For these reasons, I am excited to be learning my site’s local language, Changana. It is a popular language across the southern provinces, which means it is a popular language among my host family here in training. My mãe and pai, like the majority of the population in Mozambique, speak multiple languages (Portuguese, Changana, Citshwa, and Swati), and they are thrilled that I am starting to say a few words in Changana around the house.
The process of learning a local language has made me feel simultaneously incredibly proud and incredibly humbled. The pride comes from the fact that I did not speak a word of Portuguese three months ago but now I am comfortable and capable enough to be learning a brand new language in classes taught entirely in Portuguese (as with our earliest língua classes, no English is involved). This is a significant amount of progress and I want to recognize and celebrate it. But on the flip side, I am incredibly humbled by learning Changana because it is so hard. I’ve had enough basic Spanish and pretentious English floating around in my brain for years that if I try to guess at a word in Portuguese, I usually get pretty close. (See you tomorrow! is Hasta mañana! in Spanish and Até amanhã! in Portuguese.) But with Changana, I don’t stand a chance. (Hitaffuxana mudzuku! is, obviously, See you tomorrow!) The way plural nouns are formed and verbs are conjugated is different than anything I’ve ever seen. Even though sentence structure is something to adjust to, it is exactly that—something to adjust to. The hardest and most humbling component is the fact that Changana has a number of sounds that simply do not exist in Portuguese or English. My mouth doesn’t know how to produce them. Thus, so far my journey into learning a language that is almost exclusively used for oral communication has been filled with many roadblocks where I stare blankly at my mãe or my professor, unsure of where I could possibly place my tongue inside my mouth to adequately pronounce a simple word.
Portuguese had far fewer new sounds to incorporate into my pronunciation lexicon, and there was really only one word that absolutely confounded me: lhe. Lhe is an indirect object pronoun, used where we in English would use him/her.
He taught her how to speak Changana.
Ele ensinou-lhe a falar Changana.
Lhe is not pronounced like “lee”—you have to pronounce the l and the h as their own independent sounds, but also together. It almost has a throaty sound, but the “lh” comes more from the sides of the mouth and under the tongue than the throat. For my first two months here, I avoided the word at all costs. I would not volunteer to read aloud if it showed up in a passage during língua class, and in my conversations, I cut out all indirect object pronouns. I spoke like the prompts in a grammar textbook that want you to practice combining simple sentences: “She learned how to speak Changana. He was her teacher. He was the teacher and she was the learner and now she speaks Changana. That is all.”
Then I wrote a speech whose message relied heavily on my ability to pronounce a litany of five crucial lhes to a crowd made up of our cohort, all of our homestay families, the entire Peace Corps training staff, and a group of officials from the local government.
Towards the end of training, we have a Homestay Celebration to thank our families and the community at large for hosting the Peace Corps training program and supporting our work here in Mozambique. All of the families come with their own tables and chairs and we fill the yard of the Hub with delicious homecooked food, hours of dancing, and neighborhood-wide matching outfits. The day kicks off with a formal ceremony wherein all of the families are recognized and thanked for their important role in our training. A representative from Peace Corps gives a speech, two representatives from the local government give a speech, a mãe gives a speech, and a trainee gives a speech. I was elected by our cohort to give the trainee speech.
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| What do I mean by neighborhood-wide matching outfits? Here is Tom e Jerry to show you. |
I started by writing the speech in English. I decided to play off of the idea of teaching (because we are an education group), and I asked other trainees to send me short stories of lessons they had learned from their families. I got some good responses—some funny, some sweet, some profound—and added them in one big section of the speech. I sent the Training Director the English version, she liked it, and then I started translating it to Portuguese.
I quickly learned I had made a crucial error. The section about family lessons was full of indirect objects. Noah’s family taught him x. Julia’s family taught her y. Elo’s family taught him z. Lhe lhe lhe. A nightmare. I considered convoluting that section for the sake of avoiding that particular sentence structure, but ultimately decided not to; instead, I would face my lhe fear head on.
For the two weeks leading up to the Homestay Celebration, I practiced my speech with one of the LCFs (and my future Changana professor), Elias. He was ridiculously patient with me. I would always seem to catch him just as he was headed home for the day. I’d apologize and offer to meet the next day, but he would refuse, turn around, and sit down with me for at least an hour. He would calmly sound out words and wait as I wrote them out phonetically on my copy of the speech, then give me a thumbs up when I tried again and pronounced them smoothly. We spent a lot of time on lhe. One of the lessons that a fellow trainee shared with me was the idea that people do not say thank you for small things here; the culture is much more altruistic than any of us were accustomed to in the United States. The day before the celebration, after Elias and I wrapped up our last practice session, I tried to thank him for being so gracious with his time. “I thought you learned you don’t have to say thank you for small things here,” he said with a smile. He bid me farewell and told me he believed I would do a fine job the next day.
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| A page of my speech with some grammar errors mended and a few helpful hints for pronunciation. |
I did not tell my family that I was going to give the trainee speech. One night when I was translating the speech to Portuguese, my mãe and pai were sitting across the dining room table working on the speech one of the other mães would eventually give at our swearing-in ceremony. (My mãe had given the swearing-in speech with the last cohort and was asked to help write the speech this time around, too.) I considered telling them in that moment, but instead I maintained the surprise. I took that special moment—a sweet hour that we shared sitting at the same table writing about how much we appreciate each other—and tucked it away just for myself.
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| My pai and mãe work together on a speech while I work on mine. |
So on the day of the Homestay Celebration, they were indeed surprised. When I got up to give the speech, I locked eyes with my mãe and Jú in the third row. They were beaming. I spoke for just over eight minutes—and I know because I asked Cat to record the speech so I could show it to my pai, who unfortunately was working in Maputo that day—and I felt nervous at first, but got more comfortable as I went along. People laughed at the jokes and nodded along with the softer messages. It was an incredibly gratifying experience.
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| Elias was the master of ceremonies and official microphone holder. Photo from PCT Carly. |
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| A wider angle from the video Cat subtly took from the front row. |
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| At a different part of the ceremony, one representative from each family receives a certificate for successfully teaching us how to be functional people in Mozambique. My sister Jú represented our family. |
After the ceremony, my mãe and Jú hugged me tight and told me how surprised they were. A bunch of the mães from my neighborhood came up to me and said, “Mana Sarah, you read so well!” Elias gave me a big parabéns (congratulations). Not a single person said, “Hey, in that one section where you were talking about the lessons people learned, what was that one word you said over and over again? Leee? Lyee? Heee?” Not a single one. So I’ll take that as a win.
If the goal of learning any language is to be able to effectively express yourself, then I still have a long way to go with Portuguese and especially Changana. But if I ever need to orally express a collective sense of gratitude, appreciation, and love to a large group of Portuguese-speaking people, thanks to my many teachers in Namaacha, I now feel pretty confident in my abilities.
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| Mãe, me, Jú. Family. |
Here, then, is my speech in Portuguese and in English. (Perhaps a vaguely interesting note: this is not the original English—after it turned to Portuguese, some of the sentiment shifted. When I reread the original English, I found it wasn’t quite representative of what the meaning ended up being. So below is the English -> Portuguese -> English version.)
(Portuguese)
Tenho o privilégio de estar aqui em nome do trigésimo segundo grupo do Corpo da Paz em Moçambique para agradecer à graciosa comunidade de Namaacha e toda a sua bela gente. Chegamos há três meses como estrangeiros; contudo, Namaacha abriu-nos os seus braços de uma maneira que nenhuma outra comunidade poderia, e acolheu-nos muito bem. Graças a hospitalidade de todos em Namaacha, não somos mais estranhos. Somos família.
Estamos aqui em Moçambique para trabalhar como professores. Antes que uma pessoa possa ensinar, primeiro precisa aprender. Namaacha foi nossa sala de aula, e a comunidade estava cheia de professores.
Sem a cooperação do governo de Namaacha, nenhum dos nossos trabalhos aqui teria sido possível. Desde o nível mais alto até a base, o governo recebeu-nos e apoiou-nos em todo o nosso processo de aprendizado de tantas maneiras. Os diretores das escolas do distrito abriram as suas portas para e permitir-nos observar as aulas e o seu trabalho. Graças a essa colaboração, temos plena compreensão do que significa ser um professor em Moçambique. Mais ainda, do que significa ser um bom professor em Moçambique. Nossos vizinhos e amigos aqui em Namaacha ensinaram-nos a ter uma mentalidade focada na comunidade. Quando perguntávamos, “Como está?” Eles respondiam, “Estamos bem.”
Esta colaboração com oficias do governo, diretores das escolas, professores, e vizinhos nas ruas ensinou-nos a não trabalhar para uma comunidade ou em uma comunidade, mas com a comunidade. E, é exactamente isso que vamos fazer nos próximos dois anos.
O pessoal de formação aqui em Namaacha complementou o trabalho da comunidade. Lindsay, Ludovina, Isaura, e Dona Agueda organizaram tudo, tendo em conta nossas necessidades pessoais, nossa formadores técnicos ensinaram-nos sobre os nossos papéis como professores, e nossos professores de língua, contra todas as probabilidades, ensinaram-nos a falar Português. Quando chegamos a Moçambique, a maioria de nós só podia dizer, “Como está?” mas não podíamos entender a resposta. Graças aos esforços incansáveis do professores—e considerável esforço para esconder as suas habilidades linguisticas a Inglês—hoje, podemos falar Português. Obrigada por tornarem nosso processo de aprendizagem divertido. Esperamos chegar a ser tâo bons professores como vocês um dia.
E, claro, aprendemos tantas lições de nossas famílias amorosas, pacientes, e incríveis em casa. A família de Noah ensinou-lhe a maneira correta de comer uma laranja. A família de Julia ensinou-lhe como pronunciar “cenoura” e “senhora” e a importante lição de que uma senhora não é uma cenoura. Abigail aprendeu com a familia dela que aqui, as pessoas não precisam dizer obrigada para coisas pequenas; as pessoas ajudam um ao outro sem esperar agradecimentos, mas de forma altruísta. Como Abigail disse, “Você não diz obrigado quando alguém passa-te a bola durante um jogo de futebol porque estão a tentar alcançar o mesmo objectivo.” A família de Elo ensinou-lhe como pilar amendoim, ralar cocô, lavar roupa, e também ensinou-lhe como lidar com portas mais baixas do que a sua altura. A família de Katie ensinou-lhe que se estiver doente ou se o tempo for muito frio ou muito quente ou se tiver um mau dia o uma má semana, que não importa quão grande seja o obstáculo, no fim, vai passar.
A minha familia ensinava-me algo novo todos os dias: eles ensinaram-me como cozinhar peixe, como limpar o chão, como conversar, e como viver uma vida equilibrada e grata. Sempre que tentava obter uma nova habilidade ou actividade, minha mãe perguntava-me, “É difícil?” Antes que eu pudesse responder, ela sempre dizia, “Só um pouco.” Quando aprendi a lavar roupa, ela perguntou: “É difícil?” E em jeito de retórica respondeu, “Só um pouco.” Quando varríamos o quintal de manhã, ela perguntava, “É difícil?” E respondia, “Só um pouco.” Quando sentava na sala de estar e fazia meu TPC de Português ela perguntava, “É difícil?” E respondia, “Só um pouco.” Ela não me dava tempo para duvidar das minhas habilidades. Ela enfatizava que com trabalho árduo, eu poderia fazer tudo, e pouco a pouco, minhas habilidades se tornariam melhores.
Estas são as lições que vamos levar conosco e passar para nossos alunos e membros da comunidade quando deixarmos Namaacha e chegarmos em nossos sítios de trabalho. Sem esperar agradecimento, trabalharemos na mesma equipa que nossos colegas professores e líderes comunitários, unidos em nosso objectivo de melhorar a educação para todos os alunos. Quando os nossos alunos tiverem um mau dia, poderemos tranquiliza-los, dizendo: vai passar. Se, no início, nossos tarefas forem difíceis, ou se não conseguirmos ver grandes mudanças após alguns meses ou mesmo um ano em nosso trabalho, lembraremos que é pouco a pouco que a mudança acontece, e nenhum desafio é grande demais para nós superar. Nossas famílias e a comunidade de Namaacha ensinaram-nos isso. Através deles, aprendemos, e por eles, estamos preparados para ensinar.
Tivemos muitas aulas de Português nestes curtas e mágicas treze semanas, mas mesmo se fossemos falantes fluentes, ainda assim, não teríamos palavras suficientes para expressar nossa gratidão para com todos em Namaacha e todos presentes aqui hoje. Contudo, gostaríamos de tentar.
Vou começar, dizendo: Muito obrigada.
(English)
I have the privilege to stand here on behalf of the thirty-second Peace Corps cohort in Mozambique to thank the gracious community of Namaacha and all of its beautiful people. We arrived three months ago as foreigners, but Namaacha opened its arms to us in a way no other community could and made us feel so welcome. Thanks to the hospitality of everyone in Namaacha, we are no longer strangers; we are family.
We are here in Mozambique to work as teachers. Before a person can teach, first, they must learn. Namaacha was our classroom and this community was full of teachers.
Without the cooperation of the Namaacha government, none of our work here would have been possible. From the highest level to the bottom, the government welcomed and supported us throughout our learning process in so many ways. The principals of the district schools opened their doors to allow us to observe their classes and their work. Thanks to this collaboration, we have a full understanding of not just what it means to be a teacher in Mozambique, but what it means to be a good teacher in Mozambique. Our neighbors and friends here in Namaacha have taught us to have a community-focused mindset. When we would ask one person, “How are you?” They would answer, “We are fine.”
This collaboration with government officials, school principals, teachers, and neighbors on the street has taught us not to work IN a community or FOR a community, but WITH a community. And that is exactly the work we will be doing for the next two years.
The training staff here in Namaacha complemented the work of the community. Lindsay, Ludovina, Isaura, and Dona Agueda organized everything, always taking into account our personal needs. Our technical trainers taught us about our roles as teachers, and our language professors, against all odds, taught us how to speak Portuguese. When we arrived in Mozambique, the majority of us could only say, “How are you?” But we couldn't understand the answer. Thanks to the tireless efforts of our professors—and considerable effort to conceal their language skills in English—today, we can speak Portuguese. Thank you for making our learning process fun. We hope to become teachers as good as each of you one day.
And of course, we have learned so many lessons from our loving, patient, and amazing families at home. Noah's family taught him the correct way to eat an orange. Julia's family taught her how to pronounce “cenoura” [carrot] and “senhora” [woman] and the important lesson that a woman is not a carrot. Abigail learned from her family that here, people don't say thank you for small things; people help one another not expecting thanks, but out of sheer altruism. As Abigail said, “You don’t say thank you when someone passes you the ball during a soccer game because you are both trying to achieve the same goal.” Elo's family taught him how to grind peanuts, grate coconut, and wash his clothes, and they also taught him how to deal with doors that are significantly shorter than he is. Katie's family taught her that if you are sick, or if the weather is too cold or too hot, or if you have a bad day or a bad week, that no matter how big the obstacle, in the end, it will pass.
My family taught me something new every day: They taught me how to cook fish, how to mop the floor, how to hold a conversation, and how to live a balanced, grateful life. Whenever I tried to master a new skill or activity, my mother would ask me, “Is it difficult?” Before I could answer, she would always say, “Only a little.” When I learned how to do laundry, she would ask, “Is it difficult?” And she would rhetorically respond, “Only a little.” When we would sweep the yard together in the morning, she would ask, “Is it difficult?” And immediately reply, “Only a little.” When I would sit in the living room completing my Portuguese homework she would ask, “Is it difficult?” And answer, “Only a little.” She would not give me time to doubt my abilities. She empowered me to believe that with hard work I could do anything, and that little by little, my skills would change for the better.
All of these are the lessons we will take with us and pass on to our students and community members when we leave Namaacha and arrive at our permanent sites. Without waiting for thanks, we will work on the same team as our fellow teachers and community leaders, united in our goal to improve education for all learners. When our students have a bad day, we can reassure them by saying that it will pass. If at first our tasks are difficult, or if we cannot see major changes after a few months or even a year in our work, we will remember that it is little by little that change happens, and no challenge is too big for us to overcome. Our families and the community of Namaacha taught us this. Through them, we learned, and because of them, we are prepared to teach.
We have had many Portuguese classes in these short and magical thirteen weeks, but even if we were fluent speakers, we still would not have enough words to express our gratitude to everyone in Namaacha and everyone present here today. However, we would like to try.
I’ll start, by saying: Thank you very much.
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