Zenzele Girls Club: Come One, Come All.

I handed out applications to be in my girls club to grades 8-10 and the responses have SLOWLY been trickling in. The application has a little snippet about the club and then asks a couple of questions.  The answers left me gigling.  When asked, “How would you describe yourself?” I got:

1.       I’m a person

2.       I loose my temper very fast and am not very patient

3.       I would describe myself by saying what kind of person I am

When asked, “How have you been a leader?” my favorite response was, “I never lead at all.” I love the honesty here, but we need to teach these girls how to write a good application. And finally, when asked, “Why do you want to be in the club?” they responded (drum roll please):

1.       Show them I can fly although my life been dry

2.       I like to learn about cleaning nurse. I like to learn about the playing the ball

3.       To be a girl is awesome and it is better because we are the flower of the nation

To give these girls some credit, this is probably the first application they have ever seen and they completed it in English, their second language.  Still, I couldn’t help but share this yummy goodness with all of you.

The 2nd Highest Waterfall in the World is Actually Photo-Shopped

In April, I went on my first hike in the Drakensburg Mountains.  We chose the Tugela Gorge Hike, hoping to see the famous Amphitheatre and the 2^nd highest waterfall in the world, Tugela Falls (nearly 1000 m high).  My companions and I pushed on, always keeping an eye on the Amphitheatre, waiting and waiting to see the waterfall.  Finally, we discouragingly had to admit to ourselves that Tugela Falls was dry and no matter how close we got, we would not be seeing the falls that day.  In May, we returned to the Drakensburgs to camp.  Going on a different hike, we climbed the summit a valley over from Tugela Gorge. Still no falls.  Last month, we drove around to the back side of the Amphitheatre, where you can hike to the top of the falls.  As we were approaching, the weather took a turn for the worse and we were forced to turn around. Foiled, yet again.  This weekend we went on another camping trip, optimistic that the falls would be full with snow melt and recent rains.  We set out on the familiar Gorge Hike. We hiked to the look-out point and looked into billowy low-hanging clouds that covered the Amphitheatre…and Tugela Falls.  With four attempts and no sightings, I have to conclude that Tugela Falls doesn’t exist; the 2^nd highest waterfall in the world is actually photo-shopped.

Little Tidbits of Impilo Yami (My Life)

1.       It might be the village boredom that’s getting to me. Or, I may be catching on to the South African view on hairdos, changing weaves and styles every couple of weeks. Whatever the reason, I have had three dramatically different hair styles in my 9 months in South Africa. I started with my long brown hair (as you all fondly remember me), switched to dreadlocks (where I was highly regarded as-mah rasta ladayyy), and then chopped off the locks to experience a life with short hair.  Unfortunately, there aren’t many changes I can make from here so I guess I’ll have to find new ways to release the boredom and my need to assimilate to the local culture by constantly changing styles.  Let me just say, in terms of bucket bathing, short hair is a whole new and glorious world.

2.       Yesterday, a child pet me like an animal. He came up to me and started scratching underneath my chin while saying, “muhle, muhle” (pretty, pretty). At least he thought I was a cute animal to play with.

3.       I went for a long run (around 6 miles) and was impressively accompanied by four village kids.  Three ran without shoes, one ran with knock-off crocs that were falling apart.  At the end of the run, the kids ran off towards home with pep in their step while I dragged myself home tiredly.  To top it off, I got a huge blister with my fancy running shoes.  I must conclude that I (and probably most Americans) am a diva.

4.       In the Zulu culture, people are given names with meanings that the family deem important. Some of these names, in my opinion, are quite comical.  You have: Sanele (enough), Zama (trying), Ayanda (increasing/multiplying), etc.  While doing an after school help session with Grade 11, they asked me what “Norah” meant.  I explained that it was just a name and that usually English names don’t have meanings like Zulu names.  I used my name as an example, “Kristen Clauss”. Kristen means nothing; Clauss means nothing.  They struggled to pronounce Clauss and I told them it is originally German. Then, they asked me if I knew Adolf Hitler and was around during the war.

5.       I just got a cat to protect me and my produce against the rats.  Well, I didn’t really get a cat…I’m long-term leasing him from my host family.  Since my host family just calls him “Pussy”, I decided it was my duty to name him.  I’m in the process of trying out names but am leaning toward Man Cub (inspired by the Jungle Book).  Name suggestions are welcome! As most of you know, I’m not much of a cat person and this cat has been a learning experience.  When he looks at me and keeps meowing, I just don’t know what to do.  People have reassured me that all he wants is a nice ear scratch. Now, Man Cub just can’t get enough. I can’t walk anywhere without him rubbing against my legs and I can’t do a crossword puzzle without him trying to nuzzle me with his head. I’m going to have to get used to all of this lovin.

6.       I’ve been working on my organization’s website. Check it out—www.ourhope.org.za.

That’s all for now! Miss you all.

Africa Unity Cup-Special Olympics

This past week, I had the pleasure of staying in the Royal Bafokeng Nation to volunteer for Special Olympics South Africa.  First, let me say that the Bafokeng king knows what’s up.  The area gets its money from mines and rather than hoard all of the money (like oh so many powerful South African figures tend to do), the king has invested the money in the community. He has supported sports by creating one of the World Cup 2010 stadiums, bringing in an NBA program, and supporting local sports.  He has also helped to create the amazing school (elementary-high school) where the games were held. This school rivals some small American universities.

Peace Corps has a program for “response volunteers”.  These are volunteers that already have served for two years but decide to apply for a shorter, more specific position elsewhere.  One of the SA response volunteers has been working with Special Olympics all year to help create youth programs and to plan the Youth Summit that was held during the cup.  I had the pleasure of getting to help out with the Youth Summit.  Around 200 kids were chosen to attend (with representatives from Kenya and Namibia).  They came in partners-one kid with a mental disability and one without.  The whole premise of the event was to stop the stigma against disabilities and to treat all people as equal. They dubbed it “the dignity revolution”.  Nobody has disabilities; we all just have different abilities…so people have “diffabilities”.  The Summit was mostly youth led.  With our help, the youth leaders planned discussions and activities for the group.  They talked about their experiences, what they have learned, and what they will do to change perceptions in their communities.  Each group made an action plan for an event or club they could start.  As chaotic as the event may have been, being a part of the kid’s experience was very rewarding.

On another note, the Special Olympics were so happy to team up with Peace Corps that they treated us real nice.  They held a lunch to thank us at a 5 star hotel and insisted that us poor village folk get seconds and take home left overs.  We also attended a wonderful dinner with a local dance group.  We were invited to the VIP events-meeting some incredible “celebs”.  We got to meet the king, queen mother, SA ambassador, consul general, Tim Shriver (CEO Special Olympics), Dikembe Mutombo (former Houston Rocket), and many more.

All in all, I’d say it’s a week to remember!

Check it out--
http://www.peacecorps.gov/resources/media/press/2127/

cat and mouse...er, rat

The room next to mine is currently serving as storage for the buckets and buckets of dried mealie (corn) that my family harvested this fall. Unfortunately, along with buckets and buckets of mealie, come hungry rats. I have heard them chewing away at the bucket lids. I have seen them up in the rafters of the next room (there is a wall in between my room and the next room but it doesn’t go all the way to the roof). I have jumped over a rat on my way from the pit latrine to my room one early morning. And now, the rats have invaded. After months, they have found my room. I first noticed that a couple of my apples had been nibbled. I complained, “Ugh, why do they have to ruin all my apples. Why can’t they just eat one?” As if in response, the next day the whole apple was gone. The next day, I came home to my first encounter. The rat wasn’t expecting me home so early and upon seeing me, ran to take refuge in my wardrobe. Uh-huh. I don’t want rat piss all over my clothes. I kicked the wardrobe until he dashed out and over the wall to the next room. The battle had begun. The next day, I was sitting outside reading and came in as it was getting dark. Again taking the rat by surprise, he tried to hide behind my pots. I tried the kicking method again but this time the rat took refuge under my bed. How would I sleep at night knowing a rat was right under me? Time to call in the troops. Time for drastic actions. I then borrowed a cat and sat on my bed in the dark for at least 30 minutes, trying to lure the rat into my room so that the cat could pounce. To no avail. Unfortunately, the battle wages on. I plan to buy traps this weekend, although I’m not sure what I will do if I come home to a rat nailed to a trap on top of my fruit. This may be the first time in my life that I ever wanted to own a cat.

what i've been up to

I wrote this about a month ago and for some reason forgot to post it. Oops!

As you know, I’m back at site and trying to get projects started. The funny thing about South Africa is that things I think will be difficult turn out to be easy and things I think I can start in 10 minutes turn out to take a lot more work. (Maybe that’s true for all of development work.) In addition to helping with funding and with random things at my organization, here are some things I’m doing/trying to do.

OVC (orphans and vulnerable children) After-School Activities: 30 kids come to our centre before and after school to receive a free hot meal.  Usually, after school they hang out a little, sometimes organize a game, eat and leave.  I am beginning to plan activities (some educational and some fun) for them to do after-school.  I have two amazing ladies that help me and speak English, translating into isiZulu. The challenge: How do you explain what tag is? How do you explain what a puzzle is? How do you make your instructions clear enough so that they can then be translated into a different language? Needless to say, it has been an interesting experience dealing with language and cultural barriers. So far, we have played tag, a version of musical chairs, attempted to play the human knot game (huge fail), and made puzzles.  During our puzzle making session, about 5 out of 30 children successfully made puzzles. When it came to drawing and cutting out puzzle pieces, most of them couldn’t grasp the concept and instead drew squiggly lines and cut along them. Oops. If you have ideas for games, activities, arts/crafts for any age group-send them my way!

After-School Math Help Sessions: After school on Mondays, I go to the local high school to help the students with math (or maths, as it is called in South Africa).  After talking to the teachers, they told me the lowest pass rates are in maths so I figured I could lend a helping hand! So far, I am focusing on grade 11 and 12 students.  I help with their homework and have asked for topics that they need additional help on. In a pre-calculus class, some students understand everything with amazing wit while some stare at me, completely glazed over because they don’t know how to solve for x.  In my first session, a grade 12 punk decided to be the class clown at my expense. I was reviewing what sine is and everyone was giggly so I asked, “what’s funny?”  I put a problem on the board and asked if someone could do it for the class. The punk came to the front and started trying to mimic my actions and when the class laughed she asked, “what’s funny?” Even though I’m not a teacher, I had the “what type of teacher am I going to be” moment. The cool teacher? The mean teacher?  I told her to explain what she put on the board to the class, knowing she took someone else’s work. When she couldn’t explain, she sat down and I won. I survived the 12^th graders to teach another day.

Girls Club and Camp: I applied for a grant to start a girls club and hold a leadership camp and I should get my funding and be able to get the ball rolling soon.  My plan is to hold 3 consecutive girls groups that will be 12 weeks long.  The first group is going be called Zenzele (we do it our self) Girls Group and will be girls in grades 8-10.  I plan to cover topics such as peer pressure, HIV/AIDS, teenage pregnancy, healthy relationships, what’s in a boy’s mind, women empowerment, etc. The first hour will be a lesson and discussion and the second hour will be a fun activity. Most of the activities I’m planning are arts & crafts like tie-dye, making dream catchers, and friendship bracelets. I also want to get influential women to come and speak one day. Then, next June I’ll have a leadership camp that will build on everything in the clubs. Hopefully I’ll be starting my first club in September-wish me luck!

Gardens: We have 2 gardens-one at each soup kitchen for OVC. I am going to a training this week on permagardening and then, with the help of my South African counterparts, will take on the task of making these gardens successful.  All of the food is used in our soup kitchens, providing the kids with more nutritious food.

Support Groups: This is still in the thinking phase. I hope to start a group for Gogos (grandmothers) caring for HIV positive children. It is the norm here for Gogos to care for their grandchildren-because the parents died from AIDS, the parents are working in the cities, or the parents just left.  My organization feels strongly that these people need support in order for them to support the children.  The group will focus on good nutrition, ART support, and the importance of disclosing the child’s status to the child.  It will also serve as a place for the women to get together and feel lifted up. I’m still working on gaging interest, finding an English-speaking Zulu woman to help me, and plan the details. More to come!

Down and dirty

Let me first start by saying this: South Africans have a skill…a talent…a gift.  Somehow, no matter what they are doing, they stay perfectly clean. Last week, I attended a perma-gardening training. The majority of South African women were wearing nice dresses- some even wore heels.  The Americans were wearing jeans, sweats…what one would think to wear when gardening.  After a day full of digging around in the dirt, the Americans left covered in mud and in need of a shower. The South Africans left spotless.  They worked just as hard as the rest of us; but, like I said, they have a gift.  Their whites stay pristine white and their shoes stay polished.  On the contrary, my whites are slowly fading into a brownish red, the color of the Drakensburg dirt. My socks may never be the same.

 

South Africa has four seasons: cold season, windy season, rainy season, and harvest season.  As we transition from cold to windy season (winter to spring), the trees are starting to bud and I have hope that soon I won’t be able to see my breath in my house.  The past couple days; however, have brought a taste of rainy season. I kid you not; it has rained for three days straight.  To walk from my house to work, I have to navigate down a fairly large, steep hill that has now turned into a slip-in-slide.  On my way to work this morning, despite my attempt at careful steps, I slipped and fell to my hands and knees. Covered in mud, I walked to work where I could clean myself up.  I hope that by the time rainy season actually arrives I have learned the South African gift of staying clean.  If not, let’s just say-it’s going to be a long and treacherous rainy season.

Mandela Day

Here is a picture of me and Grade 11 from the local High School. Mandela Day is a day to celebrate Nelson Mandela's 67 years of service to his country by serving others for 67 minutes. The High Schoolers came to help out around the org.  A local business also brought lunch and sweets for the orphans and vulnerable children that come to our center after school.

Language Barriers

About a month ago, I arranged to spend a day going on home visits with one of our caregivers, Ntombenhle.  We agreed to meet at 10am the following day on the main road. I kept repeating, “Ok, I will call you when I get to Slimangamehlo.” (Slimangamehlo is another area semi- near to where I live). Ntombenhle kept repeating, “Alright, it is very far. Call me when you are near.”  The next morning, I set out early to catch a khumbi.  The khumbi ride was about 30 minutes, taking me to the edge of Mandolobheni-the area before Slimangamehlo.  I paid the driver and started my hike to Slimangamehlo.  While I was walking, another caregiver spotted me from her house and came running down to walk with me.  Not speaking any English, I finally made it clear that I was walking to meet up with Ntombenhle to do home visits. She called Ntombenhle, chatted for a bit (none of which I caught), laughed a bit, and hung up.  She said she would walk with me.  After about 10 minutes she said we should stop and wait for another caregiver who was behind us that was headed to Slimangamehlo, where she runs our second soup kitchen.  The 3 of us set off once more.  After a 30-40 minute walk, another caregiver (whose name, honestly, I didn’t remember) starts walking toward us on the street.  The caregivers that I am walking with say, “Ok, here is Ntombenhle. We will see you later.” Obviously, I am puzzled. This is not Ntombenhle. I try to explain why I am confused and I call the Ntombenhle that I had planned to meet.  Telling her I am in Slimangamehlo to meet her, she responds that she lives in KwaVala-not Slimangamehlo. What a mess. Suddenly, I realize…we have 2 caregivers named Ntombenhle. When I looked at the contact sheet for what area Ntombenhle lived in, I looked at the wrong person. Ay ama. Luckily, this new Ntombenhle didn’t skip a beat. Wrong Ntombenhle? No problem. Let’s go on home visits.

why write a post when my friend already wrote everything I would say and more?

check it out-

abgoestoafrica.blogspot.com/2012/07/18-july-2012-our-deepest-fear-isnot.html?m=1

alyssa wrote a wonderful recap of in-service traning (IST) and our awesome vacation up the wild coast.

10 kilos in 10 days...

I am sitting here in a comforable chair with tasty table mints, in a heated room. I have been at a hotel/conference center outside of Pretoria for the past week for in-service training (IST).  They treat us nice for surviving our first three months at site, rewarding us with 3 buffett meals a day (hence the 10 kilos I gained in 10 days), two tea times, hot showers, a hot tub, and a sauna. Am I really in Peace Corps right now?  I was accompanied by my supervisor, Xoli, at the beginning of the week. We learned about project management, planning the Zenzele Girl's Club that I hope to start upon my return.  Next, I was joined by my South African counterpart for more training.  We learned about different programs to implement in our communities and HIV prevention mobilization from the Center for Disease Control (CDC).  On Sunday, we went to a 4th of July party hosted by the American Embassy. I was actually on American soil for a beautiful afternoon.  The day was filled with a volleyball tourny, BBQ, a dessert contest, and face painting. Unfortunately, there were no fireworks because they were afraid it would be confused as a terrorist attack on the embassy.

Training ends tomorrow and I am taking off on a roadtrip up the wild coast-stopping in Chinsta, Coffee Bay, and Port St. Johns....Can't wait! (Wish me luck driving on the opposite side of the road).

Africa proves the invincible vincible...

I’m the girl who is never sick, isn’t allergic to anything, never has broken a bone…pretty much the girl that doctors love doing physicals on because they can check no on every box. Africa found the loop hole. DON’T WORRY, I’M OKAY! So, on Sunday I got home from my trip to Durban and noticed two large bumps on my arm that I assumed were mosquito bites because I usually get a little swollen. On Monday, I woke up and my whole arm was swollen. Halfway through the day I decided to start popping the Benadryl, to no avail.  That night, my arm was two times its normal size and believe it or not, my size 9 (man sized) Aggie ring would no longer fit.  I also started getting a rash on my stomach.  Wednesday, I woke up to find a giant arm, rash covered body, and swollen eyelids. Let me tell you, I was looking gooood. With the help of the Peace Corps, we decided it was time for me to make the trip to the hospital.  The swelling has finally gone down, after many days of looking like a scary monster, and I am good to go. Leave it to Africa to find something I’m allergic to. Too bad I have no idea what it is…dundundunnn.

Fish bowl

I now know what it feels like to be a goldfish.  I went for a long walk on Sunday and ventured to areas I hadn’t yet visited.  As I walked down the road, people peeked their heads out of doors on the surrounding hills to stare at me in curiosity. What was this white person doing walking down the road?  The people who knew me would call out, “Hellooooo, Nobuuuhleeee!” [Nobuhle is my given Zulu name] Those who didn’t know me would call out, “Hellooooo, Umlunguuuuu!” [Umlungu=White person]. I would look up into the hills, not seeing who yelled at me but waving back anyways.  I can confidently say that I was the goldfish and I had hundreds of eyes staring at me through the tank.  I guess I can just be thankful that there is no way to tap on the metaphorical glass, scaring me with the loud thump thump thump…poor goldfish.

Home Visits

The organization that I work with has home-based carers that do home visits to sick patients.  This week, I went on three home visits to patients that were unable to leave their homes due to illness.  Each visit evoked different emotions ranging from hope to despair.  Around 40% of the people in my area are infected with HIV.  This means that almost half of the people I meet on the streets are infected with a serious disease.  The thing is, though, you would never know.  Whether it’s because of stigma or perseverance, people hide their disease and just keep on keeping on.  In fact, sometimes I forget what a huge problem the HIV epidemic is in South Africa because I don’t run across it every day.  The patients that I saw on my home visits, however, were the people who have been hit hard.

The first visit was a 23 year old woman.  A couple of months ago, she was unable to walk or use her arms/hands.  She had horrible neuropathy. Neuropathy is a side effect of one of the ARVs (HIV treatment) and is especially prevalent if the patient is also on TB medication. (TB is also a huge problem).  When we visited, she had a big smile on her face as she slowly walked up using a walker.  She said she is slowly regaining strength even though she can’t fully open and close her hands yet.  She had a strong will to overcome this sickness and she provided such hope for all of the people in similar conditions.

In contrast, my third visit was to a 40 year old woman.  Walking up to her hut, we could hear her moaning and crying; it didn’t stop the whole visit.  Her house reeked of old urine.  She had a stroke around 10 years ago and was never able to fully recover health.  Her legs are contracted into a kneeling position and can’t be straightened and she has no use of her arms.  When she was in the hospital, she couldn’t feed herself and the nurses didn’t feed her, so she went without food.  The sister that was caring for her passed away so now she is staying with her children who neglect her.  She complained that they don’t feed or bathe her.  She has defaulted from her HIV treatment because nobody was there to give them to her.

South Africa is filled with a range of emotions regarding HIV/AIDS.  Some fight on, some give up, some refuse to admit there is a problem.  I only hope that in my time here I can make a small dent in trying to improve the problem.

Graduation Celebration

A couple of weekends ago, I went into town on Saturday morning.  I returned around 2 pm to my host family telling me to hurry up and get changed so that I could accompany them to a graduation celebration.  Mpume and Mayasi are educators at our village primary school.  They said the party couldn’t officially start until they were there to walk in with the graduates.  When we arrived (very late) two women were singing and dancing up front, the rest of the people joining in.  The sound system was so loud that I think my eardrums might still be ringing.  They must have been going for at least an hour before we got there and it continued for at least an hour more.  In between songs there were often chants such as, “Give me a J-J, Give me an E-E, Give me an S-S, Give me a U-U, Give me an S-S…JESUS!”  Yes, I am completely serious.  Finally, the ceremony started. The two university graduates danced in and the speeches began.  South Africans love speeches.  After about an hour of speeches, food was served.  At ceremonies, food is always served at the end.  People then eat it in record time and then leave even faster.  Seriously, it is like a disappearing act. I look up from my food and everyone is gone.  All in all, it was a fun event and I got to talk to several interesting people in my village!

My South African Family

Here is a little bit about my new family:

Gogo- Gogo is the South African name for grandma. You use it to refer to anyone of the grandmother age. In fact, I don't even know my Gogo's real name-she is just Gogo.  My Gogo is easily one of my favorite people I've met in South Africa. She is a retired teacher-meaning her english is great. We have had several good conversations about teaching, my family, America, aparteid, etc.  She looks after me and always makes sure that I am ok. She is constantly trying to get me hot water so I don't get sick and make sure I eat enough (I'm too skinny).  She runs the household and has a huge garden that provides us with a lot of fresh veggies and a ton of corn (they love corn here-they literally put "mealies" in everything. I even had a drink made out of mealies yesterday).

Mpume-Mpume is one of Gogos 6 children.  She is the principal at the primary school and always seems to be in control of everything. She is probably somewhere in her 50s and has a son in Pretoria that occasionally comes to visit. Word on the street is he likes to hike so I definitely need to get him to go with me on his next visit. 

Mayasi- Mayasi is also one of Gogo's daughters (also in her 50s).  She is a teacher at the primary school (a family full of educators!). She is quiet at first but also has the South African hospitality that I love so much.  She loves South African "soapies" (soap operas) and even though I swear they are lowering my IQ, I enjoy watching them with her.

Squ- Squ is one of Mayasi's sons (in his 30s). He is my next door neighbor in my house.  He is very quiet but helpful-always doing the "manly" things around the house.  In fact, he said he will be hooking up my electricity this week!

Those 4 people are the main residents in my home. However, the Gogo's house is the home base for the whole family.  During holidays, everyone migrates home at some point.  They are always welcome and there's always a bed waiting for them.  This weekend I got to go to a family members wedding in Pietermaritzburg where I met tons and tons of family.  I have to say, there isn't anyone in the Ndlovu family that I don't like. They all kept asking when I was coming back to visit next!  While I miss my family in America-you don't have to worry because my SA family is taking good care of me while I'm away.

A couple random tidbits

·         I love rusks. They are an Afrikaner (white South African) breakfast food that is similar to biscotti and is delicious dunked in coffee.

·         I’m currently living in the Injisuthi valley of the Drakensburg Mountains. I am itching to get a ride to the trail heads for a nice long hike. Google it-it’s beautiful.

·         Speaking of—take note of my new address! If you happen to feel like sending me a package here are a couple of tips: write bible verses, “God loves you”, or “educational materials” on the box so that people won’t open it.  On the duty slip, put the content’s value as small as possible or else I have to pay a big customs fee. Ngiyabonga kakhulu! (Thank you so much!)

·         I live in a room separate from my host family’s main house. I’m roughing it with no electricity or running water…and my internet capable blackberry (they do call Peace Corps South Africa the “posh corps” for a reason).

·         I spent Easter weekend on the beach in Durban with some good Peace Corps friends, delicious food (Indian bunny chow to die for), an awesome hot shower, and lots of exploring.

·         My “try anything once” motto hasn’t led me astray yet. The weirdest thing I have tried is sardines for breakfast. The sardines were good but I’m not sure I’ll ever eat fish at 6am again.

·         I love my host family.  They have adopted me as a new daughter.  I spend time getting to know them every evening around dinner time and just keep loving them more and more.  They speak English which is nice considering my Zulu conversations still can’t go much further than the weather and what I would like to buy in the market.

·         I just re-read the Hunger Games in honor of the movie opening. I am jealous of everyone who has seen it and am plotting how I can get to a big city to see it for myself.

·         I am buying a bike in the near future. For those of you who know my bike riding abilities, get ready for my many crash stories that are sure to come. Good thing Peace Corps requires a helmet.

·         I miss you all!

Funny Story of the Week

First, let me set the scene.  It’s a form submission day at the organization where I work so there are about 10 women (the caregivers) at the office.  The children (that come for food after school) and I are playing a game somewhere in between tag and dodge ball.  Enter our leading man-a ridiculously drunk South African man.  When I say ridiculously drunk, I’m talking glassy eyes-slurred speech-stumbling-if I touch him he might fall over-drunk.  He wanders onto our property and starts attempting to join in on our game.  We all ignore him and since he is having trouble walking straight, he gives up to go sit down near the caregivers who are relaxing outside.  At some point, the drunk man pushes his luck and the women decide it’s time for him to go.  The next thing I see are two women trying to pick up this man and clumsily try to carry him inside…I’m guessing to sleep?  The man decides he’s not going to cooperate with this time-out and comes running out of the building. A couple of seconds later the two women run out after him.  To get the hilarity of the moment, you really just need to pause and imagine a stumbling drunk man running around the yard with two big black women chasing him.  Every time the man thinks he’s gotten far enough ahead that he is safe, he stops to do a little victory dance before continuing to run his circles around the yard.  The women finally give up their chase and one goes to get a knife to threaten (90% a fun jest and 10% serious) the drunk man.  To be honest, I can’t really remember how the story ends—one can only assume the drunk man gets bored and leaves or passes out somewhere in the grass.

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.