My newfound love for South African women—

South African women are my new favorite people.  “Why?”-you may ask.  For one, they are extremely friendly.  If you greet an African woman on the street, her face will light up and she just might grab your hand and never let go.  Secondly, they are extremely welcoming.  My new family has three women who are constantly smothering me.  If I say, “let me help with dishes”, they reply, “no, you sit and I’ll get you coffee.”  If you enter a South African home, a South African woman will soon sit you down and have a cold drink in your hand within moments.  Thirdly, you don’t mess with a South African woman.  If you make them mad, they will put you in your place, and it will be terrifying (Luckily, I haven’t experienced this-only been witness). To truly illustrate my newfound love, I must tell a story about my first trip into town.  To get to town, I have to take two different khumbis (12 passenger vans that drive around, serving as public transport).  I set out confidently…then I walked almost an hour waiting for a khumbi to pass me by.  Finally, I stumbled upon 2 women.  Upon greeting them, I found they were going to the first town (aka taking my first taxi) so we decided to stick together. When the khumbi drove up, it appeared to be full but somehow the women made room and pushed all three of us inside. After a day of shopping, I thought I knew where the taxi rink was but quickly found out I was wrong.  I found some women selling jewelry and asked for directions.  They grabbed another woman passing by and told the woman to take me to the taxi rink.  The woman walked me all the way to the khumbi, made sure I got into the correct one, and saw me off.  When I was supposed to change khumbis, getting on the 2nd one to take me home, I found a long line of people waiting.  I said hello to two women in line.  When the khumbi arrived, the line swarmed.  Somehow the women I was talking to grabbed my arm, grabbed my bag, and made sure I had a prime spot. How they managed this is a mystery to me.  If I was on my own, I’d have been standing there in the taxi’s dust.  South African women constantly have my back, and for this-I’ll forever love them.

my first couple of months

excuse the horrible formatting-i am trying to post from my phone! here are some of my first stories! A couple of things I’ve learned:-“Speak to a man in a language he understands and you speak to his head.  Speak to a man in his language and you speak to his heart.” If you speak to a South African in their language they get so excited and it is a huge sign of respect (even if you try to speak and fail).  That being said, there are 11 official languages in SA.  I have learned greetings in a hand full of the languages and am now learning Zulu (meaning I will be living in the Zulu Nation).-“Ubuntu” is a word that encompasses the SA way of life.  It is literally translated as “humanity” but better translates as “I am because you are”.  This means that everything should be shared and you should treat people better than you would treat yourself. For example, if you go to a celebration (like a wedding), you don’t need to be invited to show up and it’s insulting if you don’t eat. When guests eat, you cook a fancy meal (slaughter whatever animal you can find) and you bring out the special reserved plates.-SA really is the 3rd friendliest nation in the world.  Walking down the street, you must greet EVERYBODY. A head nod and smile doesn’t constitute a greeting. You must stop, ask how their family is, and talk until they are ready to move on. This is especially tiring when you are the strange American because everybody wants to say hello and know where you are from. My saving grace is that my lack of Zulu vocabulary means my conversations end quickly with me smiling and nodding.“Oh my gosh, this is Africa.” I think that everyone who moves probably has a day where everything starts to sink in.  February 1st was my “oh my gosh, this is Africa day.”  This was the day that we moved from the training camp to our host families.  All of the volunteers (PCVs) were sitting on one side of the dining hall and all of the host families were sitting on the other side. It was a stare down-who do I want to live with?-kind of moment.  As they were calling names I was nervous for no apparent reason. My name was called and I came forward to be greeted with a giant hug from my new Baba (Dad).  I am now the newest member of the Thubana family and you may now call me Zodwa.  “Oh my gosh, this is Africa.”  My Baba is a stay at home dad whose wife works in Pretoria in catering and comes home every once in a while. (I haven’t gotten to meet her, yet).  His mom, my Gogo, lives at home.  He has two kids-one is away at school but his 8 year old daughter, Duduzile, lives at home.  The neighbors are also my family and they are always over.  Gogo and I had a ten minute conversation while cutting green beans. I understood exactly…zero words.  “Oh my gosh, this is Africa.” My sister, cousins, and I played Frisbee and then found a group of PCVs and their kids hiking to the top of a hill so we tagged along with the end result of a beautiful view of Bundu (the town where I’m living). We explored a bit and then returned home. Oh, did I mention home includes a bath, toilet, extra kitchen, and TV. The water is only on ¼ of the time but I still feel like I’m living a luxurious life.  The fact that I think these things are incredibly luxurious, again, causes me to think, “oh my gosh, this is Africa.” We have a mango tree in our yard and luckily it’s mango season and so I can eat as many as I want a day. The only problem is there is no clean way to eat a mango- you must have juice all over your face by the end.  I showed my family pictures from home and after seeing the picture of my ABQ friends and the “good luck in Africa” poster, they told me how I have very good friends and love me very much to treat me so well. (I agree, thanks guys!)  They also really liked our Aggie ring pictures.  After a long day, the sun was setting; the air was finally getting cooler.  We were watching the cows (that roam all over the village) graze on the grass in our compound. The sky was bright blue and the fields were bright green.  “Oh my gosh, this is Africa.”Pap, pap, and more pap.  I have had pap every meal except for two.  Those two meals I made for my family.  It is the majority of the meal with a little something to dip it in.  You eat with your hands, take a hunk of pap, and scoop up whatever else might be on your plate.  While I don’t think pap tastes bad, I now have a pap belly replacing my beer belly.  Pap is corn meal (mealie-mill) that is added to boiling water and stirred.  There is a very specific way to stir it, let it sit, and stir again to make it just right. It takes some serious muscle.  The consistency of pap is in between grits, jello, and mashed potatoes.  It’s hard to explain and if we are being honest-no, I will not make it for you because I have already had enough for a lifetime.Africa time.Let me tell you a little bit about “Africa time”.  I’m coming “now” means you are finishing what you are doing and then maybe leaving-at least 30 minutes. I’m coming “now now” means in the near future.  I’m coming “just now” could mean you are coming any time in the day.  The philosophy is that the people surrounding you are the most important.  So, if you are about to leave your house to meet someone but a visitor stops in (which happens a lot), it would be rude to leave without greeting them.  As I mentioned before, a proper greeting takes about 30 minutes. The only valid reason to rush is for an emergency-like someone going into labor.  Someone going to the hospital, however, is not an emergency because someone else is probably there to handle the situation.  I got my first taste of African time today. We were going to an Indebele initiation ceremony so we were supposed to meet up with our African teacher at 10 am.  I have no idea what is going on but my teacher told my 12 year old cousin to take me somewhere at 10.  Once again, I put my trust in the hands of the children who lead me another volunteers.  This family is sitting down to breakfast, so, in the African spirit-I join.  After, we set out looking for other Americans who might know what is going on.  We find a group of volunteers at another house and join them.  At 11:30, our teacher comes looking for us…only 1.5 hours late.  Her response is, “eh, Africa time.”  We wander the streets picking up volunteers for the party that now starts at 1 pm (instead of 10 am).  At 1, we go to the house- no food, no music, no people.  They tell us to come back at 2:30. At 2:30 we show up- the first guests to arrive.  Food isn’t served until 4:30, when the party is now starting. 10 am—4:30 pm. Eh, Africa time.