20 Jan 2009
As I ring in inauguration day, I am a little sad I am missing it all. I mean really, I heard that on election day, Oprah was crying on national television. My life is not complete because I didn't see that. So I have got to thinking, how do American politics and the general state of affairs on the other side of the world fit into my life here?
The American economy is poo, so Peace Corps budget here in Mozambique has been cut – which we PCV’s are constantly reminded of by the big wigs. There is this little wave of hope that things might change once Obama takes office, rumors about new loan forgiveness programs for volunteers, and a general optimistic sentiment that we will go home in two years and America will be a better place (or at least we might be able to find jobs). And then there was that long election day where nowhere in Namaacha was showing election news because of the time difference and the Mozambican love for Brazilian telenovelas, and we just had to wait for someone’s parents to call to get news. Then, all of a sudden, I got about 27 text messages proclaiming Obama’s victory.
In terms of Mozambicans and Obama, I have been asked many a time:
“Black president in America huh? Did you vote for him”
“When does that guy take over?”
“Wait, is he American?”
“Oh yeah, you guys have that black man. What is his name again?”
In general, people know of Obama, they like him, they are excited that he is going to be president but most people outside of Maputo could probably recite an entire Chris Brown song in English before they could really tell you anything about the president-elect. Fair enough, they have more palpable problems to worry about. Also, I suppose my comparison is unfair, because the words of Chris Brown ARE a sort of universal language…
But I will try to sketch little vignettes of the three most vivid and memorable Obama conversations I have had with Mozambicans.
My mae had heard of him. On election day as always, the radio was buzzing in the background. I had more or less learned to just tune out the DJ’s ridiculously fast Portuguese that was usually tangled with almost unbearable amounts of static. When I don't understand the language being spoken around me it just becomes a sort of soothing white noise, it seems like a quiet hum whirling around my head, through my ears, and then just sort of evaporating into meaninglessness. But today, the incoherent buzzing was punctuated by a few English words: “kshdf,kjhsflO>fj George Bush sdhflfdj.soghljgg John McCain sdhfskfdhj…” I am sure that Barack Obama was mixed in there too, but his extraordinary name just blended into the Portuguese obscurity.
“It is election day in America today mama”
“I know who the president of America is”
“You do?”
“George Bush”
I am pretty sure my mae knew three words in English, and two of them were George Bush. And the way she pronounced it was so cute.
My nephew jumps in, “I am going to be President of America some day.”
“Ok Wilton, but what about Mozambique?”
“I am going to be president of Mozambique too.”
“Oh, Ok”
And then I proceeded to get into an entire gender issues discussion with a 12 year old Mozambican boy because I said to my sister “you are going to be president of Mozambique too right.” Wilton laughed at the possibility… So I schooled him.
I have found that sassyness in Portuguese really isn’t that hard. Especially since Mozambicans love adding sound effects to everything. Most conversations involve a lot of Oi! Ugh! E pa! Nada! I love to throw these around just for fun.
And then there was my first Mozambican wedding experience. Now the whole wedding itself was quite an adventure. I walk up to the house with my sisters, and see that outside there are just big steaming vats of Mozambican cuisine being stirred by women swathed in capulanas, and the whole place is decorated in pink and white streamers, tinsel, and balloons. The women that weren’t cooking were decked out in their finest acrylic from head to toe. Literally, from acrylic hair, to dresses, to shoes, I mean I don't know how these people weren’t melting in the heat. But anyway, they were all very nice and just having a wonderful time – tinsel, acrylic, heat, and all.
So, as I was saying, I walked in with my sisters and was immediately escorted away from them by a woman I had never met before, placed at a table with all middle aged men, and given an enormous plate of food. Now, as uncomfortable as I found this situation, I just had to remind myself that this actually just meant that I was very respected. So I ate what I could and tried to make small talk with these men. Well, they didn't really want to talk to me, so I just sat there scanning the crowd in an attempt to locate my sisters and pondering how long I would have to stay in order to be polite. Then, the godfather of the bride – who is actually the most important person at a wedding – approached me.
“you are just sitting there looking unhappy.”
“sorry, I am not unhappy”
“well you aren’t talking to anyone, come sit with us”
“yes sir, ok”
And then he escorts me to the head table. Yes, that is right, picture the head table with the Godmother, the Bride, the Groom, the Godfather, and the scared little white girl who barely understands what is going on (that would be me). Anyway, after we have discussed the differences between weddings in America and weddings in Mozambique – which I chalk up to similar, because they both involve food and a big party with dancing – he begins to ask me about Obama. The man loves him. Well, he doesn't really know much about him, but he knows his father is from Africa and that he is a democrat, both of which are very good things in his mind.
Well unfortunately our interesting discussion of politics that really tested my Portuguese skills was cut short as the procession of gifts began. Groups of people came up and presented the couple with dishes, capulanas, Tupperware, and various house wares while singing songs in Changana. Now it was all quite entertaining and beautiful, except that my new Obama loving friend the Godfather insisted that after kissing the Godmother, Bride, Groom, and Godfather on the cheeks as each person presented their gifts,
“don't forget Katarina”
each person also had to kiss the scared little white girl who barely understands what is going on (again, that is me). This lasted about an hour and a half. I suppose I was honored.
Finally, Mozambique’s municipal elections were about two weeks after our Election day. Frelimo is the party that led the country out of civil war and has held power ever since. I have been told that Frelimo is so popular and powerful in fact that candidates for the other party, Renamo, often remain in hiding. Frelimo campaigning involves a lot of cramming as many people as can possibly fit in an open back truck, then driving around with massive Frelimo banners, and everyone chanting and shouting for Frelimo. “Vota, da vota!” (vote, give vote – At least I think this is what they were saying, it was sort of hard to make out the actual words amidst the chaos and my attempts to avoid being run over by the patriotic death mobiles). On Election Day they trucks were everywhere. I was walking along, thankful to be making my way down on the final stretch of my long walk home. A truck speeds around the corner. It was coming straight towards me. The men were fervently waving the oversized Frelimo flag, hanging off the sides of the truck, and banging on the windows, the sides, the bed, and anything else that might contribute to their cacophony. Honestly, in that moment I was a little nervous. A truck full of unruly Mozambican men was barreling towards me. I jumped as far right as I possibly could in an attempt to get out of its path. Then, all of a sudden, someone noticed me, pointed, and yelled.
“Oh gosh,” I thought, “I am so getting attacked by this vehicular political rally.”
He shouted again, and this time I made out what the man was saying
“OBAMA!”
Then the entire truck joined in. The barreling crowd of unruly Frelimo fans was chanting for the new American president-elect, triumphantly waving their arms in the air, and cheering as they passed me. My somewhat irrational fear quickly turned into pride and elation, and I just joined in the cheering as they rattled past. Surreal.
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