In Mozambique, I have found one thing to be truly universal and incorruptible: Death. No one is immune.
I see and hear about death a lot here, every day in fact. Being a health volunteer in a sub-Saharan African country riddled by HIV makes it nearly impossible not to. Whether from a student, colleague, or friend, I am always getting reports of a recent death. Life cut short is not a tragedy, it’s an inevitability.
This Mozambican familiarity with death and subsequent indifference to its effects is a morbid reminder of things I don’t think I’ll ever understand. Then, one of my colleagues explained that a large reason for the stoic reaction to death stems from the bloody civil war, a war that raged for 17 years and killed a million Mozambicans and which only ended in 1992, a relatively short time ago. For so many people, war and death have been a staple in their lives.
During the civil war here, the RENAMO soldiers (unanimously considered the bad guys) routinely targeted hospitals and schools, indoctrinated child soldiers, and used rape as a weapon to spread disease.
I was informed that that is why there is an impassiveness that accompanies death. “Margarida,” he said, “Everyone had at least one person they loved die during the war. Some, their whole families.” He went on to explain that even today, after almost 2 decades of peace, it is still strange for Mozambicans to show emotion at the mention of death. They are automatons in that sense, he said because if they cry and mourn too heavily for someone today, they will then think about those they lost during the war, or because of HIV, or because of any number of things that are killing Africa and “Nossas lagrimas nunca hão-de parar.”
Our tears will never stop.
Besides, he wanted to know. What good does it do to weep for someone? To him, showing emotion or crying at death was not only impotent, but also insulting to those who were suffering with or without your tears.
This Mozambican philosophy on death and dying recently entered my register when I received word that someone from home, Jessica, a mentor of sorts for me, a fellow Knight, a small-town Nebraska gal who also ventured to the red soil of Africa, and a girl I grew up admiring and wanting to be like was killed in a tragic car accident.
Being in Africa leaves you with lots of time to think and question and ask why. Why such a truly good and beautiful person? Why someone with a heart so big and generous? Why her? Why now? Why at all? Why? But Mozambicans don’t ask why. There is an unquestioning acceptance of death here. Whether it is HIV, a witch doctor’s spell, hunger, bad hospital conditions or any of the other unmentionables, Mozambicans see death as something that is out of their realm of control--it is destiny, not to be circumvented.
I read a book about the civil war here and one person’s observation on why it is Mozambicans seem to be so detached about death. He wrote, “People here have to be laid back to avoid having their personalities destroyed by disappointment and death.” Their stoicism isn’t a failure to engage. It’s a way to survive.
I guess from just the little I know about death, I still can’t imagine it gets any easier to endure each time, no matter how capable Mozambicans are of compartmentalizing. I would think your heart just breaks a little every time.
Good thing Mozambicans have strong hearts--perhaps fragmented, but they are strong.
That is just one thing Jessica and Mozambique have in common--strong hearts. And Jess, by donating hers, ensured that it will continue to love and be loved.
When I told my colleagues about Jessica, they at first seemed very unsure of what to do in the presence of foreign tears. And although it may have been strange for them to see me emoting at death when people here don’t because of the sheer masses of tears and anger and whys that would emerge, I saw in all their eyes what can best be described as empathy. They seemed to be telling me, “Margarida, we don’t understand your clothes or your accent or most of the things you do, but we understand this.” They recited for me something they wanted me to relay to folks back home about Jessica. It is an old Koti proverb they say here when a loved one passes away.
Roho ya we ykale sana
"Her heart now rests in peace."
And for how much space Jessica’s heart had to make to contain her love and goodness, maybe it deserves a rest.
It feels presumptuous to try to rationalize or say anything more.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Friday, October 8, 2010
Ramadan
I had an overzealous friend who, with every good intention, once informed me that I had as much game as an asexual amoeba and was most likely destined for a lonely life full of Nicholas Sparks’ novels and Lifetime original movies. To circumvent this, she offered to be my Mr. Miyagi in the realm of dating. After I objected to her twisted version of “Wax on, wax off” and then uncovered and deleted the Match.com profile she secretly set up for me, I finally decided (since if you can’t beat em’…pacify them until they forget about it) to at least indulge her on her philosophy of courtship and why I was so bad at it. Ever the Emma and well aware of my idiosyncrasies, she composed for me a list of things that I was NEVER under any circumstances to do in the presence of the opposite sex:
1. Reveal my childhood fantasy of being David the Gnome so I could wear a red cone hat and ride around on a fox all day.
2. Quote It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia.
3. Bust out my British accent (which always inevitably turns into Pirate anyway).
4. Wear skinny jeans.
5. Defend Flannery O’Connor.
6. Challenge anyone to an arm wrestling contest.
7. TALK ABOUT RELIGION--instant buzz kill.
“Clarification point,” I requested. “Number 7, religion. You mean don’t talk about sex, politics, or religion, right ?”
“No! Go ahead and talk about sex and politics all you want,” she said. “But religion…Hell NO, pardon the pun. All it does is invite controversy and awkwardness. You want on the white lace road to Weddingland? Then remember this when you’re chatting: No to transubstantiation. Yes to American Idol.”
Now, as a history major (that may not count for much but let’s throw in the fact that I’m an avid Jeopardy watcher--I’m still holding out for a Ken Jennings Bobble Head doll) as well as a 3-time Perfect Sunday School Attendance Award Winner boo-ya, I was well aware of the schisms that have resulted from a lack of acceptance or intolerance of different religions in the history of our world.
But surely as a semi-intelligent person, I was certainly capable of carrying on a civil conversation about religion and why I believe what I believe, right?
Or was my friend right? Should one stick to secular conversation in all social situations?
I got to thinking about this conversation recently, when after a long hiatus from current events updates or other information from the outside world, I managed to get on the Internet. Immediately I checked my email, Facebook and then of course the scores of the Husker games…priorities…and then I trolled the BBC website in order to figure out what has going down in the other corners of the globe.
A story that I came across that immediately piqued my interest dealt with the plans to construct a Muslim Center near Ground Zero and the hoopla that it was inciting.
I thought about my friend’s insistence to avoid the topic of religion at all costs because of all the chaos it invokes, I thought about 9/11 and the religious connotations that always surround it, I thought about Islam and how sad it was that a group of religious fanatics could sully such a beautiful faith, and I thought about how in such a short amount of time my proximity to Islam had changed so drastically.
If you’ll indulge me, I would like to share some of my experiences and observations of moving from a pretty universally Christian circle of acquaintances to being plopped down into the middle of a community that is predominantly, I would say over 80% Muslim.
Let’s start by trying to put that degree to some use. Here we go, then, a little history lesson: My site, Angoche, has a an almost Biblically colorful history. Long before the Portuguese arrival to Mozambique in the 15th Century, Angoche was independently ruled by Sultans and an important commercial center on the Arab-Swahili trade routes. In fact, it was one of Mozambique’s earliest settlements and an important stop on the gold and ivory trading post.
The consensus with most people I talk to here is that the Arabs were simply seeking a mutual business partnership with Mozambique rather than a colony to lay claim to. In fact, the remnants from the Arab/African exchange is wildly evident today from the capulanas the Arab women brought with them, now used almost everywhere in Southeast Africa to the descendants of the numerous Arab/Mozambican marriages and the religion that came with them: Islam.
Today, one can just look at the most popular names here…Fatima, Anima, Mussa, Amade, Ossufo…to understand just how big the Arab/Muslim integration was into Mozambican culture.
When the Portuguese arrived and colonized Angoche, they too brought with them their religion: Christianity.
So, we’ve got the predominant Muslim population that resulted from Arab integration and intermarriage. We’ve got a large Christian group that emerged from Portuguese colonization and attempted conversion. Toss in a large Hindu Indian population that lives here and while we’re at it let’s throw in those practitioners of the traditional animist beliefs and you’ve got what would seem like a hot bed of religious tension.
Surprisingly, Angoche is nothing of the sort. Never have I heard a discussion of whose God is the right God or which religion is better. Religious harmony and toleration here is incredible to me, something Bono would write a song about.
Sometimes I imagine Angoche to be like a reverse Hagia Sophia, that famous church turned mosque turned museum in Istanbul. To me, Angoche seemed to go through so many different religious stages that it finally decided to just be a neutral museum where all religions can be represented and appreciated. Still, it is obvious from the prayer caps, rugs, and tunics I always see around that Islam has been and will continue to be the Grand Exhibit.
Islam, that enigmatic faith to so many Westerners.
Historically, we have romantic images of Richard the Lionheart headed out to the Crusades to fight the Muslim infidel. Presently, we have images of subjected, burqa wearing Muslim women and Jihadist fanatics.
My experience is so far from this, it’s comical. Peace Corps volunteers are prohibited from proselytizing about religion, which is fine since I’m entirely too ignorant and self-involved to try to convert anyone of anything either way. What I can do, though, is share with you what I’ve seen and been a part of here.
Okie dokie…
The Call to Prayer. The first time I heard the Call to Prayer from the mosque I was terrified. It sounded like the song of a very sad ghost. Hauntingly and hypnotically beautiful. Now, after hearing it every day so many times, I have come to find it comforting, like a lullaby.
Friday is an extremely holy day. Muslims are supposed to go to the mosque five times to pray on Friday. Meetings and events have to be organized bearing this schedule in mind.
We keep an extra prayer rug in the office for when my colleagues want to pray. I feel like a pervy Peeping Tom every time I happen upon one of my colleagues praying, prostate on the floor with their hands outstretched. But they never seem to mind.
Friday is also when I see the most amount of poverty in Angoche. On Friday, a Muslim is not supposed to turn away a beggar asking for alms and so every Friday all the poor people will line up outside the bakery knowing the owner is a devout Muslim and will not disregard this tenet.
A lot of people associate Islam with the oppression of women. Let me break it down for you folks. The plight of women in Africa and in Mozambique has nothing to do with religion but instead with years and years of cultural norms. Muslim women are not subjugated more so than any other women here. Being a woman in Mozambique is hard. Being a Muslim woman neither exacerbates nor mitigates that.
I‘m not saying that culture and religion are mutually exclusive. In fact, probably the opposite. It makes sense that parts of religion and culture will take on aspects of each other. Like when you’ve slept so long with the same pillow that it contours to the shape of your head.
For example, Muslim women here are encouraged to wear the head wraps--not a full on burqa like you might be imagining, but a wrap to cover the forehead and hair. Some of my most devout female Muslim colleagues and students I have never seen with a head wrap. It was made clear to me that it was a choice. I also see on a daily basis women who are not Muslim who love to wear the head wraps. It started out as something religious and has since been absorbed into the culture.
Muslim women here are not prevented or in any way discouraged from going to school. In fact, there is an excellent Muslim secondary school where a lot of non-Muslim students choose to study because it has a more expansive curriculum and the teachers actually show up to teach.
My counterpart is probably one of the most devout people I know and actively participates in a program where he visits sick members of his congregation to see how they are doing and bring them anything they need. It reminds me of meals on wheels…but without the meals or the wheels. The sentiments are still there.
There is a definite link between the Islam that many people here practice and the traditional beliefs and machinations of the witch doctors. I can’t reconcile this. I think it is something that I just don’t understand yet.
One of the reasons the HIV prevalence is lower in the north of the country where I am is directly related to the fact that the Muslim population is so much greater here. Muslims are not supposed to drink alcohol and so whiskey-induced unsafe sexual practices happen less frequently. Also, circumcision is a key component in the Muslim faith, and studies have shown that circumcision significantly helps prevent the transmission of HIV.
In the Muslim faith, it is extremely impolite to shake hands, exchange change, or offer something with your left hand. Also, for many the left hand serves as the toilet paper substitute. So besides being a religious no-no, it’s also really friggin’ gross.
Pondering this difference of religions was especially interesting to me this last month as many of my colleagues, students, and friends were observing the holy month of Ramadan. Ramadan involved a whole month of fasting during the day and more frequent visits to the mosque. No food or water from sunup to sundown. It made for a rather crabby, unproductive month as students and colleagues became kind of narcoleptic, falling asleep during the day from lack of energy and because they had to get up in the middle of the night to eat. Also, during the holy month most of the music playing was suspended which was depressing because Mozambicans sure love to dance.
I wish I had the wisdom of Solomon to better understand and relay the different nuances of the religion here. I apologize that I don’t. I guess, though, if I could just leave you with one thing I have learned here is that while the topic of religion may be taboo, enough to have made my “Things to Do to Avoid Cats and Spinsterhood” List, maybe it’s because it’s misunderstood and branded a certain way because of the actions of a few.
People who do such awful things under the veil of religion seem to not be following their faith in its pure form.
The Islam, thoughtful and caring and pacifist that my colleague in this sleepy little African town practices is vastly different than the Islam associated with September 11.
1. Reveal my childhood fantasy of being David the Gnome so I could wear a red cone hat and ride around on a fox all day.
2. Quote It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia.
3. Bust out my British accent (which always inevitably turns into Pirate anyway).
4. Wear skinny jeans.
5. Defend Flannery O’Connor.
6. Challenge anyone to an arm wrestling contest.
7. TALK ABOUT RELIGION--instant buzz kill.
“Clarification point,” I requested. “Number 7, religion. You mean don’t talk about sex, politics, or religion, right ?”
“No! Go ahead and talk about sex and politics all you want,” she said. “But religion…Hell NO, pardon the pun. All it does is invite controversy and awkwardness. You want on the white lace road to Weddingland? Then remember this when you’re chatting: No to transubstantiation. Yes to American Idol.”
Now, as a history major (that may not count for much but let’s throw in the fact that I’m an avid Jeopardy watcher--I’m still holding out for a Ken Jennings Bobble Head doll) as well as a 3-time Perfect Sunday School Attendance Award Winner boo-ya, I was well aware of the schisms that have resulted from a lack of acceptance or intolerance of different religions in the history of our world.
But surely as a semi-intelligent person, I was certainly capable of carrying on a civil conversation about religion and why I believe what I believe, right?
Or was my friend right? Should one stick to secular conversation in all social situations?
I got to thinking about this conversation recently, when after a long hiatus from current events updates or other information from the outside world, I managed to get on the Internet. Immediately I checked my email, Facebook and then of course the scores of the Husker games…priorities…and then I trolled the BBC website in order to figure out what has going down in the other corners of the globe.
A story that I came across that immediately piqued my interest dealt with the plans to construct a Muslim Center near Ground Zero and the hoopla that it was inciting.
I thought about my friend’s insistence to avoid the topic of religion at all costs because of all the chaos it invokes, I thought about 9/11 and the religious connotations that always surround it, I thought about Islam and how sad it was that a group of religious fanatics could sully such a beautiful faith, and I thought about how in such a short amount of time my proximity to Islam had changed so drastically.
If you’ll indulge me, I would like to share some of my experiences and observations of moving from a pretty universally Christian circle of acquaintances to being plopped down into the middle of a community that is predominantly, I would say over 80% Muslim.
Let’s start by trying to put that degree to some use. Here we go, then, a little history lesson: My site, Angoche, has a an almost Biblically colorful history. Long before the Portuguese arrival to Mozambique in the 15th Century, Angoche was independently ruled by Sultans and an important commercial center on the Arab-Swahili trade routes. In fact, it was one of Mozambique’s earliest settlements and an important stop on the gold and ivory trading post.
The consensus with most people I talk to here is that the Arabs were simply seeking a mutual business partnership with Mozambique rather than a colony to lay claim to. In fact, the remnants from the Arab/African exchange is wildly evident today from the capulanas the Arab women brought with them, now used almost everywhere in Southeast Africa to the descendants of the numerous Arab/Mozambican marriages and the religion that came with them: Islam.
Today, one can just look at the most popular names here…Fatima, Anima, Mussa, Amade, Ossufo…to understand just how big the Arab/Muslim integration was into Mozambican culture.
When the Portuguese arrived and colonized Angoche, they too brought with them their religion: Christianity.
So, we’ve got the predominant Muslim population that resulted from Arab integration and intermarriage. We’ve got a large Christian group that emerged from Portuguese colonization and attempted conversion. Toss in a large Hindu Indian population that lives here and while we’re at it let’s throw in those practitioners of the traditional animist beliefs and you’ve got what would seem like a hot bed of religious tension.
Surprisingly, Angoche is nothing of the sort. Never have I heard a discussion of whose God is the right God or which religion is better. Religious harmony and toleration here is incredible to me, something Bono would write a song about.
Sometimes I imagine Angoche to be like a reverse Hagia Sophia, that famous church turned mosque turned museum in Istanbul. To me, Angoche seemed to go through so many different religious stages that it finally decided to just be a neutral museum where all religions can be represented and appreciated. Still, it is obvious from the prayer caps, rugs, and tunics I always see around that Islam has been and will continue to be the Grand Exhibit.
Islam, that enigmatic faith to so many Westerners.
Historically, we have romantic images of Richard the Lionheart headed out to the Crusades to fight the Muslim infidel. Presently, we have images of subjected, burqa wearing Muslim women and Jihadist fanatics.
My experience is so far from this, it’s comical. Peace Corps volunteers are prohibited from proselytizing about religion, which is fine since I’m entirely too ignorant and self-involved to try to convert anyone of anything either way. What I can do, though, is share with you what I’ve seen and been a part of here.
Okie dokie…
The Call to Prayer. The first time I heard the Call to Prayer from the mosque I was terrified. It sounded like the song of a very sad ghost. Hauntingly and hypnotically beautiful. Now, after hearing it every day so many times, I have come to find it comforting, like a lullaby.
Friday is an extremely holy day. Muslims are supposed to go to the mosque five times to pray on Friday. Meetings and events have to be organized bearing this schedule in mind.
We keep an extra prayer rug in the office for when my colleagues want to pray. I feel like a pervy Peeping Tom every time I happen upon one of my colleagues praying, prostate on the floor with their hands outstretched. But they never seem to mind.
Friday is also when I see the most amount of poverty in Angoche. On Friday, a Muslim is not supposed to turn away a beggar asking for alms and so every Friday all the poor people will line up outside the bakery knowing the owner is a devout Muslim and will not disregard this tenet.
A lot of people associate Islam with the oppression of women. Let me break it down for you folks. The plight of women in Africa and in Mozambique has nothing to do with religion but instead with years and years of cultural norms. Muslim women are not subjugated more so than any other women here. Being a woman in Mozambique is hard. Being a Muslim woman neither exacerbates nor mitigates that.
I‘m not saying that culture and religion are mutually exclusive. In fact, probably the opposite. It makes sense that parts of religion and culture will take on aspects of each other. Like when you’ve slept so long with the same pillow that it contours to the shape of your head.
For example, Muslim women here are encouraged to wear the head wraps--not a full on burqa like you might be imagining, but a wrap to cover the forehead and hair. Some of my most devout female Muslim colleagues and students I have never seen with a head wrap. It was made clear to me that it was a choice. I also see on a daily basis women who are not Muslim who love to wear the head wraps. It started out as something religious and has since been absorbed into the culture.
Muslim women here are not prevented or in any way discouraged from going to school. In fact, there is an excellent Muslim secondary school where a lot of non-Muslim students choose to study because it has a more expansive curriculum and the teachers actually show up to teach.
My counterpart is probably one of the most devout people I know and actively participates in a program where he visits sick members of his congregation to see how they are doing and bring them anything they need. It reminds me of meals on wheels…but without the meals or the wheels. The sentiments are still there.
There is a definite link between the Islam that many people here practice and the traditional beliefs and machinations of the witch doctors. I can’t reconcile this. I think it is something that I just don’t understand yet.
One of the reasons the HIV prevalence is lower in the north of the country where I am is directly related to the fact that the Muslim population is so much greater here. Muslims are not supposed to drink alcohol and so whiskey-induced unsafe sexual practices happen less frequently. Also, circumcision is a key component in the Muslim faith, and studies have shown that circumcision significantly helps prevent the transmission of HIV.
In the Muslim faith, it is extremely impolite to shake hands, exchange change, or offer something with your left hand. Also, for many the left hand serves as the toilet paper substitute. So besides being a religious no-no, it’s also really friggin’ gross.
Pondering this difference of religions was especially interesting to me this last month as many of my colleagues, students, and friends were observing the holy month of Ramadan. Ramadan involved a whole month of fasting during the day and more frequent visits to the mosque. No food or water from sunup to sundown. It made for a rather crabby, unproductive month as students and colleagues became kind of narcoleptic, falling asleep during the day from lack of energy and because they had to get up in the middle of the night to eat. Also, during the holy month most of the music playing was suspended which was depressing because Mozambicans sure love to dance.
I wish I had the wisdom of Solomon to better understand and relay the different nuances of the religion here. I apologize that I don’t. I guess, though, if I could just leave you with one thing I have learned here is that while the topic of religion may be taboo, enough to have made my “Things to Do to Avoid Cats and Spinsterhood” List, maybe it’s because it’s misunderstood and branded a certain way because of the actions of a few.
People who do such awful things under the veil of religion seem to not be following their faith in its pure form.
The Islam, thoughtful and caring and pacifist that my colleague in this sleepy little African town practices is vastly different than the Islam associated with September 11.
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