Chimoio again. Nine months later, not too much has changed, a few more babies, children growing, a bank logo changed, lines painted on the main drag. But it still sort of seems like I just left yesterday.

One of the few things that Chimoio is famous for is a single mountain that lies to on it’s eastern edge—“An Old Man’s Head” it’s called. If one looks at it with imagination, it does indeed look like a chin, nose and forehead protruding up out of the ground.

Though I love climbing mountains, this one never attracted me all that much. Just a quick steep climb up solid rock to the tip of the nose. A glance around at the city this old man’s left eye watches over. And then all you can do is really walk back down again.

This weekend that old man, if he’d turned his sleepy eye properly, could have watched a couple get married--Capassura and Lola, good good friends of mine, colleagues in the preschool project, and well, my god-children (at least Capassura is, I guess Lola is too now that they’re one). If you want a good story about mixing of culture, culture shock, and just general human behavior, I can tell you what it’s like to be a godmother of an African marriage. It’s a long story though, so we better save it for a day we can both sit down with a good cup of tea.

The wedding was beautiful, the reception was lively, the work was

—all in all a satisfying experience. And of course, it stayed in the mind of the neighborhood children as well. I know weddings were an attractive experience for me as a child; I spent hours with lilacs in the spring, sprinkling them about for who ever’s flower girl I was that day.The beautiful bride and groom

This afternoon from the church office, I could hear a group of about 5 or 6 children pretending to be getting married. I popped up and watched them, unnoticed, for a while. They were using a wheelbarrow to cart the newlyweds (2 girls) around. There was a lot of singing and dancing. It was refreshing to see their pretend play intertwined with carefree, hard-out dancing. I could almost feel their adreneline rush.

Me with Manuel, one of the neighborhood gang, and Rosi, the daughter of the bride

The class I’m taking now is on play, and we discuss imaginary play quite extensively. There’s so much that children can learn through it. I’ve sort of had a shift in my thinking about play, becauseause of these classes, and while I still think uninterrupted play where children are engaged is great and important, I’m starting to see how much healthy, intentional, and moderately-used adult intervention can really challenge children to a higher developmental level.

So, observing them, I schemed ways that I would intervene—I didn’t have a chance to, today. It was about to rain and get dark and I had work to get done. (Though I’m not sure that I should leave opportunities to interact with children so that I can learn how to interact with children). As I left, I asked them why I hadn’t received an invitation to the wedding. That was my in. I could have provided them with materials to make invitations. And then, there you go, they’re practicing writing, reading, and creativity. They’re thinking about social problems such as who to include on the invite list, who does what in society, how does one get invitations to those that are invited. After the invitations then they’ve got to plan the food, etc. Soon they’re figuring math problems. And it’s all done within their play.

What is play, we ask each other in our class. I thought about that question as I watched the kids dance this afternoon—copying what they’ve seen adults do, letting loose, not afraid to make a mistake, or let a unruly emotion fly about. They just are being who they are trying to be. They’re trying out different roles, seeing how this and that might feel. They’re learning how to gain power over their own selves and each other.

I think one of the most important things that adults can do, whteher we’re a formal teacher or not, is to open our eyes , ears, and minds to the children’s play.

The preschool in Chimoio