Reputation

I learned this Friday that I have a reputation. My empregada, Dona Fatima, told me that her daughter was visiting Ponto do Ouro in the last month and mentioned that her mom in Maputo worked for a woman anthropologist that worked in Matutuine District. Immediately, people asked "Doctora Jenny?" These were people from both sides of the Mozambican-South African (KwaZulu-Natal) border.

It weirds me out a bit that people I've never met or spoken to, living many kilometers away from Madjadjane and Gala know who I am. I suppose I stand out a bit. There aren't too many white people living out in rural Mozambique, walking everywhere, asking about culture and tradition and history and plants, making terrible attempts at learning Mazingiri Ronga, measuring trees and counting plants, asking men and women and children about their opinions about agricultura to xilate... And everyone is related, so there is a lot of news exchange between villages in the Maputaland region... Imagining the situations where I might come up in conversation is a fun exercise in and of itself.

At the same time, I know that while people probably tell stories about the silly and crazy things I've done out of ignorance, I haven't done terrible things to warrant warnings about me. So I am happy that people know who I am. It makes my work easier. People are more open about their activities. For example, in the past month a number of local hunters have spoken with me about their hunting, what they've caught, and where. This is not something that I would have been able to do a year ago.

I still am curious what my reputation is though. I'll probably never find out. Salema, my assistant, tells me that people like me. That will have to be enough.

Food Fight: A creative take on history

I love watching videos and really like history, so this was a pleasant surprise. Some people are very creative and seem to have a lot of time on their hands, but it is quite cleverly done.

Food Fight An abridged history of American-centric warfare, from WWII to present day, told through the foods of the countries.

The Vietnam War

Teleporting & Viruses

This Wednesday I took a trip to Nelspruit to mail off 2 boxes of books. As I stood in line at Ressano Garcia border crossing on the return it really hit me. I have only one month left here in Mozambique. People have been asking me about leaving now for the past couple of months, but until I got that stamp it really didn't register that this was the last time I would be crossing into Mozambique at this border. I will be going to Kruger for a conference later in April, but I will cross the border in the park.

I will miss Mozambique. To tell you the truth, the only parts about the US that I have missed are my family and friends, and my washing machine. I will miss my friends here in Mozambique. No, I should say extended family. The communities of Madjadjane and Gala accepted me, taught me about their history, culture, and life with patience and generosity, helped me when I needed it, warned me to be extra careful in South Africa, were concerned when I was sick, shared what little they had, offered to build me a house, and asked me not to leave. I sometimes wish I had a teleporting machine or a portable hole that would allow me to travel easily from one country to another.

They (whoever they are) say that you can never really leave Africa once you have lived here. That it is a virus that infects your blood with longing. There is more than a grain of truth to this I think.

Out of my city office

Field assistant, Salema Manheçe, works with farmer-fisher Teresa as she gives an estimate of how much time she spends on livelihood activities.


As of yesterday at 10am, I literally have one more week of interviews in the field. All my work in Gala is finished for the present; the remaining specialist interviews, botanical quadrat work, and verification interviews for Gala are done. I just have verification interviews in Madjadjane left - checking the ethnoecological information I learned from everyone over the past 9 months. As Marcia, my mom in-law wrote me, your work will never finish. You just reach a stopping point for the time being. How true!

After my last post, I had several friends respond to my out of office email responder. They wrote to tell me that they really liked it. To admit to how much of a nerd I am, I actually did a little research before writing my responder. I read that a person should either make it short and sweet or very funny, but that you should politely let people know you will respond but it will take some time. Time is key, since after two weeks in the field I usually return to at least 200 messages - and that doesn't include the spam and garbage emails urging me to increase my penis size or visit websites with hot teens (yuck!).

So here is the body text of my "out of my city office" responder for posterity:

Hi. I am currently at my savanna office. As such, contact with the
industrialized world involves planes zipping overhead, land rovers
bumping along rutted dirt roads at breakneck speed or the occasional
call I can receive on my cell if I stand next to the Masala tree at
the store in the village.

Right at this very minute I am probably asking farmers nosy questions
about how many times they visit the local market and what types of
wild fruits they harvest. Hopefully, I am not dodging rogue elephants
in musth, hungry crocodiles, confused hippos, or small children
attempting to discover if I am truly a crazy, child-eating mulungo.

I hope that you are having a safe and happy day. Be assured that I
appreciate your inquiry and will respond as soon as is humanly
possible. Unless, of course, you have a jungle telegraph connection.

I am serious about that JT&T (Jungle Telegraph & Telephone) part at the end. You would not believe some of the news I get in the field and the manner in which it arrives. Nothing is worse than walking 7 clicks in 95F heat at 6AM, a pack full of computer equipment and dirty laundry, and finding out that there won't be a bus to take you to the capital at kilometer 10 because of a city transport worker strike, after 2 weeks in the bush. (Ok, it could be worse. The distance could be longer, the heat and humidity worse, bullets could be flying, elephants could charge out of the bush,...) This from a teacher walking the opposite direction to go to work in a thatch and cane building with a dirt floor and 50 students. Thank goodness apanhar uma boleia (hitch-hiking) is still possible in Mozambique.


**This last photo I took at Lagoa Ntiti in a fallow agricultural field on the lake floodplain. The little frog's body is only 2cm long. And people think only the Amazon and Central America have cute little colorful frogs!

A Dia de Canhu

It has been quite some time since my last post. My fellow blogger Damian wrote to ask if I was okay and to keep posting, since he hadn't heard from me in a while. Also, he wanted to let me know he was using my "out of office" reply in his blog (9Feb08).

A LOT has happened, but I really wanted to post about last Friday's festival in Madjadjane. Very few traditional practices survived Portuguese colonialism, missionization, and independence. FRELIMO made a real effort to get rid of traditional practices in their effort to modernize. Both the canhu and rain ceremonies survived however.

Nkanhi (Sclerocarya birrea) is a sacred tree in Mozambique. I have seen many trees at homes with a small offering to the ancestors at the base of the trunk. It much of the greater world it is known as amarula. The fruit, canhu, is known as the "king of fruits" in this part of the world and contains 4x as much vitamin C as an orange.

Once a year, communities in southern Mozambique hold celebrations for this fruit and it's harvest. This year the induna of Madjadjane decided to hold their festival on 8 February 2008. When I asked if I could attend, everyone said "Of course, we were expecting you there!" They couldn't believe I asked.

Taste testing all the canhu juice to see which has fermented

The day begins early. People harvest fruits the few days before the festival. That morning women and children (sometimes) remove the thick peel from the fruit and make juice. My first photo shows the process at Lidia Rosa's house. She invited me over as I waited at the school to try out a glass of juice. Many people describe canhu having a flavor akin to pineapple, litchi, etc. But really, the flavor is unique and absolutely wonderful.

Sorting out what goes to the chief for tribute
Then each family separates out 15-20 liters of juice to bring to the community gathering. A lot of people use old fishing bouys as containers. But there are buckets, cooking oil containers, and even old car transmision fluid containers that get used (yeah, that last one was more than a bit sketchy).

Once everyone has arrived, some of the non-fermented juice (about 40%) will be separated out to be sent to the chief as tribute. This is a leftover from the old days when the chief would receive part of every harvest and hunt. The chief will take some to the sacred forest and give it to the ancestors as an offering of thanks. He and his family might drink some, and the rest is distributed out into the community. Knowing the current chief, the remainder will go to those who cannot harvest and make canhu on their own (elderly, orphaned kids, etc.). A group of women transport the canhu juice to the chief.

For those able bodied people who don't make canhu juice, the induna (community groups of elders) charges MTn20-30. This money goes into a community savings account to pay for stuff like the new school that is being built, electrification, etc. I asked about contributing since I did not bring juice, but was told I didn't have to pay because I was a special guest. I fortunately asked the right person, because even Sr. Mathe was a little offended that I asked.

Once it is sorted what goes to the chief, the party starts. Basically, people take a break from working in their fields to enjoy a harvest festival. Some, like small children and super-religious folk, drink canhu juice. Most consume the fermented canhu. No sugar or yeast is added to make this 6-8% alcoholic beverage. It tastes kind of like fruity soda pop with a kick. But it gives everyone a chance to relax and talk and take a break from the day to day grind.

People dance and sing. There is a special elephant dance in Madjadjane. I only got to see a little as the rain put a damper on the party. The rains came about 2/3s of the way through the party and everyone made a mad dash for the school.


We continued on under the zinc roof to the heavy patter of a downpour, but it wasn't the same. Once all the beer was gone people started to duck out and drift home. The rain was appreciated though since the region has been under a severe drought for a few years. Perhaps it was the ancestors way of saying thanks for the canhu beer.

More photos from this October

River Road along the Futi River, Madjadjane, Mozambique.
Tihaca (Momordica balsamina) is an edible wild vegetable.
Xihaha (Opuntia ficus) is used in medicine for asthma treatments.
Waiting on the roadside to sell charcoal.
Me on the River Road.
Marracuja (Passiflora edulis) - passionfruit
Making mfuma - a paste of macuacua pulp that can be stored for future consumption.
Fire is used to clean fallow land in preparation for machambas (fields) where maize, cassava, and peanut will be grown.
A black catfish (~30 lbs.) harvested from the Futi River.
Little boys make carrinhos out of scrap wire, tin cans, and anything else they can find - including someone's old kewpie doll.
Building a new research lab/museum/office at the IUCN ecotourism lodge.
Selma and her cousin.
Constructing a new kitchen.
Dusk - a thunderstorm with heavy rain is blowing in.
Dawn.
Xavito making esteiras in his family's fabrica

In the field

Planting peanuts
It has been quite some time since my last post. I have been blogging in my field notebook, but I don't have an internet connection out at the reserve. So here are some excerpts from my notebook and photos to give you a sense of what I've been up to lately. It won't be a daily blow by blow, just some of the things that happen.
My new translator Salema and I
1 October 2007
"The rains started the night before last around midnight with a bang. Big thunder and lightning storm. The rains began at midnight last night and the night before. They finished yesterday before 6am. Today the rains were still going at 8:30am. They stopped by 8:45. It is 9:20 now, but the clouds still look very full of chuva [rain]. So I have a day to do… whatever. After lunch I called Sr. Mathe about a translator. I can’t be waiting around all day. I don’t have time. The more interviews I can do now the more I can accomplish. He has found me someone. So tomorrow I will need to contact Hussaine [current translator - always calling in sick]. I’m not contacting him until I meet the new person. TIA - there is always a chance something will go awry."
Inside Sr. Abraham's Office
2 October 2007
"While I was speaking with Jorge, Olga, and Mateus, Sr. Victoriano came by and requested that I stop by on my way home. I had a hunch that it had to do with the camera. It did. He was having trouble with using it. He had wanted to take a photo of Abraham (his son) wearing a cobra around his neck. I’m not sure if this was before or after they killed and skinned the snake (spitting cobra) or not. It was the problem of not advancing the film. Not a big deal. I finally got to meet his son who is a Rongan sangoma. He completed his training in South Africa, and… speaks English!!! Of all the individuals in the community to speak English I would never have imagined it to be the sangoma. Abraham invited me into his office. Holy mackeral. The real deal. Simba skins, an elephant legbone, various drums, other animal parts on the walls, bottles, jars, and containers full of unknown liquids and dried plants. There were some red, white and black capulanas hanging up too (colors of danger and magic I was informed when I asked). Then he said I could take all the photos that I wanted. I hope I didn’t come off as too excited, I really thought this sort of thing only happened on National Geographic. Abraham does divinations and from that helps diagnose social and relationship problems – a counselor, Marcia’s gonna love that. Wait til I tell her about the snakes. He also does medicine for the body and of course, rituals. Abraham told me that his family are always curandeiros."
Butterfly on esteira mat
4 October 2007
"At this point, Salema [translator] and I met up with Sra. Amelia (one of the very first people I interviewed, had a wound on her right ankle). She was holding a tortoise/turtle shell on the end of a stick as she walked along. From a distance I thought it was a big spoon. The turtle shell was about 10-11 inches long – it looked like the same species as Happy, the turtle Leocadia found in Gala. I asked if she had eaten it. Amelia said no and had this look of yuck on her face that was priceless. She found the shell and was taking it to the IUCN camp for sale there. Tourists buy strange things I was told. They are also building a office/museum/center of investigation so maybe it will find a home there. That is the building that Sr. Jeremias was working on."
Albertina
6 October 2007
"Our first interview was with Stella, wife of Vus who works at IUCN doing construction. It went well, but little Albertina was terrified of me. She started crying when I tried to get close to take a picture for her mom. She is 1 years old and I probably look scary. The older toddlers call me mulungo still, but aren’t so afraid. Hey, I’m realistic. I know that all sorts of stories are told about white people – we eat little African children, we steal them, we are ghosts or evil spirits or the ancestors… It reminds me of the time my Uncle Fred visited. My dad told me he was born in Transylvania and that he was a vampire. Then Uncle Fred showed me his teeth and I didn’t sleep a wink all night. I was 7 or 8 at the time."

I traveled back to Maputo for a week, was a bit under the weather, and generally way too busy to blog here. Entering data is not fun.
Eating breakfast, Papai sits at the table
17 October 2007
"I had a larium dream last night. They're pretty rare because my dreams are intense for the most part anyway. I slept horribly, had a horrible nightmare where I was pulling my brains, or at least something more solid and stringy, out of my nose. One of those dreams where is was so real I could feel the hot, wet stringy tissue moving around in my nose and hanging down my chin."

Yeah, I probably didn't need to include this, but it was just way too weird. Larium is the malaria drug I'm taking. It comes with a lot of dire warnings about depression, intense dreams, hallucinations, etc. So far, I haven't noticed much of a difference between being on and off Larium and I've been on it for over 10 months now (with a month off in June). That's kind of scary.
Two year old fallow along a back road.
19 October 2007
"Salema explained that Sr. Tembe is the chief of Madjadjane. This is a hereditary position. He is the grandson of the old chief that was killed in the war. The son of the old chief is in South Africa working. The Induna is composed of all the community elders that are 55-70 years old. At this point they have a lot of knowledge about the region, the community, how things are supposed to work, etc. They are both men and women. Older people are still valued for their knowledge, but they are not necessarily a part of the Induna. From the Induna, people elect secretaries and namzadores (both men and women can act in these positions). The secretários resolve problems within the community and work with the induna to settle disputes. Sr. Joel, Sr. Edesse, Sra. Arminda are current secretários. Basically, they act as justices. Namzadores seem to be a cross between detective and lawyer. They discover information about particular problems in the community and then present the information to the chief, secretários, induna, and other namzadores. Currently, Srs. Jeremias and Lapião are namzadores. Interestingly, both investigators are immigrants to the community."
Ncathlo - Tabernamontana elegans
24 October 2007
"After the firing discussion, he said that the 2 guards that poached are still working for the reserve. Guards X and Y poached 12 reedbuck. I told him that some people in the community were really angry. They live very close to the reserve boundaries, along the path that elephants migrate to Salamanga, and see the poaching as driving elephants out of the reserve. It makes it worse that guards were doing it because they are supposed to be protecting the people in the community from wildlife. A. looked thoughtful and said he hadn’t thought of that. Then he wrote it down, presumably to talk to the administrator about. The relationship between the community and reserve is not great – the poaching makes it worse."
Meninas returning from a macuacua (Strychnos madagascariensis) fruit collecting trip inside the reserve
26 October 2007
So far, everyone has said that resources in Madjadjane are for all residents to use. People may harvest as much as they need – even for production of stuff that is sold to outsiders. Basically, all resources are common pool resources for the community. But this pool is closed to outsiders. Anyone who comes and harvests and is not a resident, or asked for residency and moved in, is considered a thief. The community will catch them (beating them up in the process – Salema was most insistent on this part), take the person to the chief, make the person pay a fine, and then call the police to have them arrested. Those are pretty good deterrents. But how do you identify outsiders then, I asked? I mean, it is obvious for me because I am white, but that isn’t true for everyone. Salema told me that when a relative from outside comes into Madjadjane for a visit or to stay, they first go to Chief Sr. Tembe to make themselves known, explain the circumstances, and ask for permission to stay. Then, the chief will call a community meeting to introduce the person to everyone. That way, if the person is seen walking around in the community people will not be scared of them or suspicious. If the person desires to stay and build a home, the chief will show them places that they could choose for living. Salema said, “you even did this.” People would not talk to you if you didn’t go to Chief Sr. Tembe and then arrange a meeting with the Induna to introduce yourself and why you wish to live and work in the community. Thinking over what Salema said, I’m glad I did meet with traditional leaders. I would really hate to have the shit beat out of me by some suspicious person when I am out harvesting knowledge. And here I was nervous because I thought that it was just about explainig my research project. I didn’t realize that my personal safety was at stake. Salema says that they would not beat me up. But then, what would they do? I asked if an outsider were injured or died how people would respond. He said that they might help, but it would take a while to get a response because the person would not be a known person. Not their responsibility since the person did not introduce themselves to the community. This situation might make ecotourism difficult in Matutuine District. Although given that most tourists are white, staying at the ecotourism lodges, and not harvesting local plants maybe it might work. Also, if they hire a guide then it would definitely work. The upside of all this, is knowing that I am considered part of the community however odd I am."
Rio Futi - where the hippos live among the cane and papyrus
27 October 2007
"Salema showed up at 7am bright and early. He was wearing bling. Big silver bling, saying 50 Cent. It was a little strange on him. Real gangsta thugs eat nice guys like him for breakfast. I’m ain't sayin' he ain’t got skilz, but his skilz is bush skilz, not street skilz. I’ve noted 50 Cent labeled clothing on a couple other young guys in the community. It stands in stark contrast to their respectful behavior and what their parents and younger siblings wear. Salema’s cousin was collecting sura – not Anton – Cecilia’s son Anmanjidiu. Anmanjidiu and Anton are working together on the sura production. Probably because it would be quite a hike every morning for Anton to the reserve, while Anmanjidiu lives next door. They are cousins so the sharing isn’t quite a difficulty. Anmanjidiu was wearing his “Osama is my hero. Islam is my choice.” T-shirt with a rasta knit touk hiding his crazy Alfalfa hair. He really has a big ‘fro. Anmanjidiu and the rest of his family are Wesleyan Methodist. I only had one cup of coffee this morning – a crappy instant cup of Ricoffe – so the irony was killing me. Salema and I stopped at Lucia’s home on the way to Fernando’s for the charcoal interview. Lucia has malaria. I wished her well, but this apparently was a strange thing to do. So many people get malaria that while it is still considered an illness, it is just something you deal with and get on with your life. Kind of like a head cold. Children still need feeding, laundry washed, machambas planted, etc. So wishing one good health is not seen as appropriate. People do stop by to see if there are things they can help with and to make sure you aren’t flat out in bed running a high fever, but there isn’t much else that can be done."
Turn off to Madjadjane
29 October 2007
"We passed through the vale that has the 2 big mango trees. I found out that the local name for this place is Incanducene. Every family in Madjadjane has a big space in Incanducene for a machamba. The area is currently fallowed, but next year it will be used again for crops. People have both tempo quente and tempo fresco machambas here. Milho, amendoim, manioca, muitas hortas, cana doce, banana, ananas, all will grow in this place. The name, Incanducene, comes from the fact that cana de açucar grows in this place according to Salema. Every family has a space along the Futi and in Incanducene."

Yes, this is a huge entry. Sorry about that. I hoped you liked the little slices from my October though.