22 January 2009

Cape Verdean hospitality and parties

I’m in São Felipe now, working in the Parque Natural do Fogo office. I’m planning a project to help women entrepreneurs in Chã das Caldeiras improve their jam and preserves business. Hopefully I can help create labels and find more places to sell products, as well as teach basic business practices like accounting, all with the goal that they’ll take over every aspect of the project making it sustainable.

Cape Verdeans are incredibly generous people. There’s never not enough food, drink, room in a car, etc. The other day one of the PCVs was in town with a 10 year old boy, Antonio, from her village. They wanted some food, and though I’d already eaten and wasn’t hungry, decided to accompany them. Antonio ordered rice and beans with pork, and guava juice (which is awesome, why can’t we get it in the US?).

He repeatedly asked why I didn’t order. Wasn’t I hungry? No, I said, I’ve already eaten. When the food came he insisted I eat some of the rice and beans. There was no other option. I also had to drink some of his juice. It was around 2 or 3 pm by now, he probably hadn’t eaten all day, and was quite hungry. But you cannot eat in the presence of someone who’s not eating. It’s unthinkable, even to a boy of 10. If you have something today you share it, even if you won’t have anything tomorrow. Someone tomorrow will take care of you.

I love going to parties in the fora, which I guess is the “bush” of Cape Verde, where there’ll be half as many plates as people or three cups for twenty people, but it always works. You can share a plate or pass the cup. Someone will wash the dishes. It’d probably give a public health worker a nightmare, but it feels nice. I love the communal attitude. Interestingly enough, I’ve had few colds and minor maladies you’d expect from sharing food and utensils.

Recently I went to a party in the fora with another PCV. We waited with a Cape Verdean friend for what seemed like forever for our ride, a Dyna (we have several modes of transport, all Toyotas: Hillux, a pickup, Hiace, a van, and Dyna, a big pickup-style work truck). We picked up a group of our European friends (from Germany, Italy, Portugal, and Luxemburg), and hit the road. We headed up the main road towards Salto, where it splits right to Cova Figueira or continues straight to Chã das Caldeiras. Before Salto we turned onto a dirt road which was rough, and at one point all the men had to get out and walk so the Dyna would make it.

We finally got to the party, which turned out to be an old house emptied of its contents, replaced by a DJ booth and speakers throughout the two room dwelling. They had a bar as well. There was a high cover charge for men (500$ CVE, or $6 USD), so we debated amongst the corn stalks whether to go in or not. It was cold and we’d come far, and we didn’t have a way to get back besides walking, so we sucked it up and paid. It turned out to be fun, and we danced all night.

Around dawn one of the German guys and I noticed the rest of our group had disappeared. We got a little frantic, thinking we’d missed our ride. Someone mercifully helped the two confused white dudes, showing us that our friends were behind the house getting breakfast. The house had a detached kitchen (this is good when you cook with wood), and old women were laboring in the chokingly smoky hovel, over giant cast iron pots of coarsely ground corn, xarem. One of the women, perhaps the lady of the house, apologized profusely it was only corn and there was no meat. I assured her the food was good and we didn’t need anything more. Such incredible hospitality. After breakfast we huddled into the back of a pickup and hit the chilly road to São Felipe, to collapse into bed and catch a few hours of sleep.

11 January 2009

N sta xatiadu

So I moved to São Felipe Tuesday. You could say I’m bummed. Bummed isn’t strong enough a word but yeah. I’ll refer to São Felipe as Bila, from now on though. That’s what people from the fora (country, sticks, etc.) call São Felipe. My heart’s in the fora, so it’s Bila to me. Bila comes from the Portuguese villa, which evidently is what they called their biggest cities on the islands. Many people in Bila pity me that I had to live in Chã das Caldeiras. But no, I tell them, “Txan e mas sabi” (Chã das Caldeiras is way better than Bila).

Sure Bila has perks, like electricity, running water, free internet in the plaza, places you can buy food, etc. But if you know me, and how crazy I am, these things don’t make me happy. They make me wonder where I am and what I’m doing there. Every hour, every day. I never had doubts about joining, everyone agreed it was a perfect fit for me (minus my Mom, obviously. “Why not AmeriCorps or Teach for America?”), but now…

The night before I left Lauren and I went to Ramiro’s, the only place to hang out after dark in Chã. Some of the guides and the new president of the association, our friends, were there. When they learned I would leave the next day, they organized an impromptu despidida (going away party), buying bottle after bottle of manecom and tons of spaghetti with spam and chorizo for Ramiro’s wife and daughters to prepare. Everyone got a good meal (not always a regular occurrence at their homes) and had a good time (inevitably). I couldn’t express my gratitude properly in Kriolu, other to say that I feel like the people of Chã are my family. I think they understood. I don’t expect such a feeling in Bila.

The next day a truck came and picked up half of my stuff. We had to leave my bed, oven, propane tank, shelf unit, etc. At least I get to go back to Chã to get the rest. My neighbors and landlady are sad, the latter saying she felt safe with me there, her room being attached to my two (bedroom and another for everything else). Riding in the back of the truck with my stuff was surreal, everyone I forgot or didn’t get a chance to tell realizing as we passed with a full load that I was leaving. I hope they’ll understand it wasn’t my choice. I hope they won’t think I gave up on Chã. I didn’t.