Feriados!

If my travels have taught me anything, it's that people in most parts of the world don't like to work very much. Japan being the outlier of course - they take work to another level. Angola definitely falls in with the majority. As in Latin America, there is a plethora of holidays, and I've actually been told that there used to be a lot more but the government recently eliminated a bunch. The best part is that most of the time, people don't even know what the holiday commemorates. All they know is they don't have to go to work or school. This was also the case when I worked in Costa Rica and Nicaragua. Every other week, it was Saint So-And-So Day. Each one of these "special days" was celebrated in the same way - block party. Here, there are definitely fewer religious holidays and considerably less fanfare. Whenever I ask my students what they did for the holiday, they inevitably respond, "I stayed in my home."
The Embassy is closed for both Angolan and American holidays. It's a miracle that anything gets done around here.

Surprise Holiday

This past Wednesday, the government announced that the presidential inauguration would be held the following day and it will be a national holiday. While Dos Santos has been president for 33 years, this past election marked the first time he actually won the seat by popular mandate. This would be the first time he would be officially inaugurated. No one told me of course, and since I don't listen to the national radio station, I was out of the loop. While I was making dinner, one of my housemates mentioned it, so I thought out loud, "Hmmmm I wonder if I have classes tomorrow." I called the Department Head who was "pretty sure" there were no classes. How do you not know? I asked him if the buildings would be open so that I could go into the office and correct papers. "Oh, yes. The buildings will definitely be open." I think you can see where this is going.
Class starts at 8am, which means I have to leave my house at 7, and so I wake up at 6. I decided that I would go to class on the off chance that students did show up, so I went with my normal routine. Because of the holiday, there were virtually no cars on the road. My commute to work was a miraculous 15 minutes. Sure enough, the place was completely deserted. We drove up to the gate and I asked the guard if the building was open. "Não! É um feriado!" No! It's a holiday! He seemed horrified that I would even attempt to work on such a sacred day. I explained to him that I had keys to my office so I just needed to get in the building. "Não. É muito complicado." What is so complicated about it? Without being able to get into my office, I couldn't get the papers and work from home, and what else was I going to do? Lie in bed all day watching Keeping Up With the Kardashians?
Finally, he opened the gate and let us into the parking lot but didn't open the door to the building, which was no help at all. I walked around the perimeter and ran into two other guards. They also refused to open the doors. I eventually accepted defeat and returned to the car. I apologized to the driver and told him to take me home. It fascinates me that the entire city shut down because of this  holiday that was invented less than 24 hours prior. I guess good news travels fast.
I ended up going to the movies and saw The Expendables 2, which was so ridiculously bad, that it was good. Plus, Chuck Norris made a cameo, so the day wasn't a complete waste.

I'm not angry. I'm disappointed.

Before the election break, I gave my 3rd and 4th year classes a writing assignment that was to be due the week that we returned to school. They were instructed to choose a famous person from Africa and write a 2-page biography, using at least 2 sources.The students' access to the Internet is limited and printed materials are scarce - how the only public university does not have a library is beyond me (but that's another story). Knowing this, I offered to help them with their research by printing articles for them at my office. I also knew that plagiarism is a huge problem here, and throughout Africa in general. I warned both classes that if they copied their paper from the Internet, I would know immediately and that they would receive a zerp. My exact words were, "I would rather you give me a paper with 100 mistakes, but you wrote it, than a perfect paper that was copied. Believe me. I will know."
I had previously avoided giving out-of-class assignments precisely for this reason, but I had given them several in-class writing exercises so I knew they were capable of producing a simple essay....Or so I thought.
The first week that classes resumed, I sat at my desk and began reading. And what did I see? You guessed it. Blatant plagiarism staring me in the face, page after page. About half of the them had literally copied and pasted the Wikipedia page for their chosen subject. I am talking subheadings the same, and some of them didn't even remove the hyperlinks, so at least one word in each paragraph was underlined. I just sat there - completely flabbergasted, which quickly turned to anger. With each big red zero and the word "Re-write" that I scribbled on the title pages, the rage grew. I must have read the Wikipedia page for Nelson Mandela 8 times before I finally put my head on my desk so that I wouldn't have to look at the stack of papers next to me. Seriously, guys? You did exactly what I told you NOT to do.
To be fair, half of the students did compose an original piece of writing, and yes there were grammatical and structural errors, but that is to be expected. That is part of the learning process. What does anyone learn from copying and pasting? So then I had to figure out how to address this problem to the students. Maybe the assignment was too difficult. Maybe they are lazy. Maybe they think I'm stupid and I wouldn't notice.
After taking a step back from the situation, I started thinking about this incident and how it fits into the big picture. What does it say about the education system here that a student who is majoring in English can't write a 2-page paper in his final year of college? I have been teaching them how to write for 7 months. Have they learned nothing? What am I doing wrong?
The next day, the students began filing into the classroom. I decided to attack the issue head on. "So I started reading your papers and I see a lot of plagiarism." They stared back at me with a mixture of guilt and fear. "I'm not mad at you guys, I'm just disappointed. You need to tell me why you did this. Was the assignment too difficult?" They shook their heads "no."
"OK. So what is it?"
"Teacher, we don't have materials."
"Well that is not an excuse. I told you I would help you find resources, but only a couple of you made appointments with me to do that."
"You told us we needed to use sources."
"Yes, but you have to get information from the sources, not copy them."
"I was absent so I just heard about the assignment yesterday. I didn't have enough time."
"OK well that is your responsibility so I can't help you there. Next?"
After a slew of completely irrational excuses, someone said, "The professors tell us what to do but they don't tell us how to do it." And there it is. It's all about the product and not the process. They explained to me that they always copy their work and their teachers have never said anything. They think it's good because there are no mistakes.
I feel like the students understand that this is a flawed system, but they are so entrenched in it that they don't know how to function any other way.
 "Alright, so we'll go through the writing process step-by-step. I'll show you how to do research without copying," I told them. "Yes, that's what we need," they replied.
I left the class with a better understanding of why they did what they did. I'm not giving them a free pass, but I now realize that it's not entirely their fault. We better get to work.

Angolan Road Trip - Part 3

Between the loss of my student and the attacks on American embassies, last week was pretty rough. I could feel the negativity of all these events, in which I have no control, washing over me. Luckily, I had been planning a weekend getaway with some friends, so it was the perfect time to escape the dirty, crowded, smelly streets of Luanda. We headed east toward the provinces of Malange and Kwanza Norte, where the scenery is breathtaking, the people are friendly, and the remnants of war are everywhere.

Kalandula Falls 

The second highest waterfall in Africa. The 1st is Victoria Falls on the Zambia/Zimbabwe border, where I once bungee jumped. I know you were wondering.

Don't tell my dad I was so close to the edge

Pedras Negras 

 Pedras Negras (black rocks), which are not black at all so I don't know where that came from, are impressive rock formations located in Malange Province. The rocks are a geological mystery since they are completely out of character from the surrounding landscape.

My guidebook says, "Many of the rocks have been described as looking like animals but at least one looks like an enormous circumcised phallus." I don't see it.

 Kwanza Norte

From Malange, we headed over to Cangandala National Park. I use the term park very loosely here. There is no infrastructure whatsoever - information, guides, tours, or lodging. Angola was once home to all the African game animals like lions, giraffes, elephants, etc. Unfortunately, they were all killed and eaten during the civil war. There are now some efforts to re-introduce certain species to Angola. However, this park apparently is home to the palanca negra, which is a large antelope and the national animal. Angola is the only country in the world that is home to this elusive animal.

On the way to the park, we drove past an abandoned Soviet tank and trees painted with red and white lines - a warning sign that landmines may be in the area. This was a stark reminder of the war and the devastating effect it continues to have. Angola is the most heavily mined country in Africa, possibly the world. No one knows exactly how many mines were laid since all sides, including foreign actors, used this strategy and did not map them. 

The red and white tape indicates the possible presence of mines

 This abandoned building on the bank of the Kwanza River is littered with bullet holes and painted with red and white stripes (on left).

"Don't leave your trash on the ground"

De-mined

The beach along the Kwanza River looked so enticing from a distance that we decided to drive down there and get a closer look.  What we found was a disturbing scene in which a naturally gorgeous landscape had been tragically destroyed. Come on, Angolans!



On a positive note, it was a great trip and a much needed retreat. Every once in a while, it's important to get out of Luanda to remind yourself that this is indeed a beautiful country. Sad, but beautiful.

the camping crew with a palanca negra (not a real one)

Comic Relief

I was sitting with a group of high school students the other day, flipping through a very cool science encyclopedia, when I was faced with a condundrum. These kids had been selected to participate in a video conference at the embassy with an American biologist, so I was helping them write questions for her. One group stopped on the dinosaur page, fascinated by the realistic pictures of the massive creatures. A young girl looked up at me and asked, "Teacher, where do the dinosaurs live?" Oh boy, I thought. I guess I have to be the bearer of bad news. 

"I hate to tell you this, but all the dinosaurs are dead."

"Oh." She replied, lowering her head disappointingly as she looked back down at the brontosaurus. 

It Doesn't Have to Be Like This

While I was sitting in the book group circle, chatting and sipping on a glass of red wine, my phone rang. It was a number I didn't recognize so I thought I should answer it. I excused myself and stepped out into the hallway.
"Hello teacher, this is Arinaldo."
"Hi, Arinaldo. How are you?"
"Not so good, teacher. I am calling to tell you that we can't come to class tomorrow. We lost one of our classmates."
"What? Who?"
"Augusto."
"How? What happened?"
"He was so bad, teacher. "
"He was sick?"
"Yes."
My mind was going a mile a minute. What do I say? What do I do? Arinaldo told me about the plans for the funeral and we planned to meet the following day at the university. As I hung up the phone and looked back at the circle of women, I decided to hold it together and just get through the rest of the evening. I couldn't even picture his face in my mind. With over 100 students, I don't know all of their names, especially when they are not standing in front of me. That bothered me. I should know their names.
I faked my way through casual conversations and finally it was time to go. My friend Laura and I drove together, so as we got in the car, I took a deep breath and said, "One of my students died." As soon as the words came out, I broke down. A flood of emotion washed over me as I thought about his family and the fact that he was so young - a first year student, so probably 18 or 19. At the same time, I became overwhelemed with the bigger picture. Young people die here all the time, and it's unnecessary. People here have to deal with this grief far too often. Every once in a while, the suffering slaps you in the face - maybe you see a hearse with a tiny casket in the back, or you see a large crowd outside a cemetery, or an acquaintaince tells you a tragic story. But those moments are fleeting. This one was not. All of it hit me at once on that car ride home and the tears would not stop streaming down my face. This time the loss was personal.
The next morning, as I rode to school, I suddenly reaslized that I would have to face his classmates that afternoon. I'm the leader of the class, I should provide support, but how can I do that when I am an emotional wreck myself? I just kept thinking over and over, "I was not prepared for this." Never in a million years did I think that I would have to sit down with my students and tell them that their classmate is dead, and that I would have to be someone who helps them cope. I wouldn't have the slighest idea how to handle this in the US, let alone in another country with a completely different culture.
As I walked to the classroom, I still didn't have a clear plan in my head. I was greeted by a group of male students who were standing in a circle. They were there to give the news to those who didn't know and collect money for the family, which is customary. They were also giving directions to his house so that those who wanted to could pay their respects. I was amazed by their poise in the face of such tragedy. They were sad yet practical. Unfortunately, these kids know all too well how to handle such situations.
Those students who wanted to stay and talk, did. We sat in a circle and they explained their traditions when a person dies and we discussed why so many young people die in Angola. One student said, "We are not living here, we are surviving." Another chimed in, "This is a rich country. It doesn't have to be this way."

I apprehensively entered the funeral, which was a patch of dirt surrounded by houses of crumbling concrete. I struggled to keep my balance as my heels dug into the sand and rocks. The singing is what his me first. A ring of women surrounded the casket, swaying back and forth, melodically repeating the verses of their hymns. I made my way through the crowd toward the closed casket. As soon as I saw the photo, I knew exactly who he was and and could picture where he always sat in the classroom. A tall, skinny kid with a noticeable gap in his two front teeth. I saw it often since he was almost always smiling. I could now see his face vividly in my mind, which for a split second, made me happy, and then terribly sad. His mother, who bares shocking resemblance to him, looked far too young to have a 21-year-old son. She sat next to the casket, gripping one of his shirts and sobbing. I knelt down and kissed both of her cheeks, but didn't know what to say. She wouldn't have heard me over the singing anyway. I looked over at his classmates as they cried and consoled each other.
Eventually, it was time for the burial. Augusto was not only a student, but also a teacher at a high school. His students lifted the casket and carried it to the street. His family and friends followed, some crying so hard, they could barely walk. The singing resumed and we all jumped in our cars and taxis to begin the journey to the cemetery. There the sounds of sadness grew even more intense. As his loved ones watched his body enter the ground, the collective wailing was almost too much to bear. I watched from a close distance as two men carried a seemingly lifeless woman out of the crowd and laid her down under a tree. Just as they were trying to revive here by splashing water on her face, another body emerged and joined her in the shade. Their minds so overwhelmed with grief that their bodies simply shut down.
Finally, everyone was out of tears and it was time to go. As I walked away from Augusto's burial site, past the unmarked mounds of orange dirt, two girls in my class rushed to catch up to me. They came up on either side of me, not saying a word, and each took one of my arms and linked it with theirs. And so we left the cemetery, arm in arm, silently wondering.....why does it have to be like this?

Return to Normalcy

No more parties, predictions, or anxiety. Election season is officially over. With over 70% of the vote, the ruling MPLA enjoyed an expected landslide victory. Voting day was remarkably uneventful and Luanda was eerily tranquil. The ubiquitous blue and white condugeiros (shared taxi vans) were nowhere to be seen on this national holiday as Angolans walked calmly to their neighborhood polling stations. There were no reports of violence or political protests, not even when the unofficial results were announced over the weekend. As the last of the campaign flags and banners wither away, things are getting back to normal around here. I'm happily back in my office, which I was kicked out of last week becaus the building was a polling site. I should have known something was up when they shut off the power in the room. A few hours later, a man from the dean's office informed me that I had to be "out in 5 minutes." Ok, so it takes a month to get a new box of chalk, but now you need me out in 5 minutes? Sure.
Classes resume next week, and I can't wait. This past month has not been easy. Teaching gives me a sense of purpose. When I am in the classroom, I am in control and I forget about the every day stresses and confusion here. I know what's going on and I can plan for the next day and the day after that. Everything else here is so unpredictable. I miss my students and the crazy things they say that make me laugh. Unfortunately, now the semester will be very short - only 3 months - so we have a lot of work to do.

Here is a story from BBC news about the election:
Angola: Promises Temper Election Victory

This is the new waterfront in Luanda, the marginal. I'm sure the grass and trees were imported as I have never seen either growing naturally anywhere else in the city. Coincidentally, this major construction project was finished and innaugurated by the president 3 days before the election. 

However....

most of the city still looks like this