I got the email describing the contest and thought the theme “World Peace and Friendship” would be a great topic to discuss with our student art group. After mentioning the contest, the boys went to work thinking about what they could incorporate into their drawing. We talked at length about what peace meant to them, especially growing up in a country rebuilding after a brutal civil war. Two of my students, quite talented brothers, took a special interest in the project and together drew a picture that they wanted me to submit.
Not quite Michelangelo, I would say their style is more of a blind Picasso meets an even more epileptic Jackson Pollock. Still, their beautiful drawing won and as a reward they were invited, along with a chaperone and me, to attend the 50th Anniversary Party in Maputo.
I was a little apprehensive traveling with 2 pubescent Mozambican teenage boys, but I took a little comfort in knowing that their chaperone was their Mom and she would be coming with us. The trip was going to be their first time on a plane, their first time in Maputo, their first time out of the province of Nampula. It was a big deal, and it is with this excitement in mind that I braced myself for what was to be a sort of adventure in babysitting.
Now, to leave Angoche, you have to be at the chapa stop by at least 3:00 A.M. So, I told the boys to be there at 2:00 A.M. and when they showed up promptly at 3:15, I was tickled to death. What with my delight that the boys and their mother were relatively on time and my sheer exhaustion at being up in the middle of the night combined with my utter dread of the chapa ride that was to come, I neglected to see a tiny baby strapped to the back of the boys’ mother.
When we got to the airport and I realized that there was another tiny person in our foursome, I really didn’t think much of it. The baby was a newborn, he wouldn’t eat the airplane food, and he would stay in the arms of his mother the whole time. But, upon entering the security line, we were informed that yes, we needed a frickin’ baby ticket. As my students entered the waiting room, Mom and I ran back to the counter and I used a month’s worth of our Peace Corps subsidy to buy a baby ticket. Seeing as Mom spoke barely a lick of Portuguese and my Koti is still crap, translating complicated questions about the baby’s immunization records for the airline staff was a hell of a time, and I was terrified we would miss our flight.
Mom, Baby, boys, and I all ran onto the plane as simultaneously several grays hairs sprouted from my head. The plane took off, and I glanced over at Mom sitting next to me and then at my teenage students sitting right behind me. Mom was very publicly nursing her baby, eerily calm despite her first time on a plane and the day’s stressful activities. The boys were excitedly gawking out the window until they saw I was looking, at which point they sat back and tried to play it cool. Meanwhile, I tried to catch my breath and began to calculate just how many years I no doubt lost off my life.
When we arrived in Maputo, we hailed a taxi and headed to the hotel. Mom, boys and Baby stuck to me like they were tourists from Ohio and I was a guide at the Louvre. Although a foreigner in their country, having previously been in Maputo and on a plane and in a hotel gave me some clout. Just the cab ride through the streets of the capital made the whole trip worth it. It was the realization for the boys that there was a whole other world out there beyond the coconut trees and cassava and capulanas of our quiet, little Angoche.
We got to the hotel and checked into our rooms. I showed the boys, Mom and Baby to their rooms and went to drop my stuff off when I heard a knock at the door. I opened to find Mom who looked at me sheepishly, grabbed my hand, and led me to her room. Maybe she wanted to play Connect Four, I thought.
When we got to her room, she took me into the bathroom, gave a menacing glance at the toilet like she was certain it was planning to swallow her whole, and then proceeded to hop in the shower, lift her skirt up, and imitate with sound effects like she was peeing. After which, she briefly clutched both her butt cheeks, then threw her hands up in the air and gave me a look that basically said, “What ‘chu talkin’ ‘bout Willis?”
It took some more gesticulating and broken Portuguese and Koti, but eventually I understood. She thought the shower was where you peed, but was trying to ask where in the heck you go number 2. It was clear she thought the toilet was a robot.
I completely took for granted that she had never been to a hotel or taken a shower or used anything that flushed. I imagine I looked like the world’s worst Chorades player ever as I imitated how to use these new devices.
I got a little break from my glorified babysitting when the boys, Mom, and Baby met up with their uncle who lives in Maputo and took them out on the town. I could tell Mom felt at ease again when she could speak her first language to a long-seen loved one.
The following day was the day of the big party at the Ambassador’s house where the boys’ artwork would be on display, and they would be publicly recognized. There were only two other volunteers who brought students so they were a little outnumbered at the party amongst other expats, Peace Corps Volunteers, and Mozambican dignitaries. We arrived at the Ambassador’s beautiful house, munched on the gourmet finger food, and drank soda out of the wine glasses. From the collective deer-in-headlights look on the faces of Mom, my students and Baby, it seemed like we had entered an alternate reality. I imagine that’s what it’s like on the set of Gossip Girl.
Still, whenever the boys were asked about their artwork, they answered confidently and intellectually about the work they had submitted. Mom looked on so proudly as the boys described to our Peace Corps Country Director and all sorts of other folks how they used abstractionism to combine the theme of World Peace and Friendship.
There was a small ceremony where the 4 student art winners were recognized in front of the whole party, awarded a certificate and T-shirt, and photographed with the Ambassador.
On the plane back home, I asked the boys what their favorite part of the trip was. They both said the party. I agreed, and not just because of the free wine and champagne. I asked what they liked about seeing Maputo and they said all the different ways people used art, from the murals on the walls to big billboards to the paintings in the ambassador’s house to the vendors selling their crafts on the streets. “Teacher, there’s so much you can do with art.”
Sure, I love art history, knowing the context of a piece of work and how it fits into that time period. But actually creating art--drawing, designing, sculpting, painting--it has never been my gift or interest. In fact, I draw fat stick figures.
But I am so thankful that in a country where creativity is not lauded, these boys (whose gift is art) got the opportunity to be recognized for their craft.
And while the trip was stressful and sometimes awkward and I mostly felt like a chaperone at a school camping trip, I can’t help but think the gray hairs were all worth it.
Showing the Peace Corps Country Director their beautiful work.
Such a proud mom. And rightfully so.
