Tag Archives: Mozambique

October 8, 2012 · 4:13 pm

Ricardo’s Beans

Innovation. It was not covered in any of the training seminars, but it is a good way to describe the general mentality of the Belas Association- innovators. From my first day I can see that it exists in this group of farmers. As I tour the fields of Associacao 7 de Abril 1 I notice a smaller plot of beans.

I ask if it is also contracted to Vanduzi Company. Ricardo tells me those are his leftover beans. He is experimenting and trying to save seed because the only source of green bean seed comes from Vanduzi Company. Local seed suppliers do not carry it. I hate to ask, but I do- “Is this hybrid seed?” Ricardo looks confused. Perhaps it is my pronunciation of hybrid. One of the CARITAS staff members accompanying me for the day repeats the question. Someone else repeats it in Shona. “Yes it is.”  I inhale and exhale and decide to give a straight forward response. “You know that hybrid seed won’t reproduce true to form.” Silence. A nod. Does it mean he knew that or is waiting for more?

“If you plant the seed from this who knows what kind of bean you will get and, well, it is also planted right next to your dry beans which could also confuse things due to cross-pollination.” He seems to remember hearing this some place before, but masks his disappointment. I say, “Well you have a great experiment going. Perhaps you will develop a new breed of bean that will be perfect for the Belas District. It will be called Ricardo I.” He laughs and says “I might be able to make a lot of money from that.” Determination. Next time I will bring Ricardo at least ten varieties of green beans for his experiment. Maybe some yellow and purple ones as well.

The group turns out to be great actors. I shouldn’t have been surprised given that I immediately picked up on their willingness to innovate. Turns out they also improvise. I give a general scenario for a sale.

One person plays the buyer, the other the seller. The goal is for the seller to close the deal to their advantage. Even when the role play takes place in Shona I understand what is going on. Rafael tries to swindle me at my market stand. He talks to me in a loud rude way. I ask him “senor why are you to talking to me in that loud voice.” At the end of the scene he claims he has no money and actually tries to walk off with the bags full of vegetables. I get loud applause for chasing him down and taking back the vegetables.

We take turns and change the scenarios. A whole sale buyer from the city calls Simao on his cell phone to buy cabbage. A buyer shows up at Lucia’s farm demanding a good deal. I play a lost city person who shows up at Ricardo’s farm and wants to buy lots of vegetables. We switch back and forth between Shona and Portuguese depending on who is playing the roles.

Many times Rafael volunteers to be the buyer. We start calling him “the swindler”. I learn a lot from him. Much of what he improvises is likely reality. “You need to lower your price because I arrived here late in the day and now it will be difficult for me to get a ride back to the city. I will have to wait all night”, he tells one woman playing the seller. At first she caves in until we all begin to shout at her “tell him that’s not your problem if he made a bad plan!” I love this afternoon. We laugh. We talk. We discuss. And in the end we dance, improvising without music.

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October 5, 2012 · 10:15 pm

Connections

Antonio remembers the extraordinary multi-lingual street kid, Benedito, who lived in Quelimane in 1990. Sergio knows Abilio. The seed salesman lived in the same student pousada in Maputo that I did. This trip I even meet the daughter of the former ambassador to the US to whom I once wrote a letter and actually received a reply. But Elliot, the chef at the lodge where I am staying has no idea the Belas Association farmers exist and travels to Chimoio to buy his cabbage. He was shocked when I told him the cabbage he was buying came from nearby- that the guys he was buying from traveled out here to purchase the cabbage he bought in the Chimoio markets.

During the farmer trainings we brainstorm places for direct market sales. We talk about cutting out the middleman. We discuss how to overcome lack of transport to and from market. They love the Madison farmers’ market video. Ferai says he is ready to jump up and start a market like that right now.

One of the woman comments how much movement there is and if I ever get to sit down. Ricardo notices details like the bags in my back pocket and the fact the vegetables are transported in a refrigerated truck. Rafael, who turns out to be the star of the role-playing, likes that I am laughing with the customers. All of them even like that all the customers only walk in one direction around the capitol square.

But somehow after role playing various direct market sales scenarios an animated discussion begins. I’m lost. It’s all in Shona. I finally interrupt and ask for a translation. It turns out they are listing all the things that won’t work with every direct sales outlet on our list. Too small, too far, not enough people live or work there, we don’t know anyone there. I try to explain this is about creating a new future- that it is in fact more than that- it is about controlling their future. Collin, who is accompanying us for the day, tells the story of the women we gave a ride to in the morning. They were tobacco traders from Zimbabwe. One was carrying an infant. The both carried large sacks of dried tobacco scavenged from the harvest leftovers. Twice a month they crossed the border to Mozambique and traveled to the Belas District to trade the tobacco for vegetables. They were determined to change their life. They knew they had to do something and just could not sit back and discuss all the reasons they could not do something. If they can take risks, why can’t you? It had an impact. Heads nodded. The conversation then turned to how do we solve our transport problem? When we travel to the cities to sell how do we make sure we do not get ripped off? Who can we trust? How can direct sales benefit us? Do other more progressive wholesalers exist who would be willing to buy a wider range of product? Do we have to give up our Vanduzi contracts and sales to the wholesale buyers?  Let’s make signs for the highway so that customers know we exist.

Diversification. Hope. A new future. I feel the connections being made in their minds. I see eyes light up.

I’m not a person considered a super-connector by Facebook or LinkedIn standards, but I remember things and I ask a lot of questions. I remember faces. I forget the names of streets, but I can still find my way around Maputo and guide the driver to my old student lodgings along the railroad tracks. I listen carefully. And here in Mozambique I talk a lot. I hope one day that my endless story-telling, questioning and listening leads me to discover Benedito’s story after he was taken from the Quelimane streets and adopted by a well-off man in Maputo. Does he still speak seven languages? Has he had a good life? I hope his eyes are still shinning the way I remember them. I hope he is still open and friendly to everyone. I hope he now speaks ten languages and has a PhD. I hope the farmers try something new.

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October 4, 2012 · 4:59 pm

The only (lonely) guest

Most nights I am the only guest. I sit in an empty dining room. Every night the menu is brought to my table, but it only takes me one night to learn exactly what is available and what is not. I really want some soup. How hard is it to make soup? One night I succeed in ordering a cheese sandwich. It is not on the menu, but it exists in the computer system. I am charged 80 MT, or about $3. With a beer and a cabbage salad I feel satisfied.

Guests come and go- arriving before dusk and departing shortly after dawn. One night a lively German tour group arrives followed by an English family. The place is hopping. The Germans are on a 21-day driving tour beginning in Zimbabwe and traveling through Zambia, Malawi and Mozambique. Their trip will end in Kruger National Park in South Africa. I wonder if they ever have time to get off the bus. One of their tour guides tries to pick me up. It’s fun to have people to talk with, but I wish them good luck in three languages and say good night. One night I sit at the bar and tell the bartender that it is part of his job to talk with the guests. He laughs and plays along as all good bartenders do. When my food arrives, however, I am sent to my table. Another night I help out some fellow travelers by giving them 5 MT. They are extremely grateful and thank me, but then head to their own table. The next morning as I am waiting to be picked up one of them approaches and begins to chat. He is surprised that I’m from the United States and suddenly wants to talk about the upcoming elections. He regrets not talking with me the night before.

Most nights I fall asleep under my mosquito net with a book. Unfamiliar animal calls cause me to stir. I wake up just before dawn to familiar rooster calls from across the valley. I water the plants outside my house, sit on the front stoop and watch the mist rise. One morning someone is plowing along the river.

I ask the lodge managers when the water will rise and if he has a chance of getting a harvest. No chance I’m told. The water will begin to rise in October and by late November his fields will be completely covered. It makes great fishing for the tourists. Apparently the bass hang out in the flooded corn and and sweet potatoes getting fat and lazy. Yet at this time I year the local fisherman need to work and herd fish into their nets by slapping the water.

At 6 I walk to the main lodge to see if I can find my breakfast. Some days I’m immediately successful, others I’m not. I’ve bought yogurt, granola, cheese and juice which is locked away in the kitchen every night as white toast and marmalade doesn’t last when I won’t eat again until 7 or 8 at night.

I’ve given up asking for a pot to make cowboy coffee and instead drink the provided Ricoffee (instant coffee made with Chicory). The first day I was served sweetened condensed milk. I asked for fresh and it’s been out every morning since. I’m thankful. Sometimes I have to wait for someone to bring the key to open the kitchen. While waiting I drink my coffee, watch the bartender measure and count his stock. Once I tease him and say I know the count- one beer less than yesterday. No one else was here. He laughs. I talk to Rambo, the avocado-eating-scavenging young lodge cat. Sometimes I let him sit on my lap while I wait. I have to watch him as he is quick and will stick his entire head in my juice (or beer) before I can react. Sometimes I’m lucky and there is no waiting my plastic bags containing my special breakfast items are waiting for me at “my” table.

After breakfast I walk back to my “house” and prepare for the day. “Bom dia, tudo bem?”, I call, hoping for a conversation, but only getting a friendly greeting in return. I do the same when I return in the evening. Eventually my efforts pay off. I meet the head chef and ask him if he could possibly prepare a soup for me on the weekend. We speak in English. He is from Zimbabwe. I finally get my soup.

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September 24, 2012 · 7:16 am

Just cabbage and kale?

One thing the farmers (and market sellers) haven’t seemed to learn is market diversification. From my first day I heard about cabbage, saw cabbage and ate cabbage. Cabbage is spoiling in the Manica and Chimoio markets yet these market sellers say they could sell more. I found it so depressing I didn’t even take a photo of it. Beautiful cabbage is sitting in some farmer’s fields yet no one buys it. Yet they say they want to buy more and grow more. How come?

The farmers say they are able to make a good profit growing cabbage. This was confirmed by Bella, a PhD student from Zimbabwe who has been working with the Belas Associations and conducting some case studies. But I’ve begun to wonder. What about cucumbers, onions peppers, carrots, cauliflower, broccoli, spinach or potatoes? These twenty-something potato sellers in the 25 Junho Market in Chimio told me most of the potatoes they bought and sold were from South Africa.

They were unable to find a reliable local source for good quality potatoes. When they say good quality they are primarily talking about size, but they also value red potatoes which often are not found on the South African market. These guys also said they wanted to sell more then potatoes (unlike the cabbage sellers) and could sell almost anything. I believe them.

All they need is a local source. At least this case the young are moving faster than the older generations.

I’ve seen few new agricultural products for sale. In Manica I saw ginger, although I’m told it as been available for several years, mustard greens and broccoli rab and a few sad looking eggplant in Chimoio. Otherwise little has changed in the markets. There are perhaps more sellers and non- agricultural related business in Mercado 38. Mercado 25 de Junho has built a line of permanent stalls and cleared out a pathway for customers.

The farmers in four of the six Belas Associations have just completed four days of intensive business plan training from GAPI, a local microfinance organization. This week I’m planning to follow up on some of the theoretical concepts they learned last week- especially on the concept of diversification- why it makes good business sense and why it is good for production. Their other favorite crop couve, or Portuguese kale, is the in the same vegetable family as cabbage. Their fields are full of cabbage worms. I’m a bit worried that the photos and video of the Madison farmers market

will overwhelm them, but I’m hoping they will learn to imagine what more is possible. Growing petite green beans for Vanduzi Company is just one small step.

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September 24, 2012 · 6:11 am

Forgetting and Learning

Dusty bumpy roads just make me tired. It doesn’t help that I was forced to speak Portuguese all day on my second day of work. When I get tired I like to have a translator on hand to help me out. Maybe I’m lazy, but when I’ve just arrived and haven’t spoken a word of Portuguese in two years it minimizes the chance of total confusion. Today my translators only spoke Portuguese. I had no choice. I had to speak. Sometimes we were confused. I am exhausted.

This time around it seems I’ve forgotten more than usual. My mouth struggles to form the words. I stutter and laugh. It makes me think just how much do we forget in our lives? Where we are from? Where we went to school? Our parents? This week I heard a story of a man who forgot all those things. The people say such persons emerged from the belly of a dead man bewitched during the war. It seems it is how they explain refugees, new immigrants or those who just move to a new place. More and more people are moving for employment here in Mozambique. So many people seem to be from someplace else.

Luckily the farmers stay put. And they are learning. After a three year absence from Manica province I’m surprised by some changes. Many of the farmers have cell phones and many have contracted with Vanduzi Company, a large vegetable exporter.

They are used to foreign consultants. One group of associations has even received World Bank project funding to line their irrigation channel with cement. The roads have improved, brick houses are being built and I found strawberries for sale at a roadside stand produced by either a man from Zimbabwe or the United States depending on who you asked. Later I found much better strawberries in the Manica market where I was told they were organic or at least grown without chemical pesticides and fertilizer and that is why they tasted so much better than the ones I had purchased on the EN6. In fact, several people repeated this to me over the course of my stay. It seems this is an opportunity to promote organic production techniques. I can’t wait to start using this example during my training seminars.  I suspect, however, that most of the farmers have never eaten strawberries.

I haven’t forgotten how things were just three and a half years ago. I can also still find the markets in Chimoio and Manica. I’m encouraged as the farmers in the Belas Associations seem like they won’t forget anything I say.

And, luckily I don’t seem to forget about vegetables- just how to talk about them in Portuguese.

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September 21, 2012 · 9:21 am

Where is my hammock?

The scene is too perfect-even at the end of the dry season. Bird calls in the morning, frogs singing at night. I long for my hammock which is hanging empty in my backyard in Madiso. Somehow this time I’ve gotten lucky. I’m staying in a resort called Casa Mskia that caters to mainly to fisherman from South Africa and Zimbabwe. Travelers also use it as a rest stop as they travel through southern Africa often arriving no later than 5 pm and departing as soon as it is light- no later than 6 am.

My imagination runs wild with ways to improve the quality of accommodation and food. It has the potential to be an incredibly beautiful yet simple place, but the clients are here for the fishing, not the accommodation and atmosphere. I do, however, decide to water the plants outside my door everyday.

Originally the resort was a crocodile farm and sold both the meat and hides for a good profit. In more recent times it has become a small reserve that includes an animal rehabilitation program. The managers’ daughters were carrying two baby gazelles in a basket both around a month old. On my Sunday off I went for a two hour walk around the reserve in search of giraffes. Apparently, the day before they had been close to the main lodge. However, after fifteen minutes of walking it was clear they had moved.

After spotting track and scat from zebras, wildebeast, impala, mongoose, serval and even feral cat, we found the giraffe tracks. Finally I saw my first wild giraffe. The four are still quite young and haven’t yet reproduced and were brought here from South Africa on 8 October 2010.

Clemente and I spent quite a bit of time watching and photographing them. Later they watched us as we stood and talked.

Casa Msika is located on the Revue River which feeds into the lake created by the Chicamba dam built in 1968 and is only 5k from the main highway between Chimoio and Manica.

This dry season the lake is at an all time low after two years of drought and due to the fact that the dam has recently been releasing water in to the blank river that flows towards Chimoio and eventually the Indian Ocean. The managers explained that by December the lake will be as high as the main lodge and boats will be tied to the rail outside of the small house where I am staying. I can only imagine how gorgeously green it will be. Spring arrived with the rain last night.

As usual I have plenty of time to spare and can often be found sitting on my stoop reading, gazing at the scenery or observing people going about their daily routine.

Cats keep me company.

Wouldn’t it be nice to have a hammock- the perfect combination of work and relaxation. But I wonder if they even have hammocks here- perhaps in the surfing resorts around Vincolos- perhaps I should start a hammock making business. I can only imagine.

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September 27, 2010 · 5:22 am

Erasmo’s Shrimp and Eggplant Stew Saves the Day

September 15-26

In Nametil it took me two weeks to be better able to meet my daily living needs. I finally secured a table, a chair and mosquito net although I was never able to get the net hung properly so in the end it was useless. It did however provide a nice bit of color for the empty room. After a few days I was able to get hot water for instant coffee every morning. I would have boiled the water myself except the kitchen cooking heat came from a small coal fire in a grill. At night the coal and grill are locked away so I have to wait for Virgilio, the cook of another government worker who lives in a different government house which is not equipped with a kitchen, to arrive and boil some water for me. Yes I should have prepared as if I were camping. At some point early in the first week I learned that the driver for my host organization is staying in the same government guest house I am. The place is much larger than it appears from the outside and many people, actually all men, are staying here. The driver, Erasmo, began talking about how he was going to prepare Shrimp and Coconut for dinner. I of course said I love that and as a result was invited me to eat it with him. In return I supplied the beer for the meal. As he was unable to find any coconut we ended up eating a Shrimp and Eggplant Stew with rice which was absolutely delicious and restored me to myself. This best meal yet included good conversation in my crazy Portuguese, which now includes occasional Brazilian pronunciation and a Spanish word here and there.

As the days passed Eramso and I formalized our arrangement. I supplied the money for the food, after consulting with me about my likes and dislikes he decided what we would eat and gave instructions to Virgilio about what to buy and any necessary prep work. Finally Erasmo would finish the cooking when we returned from the field. Due to a severe lack of variety in the local food market I ate shrimp at least three times, grilled fish once or twice and either a cabbage salad or green pepper salad with every meal. The seafood was brought to our door frozen every morning likely from a shop like the one pictured here.

Once Virgilio and Erasmo prepared Matapa made with cabbage rather than pumpkin leaves. I prefer the pumpkin leaf version. My second favorite meal of the week was another shrimp stew in a light tomato sauce heavy on the garlic and onions served with fried manioc. We often bought vegetables from the farmers we visited and if we were lucky were given vegetables as a thank you.

Buying onions for dinner

Even here the selection was limited and my diet was primarily cabbage, green peppers, tomatoes and carrots. My one contribution to cooking was to make Cowboy Coffee for Virgilio, Erasmo and myself on afternoons when we were hanging around with nothing to do.

On the weekends I was left to my own devices as the grill was locked away and Erasmo returned to Nampula city for the weekends. My choice was to eat in the one restaurant in town where I usually had an omelet with French Fries. I’ve eaten more potatoes and eggs in the past two weeks than I usually do in two months back home! Now that I am back in Nampula City my food choices have expanded somewhat to delicious vegetable soups and expensive grilled meats and seafood, but mainly I am thrilled to be eating fresh pineapple and papaya every morning for breakfast. I can honestly say that I have never eaten a pineapple anywhere in the world better than the ones I have consumed in Mozambique. And this alone makes me happy.

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September 22, 2010 · 11:21 pm

Knowing Where You Are and Planning for the Future

Mogovolas District, Nampula Province

September 16-22, 2010

Bit by bit I am starting to learn about the system of government organization and am now better able to pinpoint exactly where I am at any given time. Of course I often get quite mixed up as there is always a shorthand way to refer to these places or nicknames that I don’t quite catch. I am also easily confused when a few names of Agricultural Associations are thrown into the mix. Last week for example I was in Localiadade Muvuruta, Posto Muatua, Mogovolas District, Nampula Province, Mozambique. Today we stayed in the Posto de Nametil,

but we could have been almost anywhere in the Mogovolas District as far as I could tell. Sometimes we come upon a surprise such as this abandonned mission.

One day we drove at least 60 kilometers to reach an agricultural association, the final 18 kilometers of which were quite rough and included several washed out bridges. We do most of our driving on what my map says are secondary roads, but some are nearly impassable.

Today we had to walk a kilometer or more after the road, or track, became impassable.

During this assignment I’ve tried my best to frame my questions to the farmers in a positive manner in an attempt to avoid the endless string of complaints which I spent a month listening to last year in Manica Province. After I am given a tour of the vegetable production area and explanations for what they are doing in the fields which often include details about the spacing of their neatly laid out rows we retreat to the shade to talk. At this point I try to steer the conversation by asking “what kinds of things would you like to learn about that you think would help you to become better farmers” and “what are your plans for the future”. Sometimes the response is complete silence, and I need to keep asking questions, other times they are far ahead of me. Today as soon as we reached the shade Jose Mario, the president of the association, began explaining how he would like someone to come and teach him how to build a proper dam.

During the rainy season his dam often collapses and needs to be rebuilt. With Jose Mario and the other members of Ndowe Naphavele, or Let’s See Association, we discussed how to transport their produce to market in Nametil nearly 20 kilometers away. I asked them to describe what they are doing now and they described the typical overloaded bike seen on every Mozambican road. I asked if they had ever considered building a cart for their bicycles and this began a animated conversation among the members, some needed to know what a cart was, others thought there would be no materials to build it, others thought they needed to know what it looked like and then Jose Mario spoke up once again and said something that surprised everyone “I saw those types of carts in Macao and in India when I was in the military. I think we could build them”.

So if anyone reading this knows of plans to build a simple bicycle trailer please post a link in the comment section and I’ll see they get to Jose Mario and the Let’s See Agricultural Association of Localiadade Mecutamala, Posto de Nametil. This conversation was encouraging as many farmers tell me they could grow more and would like to grow more, but they have a difficult time getting their produce to market. This might be one simple solution.

Mainly farmer’s ideas for the future have included expanding production areas and creating and improving irrigation systems.

Things they’d like to learn more about include crop rotation, insect and disease identification, how to use a plow and care for oxen, seedling production, and specific crop production information.

Often they seem skeptical when I talk about organic soil improvement techniques, “The plants need food in order to grow well” I’ve begun to exclaim in Portuguese, but they do listen carefully and seem willing to soak up any knowledge and ideas that are offered. My impression is that in general the farmers and extension agents in Mogovolas District would take off if given training in basic organic production methods as they all recognize that something needs to be done in order to improve and that they simply can not afford chemical fertilizers and pesticides much less travel to Nampula City to o\purchase them.  Because of the cost of fertilizers and lack of knowledge about other methods many simply choose to not use any regular or systematic soil improvement methods. Overall my impression is that these farmers are much more open and less jaded than the majority of the farmers I met last year in Manica Province. At times I wonder if this is due to less contact with NGO’s or if it is simply how Macua people are. Right now there is no way for me to know. One farmer when I commented that 20 kilometers on a bike hauling vegetables to market was a lot of work he said well I get it there “poco a poco”, little by little or bit by bit. Later in our conversation when we were talking about compost, he exclaimed “how could I possibly do that on 6 hectares of land!” and I replied well you already told me the answer, “poco a poco”, and he cracked up.

I’m not sure if this more positive attitude is actually true or if it may partially be attributed to my new method of asking questions and the slightly different nature of this evaluation. However, my gut says yes the people here are still excited by farming. They see the opportunity to increase their income since vegetables are not readily available in the markets and are expensive. They haven’t forgotten how to work hard, don’t expect handouts and want to learn as much as they can as market vegetable production is not a traditional income earning activity. This positive vibe is having a good effect on me as well so that when hearing a complaint such as “the pigs around here keep getting into my land and eating everything what should I do?” I am able reply easily and naturally, “I think you should go to those people and tell them ‘if you keep letting your pigs get fat on my vegetables I have the right to eat your pig!’”  Don’t worry. The local extension agent gave the proper answer before mine “go to the chefe de posto and tell him what is happening and make him tell the people to keep their pigs in a corral”. Anyway the chuckles all around made my day as we laughed about little pigs growing so rapidly in the vegetable fields that they could not make it home.

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September 16, 2010 · 10:15 am

Coming Full Circle, Nametil and Iuluti, Mogovolas District

September 14-15

I’ve been laughing to myself a lot lately about how my life is turning in circles. Yesterday I was taken to visit an ADPP Horticultural School just outside of Nametil where the government guest house is located. As soon as I arrived I was transported back in time; the well organized school buildings, the cleanliness, students in uniform, the pleasant receptionist, the explanation of how the school and vegetable sales work were all so classic ADPP.

I could have gone there without knowing what it was and easily guessed this is an ADPP place. The school has only existed for two years and already has 122 students with plans to expand to 180 next year. The have a total of 473 hectares with only a few hectares currently under vegetable cultivation. At some point in the future they plan to use much of the acreage for a cashew plantation. I was surprised to find that an ADPP project had a lack of irrigation, but I’m sure this won’t last for long. After our tour I began to ask our guide a few more questions and I let him know that I worked for ADPP in Matola Rio in 1990. This led to questions about “do you know…” and sure enough I may have located a great friend and colleague from those days. He apparently is only two to three hours from Nampula and running an ADPP Banana Plantation. A message has been sent to him. I’m hoping we can meet before the end of my trip.

On Wednesday after several delays we finally made it outside town today to begin our farmer visits. After a bumpy forty-two kilometer drive we arrived in Iuluti and began searching for the local agricultural agent. After some discussion we discovered that one of the agricultural associations that we wanted to visit was 23 kilometers further along the road. A long discussion ensued and then it was determined we did not have enough gas to get there. Instead we went to visit with a man who was farming alone and lived in the center of Iuluti.

Mario Joseph

His fields were small, but very nearly weed free and he grew a variety of crop close to a small river which still had water in it. His cabbage was absolutely beautiful and free of holes.

I had to ask “do you use any chemicals on your crops?” A bottled was pulled out of its hiding place in the corn.

I began to recall just why my life took the path it did. In 1990 many times I observed pesticides being used and I would ask “what are you doing” because I was interested in learning about agriculture.  From these discussions I learned that quite often people did not know proper application procedures and often could not even read the directions. This was either because the directions were in English or the person applying the pesticide was illiterate in Portuguese. This experience led me directly to interning on an organic vegetable farm upon returning to the United States. I sometimes joke that we were farms slaves but I did learn a lot and was able to use that knowledge to begin my own organic vegetable farm. Twenty years later here I am standing looking at and taking a photos of the pesticide instructions that in some ways led me here in the first place. Although the farmer follows the instructions quite well the pesticide he is using is supposed to be used for cotton, not edible produce.

The next farmer we visited was the president of an Agricultural Association called, Okalihery de Mucue, or Helping Each Other. This farmer’s passion reminded me why I strive so hard to do what I do. Anastacio had only been growing vegetables for two years and moved around the country a bit previously living in Beira and Quelimane. When he moved to this area he contacted the local agricultural extension agent for advice and has been working closely with him ever since. He spoke rapidly and was full of enthusiasm when describing his operation and his plans for the future. Before we could even introduce ourselves he began to show us his wonderful and simple irrigation system.

He plans to move his irrigation system to a lower point in his fields and expand his production area next season. His success has become known and as a result he has received a loan from the local government of 50,000 MT which he plans to use to buy better seeds, a pump, chemicals, and hire some workers to clear more land and expand his irrigation system.

He wants to learn about crop rotation in a mixed vegetable system and about insect and disease identification. I wish I could go back and thank Anastacio for his enthusiasm as he restored some of my enthusiasm. I hope another Farmer to Farmer Volunteer is able to thank him for me.

Anatacio cutting Mandioc which I later ate for dinner

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September 14, 2010 · 1:35 pm

Mogovolas District, Nampula

SEPTEMBER 13, 2010

I was warned there would be dust. And yes, there is no question about it my first impressions are of dust. At times during the drive from Nampula a passing vehicle created blizzard conditions, with smoky red dust blocking our view. I held my breath as we drove on and braced myself in case we needed to swerve to avoid a cow, a bicycle, or another car. I was thankful for the drivers’ skill and patience and the light traffic. No crazy swerving roller coaster ride this time!  I congratulated myself on refilling and remembering to bring my new asthma inhaler which I usually only need in polluted cities. The cashew trees are close to fruiting, but every river we crossed was dry. No houses in sight, I caught a glimpse of women with buckets clustered around a deep hole in the ground. Without irrigation can vegetables grow here? For a moment I unreasonably pout, and think “does anything grow here?” I know the rains will begin in November, but what happens over the next two months? It is clear why farmers don’t grow tomatoes at this time. Without irrigation I wouldn’t either. If the seeds even managed to sprout in August, the seedlings would shrivel by September. My host would like me to train farmers on the increased profits to be gained by growing tomatoes out of season. As I learned in 2009, in December, January and February very few tomatoes are available on the market. But I wonder if the profit would simply be lost due to the necessary increased costs of production and if irrigation is feasible at all. I remember the dry season in Maputo, but in my twenty year old memories there is just not this much dust. Perhaps this is because back then I was lucky enough to swim in the ocean nearly everyday after work. I’m already dreaming of a trip to the beach at Angoche next weekend and a dip in the salt water to clean the blackness from my nose.

Inside the government guest house I can escape the dust,

Entrance to government guest house

but the over head light bulb does not give my 40 something eyes enough light to read. I can’t figure out how to flush the toilet much less turn on the light in the bathroom. Perhaps both are impossible. There is no one to ask. Two other people are staying here but their rooms are dark. A small motor cycle is parked in the hallway. The smell of oil drifts into my room. At least my empty room wasn’t as empty as the room in Mexico. Upon arrival there were curtains on the window and a bed with a mattress.

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In the few hours since then I have received a plastic chair, some sheets and a towel. I’m glad I packed my own little green travel pillow which I had taken in and out of the suitcase several times before allowing it to stay. If I had known that I was coming here I could have been and absolutely would have been much more prepared substituting my nice, proper city meeting clothes for my sleep sack and other camping gear. I would have at the very least brought a roll of toilet paper. I wonder if I will be able to grit my teeth and stick this out. I wonder if I can make my vague assignment clear and useful for the people here. I wonder if I have lost my sense of adventure and simply gotten old. Music is playing somewhere outside. I’m thankful it isn’t too loud, seems to be mostly soft African Reggae, and at the moment not too many people are singing along.

Morning view from my window

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