It's funny how time
seems to feel sometimes. The 15 hour plane flight felt much shorter than
the 6 hour layover in Johannesburg. I left the group right off the plane
to retrieve a bag I had checked when I was boarding the plane. I figured
I could pick it up in the hallway when I got off the airplane, but it was
nowhere to be found. I ran to the baggage claim, and it was just my luck
that my bag was the last one to be placed on the carousel.
Since my flight wasn't
for another 5 hours, the gate of departure wasn't being listed on the screens
at the airport. Two extremely eager South Africans came up to me asking
to help me the instant I looked up at the screen a second time, hoping I would
see my flight and gate number. One of them grabbed my boarding pass out
of my hands saying "follow me! follow me!" I started
after him vehemently telling him that I would in fact not follow
him and that I wanted my ticket back. Once he saw that I was extremely
unhappy he came jogging back trying to sweet talk me into follow him to the
gate where he wanted me to check my bag. No thank you. I got my
ticket back and he said he would wait for me after I checked my bag. I
tried telling him again that I was not checking my bag, but he wouldn't listen.
Figuring that I needed to go to the counter to find out what gate my
flight was anyways, I stepped ahead and got the information.
After leaving the
counter, my best friend was at my side again 'showing' me the way to security.
Let's just say that there couldn't have been more obvious signs on how to
get to security, but he insisted. Since I realized that he would
not leave me alone, I began asking him a few questions about South Africa, such as how old students are when they learn english. He said they begin
seriously when they are 5. The airport was all in english, and everyone
could understand me and reply back perfectly, so it is evident that their
school systems do a pretty great job with teaching english.
When I arrived at
security he asked me for a tip for his services. I nicely told him that I
hadn't needed him at all, nor had he done anything to help me. He looked
over at my "slightly" oversized carry-on and smiled to himself.
I figured giving him $2 to get him off my back, so I wouldn't have had to
pay a huge fee on checking a third bag was worth it...so did he.
Security is much more
relaxed than in the US. Liquids don't have to be taken out of bags, shoes
are left on, and there are many more lines to file into. They
accidentally thought my big box of sidewalk chalk was dynamite, so that was
interesting before I pulled it out for them and they burst out laughing.
I also realized when I found the chalk that I had one mini leather man
which has a blade less than 2" and then a switch blade with a 4"
blade. The scary part about that wasn't me finding the blades, but that a
4" blade made it through security in both the US at JFK and at
Johannesburg.
The airport itself
was...interesting. There are no water fountains, the money-called
rands-is beautiful, and there are dozens of pelts for sale. They have antelope and zebra pelts,
smaller animal pelts, and hundreds of ostrich eggs the size of my hand, both decorated and
undecorated. The prices are
exorbitant, but that’s to be expected in a big airport.
After
a 50-minute flight to Maputo, the capital of Mozambique, we were finally there. My part of the group had a slight
hiccup getting into the country.
They didn’t like our visas particularly and they didn’t know what Peace
Corps was and why a huge group of Americans would be there for 27 months. Thankfully our drivers were there to
sort things out.
The
city itself is hot, muggy, loud, filled with fast cars, and smells. Maybe not bad smells, just
distinct. It smelled like the
streets of Peru when I went to visit.
The cars are either very old clunkers or brand new. A few people from my group packed into
the back of a van, which you can see in the post below.
On
the drive to the hotel we saw dozens of vendors selling anything from fruit to
used tires and shoes. I was happy
to note that many of the locals weren’t too strict on what they were
wearing. I saw many of thighs and
spaghetti straps on women, which we were told weren’t allowed. Of course, that can change when I
travel to different areas, but it’s a hope that I can run in shorts without
long spandex in the stifling heat.
On an awesome note, our hotel is amazing. Each room has a balcony. Mine overlooks the Indian Ocean, and tonight we had a
beautiful sunset. At the hotel we
had thirty minutes of checking in, getting wonderful shots and getting our
calendar. In our calendar I found
out my host family and where I will be living in Namaacha, the city where
training is. My host family is
made up of a mother, father, and 27 year old son. All my host gifts for little children are quickly turning
into prizes for my students in the next two years.
On another high note, there is a group of 12 volunteers meeting our group of 56 that are coming from Cape Verde. They were volunteers for a year before their country's program was discontinued, so they are joining the Mozambiquian PC family. I met a few of them as I was heading to bed, and they seem pretty great too.
Well,
we start tomorrow at 7 AM, so I should hit the sack. 11 hours of sleep in the last three days really takes a toll
on the body. Boa noite, good
night.
I
also apologize for such long posts.
The next two days I will have internet access and then minimal to no
access for the next 3 months, so I figured that in depth posts now will make up
for my lack of ones coming up.
