motorcycles or passing cars honk a warning as they come flying past, and boy have you better move out of their way because they certainly aren’t going to move!

Descending a slight hill, houses continue to line the road for a bit, and I pass two guys making concrete bricks, goats grazing on the grass alongside the road, someone herding some sad looking cows down the path, more people greeting “Boa tarde” or simply staring at me as I pass.  The Mozambican stare is pretty intense and they have no hesitations whatsoever about staring blatantly and fiercely at you, but I have come to realize that, for the most part, their faces quickly soften when I greet them and they aren’t so scary anymore.

Just at the base of the hill, is my favorite part of the walk.  There is a break in the houses and an expanse of green landscape set against a bright blue sky,  a small stream bed where sometimes you can see people picking something from the riverbank, palm trees, other trees I don’t know, tall grasses, a jungle-like grassland I guess, the rock mountain which resembles Half Dome breaking up the flat land.  It’s always so peaceful here, you can hear birds chirping, and it’s just green green green, a great reminder of how beautiful this country is. 

As I start the incline up the hill now, still continuing along the highway, I pass a mosque and houses reappear alongside the road.  Almost every yard lately has corn growing, a couple houses have little wooden stands to sell cookies, soap, candy, etc. 

I then reach the fence of the cashew factory where they process raw cashews, and the road steepens a bit.  Near the top of the hill, there is a restaurant/bar where sometimes I stop to get a cold soda and a break from the blazing sun.  It’s about this point where I definitely get tired of walking and just want to get there and get out of the sun.

Finally, about 10 minutes past the hill summit is the dirt entrance-road to the school.  This dirt road is lined with newly planted baby trees until you reach the newly built fence of the school grounds.  (Someday, I am hoping to organize some kids to paint a mural on the wall.)

The school has six brick buildings, each with two classrooms.  Students are required to wear a uniform with a white collared shirt and black pants for boys and a skirt for girls.  I wear a white “bata” (resembles a lab coat) over my clothes, the standard attire of a professor.  Classrooms have about 25=30 desks which seat two or three students, a table up front for the professor to use and a chalkboard, and that’s it.  Students’ “textbooks” are their notebooks where they copy all the professor’s notes from the board, and that’s their only reference.  I am trying to break up their “learning” style a bit and get them to actually understand things rather than just regurgitate information/definitions.  They definitely struggle with critical thinking skills and can spout off any definition you give them, but they don’t really know what any of the words mean.  It’s something that is hard to understand when you come from a culture where, even at a young age, we are always encouraged to ask why and how.