June 20, 2006
We stepped out of our vans into the Canahe community, a
remote village in western Mozambique. Waiting for us were
several community members, eager to share their stories
with us. Right away, I knew that I was participating in
something special, something that the everyday tourist
to Mozambique would probably never experience. We gathered
under a large tree, a traditional setting for village meetings
where community members can express concerns, settle disputes
and solve any other problems that threaten the well-being
of the community. Elders spoke with wisdom and compassion;
younger members of the community spoke with enthusiasm.
They told us how their village had been relocated during
the 1970s in order to make room for a dam that almost exclusively
benefits commercial farms. They told us how the relocation
resulted in less access to water and less fertile land
for agriculture. While the dam supplied water for commercial
farms 65 kilometers away, it overlooked the rural population
struggling for water only 10 kilometers away.
They spoke about health care and the need for a clinic
in the village. The nearest hospital was several kilometers
away, and elders couldn’t even get painkillers for
headaches. Needless to say, we were inspired and some of
us hope to return to the village next year to help build
a clinic.
We then headed over to the school, a building with three rooms, one of
which was added with the profits of the community lodge we were staying
at. Despite the lack of space and resources, the students remained vibrant
and curious. They stared at us with reservation and curiosity, not quite
sure what to make of the 25 white people standing at the front of their
classroom. We learned about their school, about how the students are taught
in Shangan (their native tongue) but are also taught Portuguese (the official
language of Mozambique).
After talking with the brave and inspirational teachers, we headed over
to the well where village members get some of their water. The well was
a couple hundred meters behind the school. The line to access it was at
least 20 people long, surrounded by dozens of buckets. A couple of us joined
one woman who was retrieving water (an activity that required more skill
than one would think).
After attempting to retrieve water and failing, we played with the hundreds
of kids who had joined us from the school. Despite the language barrier,
we communicated in hand signals, smiles and laughter. They were a little
wary of us at first, but warmed up to us once we introduced them to the
practice of “high fiving,” an instant bonding experience.
As we were making our new friends, we walked back to the tree that we had
met under earlier. Waiting for us was a crowd of people of about one hundred.
We were told that we were going to experience a traditional Shangan dance.
Rather than sit among my American compatriots, I decided to sit with a
couple of Shangan young men. I spoke in Spanish and they spoke in Portuguese.
While some things were lost in translation, we communicated with each other
surprisingly well.
I watched the dance in awe. As the women sang and clapped and the men stomped
their feet and shook their arms with fervor, I experienced the difference
between tourism and learning, exploitation and understanding. Rather than
sitting back and observing the outside from within a bubble, I had stepped
out of my comfort zone and immersed myself in the environment that I was
visiting.
Whereas tourism means to pass through, learning means forming relationships
with the people. Interactions with members of the community will last much
longer than any pictures on my digital camera.
As the sound of shaking rattles and stomping feet seemed to form a blanket
around me, I thought to myself, “this is why I am studying abroad.”
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