Author: admin

This past winter (technically more like May-July) was kind of a whirlwind. Since May, each week has been marked with a pretty significant event which either included travel outside of my province (that means at least a 5 hour trip in any direction) or a visit from someone – Peace Corps related or not – allowing me to play host in my town, and welcome someone into my daily life here in Inhambane, Moçambique.

It’s a bit overwhelming to think of all that I could write about to catch you up, and sometimes that’s what becomes my barrier to sharing, so I’m going to offer a summary of the highlights of each month, and then give my word that I will write more regularly from now on.

May 2018
May started off with a visit to Nampula in the northern part of Moçambique. I was fortunate to be chosen as a workgroup member for the fairly newly formed, HIV Task Force for Peace Corps in Moçambique, and as such was invited to attend the handover meeting whic took place the first weekend in May. The trip was extremely short, and the meeting brief yet productive. Unfortunately, however, because of where I am located in country, any travel to the national capital is all overland and typically takes about 10 hours by bus. Since travel to Nampula province from my town in Inhambane would be at least 2 days by bus, Peace Corps arranged for me to fly – which meant a bus trip south to Maputo, and then a flight north to Nampula for a one and a half day meeting, with the same plan for the return. If it sounds at all tiring, that’s because it is.

By no means do I have the most challenging travel amongst volunteers though, so I keep that perspective in mind whenever I have to make the journey for official PC travel to the capital. The road I travel is all paved, pothole-less for the most part, and there is an actual “rest-stop” break halfway through the journey where travelers can purchase a prepared meal (usually arroz e frango….chicken and rice), and use a dump-flush toilet (beats baring my bum while peeing in the reeds on the side of the road). All relative indicators of privilege and resources. It is a long journey nonetheless, so after pleading my case, I was granted permission to break up my travel into two days, which I hope will continue to benefit future volunteers placed at my site for service.

I wish I could say more about Nampula, but my perspective was limited to a small section of the city of Nampula. Very much like Nicaragua, and the disconnect between the western/central part of the country and the Caribbean coast, the northern provinces of Moçambique experience life very differently to the south, and there are obviously significant differences between those provinces that are considered “northern region” as well. The resources of many countries tend to be greater in abundance the closer one lives to the financial capital, and many Moçambicans will attest to how the stark disparity between north and south shows up in their lives thousands of miles from Maputo city. I often hear, from those who are or who have lived in the northern provinces, that Moçambique is actually two different countries which exist within one border.

I still have plans, in the first quarter of 2019, to make it back to Nampula and perhaps one or two other provinces in the north. Time, travel options, and of course money are all factors in how and when that could happen, but leaving Moçambique without spending some meaningful time in the north would be like closing a book without having read half of its chapters.

June 2018
June started with yet another trip south to Maputo to support the training of the incoming cohort of health trainees to Peace Corps Moçambique. Moz 30, as they are now known, had been in country just about one week before my co-trainer and I had the opportunity to meet and spend a week with them sharing insights, experiences, and information that would be (hopefully) useful and relevant to their two years of service.

My co-trainer is a health volunteer from my cohort, living and working in the north on health promotion (he was initially placed in Cabo Delgado province, but with the recent violence that has unfolded there, has been moved to a neighboring northern province for the remainder of his service). He and I paired well through the week in terms of how we represented differences in experience related to gender, race and ethnicity, province and region, site size and a our general approach to providing information and support.

This trip was my first time going back to the training community where we had spent 3 months at the start of our Peace Corps journey last year, and would be the first time back to visit my first host family here in Moçambique. In another post I’ll share more about my with my time with my host family in Namaacha (training site), but for now I’ll just say that it was a complex dynamic filled with lots of wonderful and equally challenging moments and experiences.

It turns out that that the brief visits I was able to make to see my host family were so much warmer and joy-filled than I had expected. It was great to see how the family has settled into the role of being “host-family” to their second trainee. I wasn’t expecting to see and hear such pride in how they regarded me as their first volunteer – but it was a comforting feeling that reminded me of the sacrifice they made (and continue to make) to take a stranger into their lives for 3 months, and make them part of the family. In true fashion, my host mother gave me her sassy little attitude when it was time for me to leave, because the visit was way too short. But now as a volunteer, independent in many ways in my life here and now in Moçambique, it was so much easier for me to be me, and accept her as she is, now that we have space between us to recognize, appreciate, and accept who we are as the women that we are.

July 2018
July was the most anticipated of the past few months, because I had the honor of hosting my sister-friend, Teresa, who had come to visit from the States. We had been planning this visit for months, and I realized how excited I was to have someone from back home – who knew me well – witness this part of my life here in Moçambique. Sharing my life here through phone calls, messages, and blog entries is the very least I can do to help everyone in my life envision, much less begin to understand how my life has continued here, but it can never fully capture the full picture of what everyday life here can be.

All that I share is also through my lens – and my lens only – with all of the misinterpretations, prejudgments, assumptions, and privileged conclusions that come along with the filter of my life experience. Having Teresa here to visit me, walk the paths I walk, breathe the air I am breathing, meet the people I’ve come to know, ask an entirely new set of questions, offer summaries of who she is to new friends she inevitably made, and experience Moçambique for herself, was such a blessing.

Teresa came with all of four words in Portuguese, and she left with the ability to greet Moçambicans in both Portuguese and the local language in my town (Chitswa). She remained open for adventure as we took on chapas (standard overcrowded minibuses) and machimbombos (overcrowded big-ass buses); survived some chilly nights that required knee-high socks and two blankets (Moçambique in the winter is no joke!); tried food that neither of us could pronounce properly – but was so good it made us want to dance; we “passeared” plenty to find street food (passear is the Portuguese verb used here for “taking a stroll” with no real destination…but our objective was always snack food!), and watched the brilliance of a colorful sky as the sun set over the Indian Ocean.

And we talked. We caught up on our lives from before we had even met 10 years ago, and continued filling in our stories which included hopes of what life might bring us in the future. Talking, laughing, and being able to feel in my native language – and with a dear friend who has the context of “me” prior to my Peace Corps service, was such a gift.

One of the wonderful benefits of her visit was the effort she made to bring along messages from past-colleagues and friends from back in the States. I received cards, hand-written letters, video messages on the phone that I received to save me from my dying phone here, and little (yet very significant!) care-package items from my Goodman Community Center family that will keep me going into this next and last year of service. I can’t express how much each and every thought means to me – and I’m so thankful to have people in my life (regardless of how physically far away), who continue to look out…and reach out…regardless of where we are in the world.

August 2018
Moz 28, as my cohort is known, came together during the second week in August for our Mid-service conference, which marks the halfway point for our service as volunteers here in Moçambique. It’s typically a conference that lasts for a few days, and is meant to be a time for medical check ups and check ins, reflections on service thus far, visioning for future service and life thereafter, and generally (and arguably most importantly) time for all of us to just be together again.

Coming back together was important – and almost necessary – as we learned the week before midservice that a member of our cohort had recently passed away, not long after ending her service here in Moçambique. I didn’t realize how important it would be for me to be back with the group again – particularly at this time. Learning of the death of our friend and colleague stirred up the greatest fear that I’ve been sitting with since leaving the States, which is how I will be able to manage the loss of those I know (and perhaps love) while I’m so far away. Being around others who are in similar positions, far away from family and friends, and who have have been socialized to mourn such a loss in similar ways, provided opportunities to share memories and reflections, and even provided some much-needed comfort.

The week continued with a very quick trip to South Africa for us to take care of paperwork related to our Visas. It’s been a long process, too complicated to even begin explaining it now (and I don’t even really understand it all anyway), but it continues – and this trip was just a part of the latest in the process. We literally spent two days traveling to and from Nelspruit, South Africa from Maputo, Moçambique, which was approximately a 5 hour trip in either direction. In Nelspruit, we stayed in a really nice hotel, located right next to a large indoor-outdoor mall that had many of us walking around with our mouths open as if this was the first time we were experiencing the wonders of such a construction.

It was a strange feeling, to have left our Moçambicans towns with little (and oftentimes, none) of the glamour and shine of the bigger city – only to end up in Nelspruit which felt like we had just landed in an overly-resourced city in the middle of a chique part of Wyoming. Disorienting (and at times unsettling) to say the least. I’ll be honest, it was really nice to eat nachos with real cheese and guacamole, and browse the MAC store again, but I was really glad when the week and a half of training and visa travel was over, and I was on my way back home to Inhambane. Home.

The best part of August was spending time with the closest of friends I’ve made while here this past year and a half. In addition to the “downtime” we spent together during conference, I was so fortunate to be able to spend a great day with a few other volunteers as we made our way north again from the city. And, after 10 months of sharing my daily life through messages and phone calls from a distance, I was finally able to share my town, my host-family and friends , and my every day, with my “partner in crime” here in Moz.
—–
As I write this, I’m struggling with how incomplete it feels. There is so much more that I could share about the past few months that I can’t capture completely (or respectfully?) now that so much time has passed. When I started writing this blog back in January, I reminded myself that it wasn’t a Peace Corps “project” I decided to start during service and then end the moment I COS (end service). This was a choice i made, after many years of thinking through it, and being encouraged by so many, to share my thoughts and experiences as only I live them.

So I did…start the blog…but it’s not worth anything unless I make the time, choose the words, and share the stories you have asked me to share with you. And so I will…

Since I wrote last describing what my typical week looks like, its not a surprise that thing have changed dramatically since then. Since October, I’ve been imagining the start of a project that is related to the support groups formed through the health centers and hospitals with the intention of easing many of the burdens, and lifting some of the most common obstacles that often stand in the way of people living with HIV & AIDS (PLWHA) and their adherence to anti-retroviral treatment (TARV). With the encouragement and facilitation of health center staff, PLWHA who are living in proximity to others who frequent the same health center and who live in the same neighborhood are encouraged to form groups of at least 2 and up to 6 persons, with the intention of forming an ongoing group of social and logistical support. Understanding that extreme poverty is one of the most significant reasons stated by PLWHA for their non-compliance to TARV treatment – because they simply cannot make it to the health center to pick up their medications – GAAC groups are meant to alleviate some of the obstacles experienced by many on antiretroviral treatment, to make adherence to treatment less of a challenge.

Groups to Support Community Accession, known as GAAC groups, maintain a structure and process which includes a rotating medication pick up each month by a group member, so that members are not responsible for picking up their medications every month, thereby relieving them of the burden of payment for transportation and the cost of lost work/school days. We were introduced to this initiative, developed on the national level, managed at the provincial, and implemented at the local level, during training when we first arrived in Moçambique. A representative came to speak with us to share the mission and vision of GAAC support as it has been envisioned at the macro-level, including many successes that have come from the initiative, leading to a plan to increase the numbers of GAAC groups and PLWHA participating in the process.

The idea of GAAC groups, creating groups of family and/or community members who are seropositive, on treatment, and who are at least marginally accepting of others knowing their status, has the potential to offer a number of benefits to members of groups in terms of logistical and resporce support to remain adherent to antiretroviral treatment. On these terms, many groups have found relief through the rotating responsibity of medication pick-up, particularly in those groups that have managed to maintain a large number (6) participating members. At (6), a group member would not have to visit the hospital to collect the group’s medication more than 2 times per year. For families who are surviving on very little in terms of tangible resources to meet basic needs, this support positively impacts the entire family household – in addition to the individual family/community member.

Regardless of the level at which it has been developed, every initiative/intervention has its pros and its drawbacks. From the beginning, my concern for the mental and emotional support of GAAC members has been my main interest. For a year, during my social work graduate program, I worked with an agency in New York City which focuses on foster care and adoption services for children with “special” needs and chronic medical illnesses. One of the most important observations I made during the time I spent working with families there, was how challenging it is to provide needed support (mentally, physically, and emotionally) to a loved one who is managing a chronic illness – particularly when you have no formal training or education in how to provide such care. This agency had the resources to work with families to learn to recognize the strengths and needs of their loved ones, and was able to offer education to family members so that they might provide better support and care to their loved ones. Although the ideal of the formation of GAAC groups is that they would alleviate logistical obstacles and burdens to HIV care, I was struggling to understand how the process actually offers the mental and emotional support between group members, if they themselves are struggling to care for themselves and possible family members who are also living with HIV.

In my first 6 months at site, during a more focused process of learning about the strengths, resources, and gaps in services that exist within my community, I learned that the hospital is meant to be making regular, monthly visits to these groups to see how they are doing and what support they might need from the hospital and its staff. From GAAC group members, staff at the hospital, and others in the community, it seems that the hospital hasn’t been able to maintain these visits due to their own challenges with resources and other administrative expectations and requirements of stakeholders at all levels. So I decided to draw up a proposal and present it to the depatment sector staff (the medical technicians, nurses, and the Psychologist), and the equivalent of the “Chief of Medicine”, as a project that we could work on together to strengthen GAAC groups, the system surrounding its function within the hospital and community, and perhaps influence the adherence rate of TARV patients in a positive way. My thought was to put together a small team (a nurse, a technician, a community activist known as an “Activista”, the psychologist, and myself as the health volunteer) to visit groups and offer suggestions on how group members can better support each other in terms of their physical, mental and emotional health.

I started this process in November, beginning with a conversation with my Peace Corps supervisor to be sure that I was moving forward in a culturally “humble” manner. I then had all of the conversations mentioned above to be sure that it is was actually a priority, and a “gap” in services available to the community, and a process that would/could sustain after my departure in 2019. We even decided to use the Program Development and Management Seminar (PDM) offered through Peace Corps, which I attended with my counterpart (a young Moçambican woman who is a technician in the same Psycho-social support department), to further develop the idea and begin to think through planning and implementation. Upon returning from the seminar, I had begun to work on locating the registration forms of group members from hospital files (which is often a nightmare in health centers and hospitals here around the country), so that we could begin to contact group members to arrange visits. It was the first time I had started to feel useful here – in some way.

It didn’t take long after coming back from the seminar with my counterpart, that the hopes for forward progress on the project started to take a turn. One of the doctors started to take more interest in the project, only to assert complete control over the process shortly after – and essentially told me that he and the team in the unit would continue to connect with group members and arrange visits – and that I would be informed of the dates of visits when the time came, so that I could participate in that part of the process. That was at the end of April, and nothing has been arranged or communicated to me since then. At first I was really angry about it, considering all of the time, effort, discussion and planning that had already been invested in it. In addition to that, and more personally, it has been an honest realization that the process had begun to provide me with something tangible – and seemingly useful – to focus my time and effort on during my days with the hospital.  And now that was gone.

I’ve continue to go to the hospital, to show up, because it is part of my responsibility here as a Peace Corps volunteer in Moçambique. I also continue to show up – not because of what I believe I might be able to do to be of service for community members in this district, but because somewhere in the future of volunteer placement here, there might be a volunteer whose integral success in working alongside of Moçambican staff at the hospital in service of members of the community – will depend on how I show up and work to sustain a positive relationship with my colleagues here at the hospital during my service. It has been frustrating. It has been disappointing. I am aware, however, that the system that Moçambican staff are working within is complicated and burdened in so any ways, and that contributes to the constant overwhelm that hospital staff feel day to day in the health centers around the country.  Financial constraints, resource limitations, increasing numbers of community members needing treatment, and an increasing demand from Funders and donors to “see” where their dollars are going contribute to the challenges that exist in providing critical care for members of the community. Change is not as simple as drawing up a proposal on a piece of paper.

This project was never about me – so to be in control of, or even an active part of the process of making these support visits happen, is not something that I need. If the visits from the hospital begin, and offer GAAC members the support they need, then the service that the community needed was answered by members of the community itself (hospital staff), and can be better sustained that way. I have to be honest and say that I would have liked to have participated in the visits, for many reasons, but mainly because my interest in supporting families and communities has always acknowledged the importance of mental and emotional health at the center of fully functioning and thriving individuals and communities.

Although this project at the hospital didn’t develop as I had hoped, there have been other relationships I’ve been working to build and develop since arriving at site last August, which have slowly developed into actual working relationships where I can offer some of the skills and information I’ve come with to help support my community here. In February, I started to work regularly (once to twice monthly) with the hospital’s youth clinic, which is located in an altogether separate building from the main hospital. The purpose of the youth unit (SAAJ) is to provide a separate space and tailored care and services for adolescents and youth ages 13-24. The head nurse at the SAAJ welcomed my involvement with open arms, and has been a great connection to have here at site as I’ve introduced the unit to a less didactic and more interactive method of education around family planning, HIV and malaria provention, sexual and reproductive rights, nutrition and general physical, mental and emotional health of young people. As is the case with most of the work of volunteers, things often progress forward, and then take steps back before (hopefully) progressing forward again. Just yesterday I received a message from the nurse that from now on I should be in contact with a doctor for any plans for continued activities in the unit. I’ll just have to wait and see how this relationship changes and develops from here forward.

The other connection that is still fragile – as it is still very new – is one started with a primary school about an hour’s walk from my home, and located in the same community as my community based organization, Tsinela. The school Director and the Director of Education (Chefe do Programas) have both welcomed me in to offer health-related activities with the students at the school, and have also opened up potential to work with staff as well in matters related to health. I’ve been able to arrange one meeting so far – just two weeks ago – with a small group of 6 girls who are participating in a group created specifically to focus on health and leadership for girls in our communities. The first meeting was brief, but it was a nice opportunity for us to begin getting to know one another and discuss what we are hoping to do during our time together. I’m also working with the school to identify a Moçambican woman (ideally) who will be my counterpart in this partnership, so that there is potential to increase the capacity of the work with girls in the community, by joining competencies and developing a structure that can and will continue after I leave. I’m still unsure how often we will be gathering – it’s always one step at a time here.  This, however,being flexible is paramount and why celebrating each step is critical. I’m hopeful that this relationship and the work we’ve begun will continue.

**Originally written 30 April, 2018**

It’s been a year since I landed here in Moçambique. The year has passed with varying amounts of speed – sometimes creeping along like a misplaced tractor on the interstate, and at other times the days have moved forward with a swift and unrelenting diligence and persistence – leaving me beaten up and begging mercy is its wake.

You would think that after a year here in Moçambique in this role as a volunteer, that the stories I would have to tell about activities accomplished and projects realized, would be the topic of conversation for days. In reality, reaching the mid-point of time in country (not yet the mid-point of my service at my site because of the 3 months of training at the start), often comes with an active reflection on, and shifting of, expectations and plans for the remaining days of service. That has been the case for me – and in particular the experience of active reflection – as I continue forward in my time here in country.

Choosing to share my experiences through this blog, at this time, was not a decision I made because I had been accepted to serve in the Peace Corps and wanted to capture this two-year-and-three-month period, and somehow set it apart from the rest of my life in the process. Peace Corps and this blog both stemmed from my desire to live more authentically with what drives and inspires me, and with the courage to face and challenge the fear of vulnerability and risk, which is the foundation of truly living by such terms. So what I share is about my life experience, and may or may not directly reference Peace Corps as the current “container” for everything in this current day.

Over the past few months, since the last time I shared a story with you, I’ve been feeling almost a sense of paralysis in writing. It’s not that I haven’t been having experiences worth sharing with you, or that I lack the time it would take to transfer the lived experience into the words worthy of capturing and creating an accurate picture for you. No, I finally realized what the barrier has been. From a conversation with a dear Peace Corps volunteer-friend one weekend, who is located in one of the northernmost provinces, I realized that it has been difficult for me to uncover and select the words to define my experience to myself – to bring meaning to these events for myself first – before I could even attempt to choose the “right” words to illustrate them for anyone else.

This morning, which started the same way as so many other mornings, something changed as I was reading an article written and shared by another Peace Corps volunteer (now returned after completing her service in another country several years ago). She was sharing her voice with the world about her experience as a Black woman and traveler – and specifically how she continues to be received as the moves through the world in her skin. I’ve read several other narratives from those who identify as Black men and Black women Peace Corps volunteers (PCVs), and each time I think to myself how courageous they are for sharing their stories (and pieces of my own as I move through the world with “Black” skin and my own very colorful narrative). However, it never fails that as I’m reading, I think to myself that these very true, very valid experiences are not fully my own…and sometimes feel very far from my own…but a fear of sharing my own story as courageously as they have, keeps me from taking the steps to share what I’ve lived.

Over the past two weeks in particular, I’ve been feeling (and expressing) the most intense emotions to three other PCVs here who have become very dear, and very necessary in my life here (it’s not a surprise to me that they live as hyphenated Americans too, so that we are Peruvian-American, Mexican-American, Costa Rican-American, and Caribbean/Barbadian-American together). I wondered this morning why it’s been so easy for me to express my views, thoughts and emotions so clearly and passionately in their presence, but I can’t find the words and/or the courage to share these reflections here – with all of you?

Then I read the narrative by the Black woman about her experience as a traveler, and I realized that the answer is simple – it’s about the risk that we are willing to take to share the experiences that make us who we are, and the faith that we will be alright regardless of how we are received. A year ago, I would never have imagined sharing the truth of what I feel, think and believe to these three incredible people, but one year – and a foundation of earned trust – later, I know that who I am will be received, held, and affirmed….whether they agree with my convictions or not. I have come to trust that. I have come to trust them with who I am.

The process is different with people with whom I have not built this foundation of trust. Those reading my stories are a mix of family, close friends, past and current colleagues, few acquaintances, and some random people who stumble onto this blog who know me only through what they read – and how they process my stories through their own unique experiences. That could be anyone, which is actually quite terrifying, especially in this day and age where anonymity seems to be the cowardly tool used by people who claim to be courageous, while stating their own convictions and attacking people for who they are, rather than challenging the thoughts or beliefs they hold. In the article I read written by this young, courageous Black woman, she speaks of deliberately wanting to be visible in every space that she graces, so that at some point in the future, the presence of those who mirror her image will no longer be novel, surprising, “exotic” or continuously deemed as “other”. She strives to be visible, being open to the risk of what visibility could mean for her, in order to share her truth and experience walking through this world. She is both an inspiration and a lesson for me.

My personal challenge is recognizing and embracing the fact that I will be alright if I share any part of who I am, whether I am met with criticism, rejection, fear, ignorance or indifference. This is one of the lessons I am re-learning again and again here in Moçambique as an unmarried, Black, Caribbean/Barbadian-American woman from the United States with 41 years of life’s experience to share. It is a lesson I continue to encounter here, as this dynamic did not begin here in southern Africa, but continues as I grow with each and every day that passes here.

Starting Each Day New
I’m a morning person, but far from the stereotype of morning person that you see in the movies. I’m not the scary person we try to avoid until they get their first cup of caffeine, nor will you catch me whistling or singing at the break of dawn. I should be completely honest and say that although I could (and do) make it happen, its still a struggle to get up to practice any form of movement before the day has really begun (well, almost any form). I still think that sleep is one of the best things in life we tend to take for granted. That said, I believe mornings to be the most sacred (not necessarily in a religious sense) and most forgiving time of the day, and particularly when I can greet the morning quietly and with reverence.

I know that to some degree, it depends on where you rest your head, but the early morning is the time of the day when there’s a certain stillness in the world around me that allows me to see things differently, more clearly. It’s a time when I realize I actually give my attention to the creaking of my zinc roof, the varied sounds of birds greeting the morning, the rustling of leaves through the mango trees, and sometimes even the anchoring sound of stillness. It’s when I notice new things about my surroundings that were always there, but weren’t previously given my time and attention – because other sights, sounds, and my own constantly playing reel of thoughts are what often overtake my senses and become my priority throughout the day.
Mornings are also the opportunity I am granted to begin fresh – new. It’s the time of the day, before my head fills with everything I “have to do”, when I can set an intention of what “I would like to do”. It’s a chance to enter the day with the disposition of someone who is thankful to wake up with full breath and sincere gratitude before my body even makes it’s first move into waking.

A Few Minutes For Meditation
I don’t like to rush (says the native New Yorker). Sometimes I’ll get up two hours earlier than when I actually have to begin getting ready for work – just so that I can take my time to make my hot cup of goodness, read the words of the day in Daily Meditations for People of Color, catch up on what happened in the world while I was asleep, and set my intention for the day which I reinforce with a guided meditation. Up until now, I’ve been practicing reclined yoga poses in my bed before going to sleep, and standing and sitting poses that I can manage to do with just a capulana on my hard cement floor. I’m hoping, however, that the esteira (hand-woven bamboo mat) that I asked my colleague about three months ago might finally come to pass this week, so that I can transfer into a more complete practice in the morning. Again, because sleep is a beautiful thing, I would prefer to practice when I get home from work or before I get ready for bed, but something about anticipating a 90-95 degree practice in my room in the evening is the best kind of motivation to get my boody up and moving before the morning sun has a chance heat things up.

My Daily Role as a Health Volunteer
One of the things that I love the most about my time here and this role that I currently have, is that every day is a just a little bit different. I’m serving as a Community Health Educator, and here in my town I’ve been paired to work with the District Hospital as well as the Community-based Organization (CBO) Tsinela, primarily in the areas of HIV, Malaria and Tuberculosis education and prevention. Mondays and Thursdays are the days I’ve been assigned to work in direct support of hospital efforts, and the other three days of the week I give my time, effort and energy to CBO activities. The role of the health volunteer at a site like mine, is to serve as one of the links/liaisons between the systems, staff and efforts of the hospital and those of the CBO, as they work in partnership to serve the community in these critical areas of public and community health.

The Hospital
Up until now, Mondays have been a mix of several different opportunities. During my first couple of months, I spent Mondays in the Psychosocial Support office where almost all patients show up for a consultation no matter the reason for their visit, and there I would enter consultation dates into log books, look for missing patient records (its like an ongoing form of hazing for the health volunteer in Moçambique), and sit and observe consultations conducted by nurses and technicians…mainly in the local language (Xitsua) which is the primary language of most of the patients who are seen at the hospital.

Recently, in order to branch out and learn more about the hospital and it’s sectors and services, I connected with the SAAJ (Youth Clinic), which is a separate building catering to the health needs of youth up to about age 24, so that they are in an environment that has services delivered with their unique needs in mind. After several weeks of spending time observing and participating in consultations with youth at the SAAJ, the nurse has agreed that having me there to work together with another nurse and a community health educator from my organization, would be a feasible plan for the coming year (or until the end of service as needed). I’m currently in the process of thinking through the details and drafting a plan for us to deliver activities related to Family Planning, HIV prevention and treatment, Gender and Empowerment, Malaria prevention, and any other topics that youth might find interesting about their own mental, emotional, and physical health.

The remainder of the day on Mondays are currently used for planning and working on my comprehensive community assessment. Although I could go back to the hospital after leaving the SAAJ, by 1pm the patient traffic has typically slowed down tremendously in the office I am in, so while I previously used that time to just chat and get to know others in the sector, I now use it to work on writing my assessment which requires time for planning, active researching, and writing (in Portuguese).

Thursdays, although I’m at the hospital, my day looks completely different. Thursdays are an earlier start for me, and I honestly find it really difficult to maintain the same routine that I do on most other days. I still manage to prioritize a short meditation and the reading, and my cup of something good, but that’s all I have time for since I have to be out of my house no later than 7:20am in order to make it to the hospital for the Comité TARV (Tratamento Anti-RetroViral). This committee is a national effort in health centers across the country, and is a cross-team effort within the hospital (and includes partners such as Peace Corps and FHI 360 here at my site in Inhambane) to share information, successes, and challenges in order to improve services related to HIV testing and treatment (TARV), and patient care.

After the hour-long meeting which ends at 9am, I’ve recently been taking the 10 minute walk over to the District Health office which is where the Mobile Brigades that travel into the community originate. As I did with the SAAJ, I started to go in order to get a sense of the flow of other hospital sectors and services, and particularly what was offered to community members in bairros (neighborhoods) far from the District Hospital. The district I live in is the largest district in terms of total area, however it is not the most populous. The majority of the population is located in the eastern portion of the district, within 15km of the main central highway and the sea. It’s the conditions of the side roads, however, and the lack of resources regarding transportation which make access an incredible barrier for most. The district does have smaller health centers scattered throughout the bairros, but they are still sparsely resourced with staff and materials, and access on these roads that are essentially made completely out of sand, make it close to impossible for regular access for the average individual needing medical consultation or treatment.

Mobile Brigades (Joint Initiative between Hospital and District Health Office)
The Mobile Brigades were initiated to begin to address challenges related to access, by bringing services of the District Hospital out into the community to those for whom access remains a significant obstacle. I’ve been on three brigades so far, and each site has been different. The first one, about a 40 minute drive from the hospital, served roughly 30 women and their children. Medical staff weighed babies and checked nutritional status, consulted on minor symptoms for cold and flu, and tested about 3/4 of those over the age of 5 for Malaria (due to symptoms they were experiencing), and referred patients to the hospital for those concerns that needed further attention. The third site I went to, approximately an hour and a half from the hospital, served approximately 300 community members who received the same types of consultations as those at the first site – due to the limitations of the brigade. I plan to continue travel out into the community with the brigades twice monthly on Thursdays, because this is an opportunity for me to work with the health students and other technicians to implement health talks and related activities while community members are waiting for their consultations. These sites, unlike the district hospital, do not have a regular presence of Activistas (community health workers) who begin each morning at the hospital with palestras (health talks) on various topics. In terms of identifying a significant gap in services, this is definitely an area that could use more support.

Community-based Organization (Associação Tsinela)
Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Fridays I dedicate my time to activities that directly support the organization. The walk takes me 40 minutes each way – longer if I peek my head into my host family’s quintal (cluster of homes) to saudar (greet) them and find out how their previous day was and how the morning is treating them. Everyone always says that I should take a chapa (mini-bus or open-back pick up truck) the 5 minutes it would take from the main market to my org, but I would still have to walk down to the market to get one, so I just figure I might as well take advantage of the exercise and the time to think (or not).

At the beginning, the org was in the process of working with a large international organization (CARE International) to do a community mapping activity as a part of a grant they were awarded, so in the first few weeks when I arrived, we were busy going out into the community, meeting with community groups and local leaders, and mapping out strengths and needs in communities as per the perspectives and experience of the community members themselves. Since that time, the org has entered into its second year of the four year grant, and after receiving feedback from the first year evaluation from this funding partnership, this org has a lot to do in terms of improvements with program implementation and evaluation as they move forward. Needless to say, finding time to involve me meaningfully in the organization’s day to day so that I can get a sense of where I can learn and support the process – has been a significant challenge, because everyone is so busy with their primary responsibilities under this grant-funded project.

So currently, on the days I go to the organization, I make sure that I haul my laptop with me so that I can work on writing my community evaluation. I always sit and chat with activistas before getting to work on the computer, as it’s a nice way to remain connected with them and learn about what’s going on in the community (when it’s translated for me, because all conversations are typically always in Xitsua). I’m hoping that I will finally get to the local primary school with one or two of the activistas before schools gets under way again, in order to discuss a plan for implementing prevention and education activities with the oldest of the students there. Although my hope was to be working more with mothers and young children during my time here, it seems as though the universe keeps bringing me right back to youth – at least in these early months. If this plan works out, I hope we can be at the primary school twice a month to implement activities with the group on my org days, and set up the same type of plan with an older group of girls (only) at the Secondary School that sits close to my house in my own bairro.

When the Work Day is Over
Most days of the week I am back in my house by 4-4:30pm, as long as I haven’t made a stop at the market or my host family’s house, or if I’m not coming back late from a brigade trip. I have to start cooking right away, as everything takes longer on the little 2-burner stoven (stove+oven) that I have. While the food is cooking, I’ll typically take a bucket bath and check in on social media to see what friends and family have been up to share some updates or photos now and again. I’m usually eating by 6pm, if not a bit earlier, and after cleaning up I’ll read, talk with friends here in-country, and/or write for a while before starting to get ready to go to bed. Like so many volunteers, I’m typically in my bed no later than 9pm, but will take another bath (this heat!!!), read for an hour or continue talking with friends until I’m ready to sleep.

Weekends
The weekends are a whole mix of different activities. Typical weekends involve “sleeping in” until 7am, and then going through the same morning routine as I do during the weekdays. Depending on how (un)motivated I feel, I’ll either do my washing or leave it until Sunday. Recently, I’ve been highly motivated to just leave it until Sunday. On the day I wash, I’ll also clean up the house, sweep both rooms to get rid of dust and sand that accumulates literally overnight, and organize my table – which tends to become the catch-all for just about everything.

Saturdays or Sundays are my main market days, and I constantly get scolded for going out at the hottest time of the day (I just can’t sacrifice my quiet, early morning time for the hectic movement of the market in the early morning). So I do suffer, but it feels like such an accomplishment when I get back home with a basket full of good stuff to prepare. Not only do I enjoy what I reap from the market run, I appreciate the time I get to chat with the friends I’ve made at my main market stalls. We catch up on my work, on their days, on family, on food prices and the weather, and unfortunately on illnesses and deaths that have taken place since we last made time to talk. Depending on the friend-vendor, this is when I’ll also get in my impromptu Xitsua lesson for the day.

In the past few weeks, I’ve been using my Saturdays as time to read non-health related books, which I’ve really missed. It reminds of when I was living back in Brooklyn, and I would take the train early Saturday or Sunday morning into Manhattan to The Strand and then walk over to Barnes and Noble, just to sit for hours and read travel journals, biographies, and get lost in so many other types of life stories. Most recently, I’ve begun to use time on weekends to write entries to share my story with you all reading this blog.

That’s a typical week for me – although every day and every week looks a little bit different. I didn’t even mention the random events that I am sometimes invited to….such as graduations, a lunch at someone’s home, or a trip offsite to visit other volunteers or just to passear for a day (get out and stroll with no real destination or plan but to be seen and to be social). I realize, though, that my plans are just that – plans. They are typically something I put together to create some kind of safety through structure and the order that I’m used to. And then I have to let it all go because apparently that wasn’t the universe’ plan for me. It’s getting easier for me to take a deep breath, relax, and just be open to what comes. Some days it’s harder to do than others (and heaven forbid I haven’t eaten for hours when a significant change comes up), but for the most part it’s a nice lesson and reminder that my days are shared with my community, and despite everyday changes and challenges, I’m really privileged to be living these opportunities.

In recognition and celebration of my graduation from university, my mum gave me the book Acts of Faith: Daily Meditations for People of Color by Iyanla Vanzant. It’s a book that consists of 365 daily statements and meditations on the awarenesses of a life lived every day, based on the truths of the past, a recognition and acceptance of the present, and a humble readiness and preparedness for the future. Acts of Faith has been read cover to cover consistently, and inconsistently, over the many years I’ve had and referenced it, and it has come with me everywhere I’ve planted myself for more than one month at a time (which has been three states in the US, one US territory, three (now four) different countries, and 3 continents, since I received it at graduation). Yet over so many years, and with so many different contexts through which I’ve witnessed these statements or meditations presented in my every day, the lesson that keeps coming back to me over and over again is the one that stood out to me most clearly and concretely that first year it was gifted to me.

The importance of letting go as a critical life lesson first came to me in 2000 during the last session of the summer camp I had been working with for 4 years. It was my second year as a “Village Leader” – a role that essentially provided supervision and guidance to a group of thirty-six 9-12 year old boys, and twelve adult counselors. To this day, some of most formative experiences I have in terms of living my values, understanding and demonstrating integrity, and learning what it means to lean into and live through challenge, have come from my summers working at Camp Hayden Marks with the Fresh Air Fund in NYC, and that summer was no exception.

I remember struggling through that particular summer, wanting and praying each and every day for so many things to be different. There were days when I wanted a different staff group to supervise, a different mix of boys to host, different responsibilities to own, and sometimes – a different place to work or just to be. I was often stressed and irritable, and my smile which often serves as an indicator of my internal emotional health had faded early on that summer. I wanted to feel happy, instead of feeling frustrated and disappointed with the entire experience as it was unfolding. I was convinced that change – different surroundings, different skills, different people, different circumstances – would make all the negative feelings disappear.

Nothing happens before its time – and it definitely never happens until we are ready to receive the learnings that come along with the experience. Thankfully, with less than ten days left of camp for the summer, I was finally ready for change. I’m pretty certain that although I had it with me, I hadn’t been reading Acts of Faith every day, but I picked it up the morning of the 13th of August before leaving my cabin to start the day, and read the meditation which has since remained with me and resurfaced time and time again in the years to follow:

Let go!

When we believe we are losing control, we grab on tight. If we want to avoid pain we hold on for dear life. When we are in fear of losing, looking bad or being abandoned, we tighten our grip. When our greatest fears are upon us, we clench our fist and teeth, close our eyes, and hold on. We must learn how to let go. We have the capacity to live through any adversity if we simply let it go. We cannot stop time or destiny. Whatever is going to happen has already happened; we must learn how to see it through to the end. When we hold on, we prolong the pain. When we dig our feet in, we must be uprooted. When the time comes for growth and change, we must have the courage and faith to let go.

While I didn’t agree with each and every line as stated, the general message as I read and understood it at that time, was that I needed to let go of those situations, circumstances and relationships which were creating the challenging dynamics and frustration that I was experiencing. The result was my decision to take steps back and away from those people and situations that stirred up the most difficult feelings for me. In essence, I turned away from, and put space in between myself and that which caused me the most challenge in order to avoid the uncomfortable feelings that accompanied those situations and relationships. Looking back on it now, I realize that although the steps I took to release the painful feelings were just what I needed to do with the level of awareness I had at that time, it was the easy way out for me. By avoiding the negative feelings that came with living through these particular challenges, I delayed (or denied) the potential for experiencing the emotional growth that would have come if I had chosen to accept the feelings that were hardest for me to be with.

Over the past few years, as I’ve begun to learn more about and incorporate yoga and meditation into my life in purposeful (although admittedly inconsistent) ways, I’ve come to think about the concept of letting go in a very different way. When I was initially introduced to the idea of letting go all those years ago, I embraced it more as a practice of pushing away, separating from, or denying what was in front of me. In that sense, to let go was to turn away from what was with me in the present, and distance myself from the circumstances, people, and/or situations that were challenging me by stirring up feelings I did not want to deal with. Meditation, as I have been practicing it, invites me to just be with what is. Choosing to practice for 5 minutes or 25 minutes, is not a time for me to sit quietly and close myself off to the internal and/or external noises and feelings that make everyday life as challenging as it is. Rather, it’s an invitation I extend to myself to want for nothing more than to just open up, feel and accept what is with me in the present – exactly as it is.

Since the start of the new year, as I’ve noticed myself experiencing very familiar feelings of discontent and anxiety related to the political and social climate in the United States, the constantly changing and often undefined nature of my role in my relationships here in Moçambique, and the ever-present question of how I can be of service in this world, my thoughts have come right back to the need for me to let go. Now, however, I explore and embrace the act of letting go in a very different way, which is allowing me to preserve (instead of disrupt or end) relationships and remain physically and emotionally present in the spaces and places that show me grace.

These past few weeks, when my feelings of anger, sadness and helplessness over the current direction and dynamic of the United States have been so intense that I’ve been left feeling overwhelmed and paralyzed, the only way to re-engage has been to actually let go. As I’ve moved with and within the relationships I’ve formed here, which have not followed the previously familiar rules, patterns or pathways I’ve been used to for most of my life, and have therefore left me confused or anxious, I’ve realized that I’ve needed to let go. When I would spend 4-5 hours on my days at the hospital, monotonously entering in the dates of patient visits followed by the date for their follow up consultation, and then wonder on my long, hot, dusty walk home if/how I’m really contributing to the community – I recognize the urgent need for me to let go.

But if I understood letting go as I did when I first read the passage in Acts of Faith, it would mean removing myself from any and all engagement in the everyday efforts continuing to unfold back home in the States. Letting go would mean distancing myself from those relationships I’m developing while here in Moçambique, in order to avoid the uncertainty, the anxiety of the unknown, and the discomfort that I’ve felt as these relationships continue to form; and it would mean choosing not to show up – physically and otherwise – at the hospital, because currently “what is” is not at all as I had imagined it to be.

So I’ve come to understand letting go, not as the process of letting go of something or someone, but instead letting go of the fear of feeling, by turning towards and sitting with, exactly what is. In that sense, letting go is the process and practice of recognizing, acknowledging and accepting what is – exactly as it is, as oftentimes as difficult as it is.  This means that instead of shutting down and needing to tune out in order to spare myself the feelings of anger, sadness and fear about what continues to unfold in the US (and around the world), I’m giving myself time to take in the real and very honest picture of what is, and accept the feelings I’m experiencing as a result. Rather than rush to change, define or end my relationships here that stir up the feelings of uncertainty and anxiety, I’m taking the time to sit with and (literally) breathe through these uncomfortable feelings I’m left with – as I take the time to turn towards, instead of away from, what (or whom) presents me with the most challenge. Continuing to show up at the hospital and be with the reality of what is, allows me to really be present for the realities of what I see, hear, and feel in the health center as it is, rather than experiencing it as I want or imagine it to be.

Letting go, as I now try to understand and practice it, does not mean that  accepting “what is” will lead to complacency and passivity, and the choice to do nothing to call out and fight injustices and raise my voice for change when and where needed. Letting go is actually the brave and courageous decision I’m making to see and accept circumstances and the feelings they raise within me first, allowing me the clarity and capacity needed to move forward and make decisions that can effect real change based on the truest version of what actually is.

*The above reading “Let Go” was taken from Acts of Faith: Daily Meditations for People of Color by Iyanla Vanzant.

Well. The first post is a bit intimidating, even though what I share should be just a continuation of the things in my life I’ve been sharing with many of you for years now. Maybe it’s because starting this blog has been so long coming…and of course the perfectionist in me is already slightly stressed, writing and re-writing in my head before my fingers even get their turn, polishing the words that have yet to be formed in my mind, much less written on this page.

Its ironic, because the reason for starting this blog is to finally open up and share my own experience of being a perfectly imperfect person in this world, and how I manage the vulnerability, uncertainty and navigation of trust necessary to establish and develop all of the relationships in my life; which is, I believe, the most significant thing we can be doing with the time we’ve been granted.

A new year always brings talk of change. Resolutions. To be honest, I’m not really one to make New Year’s resolutions. Just like so many other people, in the past I’ve made them – held on for two or three weeks (and truth be told, sometimes only a few hours as was the case with “no more sweets after 7pm”), until I’d fall right back into old habits, or somehow pick up an entirely new (and equally undesirable) habit to replace what I promised myself I would change. So I left resolutions behind altogether many years ago, and now I try to give myself and my life a deeply critical look every now and again throughout the year, and spend time thinking about what I could be doing to be of more use to the world. Every single day.

That is, in part, what brought me to Peace Corps service at this point in my life.

The past 8 months volunteering with Peace Corps Moçambique, has offered incredible and sometimes remarkably uncomfortable awarenesses, unexpected challenges, and have prompted me time and time again to open myself up in order to connect authentically with the people in this world around me. I won’t lie, I’ve fought hard time and time again, against the explicit (and the unstated) invitations to lean in, engage and share who I am with my host families, colleagues at the community-based org and hospital, Peace Corps staff, my community here in Inhambane, and the other Peace Corps volunteers who are sharing this experience with me. Sharing who I am means sharing the strengths, the flaws, the imperfections….and all of the things I typically prefer to keep packed away…out of reach of others…until I’ve known them long enough, and trust them enough, to let them see all of me.

Being vulnerable and allowing others to see you – as you truly are – really feels like the first time on a roller coaster (it’s been years since I’ve been on one, but I have vivid memories of throwing up behind the teacups ride after that first experience at Great Adventure…). You think you know what the ride will feel like. You think you’ve studied it enough from the ground, and have memorized and therefore can predict and prepare yourself for the ups, downs, twists and turns that will come. As you’re moving through the line awaiting your turn, you flip back and forth from one moment to the next experiencing feelings of excitement, reluctance, fear, uncertainty, and anticipation of what you think is to come. Should you really take the risk even though you’re uncertain about what lies ahead?

Then you make a commitment to lean in…completely (or, in my case, I got to the point in the line where there was really no option to go back, duck out, jump the rope and go find funnel cake instead…).

And the ride turns out to be everything and nothing you imagined it would be, complete with the highest of highs and moments so terrifying they almost bring you to tears. The same is true when we take the chance and show who we are to others. The decision to be vulnerable, to open yourself up and show who you truly are to another person, to a new community, comes filled with unknowns and uncertainties. It’s exciting and fulfilling, and it’s also downright scary at times. And oftentimes, it hurts deeply. However, it’s this range of emotions we feel when we are connecting authentically with others that makes us feel the most alive, no matter how difficult the journey may be along the way.

I look forward to continuing in this brand new year, to be present, take risks, to lean in to vulnerability by bringing and sharing all of who I am, and embracing and accepting the feelings and experiences that result from being seen, received, and loved by the people I connect with authentically along the way.