Gardening takes on a different form in Mozambique. Our Peace Corps training involved Perma-Gardening, a technique to get the best yield. Upon arriving to my site, it was immediately
clear that people here knew how to garden.
In fact, they were pretty much experts, this region known for its
fertile farmland and abundance of produce.
The land surrounding the residential and market center of
the town stretches out, as far as the eye can see, lush fields of rice,
cassava, pineapples and more. Most of the land is rich soil with water sources
intact. People leave their homes early
each day to work in their plots. In
single file, the women walk, balancing their
hoes on their heads. Children of all
sizes follow behind, carrying plastic buckets containing pots of chima, a
mashed corn meal, that they will eat mid-day.
The land around the houses is another thing entirely. Here the soil is hard packed sand, baked in
the sun to the consistency of cement.
Not having a plot outside of town, gardening in my yard did not seem
like an option. And, anyway, there was
nothing I could teach my neighbors about agriculture. I started to look elsewhere for projects,
possibly something to do with caring for and cleaning up the environment or
personal healthcare. Ideas came and
went.
One day, I found myself buying seeds and looking for a small
hand shovel. I found a torn mosquito net
at a friend’s place and took that home, stashing it for later use. Slowly but surely, without really planning to
do so, I was preparing for a garden.
Once my landlord fenced in the back of the house, I decided to give it a
go. While a neighborhood kid labored
with the double digging, I sat contentedly on my porch, reading my gardening
manuals. I envisioned picking fresh
lettuce and slicing beautiful red tomatoes.
A row of cilantro would also
offer desperately needed flavor to my meals.
Peppers, the crowning touch, would add delight to breakfast and
dinner.
As I salivated over my future meals, the young boy, covered
in dirt, came to me with some bad news.
The ground just below the top layer of soil was full of garbage. My entire back yard was a garbage pit. Not surprising, really, as most of the land
here is covered in piles of refuse as there is no municipal system for garbage
disposal. But my landlord had told me
how great the soil was behind the house.
Seriously?
We decided to remove what we could and continue with the project. “We” actually meant the two of us. I left my comfortable perch on the porch and donned
the pair of gardening gloves that I had brought from home. We dug up torn plastic bags of things I didn’t
even want to imagine, bottles, bits of plastic and wood. I then started my seedbed, just as instructed
in our training. Next to it I created
the world’s smallest compost pile.
“Everything in progress”, I kept telling myself. After all of the hard work, I returned to sit
on my front porch, feeling like a contented sharecropper, even though my
“garden” was no bigger than a blanket.
It has been two weeks and the soil has been baked back to a
cement consistency. I’ve turned it over
twice, and will continue to do so once a week. When my seedlings are ready for transplant,
the soil should be as well, as I’ll add the composted materials. I’ve garnered some street cred with my
neighbors, explaining that I like to garden and wanted to see if I could do so
here, in these very different conditions.
Sadly, though, I need to remove litter almost daily. My neighbors have tossed over plastic and
glass bottles, mango pits and just tonight, I found a three- legged plastic
chair. I called the kids over and asked
them to please not throw their garbage in the garden, even though it doesn’t
look like much quite yet. One of the
men came over and claimed responsibility.
I handed the broken chair back to the man. I can’t even begin to make sense of that one.
Maybe the next project should be about the environment.
I’m not sure if any produce will ever come out of this
garden, and if it does, if I really want to eat it. But somehow the task of gardening, or trying to
garden, forgive the pun, gives me roots. And, yeah, I am digging it!
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