Cooking with Lesh: Matu to Mesa Porco

In Nakhololo, with the majority of our food stalls and stores being without power, our options for eating meat are pretty limited. If we want chicken, we have to travel at least an hour round trip to pick up a frozen one from our district capital, or buy it in the market and kill it ourselves. Due to these circumstances, most of the meat I eat at site comes from 99 met ($1.50) packages of chorizo I stock up on at Shoprite pretty much every time I’m in Nampula city.

As much as I love chorizo, sometimes this non-perishable, processed meat just doesn’t do it for me. Sometimes Kathryn and I want to treat ourselves. And sometimes, important guests like my mom and grandma come to site and I need to try and ~impress~ them with my at site resources and cooking skills. This is where Nakhololo’s exclusive local organic all natural pork butcher, Kathryn’s very own host pai, comes in.

During our site visit, when Kathryn’s pai was explaining to us what he does, he actually referred to himself as a “pork dealer,” rather than a butcher, because he doesn’t just butcher the pigs, he goes out every morning on his motorcycle, usually with his brother along for assistance, out into the bush in search of cheap pigs to buy, bring home, and butcher. The first time I saw two grown men on a tiny motorcycle with a fully grown live pig riding between them I was shocked, but they always make it look so easy that I have somehow grown accustomed to them waving and stopping to chat if they pass me out walking while returning with that day’s pig.

Butchery in Mozambique is different to say the least. Kathryn’s pai kills the pigs in a field right behind the market where they are sold. If you happen to be walking there at around 6am on any given day you may be lucky enough to watch the pig be dragged by its hind legs, screaming, to its death. The actual death seems relatively humane by Moz standards; the pig is lain facing down a dirt incline, the throat is slit, and it bleeds out pretty quickly. Next, the skin is scorched in an attempt to remove the hair. Finally, using a dull machete, the pig is hacked into more manageable pieces and taken to the market for selling. We are lucky enough to get the family discount (120 mets/kilo) and our choice of cut. Although most Mozambicans would usually choose the fattiest pieces first, we always ask for a piece without fat and bones.

The secret ingredient/the most delicious sweet and tangy and just most absolutely perfect vinegar ever from Oil and Vinegar Frederick (pls sponsor me and support my vinegar addiction)

This recipe, although in no way Mozambican, is one of my absolute favorites to make here. Using a constantly diminishing supply peach balsamic vinegar that my mom has been wonderful enough to continue replenishing through my first 10 months of service, I’ve been able to make this marinade several times and love it more each time.

Peach Balsamic Pork Marinade

  • IMG_20170620_101249 (2)1/4 cup peach balsamic vinegar
  • Big bunch fresh basil, chopped (or dried if your cat ate your basil plant and you were too disheartened to try and grow it again)
  • 2-3 cloves garlic
  • Salt and pepper to taste ~1 teaspoon each
  • 1 kilo pork meat with bones, skin, and hair removed, butterflied/sliced thin to cook quicker

IMG-20170621-WA0014.jpgSince you’ve gotta get to the market early in the morning before it sells out, I usually prepare the mixture and let it marinate all day. Once it’s time to cook it I light up the carvão (charcoal) grill, and wait for the coals to burn down until they’re glowing hot, slap the meat on, and go until you’re sure all the parasites in the dirty matu pig are 100% dead. Really though, with it being winter here, it’s pretty much pitch dark by 5:30 which makes telling when the meat is ready almost impossible. My headlamp has become a valuable kitchen accessory when cooking dinner on our charcoal stove outside.


**Special shout out to my Mom and Mimi for coming and trusting my cooking of pork in Moz, hope you didn’t get any parasites. Thanks for taking this pics of me for this edition of Cooking with Lesh**


36 Hours in Nampula City

You may have noticed several references to Eléonore in this blog. Although she’s my best friend here in Moz, she lives 6-8 hours away hitchhiking, meaning we usually only get a few hours a month together. Here’s how we spend them.

Eléonore in Mozambique

This post is loosely based on the New York Times’ series: 36 Hours

Nampula City is a little known city outside of Mozambique. Reviews from Lonely Planet include the fact that Nampula “is no sultry good-looker” and Getaway admitting the city is “one of the least inspiring cities to spend time in.”  Yet, it is a haven for Peace Corps Volunteers, home to three large supermarkets and one Mozambican-Chinese restaurant. It might also be the only place to find dip-cones in the north of the country, so it is no wonder that PCVs choose to spend (often times more than) 36 hours here.


Wa-Resta Chapa Stop – 13:30 pm

Wa-Resta Chapa stop is the western-most long-distance transportation stop coming into Nampula City. Situated inconveniently about 8 kilometers away from city center mixed and mashed into a local market, Wa-Resta will give you enough of the…

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“If you liked kids before joining the Peace Corps, you’ll hate them by the time you get out”

– Actual quote heard at a Peace Corps recruiting event –

Before coming to Moz my experience with kids was that one time I babysat my coworkers’ kids overnight. I made 3x my current monthly salary as a volunteer that night and still vowed never to babysit again.

Enter Mozambique, a country where 50% of the population is under the age of 18. All and all, I am lucky to be teaching at an IFP where all the students are adults (even though they sometimes don’t act like it,) and kids are technically banned from campus (even if they always find a way to sneak past the incredibly observant guards.)

Despite all this, it is impossible to avoid the packs of crinças here. Every time I leave campus, or when the kids are bored enough to wander through the fields behind our house and onto our back porch, I am greeted by groups of 7-10 kids ranging from a couple of months to about 10 years old. The leaders are usually the oldest girls, with the youngest of their siblings strapped to their backs, who echo their own mothers by ordering the rest of the group around when things are getting out of hand or there is a dispute over the proper usage of crayons.

Although I feel like I’ve come a long way in my tolerance of kids, this isn’t a story about how I’ve become some type of Mary Poppins. I don’t exactly like the kids, and they know it. Usually when they show up at the house, I pretend like I’m not home. After six months here, they’ve learned to just ask for Catarina.

Which brings us to today. The day when Kathryn left for two weeks for a conference in the city and a visit to America.

As per usual, some crinças who are neighbors with Kathryn’s host family stopped by before class and asked for Catarina. I inform them,

Já foi, she’s already gone.”

They stand there and look at me quizzically, “She went to Marcia’s (Kathryn’s host sister, and their classmate,) house?”

“No, she went to the United States.”

“The United States…? Of America…? My country…?”

“You know that I am American, right?”

“SIIIIIM!” They all yelled simultaneously

“Which means that I am from another country called America”

The kids conferred a bit, and the older ones gave what I can only assume what was an explanation of the situation in Makua. After about 30 seconds, one kid asked,

“So, Catarina is in Nampula City?”


“Yes, she is in Nampula city until July”


Cooking with Lesh: Nampula City Central Market

Nampla city is the third largest city in Mozambique, the capital of Nampula province, and best known for its highly skilled pick pocketers. I can get from my front door to the city center in about 1.5 hours on a good day, and frequency make day trips to pick up supplies.  In a recent Instagram post in which I described Nampula City as “The Happiest Place on Earth,” many other volunteers were quick to offer their personal Nampula City horror stories. Despite its largely negative reputation, I love Nampula city. It does smell like pee and thieves have attempted to pick pocket me 6 or 7 times, and I have had several encounters with the notorious “Nampula City Kisser,” who likes to hang out by the super market and kiss unsuspecting shoppers. Despite all this, Nampula City is really my happy place. Unlike my little town of Nakhololo, there’s always something going on, peole to talk to, things to buy, things to eat.

Check out that pus! Not what you expected from a cooking post, huh?

This brings us to today’s installment of Cooking with Lesh: Nampula City Central Market edition. Last week I went sent to the city for medical treatment for a scraped knee. Which sounds slightly dramatic until you see the pictures of the resulting infection which I have included here for your viewing pleasure. Luckily after 3 days under the care of the Peace Corps nurse, my knee was looking much better, and I was told I’d be returning home on Thursday. After talking with a friend who lives in the city but works in Nacala (large port city 100k down the EN8 from Nakhololo), and procuring a ride home for that afternoon, I headed to the central market to stock up on some veggies to bring back to site.

Even though we are still during the time of the year where produce should be available, our local market has remained pretty space. Cherry sized tomatoes, small red onions, okra, and the occasional knobby green pepper are pretty much the extent of what is available. Even in our district capital, we can only occasionally find things like cabbage and carrots.  So when I am in the city, I usually try to bring back as much as Kathryn and I can eat before it goes bad.

IMG_20170526_175815I bought all that you can see in the photo abover for 300 mets, or about $5. While it might not look all that exciting, being able to get things like cabbage and carrots and peppers (all of which I never ate before coming to Moz) is often the highlight of my trip to the city.

I plan on using a good portion of the cabbage, peppers, and carrots, along with tomatoes and garlic from our local to make a huge pot of beans to eat next week. The lettuce is a huge treat, but will have to be eatten in the next day as it wilts and goes bad so quickly without refrigeration. Green beans are the vegetable that I most like to get (despite their relatively high price of 100mets or $1.50 per kilo) because they can last us a long time. With all these veggies, we will be eating good for the next week in Nakhololo!

The secret to a salad that literally made me cry: expired goat cheese from ShopRite with trail mix and lemon vinegar from America

Changing the world, three hours per week at a time

When the school schedules were released at the beginning of the semester, the school’s pedagogical director explained that I was only given three hours to allow me time to “learn the ways of Africa.” He constantly stressed that I could request more hours at any time, which, as evidenced by the fact that I am still teaching only three hours a week, has not exactly been proven true.

I know what you’re thinking: “wait, you left everything you love in America to teach three hours a week?” Peace Corps also seems to think this is some type of issue, because every time I run into staff members on my frequent trips to Nampula, they bring up my “issues at site,” even though I can’t ever remember complaining about anything in Nakhololo to them, because when it comes down to it, I’m really living the Posh Corps life and don’t have a lot to complain about.

My completely unrestricted schedule allowes me to come up with revolutionary classroom activities such as the “Soil Competition,” we held this week, in which I unleased my students on the world in search of the most interesting soil they could find, to present to the rest of the class in hopes of winning a pack of mint knockoff Oreos.

img_20170511_164435-1-1 (2).jpg
wau, check out that solo calcário !!!

He knew learning about dirt could be so interesting???

While only having three hours per week of teaching has made motivating myself to do anything difficult, it has also given me time to work on the Peace Corps “secondary projects.” In Mozambique there are a handful of national projects that include youth groups, English Theater competitions, and Science Fair/Club. We had two English clubs going strong, but the numbers have fizzled down and we now only have one student from my original group who still regularly attends, and as it seemed kind of awkward to have an English group with one student and two teachers, I stepped back from this, as much as I enjoyed practicing English with this student.  Plus, it turns out we can’t even compete in the English Theater competition because our students have an “unfair advantage,” even though they don’t even teach English at our school.

I attended the youth group trainings in March, but kind of realized I’m not really a youth group kind of person… Which leaves me with ~*~**SCIENCE CLUB/FAIR**~*~

In January, I applied to become Nampula’s provincial science fair coordinator, and was selected along with Victoria, our nearest volunteer. This actually sounds a lot more important than it is, so far it has just involved multiple useless trips to Nampula city where (even when our counterparts show up) little gets accomplished. At least we can expense our Chinese food lunches.

Science club, on the other hand, has been probably most fulfilling project at site. I have been super lucky in that the other two science teachers at my school are both competent and super jazzed about the whole idea, and have really taken the project on as their own. More often than not, they lead the sessions while I stand in the corner smiling and nodding, which is fine by me.

The science club curriculum involves a series of 5 or so meetings and experiments designed to teach the students the scientific method, dependent and independent variables, and how to design their own project all in preparation of the national science fair. At the IFP, the first 3 weeks of the science curriculum were dedicated to pretty much teaching the same stuff, meaning we finished the curriculum in no time. With no more “official” experiments to conduct, I was over joyed when one of our students Jamal offered to show off a demonstration of his science fair project for the rest of the group. Using only ~local materials~ found in our market, he tested different types of solutions to see which would conduct electricity best to light a small LED light. It was awesome to seem him explain his use of the scientific method and apply his knowledge to a real life scenario: getting struck by lightening while swimming in the ocean. Or, more commonly, getting shocked by your electric stove while barefoot but not while wearing flip flops. His whole demonstration just made my heart happy, I was so proud of him for being able to correctly answer all the question the other students were asking him, like what his independent variable was. On Tuesday we are having a “workshop” for everyone’s projects, and I have high hopes for the rest of their experiments. They’ve been extremly secretive about what they’re actually doing, which kind of worries me, but means I’ll be very surprised on Tuesday when I finally will find out what they’ve been working on!

A trip to Maputo & other things

As I lay on the massage table, having my brows waxed and talking with the esthetician about makeup routines, I couldn’t help but think that this was the happiest I had been in weeks. That’s probably not the most Peace Corps thing to say, but after weeks of incurable diarrhea and the death of my host pai last week, things have definitely been a little off for me recently. Today, spending a couple hours in a spa, (and spending nearly a fifth of my monthly living allowance in the process,) made me happy beyond belief. I couldn’t help but smile to myself on the walk back to the hotel, through the sun soaked streets of Maputo.

IMG_20170415_134821 (2)
Best 200 mets (about $3) I ever spent

Although we visited the capital city a couple of times during training, after getting used to Nampula City I had forgotten just how developed Maputo is. Since I arrived on Thursday evening, I have been walking around with my jaw literally dropped. They’ve got everything. A “Super Spar” (pictured above) that could give Super Walmart a run for their money. Indian restaurants that deliver. Grapes sold on the street corner. Coconut oil. In just a couple days, I’ve managed to spend way more than the medical per diem that I received on essentials like novelty sunglasses and a wooden carving of a bottle of my favorite brand of beer here in Mozambique.

Although my adventures in Maputo have been great, in all seriousness, the last couple weeks have been kind of rough. I find it much harder to write about serious topics so I haven’t really talked a lot about this kind of stuff. But in reality I *do not* recommend the incurable diarrhea, as I’ve lost 10+ pounds in like two weeks and have been constantly dehydrated and miserable. My host pai’s death was sudden, and I am still processing my feelings. He had been suffering from headaches for a couple months, and had been losing weight, but who thinks that someone as young and strong as he seemed can die from just headaches? I am glad that I went and visited with him three times on the week that he died, and that I was able to stay at site long enough to attend his wake and funeral, but have felt guilty enjoying my time Maputo being away from the rest of the family this week. I can’t help but wonder what is going to happen to my host mãe and sisters, now that my pai, the sole earner in the family, has died. As weird as it is being away from them right now, I can’t even image what it is going to be like when I go back and see my family. Are my little sisters still going to be carefree, playing and laughing all day? Will my mãe still be easy going, running out into the street to laugh at me riding my bike when my sisters alert her that I am coming down the path? I can’t help but feel that somehow everything has changed. My pai was the only one who really spoke Portuguese, and was always the translator between us, so I’m not even sure how I’ll really communicate with my family any more.

Time is
Too Slow for those who Wait,
Too Swift for those who Fear,
Too Long for those who Grieve,
Too Short for those who Rejoice;
But for those who Love,
Time is not.

Hours fly,
Flowers die:
New days,
New ways:
Pass by!
Love stays.

Henry Van Dyke

As our reconnect conference starts on Monday, I’ll be staying down here in the south to join their conference. I’m excited to have the unexpected opportunity to see all my southern friends! I go back to the doctor on Monday and hopefully they’ll clear me to go back home by Tuesday so I can attend PDM with my counterpart Lucia, where we will learn how to design projects and write grants. As nice as the trip has been, I do feel a little guilty about missing two weeks of school, and having to miss everything else like English and Science club. I’m ready to go return to site well rested, refreshed, and a little more beautiful!

Care package observations

  • Twinkly lights instantly upgrade mosquito net vibes from “African necessity” to “princess canopy”
  • I must talk about being dirty/smelly a lot based on the number of soaps, scrubs, lotions, perfumes, powders, and loofas that I received
    • Also my parents each independently sent me tooth paste/tooth brushes/gum/disposable tooth brushes/mouthwash…. Why are they so concerned about my oral health??
  • I will never have to go to the market again #BolachasOnBolachas
  • My dad is either very good at picking out makeup or very good at asking the sales women at Lush and Sephora what products would be best for a makeup/skincare addict living in Africa.
  • Mimi takes granola requests seriously
  • Volunteers LOVE Lush products (seriously if you’re trying to think of care package ideas for the volunteer in your life, I recommend just going into the store buying as much as you can fit into the box)
    • I am particularly hyped about the Tea Tree water, Mr. Sandman powder, and Toothy Tabs which all seem perfectly suited for life in Moz
  • I guess I’ve been complaining about not being prepared for rainy season as I now have three umbrellas and a rain jacket
  • As much as I have been telling myself that life without cold brew is worth living… after having a taste I am not sure if that is completely true
  • Full cabinets = good problems

A sincere thank you to the people of Japan

Notice anything different?? Huh???

The people of Japan like to remind us who has given us these gifts by including an informational sticker on pre much everything

The people of Japan have given me many gifts. The beautiful house and school I live and work in. The air conditioner in my the office that is the primary reason I talk to my director. The copier machines that are so complicated and confusing (aka w/directions in English) that I am not trusted to use them. Today, the Japanese gave me the best gift of all: a 32″ flatscreen and a subscription to zapTV with over 300 channels!!!

I was woken up from my nap by banging on the roof and the neighbor’s empregado yelling my name. I shamble out of my room and am asked by the zapTV official if he can come in to install my television.


I didn’t really know where this TV was coming from but I wasn’t about to question it. I graciously let the men into our house and have them install the TV on my Peace Corps provided trunk, aka the only piece of furniture we had to put it on.

I then got to sit with our director’s empregado for 30 minutes while he showed me the best channels, including MTV India, the Russian news, and 3 separate novella channels.

Although the TV is by no means necessarily, and installing it in our house is arguably not the best use of funds for our school, I’m excited to have movie nights that don’t involve 5 people huddled around one 13″ laptop screen anymore!

Not all heroes wear capes

Born to be Bad: My first encounter with the “law”

I was biking into town to visit with my host family a bit and to buy some chamusas from our favorite street food vendor when I heard the whisles coming from the shady spot on the side of the road where the police usually set up their traffic control stop. I looked around, and was shocked to realize that I was the only person around and they were defiantly were talking to me. 

I pull over and notice that these are not the police, but two men in semi-official looking traffic vests holding semi-official looking booklets. I greet them with feigned excited politeness, “Bom dia! Como estão senhores?” because I don’t have passport or ID or anything on me and frankly just don’t want to deal. After normal greetings are exchanged, the men ask me if I have a licence. I ask them, “A licence?  I need liscence to ride my bike to the market? No one has ever told me this.” They laugh and inform me that of course, every person with a bike needs to have a licence, and open their book to show me the forms I need to fill out, which are quite obviously forms for motorcycles and not bikes. I point out that it literally says moto at the top of the form they are showing me, and they explain that I am confused since I don’t know how to read Portuguese and that it is actually saying it if for things that are *without* motors (???). We go back and forth for a bit but in the end I realize I am not wining that battle. Instead, I change tactics and just play dumb. 

Putting my (fake) polite smile back on my face, I apologize to the men and tell them I am very confused, I don’t speak Portuguese well, and that I am actually using my coworkers bike, and that I think they have a liscence but I’m not sure. I explain to them that I am going to the market to get food for breakfast because I am hungry, but will be coming back this way to return to my house and can speak with them again then, alhough I fully planned on returning home via the dirt roads through the fields. As I left, the man asked me to bring him some breakfast as well, to which I laughed and replied, “we’ll see,” knowing that asking for a soda or a snack is a common low key way of asking for a bribe. 

When I arrived at my host family’s house, I told this story to my host dad and uncle, who just could not stop laughing when I told them how I got out of it. I was pretty proud of myself for thinking of that excuse so quickly, truth be told. My pai basically said that it was BS, that I should just tell the men I am a volunteer without money, and said he would talk to the head of the village about it for me. Since I had already planned on taking the back roads home, I wasn’t too worried about it until I was leaving my host family’s house and happened to run into the men again in the market. 

I tried to just ignore it when I heard them calling after me, but one guy jogged up and put out his hand in greeting. Still thinking that he was somewhat of an official figure, I politely shook his hand while he asked me again about breakfast. I apologized and said that I am a volunteer, I don’t recieve a salary, and that I can’t buy him breakfast. Undeterred, he asked me about lunch, and I repeated the same answer. He continues to talk, but eventually I cut him off, once again apologizing and explaining that I need to be back to school by 11 to controlar lunch for the students. He more or less accepts this answer, but while still holding my hand, says that he wants to “familiarizar” with me, and makes a motion as if to kiss me on the cheek. 

I don’t really know what familiarziar means but I think I could get the gist. Considering that I’ve passed the actual police checkpoint on the bike at least 10 times and never had them say a word to me about having a licence, I’m really not too concerted, but I might take the back road the next couple times just to avoid these concerned citizens.