Note: I started this awhile ago, but am finishing from Chã das Caldeiras. And now from São Filipe. And now from Lisbon.
I’m writing from Mosteiros, the second town on Fogo. Tuesday I made the three hour hike from a mile up to sea level, passing through fields of beans and vegetables, the Monte Velha protected forest, coffee plantations, citrus farms, and finally bananas and mangos. Jonny and Josh live here, the two closest PCVs to me. There are some in Cova Figueira who are around that close, but I don’t know the trail. There’s a good chance of hitching a ride there, however, as I recently did with two French tourists and a bus full of census workers celebrating a job well done.
Fortunately the mango season is (was) in full swing. They are big, meaty, sweet, and cheap. About five weigh two pounds, and cost around $0.08 each, yep, eight American cents. Unfortunately there’s really no mango preservation except for the odd jam. No mango juicers, mango canneries, mango drying, mango exporting. Over Christmas in Michigan I bought three flavorless mangoes for $2. We eat them excessively, putting them in every dish possible. Jonny made a spectacular mango chicken dish. I made bean burritos with mango salsa.
Cooking here is nice because you do everything from scratch. It’s simpler, healthier, and in my opinion, more enjoyable. Somehow a completely homemade tortilla or pumpkin pie tastes better than the store-bought equivalents (which certainly aren’t available on Fogo). That said I prefer store bought chicken to killing and plucking. Pigeons and baby goats, though, are totally worth the work.
Mosteiros, as most municipal capitals, has free WiFi which just reaches the PCV house. I’m taking advantage of this opportunity to figure out what to do with myself after CV. The only sure thing is going to mainland Africa. When I get back to Michigan, however, a big question mark remains. Should I stay with PC, but in a different country (sorry CV, but I’m leaving in August no matter what)? Should I go back to school? In what field? Should I get a “real job” like my classmates and friends? Doing what? Where? For how long? After two years in CV, where I’d hoped I’d figure it all out, I’m left with more questions than answers. PC has certainly opened doors, but which one to enter? If I enter one, will I come out to find the others closed?
I’ve learned a lot in CV, including two languages, a new culture, got to know a country I didn’t know existed. When I was at our Close of Service Conference a few weeks ago in Cidade Velha on Santiago, I realized the 26 remaining PCVs in my group (lost three to medical issues) constitute the best group of people I’ve had the pleasure to call my colleagues and friends. They’re the people who’ve helped me through what have often been the two unhappiest years of my life. They’ve given up all manner of things to try to help 500,000 people eking out a life on these rocks in the Atlantic.
I have an update on the job front: I accepted a job with Peace Corps Response in Mozambique, about as far as you can get from Cape Verde in Africa (it’s not personal). I’ll work as kind of a business consultant with an American NGO in food security, which is a huge development push there. Mozambique has a lot of potential but was severely set back by decades of war, first against the Portuguese for independence, and later between Mozambicans. I’m looking forward to a new adventure, improving my Portuguese, learning, helping. It’ll be a nine month stint starting in mid-August. Unfortunately I have to go directly from CV, but plan to make it home for Christmas.
Tuesday our masons started work on the first composting toilet. I’m lucky because many PCVs never see their projects get off the ground. Of course I’ve partnered with Luxembourg Development which fully funded the construction, which makes it a lot easier than applying for funds. We continue to battle one of our suppliers to deliver materials so the job can continue. I’m not sure he understands a contract is a legally binding agreement, and not fulfilling it risks a trip to the tribunal. Everyone’s tired of his excuses.
It’s time for the grape harvest, one of my favorite activities. With grapes come mangos, pomegranates, figs, quince, and apples. It officially started Monday, but won’t get going for a few days. For the workers, it can mean 6 am to midnight, or later. Once you’ve picked a grape, you have to de-stem it that day. Harvest time in the winery is sticky, wet, chilly, tiring, and full of bee stings. I love it.
Hopefully I’ll post more frequently this month, as I’ll have regular internet access to keep the project supervisor informed while in Europe. Fika kampion.
Update: I’m in Lisbon. I finished service in Cape Verde, said goodbye to Chã das Caldeiras, and began the journey to Moçambique. What I will do I can only ascertain from a brief document the recruiter sent weeks ago, as the real job description (and paper airline ticket!) didn’t arrive via diplomatic mail. They made me send several pieces of paper via DHL which cost about $100, or more than 25% of my monthly allowance. At least that arrived the next day!
I just got back from a pretty pathetic (it’s 11 pm) night on the town, typical of a PCV coming from one of the most rural sites in Cape Verde to an entirely modern European city in a matter of hours. I asked the receptionist where to get some food. She gave me directions which I half understood and immediately forgot. I wandered near the hotel until I didn’t feel safe anymore. Heading back, I noticed a gigantic mall across the street. Needing a new pair of running shoes, I crossed.
Going from the market in Praia to a modern mall isn’t easy. I went from stepping over chickens, clothes spilled from barrels onto the broken concrete, and lost children with no parents looking for them to a mall with Diesel, LaCoste, and Guess. My little jaunt to check out the mall turned into a several hour zombie walk. I went in and out of stores, amazed they had every size and prices marked. I walked past every restaurant in the food court at least four times, and there were more than ten. I bought a Twister at an ice cream stand. I spoke Portuguese and was understood. What began as a quest for a Portuguese meal led to a fast food pasta place with a plate of generic shrimp/mozzarella/whole wheat penne and a 0.50€ glass of wine (the same price as Coke, what a great country Portugal is).
What got me were the myriad choices. In Cape Verde it’s chicken or fish, Coke or Sprite, cachupa with or without fried egg. I couldn’t make decisions. This happened when I went home for Christmas. This brief layover in Lisbon (I depart for Moçambique tomorrow at 6 pm local time) will necessitate a return. It is truly a beautiful city but I’m not ready.
I just came from two liter (that’s half a gallon) bucket baths, rice and beans twice a day, wearing the same clothes for a week. I never minded that lifestyle but the difference between it and this ultramodern hotel is quite the jolt. I took a hot shower today for the first time since…Christmas? At least the hotel in Praia smelled funny, lost power at least once, and had the chintzy falling apart quality of many new Cape Verdean buildings. Here I have to insert the card into the wall for the lights to work. The television channels work. The receptionist isn’t obviously flirting with me (okay CV’s better in that regard).
It was sad to say goodbye to Chã. I left behind a lot of friends who were like family, one perhaps broken-hearted young lady, two jobs that got going at the end. Right when you hit your stride, you have to leave. It’s a common Peace Corps experience. You finally get the language, figure out how you fit in the culture and your community, begin to thrive. If nothing else, it makes me feel good about a two year period which included some of the unhappiest times of my life. All’s well that ends well, right?
I hope I can pick up in Moçambique where I left off in Cape Verde. It will be more difficult in many ways. True, I speak some Portuguese and understand a lot. I know a lot more about development work. But I’m going from one of the highest ranking African countries on the UN Human Development Index to one of the lowest (7th from the bottom). From a country with an HIV/AIDS rate of no more than 3% to 16% (the PC Welcome Book for Moçambique mentions that some of your coworkers will probably die during your service). People often joke that PC Cape Verde is “Beach Corps” or “Posh Corps.” I would, after two years, strongly disagree. However, no one would say the same about Moçambique.
I must apologize for this post (as for all the previous ones). It was a long time coming, and in the end is rather half-baked. I’ll try to continue from Moçambique if possible. If I’m in a regional capital, no problem. If I’m in a rural area…I’ll talk to you in nine months.
16 August 2010
Nhô São Filipe
Note: I planned to submit this to the PCV newsletter but for various reasons, among others my laziness, did not. I hope you enjoy and that I explained most of the Kriolu words.
Festa de Nhô São Filipe 2010
São Vicente and São Nicolau celebrate Carnival, Sal fills discotecas with tourists ti mantxi (until it’s time to wake up), and in Praia Gamboa (a yearly festival of music and stabbings) puts the fear in our safety and security officer’s heart. On Fogo, we celebrate Nhô São Filipe, a weeklong extravaganza ending in an escudo-less hangover 1 May.
Among other events, Nhô São Filipe 2010 offered a football tournament; cockfights; horse racing and skills competitions; Miss São Filipe 2010; and myriad musical acts like Face à Face, Kassav, Gilyto, and local zouk star/Chã das Caldeiras primary school director Timas. This year focused more on zouk than funáná, as two consecutive nights of Ferro Gaita in 2009 did not exactly get the crowd on its proverbial feet.
In late April 2010, like 2009, Cape Verdeans returned from Brockton in droves, requiring no less than three Praia to São Filipe TACV flights daily plus as many as Halcyon Air could manage. Dripping in jewelry, wearing the latest American fashions, and freely spending money no doubt earned through backbreaking factory or construction labor, the Foguenses took back their homeland. The festa’s famous excesses attracted a strong group of PCVs this year as well.
Much to everyone’s relief, the PCV visits went off without a single kasubodi (literally “cash or body,” ie give me your money or I stab you). Each day started late, with an audacious tour which visited nearly every cachupa restaurant over the week. Groups of PCVs then split off to nap, endure the searing São Filipe sun to go bidong (55 gal. barrels shipped from the States) shopping, or cool off at the beach. At dusk PCVs would make a valiant effort to organize dinner and evening refreshments. Around eleven the group traveled to the spacious Presidio, São Filipe’s main praça (plaza), for the night’s show. By five or six, with everyone exhausted and the music clearly done, the remaining PCVs trekked to their temporary residences to collapse on questionably clean mattresses, barely noticing the oppressive heat, flies, cockroaches, and mosquitoes.
The rectangular Presidio overlooks the sea, with Brava in the bruma seca (dry wind from the Sahara) obscured distance. In the front, perpendicular to the sea, the musicians performed on a vast stage. A fountain in the back and benches along the ocean side provided tired dancers a plethora of resting places. Booths selling pintxu (grilled pork), grogue (sugarcane death rum), Strela (CV’s national beer), and the odd sumo (juice) lined the other two sides, with a buzof (show-offish) bar in the far corner. The bathrooms, located under said bar, added to the charm, with several inches of urine rendering them unusable, except to people too drunk to care or men willing to urinate down the steps leading to the public health hazards. The police force efficiently readmitted partygoers wishing to relieve themselves in nearby back alleys.
São Filipe, aka Bila, that pretty and tranquil city by the sea features pastel sobrados (traditional Portuguese colonial architecture), picturesque praças, and cobblestone streets which only seem to go uphill. Bila, often proclaimed as Cape Verde’s cleanest city also suffered the highest per capita dengue rates in the country, worse than notoriously unkempt Praia. Only Porto Novo beats Bila in sleepy desertedness. In Bila the population waits for its American visa and the guaranteed riches which will allow it to build a mansion equipped with three meter security fence, ferocious dogs, and Hummer in the driveway.
With its provincial big city attitude and a multitude of young men unwillingly returned from America, in Bila a city losing the smallness which makes Cape Verde pleasant meets the worst of American culture. Only in São Filipe (and Mosteiros) will young men affectionately greet light skinned PCVs with the N word and espouse their loyalty to the Bloods, all in glorious Boston-accented English. On the flip side, after grogue binges and missteps with pikenas (girls…not quite girlfriends) they may express the desire to “shoot you in the f#@%ing head.”
One cannot, however, neglect Bila’s charms. The beautiful black sand Fonte de Bila beach attracts scores of youth during the summer, and will do so until the president of the Câmara (municipal government) and the delegado (delegate) of the MADRRM (ministry of agriculture and environment) divert it all for construction and votes. Djarfogo, a local art store and center of culture roasts the island’s best coffee and shows films provoking thoughtful conversation afterwards. Pipi’s Bar serves delicious Senegalese food, lifting up a beautiful culture often derided by locals. KATOBi.net, a liceu (high school) teacher’s website, chronicles local events and news, often in perfect ALUPEC Kriolu which would bring a smile to Lela’s face.
All in all Nhô São Filipe 2010 exceeded expectations. It proved fun and safe for PCVs and Bila itself. Hilario can sleep soundly until April 2011, when even more PCVs will surely venture to Fogo to partake in its most famous event.
Festa de Nhô São Filipe 2010
São Vicente and São Nicolau celebrate Carnival, Sal fills discotecas with tourists ti mantxi (until it’s time to wake up), and in Praia Gamboa (a yearly festival of music and stabbings) puts the fear in our safety and security officer’s heart. On Fogo, we celebrate Nhô São Filipe, a weeklong extravaganza ending in an escudo-less hangover 1 May.
Among other events, Nhô São Filipe 2010 offered a football tournament; cockfights; horse racing and skills competitions; Miss São Filipe 2010; and myriad musical acts like Face à Face, Kassav, Gilyto, and local zouk star/Chã das Caldeiras primary school director Timas. This year focused more on zouk than funáná, as two consecutive nights of Ferro Gaita in 2009 did not exactly get the crowd on its proverbial feet.
In late April 2010, like 2009, Cape Verdeans returned from Brockton in droves, requiring no less than three Praia to São Filipe TACV flights daily plus as many as Halcyon Air could manage. Dripping in jewelry, wearing the latest American fashions, and freely spending money no doubt earned through backbreaking factory or construction labor, the Foguenses took back their homeland. The festa’s famous excesses attracted a strong group of PCVs this year as well.
Much to everyone’s relief, the PCV visits went off without a single kasubodi (literally “cash or body,” ie give me your money or I stab you). Each day started late, with an audacious tour which visited nearly every cachupa restaurant over the week. Groups of PCVs then split off to nap, endure the searing São Filipe sun to go bidong (55 gal. barrels shipped from the States) shopping, or cool off at the beach. At dusk PCVs would make a valiant effort to organize dinner and evening refreshments. Around eleven the group traveled to the spacious Presidio, São Filipe’s main praça (plaza), for the night’s show. By five or six, with everyone exhausted and the music clearly done, the remaining PCVs trekked to their temporary residences to collapse on questionably clean mattresses, barely noticing the oppressive heat, flies, cockroaches, and mosquitoes.
The rectangular Presidio overlooks the sea, with Brava in the bruma seca (dry wind from the Sahara) obscured distance. In the front, perpendicular to the sea, the musicians performed on a vast stage. A fountain in the back and benches along the ocean side provided tired dancers a plethora of resting places. Booths selling pintxu (grilled pork), grogue (sugarcane death rum), Strela (CV’s national beer), and the odd sumo (juice) lined the other two sides, with a buzof (show-offish) bar in the far corner. The bathrooms, located under said bar, added to the charm, with several inches of urine rendering them unusable, except to people too drunk to care or men willing to urinate down the steps leading to the public health hazards. The police force efficiently readmitted partygoers wishing to relieve themselves in nearby back alleys.
São Filipe, aka Bila, that pretty and tranquil city by the sea features pastel sobrados (traditional Portuguese colonial architecture), picturesque praças, and cobblestone streets which only seem to go uphill. Bila, often proclaimed as Cape Verde’s cleanest city also suffered the highest per capita dengue rates in the country, worse than notoriously unkempt Praia. Only Porto Novo beats Bila in sleepy desertedness. In Bila the population waits for its American visa and the guaranteed riches which will allow it to build a mansion equipped with three meter security fence, ferocious dogs, and Hummer in the driveway.
With its provincial big city attitude and a multitude of young men unwillingly returned from America, in Bila a city losing the smallness which makes Cape Verde pleasant meets the worst of American culture. Only in São Filipe (and Mosteiros) will young men affectionately greet light skinned PCVs with the N word and espouse their loyalty to the Bloods, all in glorious Boston-accented English. On the flip side, after grogue binges and missteps with pikenas (girls…not quite girlfriends) they may express the desire to “shoot you in the f#@%ing head.”
One cannot, however, neglect Bila’s charms. The beautiful black sand Fonte de Bila beach attracts scores of youth during the summer, and will do so until the president of the Câmara (municipal government) and the delegado (delegate) of the MADRRM (ministry of agriculture and environment) divert it all for construction and votes. Djarfogo, a local art store and center of culture roasts the island’s best coffee and shows films provoking thoughtful conversation afterwards. Pipi’s Bar serves delicious Senegalese food, lifting up a beautiful culture often derided by locals. KATOBi.net, a liceu (high school) teacher’s website, chronicles local events and news, often in perfect ALUPEC Kriolu which would bring a smile to Lela’s face.
All in all Nhô São Filipe 2010 exceeded expectations. It proved fun and safe for PCVs and Bila itself. Hilario can sleep soundly until April 2011, when even more PCVs will surely venture to Fogo to partake in its most famous event.
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