With All Your Power

Cuteness abides on Inkanyiso's Interhouse Sports Day!
Nkosi and friend worked it at the bean bag toss!!!

I recently have found myself wanting to write all of the time but having absolutely no idea what to say or where to begin. Things are changing in Vryheid. The weather is really cooling down and now it requires a sweatshirt, pants, thermal sleeping bag, heater, and an occasional hat for comfortable sleeping. While that might sound absurd, please remember there is no central heating or insulation in my little room at all. In fact, I put a towel on the floor in the crack of the door at night to keep the drafts and snakes from coming in. Snakes, you say? What? Yes, snakes. Yesterday Buyisiwe, the housekeeper for the kids here at Inkululeko, was walking to the garden around the back of the house and she saw a big old snake that was fat and not too long but was brown with diamonds. At first I did not believe her, so I put on my boots and went around back to check it out myself and sure enough in the sand pit there were lines of snake movement. Humans make footprints in sand and snakes obviously do not, so their tracks look a bit different. Unlike the first snake that I encountered in South Africa and consequently killed in the kitchen after throwing holy water on it, I do not think I am going to try to get anywhere close to this snake based on its description. No snakes for me, thanks. However, I am carrying a rock around the yard just in case the snake decides it is time to tango because he/she probably does not know about my legendary reputation as a snake killer. I think its best that way though.

Speaking of killing animals, we might have to slaughter a goat my school. Are we out of food and are now eating the innocent local animals? No. Do we hate goats here in Vryheid? Nope. Are people getting goats mixed up with pigs during this raging swine flu pandemic? (Please catch the sarcasm there) No. Why would we need to slaughter a goat at school then? Let me tell you. Recently three of our teachers have injured one of their feet during separate instances and in different ways. The first teacher broke her foot when she fell in a bucket of washing powder. The second teacher sprained it while sleeping. And the third teacher was hit by a car in town. “There is only one way that this could all happen in such a short period of time” says Mrs. Zulu (translated by me). “Yini? (What?), I exclaim! “ The ancestors are angry with us here at school”, Mrs. Zulu shouts! “But I don’t have any ancestors here”, I respond. “Not yours Nqobile (my Zulu name), the ancestors of the school”, she tells me. Yes folks, there are ancestors of the school. I was not aware of this fact until yesterday. Apparently, the four teachers that have died since 2002 at our school are the ancestors of the school. The staff believes that we have done something to upset them and now we must make it right by slaughtering a goat on the premises. When and how this is going to happen, I do not know, but I have a feeling it will be soon, so look out for pictures folks…this will be upload worthy.

It is so odd to think that slaughtering a goat at school and living in a yard with a possibly poisonous snake seems ordinary. There have been so many times when I have been so frustrated and just pushed to the limit of absolutely all that I know and felt like I could ever do. I told myself if I ever came in contact with a snake indoors I would leave. That happened and I am still here. I said that if my computer died I would leave because it makes working so much more difficult without it. That happened. I am still here. I told myself that I would definitely leave if any of the babies at the home died. That happened. I am here. I told myself that if more than one kid that I work with dies at school I will leave. That happened yesterday. I am still here with no plans to leave. Somewhere along the line I let go the notion that any little thing could be too much and that it would be time to go back to a life that had challenges but was not overwhelming back in the States. But then I realized something. Even if I left South Africa today, life would never be the same back in America. Though most things and people that I am used to back in the States may have remained relatively the same, I am not. Previously believing that if hardships happened I could escape back to my more comfortable life and forget about the issues 9,000 miles away was an absolute farce. I am not sure what made me think that by leaving the overwhelming pain that sometimes comes with living and working with kids in a third world environment it would just go away. So I am staying. I am finishing my 27 months here because I have experienced absolute tragedy and immense pain in the loss of children that I work with and care about, but I have experienced far more joy and light than could ever be overshadowed by such loss. Working here has so many challenges and so many more rewards. The wholeness of being in the good times is indescribable and the numbness in the bad times is unspeakable. I am going to be forever changed by this experience in more ways than I even realize. I am going to be stronger and more confident. I feel that if I can live through this, I can live through and prosper in almost any situation. I also will be connected with the world around me and daily remind myself that I have a responsibility to give back a little bit of what amazing things have been given to me. I was looking at pictures that I brought from the States yesterday and I was so very thankful. I have experienced such richness and happiness in friendships and relationships with my family. I am so blessed to have so many pictures to fill up and overflow that album of amazing times with even more amazing people in my life. Not everyone gets so many opportunities to become close to so many fantastic high-quality people. I am blessed. I know it and I am thankful for it. Obviously I wish that everyone had the family and friends that I do and I hope that family feuds and broken friendships do not stop me or anyone I know from experiencing the real wholeness that comes with being able to be connected. Today I have a heavy heart because of the loss of yet another beautiful child at our school to AIDS but I know that this too shall pass and that tomorrow I will remember to be thankful.

If any potential Peace Corps applicants are reading this like I used to read blogs about the Peace Corps before I came here, please know that this is no walk in the park. If you end up working in South Africa, small African children with dirty hands and beautiful smiles will run up to you on the streets and want to talk to you and touch you and you will learn to love this. You might live in a mud house in a rural area with no running water or electricity or you might have a situation like mine where you live with both of those amenities only minutes away from town center. You might think that you will be changing the world in a foreseeable way. I cannot tell you that those things won’t happen or that they will. What I can say is that you will be challenged in so many ways that you could never imagine before moving here. Not having running water or electricity are not the major challenges you will face. They are also not something you should develop a fetish over. Please do not come here believing any one group of people is bad and oppressive and that all of the others are innocent victims of a society plagued by its history. If you deem people bad or good before you even meet them, then you have limited yourself greatly and I am sorry for you. Please, just keep an open mind about the whole experience and be ready to being very fulfilled or completely disappointed or both simultaneously. This is no attempt to rant about South Africa or the Peace Corps because I love this place and my job, however, the heartwarming stories you may read about having no electricity and watching the stars every night after sitting around a bowl of food with your host family are not the only stories that volunteers have, they are just the ones that they think others want to hear. I am attempting to change the way that I write any correspondence about my experience here. If this sounds negative or aggressive, that is not the intention. I am just really attempting to be more honest because life here is such a paradox.

P.S. Ma, tell Roger that the Flaming Lips CD is on the way. Also, tell him that it changed my life (without exaggeration). Dad, go ahead and laugh, but yes, that CD is LIFE CHANGING even more so than when Ikea changed my life. Wait until you come to South Africa…you and Sue will experience the life changingness of the Flaming Lips for hours and hours on the road. Aren’t you excited? Love you family! Also, check out the pics I uploaded. Sorry it has taken literally a year. Just a few.

“If you could take all the love without giving any back, would you do it?

And so we cannot know ourselves or what we’d really do

With all your power, with all your power, with all your power, what would you do?”

- Flaming Lips (thanks to Kim and Jared)

Chased By A Monkey

Yes folks that’s right, get ready folks for yet another installment of “crazy white girl joined the Peace Corps and went to Africa” here on your friendly world wide web sponsored by the lovely folks at Google. Apologies are in order once again for my empty promises of writing “soon”. If you understood Africa time and my current life situation then you would know that I am writing “soon”. However, I recognize that the people who are probably reading this are in a place that values timeliness and where yes means “yes” rather than yes, which actually means “most likely not”. I recently used one of my “weekends away” as the Peace Corps called them when we first arrived and spent a few days out in the bush with monkeys. That’s right folks…monkeys. Two of my fabulous friends, Sandy and Bruce, created a monkey rehab center (don’t think Amy Winehouse here) for monkeys that have been abandoned or kept as pets by humans. First of all, I would like to make the public service announcement that monkeys are not pets and should not be kept as such. If you want a furry, cuddly pet that wears diapers as an infant, drinks milk, slowly moves onto solids, and that you can love then I suggest having a baby. Babies, though a handful, are far less wild that monkeys and, in general, do not have razor sharp teeth to bite you. Moral of the story folks, don’t get a monkey because it can end up in rehab.

Monkeys come from all over the KwaZulu Natal region to the rehab center where they received a healthy diet of fruits, veggies, insects, and nuts to chow on at least twice a day, other monkeys who are also dealing with the same issues, a family environment, and the opportunity to become reintroduced into the wild. The 31 monkeys that were recently introduced back into the wild had been at the center for over two years. Finally, they seemed to have grasped the skills that will allow them so survive without human intervention. Tracking collars were put on seven of the monkeys before they were set free. We tracked the monkeys with the honing device and we recorded their behavior. It was amazing. The monkeys went nuts when we drove the 8.2 kilometers on rough dirt roads were snaky throughout the mountains to their indigenous forest area. The monkeys knew food was coming with us so they weren’t afraid. In fact three of the monkeys jumped on to the back of the truck and one tried to steal things from Bruce’s open backpack. After yelling at the monkey to get back into the tree and to stop stealing the bag, the monkey finally retreated. I calmly took the bag of the back of the truck and proceeded to walk away when the monkey decided it was time for a showdown. As my back was turned to the monkey (because I was walking away), the monkey leaped off the tree and onto the ground and began to chase me. Sandy yelled “Christi!” and I spun around to find the monkey galloping in my direction. So naturally being 4 feet taller than the monkey and weight over 100 pounds more than that primate, I screamed like a little girl and ran like hell. The monkey must have been scared by my girlish shriek because she stopped dead in her tracks. I ran behind my camping chair as Sandy tried to use hers as some sort of sword to ward off the vicious (okay well maybe not so vicious) attack. The monkey must have found all of this quite amusing and decided taking back the backpack wasn’t worth a camping chair to the head, so she scurried back up the tree and made lurching movements that I can only imagine meant “What now you stupid American. Try to take that backpack again. Go ahead. Do it”. Only in Africa would I get chased down by a 15 pound monkey with an attitude. Moral of the story folks, if a monkey wants your backpack, give it to him or be ready for an epic battle.

Besides being intimidated by small primates, I have been keeping very well and am very busy here. I must be honest; I am not practicing my Zulu much because my friend who I always speak with had a baby recently and is not back to work yet. I tell myself everyday that I will wake up and practice for an hour just like I tell myself everyday I will write in my journal. The last time I wrote in my journal was January 25 and I don’t want to admit when I last sat down to really practice Zulu. Ugh. I am expecting too much from myself and I am too busy to do all that I want. “Busy in a small town in Africa, how can this be?” you ask. Well, I work at school for 28 hours a week and also with the kids at the children’s home for another 10-20 hours a week so I am keeping very busy. Since I go to bed at 9 or 9:30 unless someone calls me, I do not have time for sleep-time-wasting activities like writing and learning a very necessary language. Nope, no time for that. In America, I could easily deal with working 24-30 hours a week at the Low Rises (including midnight to six am shifts) and then going to school full time. But here, oh no. I need my eight hours or else the kids say things to me like “you hair looks hlebe hlebe (wild and untamed) and “your face is falling” which I am taking to mean that either I look tired or gravity is taking its toll far too early on my young skin. Who knows? So be thankful folks when I risk premature aging to write you one of oh so enduring letters and take the time to address it especially for you from deepest, darkest Africa. Also be thankful because I do not have a mailbox at my house so in order to send letters, I must conveniently walk 20 minutes to the post office and 20 minutes back in the less than desirable heat. I risk heat rash and constant harassment about my accent just to make it to the South African Post Office in adoration for those who write me and I feel it necessary to finally respond to. Be patient, your letter is coming (Mom, Dad, Nida, Aunt Shelda, Mema, and Holly…I am a little backed up, right?). Until next time folks...

One Year Anniversary

Saturday, January 31, 2009 was the one year anniversary of my Peace Corps South Africa 17’s arrival in Africa. I had lunch with some friends and spent the afternoon checking out bed and breakfasts for my Dad and Sue’s visit that is scheduled for September. It was a rather relaxed and monotonous day which was not really marked by any major event or excitement. However, the significance of the date has left me thinking a lot about this last year.
How do I put into words the major shifts in living situations, language, social atmosphere, and most importantly; thinking that I have experienced since I left the States in January 2008? I am astounded by what I have been through in the past year. To be honest, I have lived and loved far more freely than I have ever before. Is it because this is supposedly where mankind began? Is there some inherent wholeness to living in Africa? Maybe. Maybe not. All I know is that I have experienced tremendous change since I have arrived here. Some changes resulting in growth and others leaving me completely lost.

As I have said before, I live at the Inkululeko Toddler’s Home. It is a place of safety for orphaned and abandoned children. Some of the children have known their parents and watched them pass away. Others were very badly abused and are seeking protection here. The rest have been abandoned, some in public places, others out in locations where their parents’ never hoped the child would be found. All of these children somehow made it here though. All eleven of the children at my house have completely different stories with at least one common thread that has bound them together. I was never abandoned, orphaned, or abused and somehow I also found my way to this place as well, this place of safety. Peace Corps did not place me here. I was living in a township about 45 minutes away from my current residence. I would have never heard about this place if it was not for a chance meeting with my principal and the founder of this organization. I would have never ended up living here if the taxi fare to and from work was not as expensive as it was and the lady I was staying with passed away a few months after I moved, both of which are unfortunate but real matters. I could have very easily ended up somewhere else; things could have been very different. Yet, somehow so many small things fell into place that would pave the way for me to end up here. And here I am. I am exactly where I am meant to be.

I have been living at this home for almost ten months and I could not possibly begin to do justice to the profound work that these children have done in my life. I came to Africa looking for direction while also intending to lose it entirely. I have done both. I came here knowing what I wanted to do when I returned to America. Now, I am unsure. I came here having no idea of what to do here in Africa, yet I know exactly what I want to do now and I am doing it. So I have direction. In fact, I have many directions and perhaps this is why I am on my way and totally lost. Yet, it could not possibly feel better. I think that when you let go of the notions of what you think you should be and how important it is that certain things remain a specific way because they are right and going in any different direction would be wrong, you suddenly become just a little bit freer. Things that seemed so important and were the origin of so much stress in the past now seem inconsequential. And things that you never imagined you would be able to experience or believe now confront you head on and more surprisingly you are able to deal with them and slowly you learn to embrace the journey with all of its surprises and challenges.

I am aware that this rambling does not contain any real details of what I have been up to recently and maybe that would be more entertaining to read. I am sorry if it is a disappointment and I promise to write more anecdotes about my last couple of months, but this is just what I felt like sharing today. I hope you can relate to this unfinished madness of a blog. Until next time…

Batting 1000

Our story begins, Friends, at four fifty-five on Sunday, November 16, 2008. Tucked away snuggly under a duvet in my obnoxious unmatching pj shorts and white tank top I am sleeping soundly until a series of unfamiliar and piercing squeaking sounds drags my from my dreams and into reality. I try to ignore the sound, believing that is a demented bird on my tin roof or just another roof rat. However, the squeaking is becoming more shrill and I realize that if I am to enjoy this glorious day of sleeping in until the late hour of half past seven, I am going to have to take care of this monster. Reluctantly, I put my bare feet (I have recently learned to sleep without socks…go me!), on the concrete floor and chills run up my legs as I feel the coldness of the floor on my way to the light switch. I flick the lights on and my eyes fight to adjust. The shrills are now becoming more frequent and I realize that whatever is making that sound is not on the roof, but in my room because the noise is coming from the same place where the roof rat first came from. I begin to search for my flashlight under my bed, on my bed, around my bed, and in any other direction where the flashlight could have possibly gone. Unable to locate the flashlight, I sit on the bed and remove the covers when my eyes are bombarded by…get ready for this….a BAT!!! The bat is now widly flying around the room as I trembled beneath the pillow I am holding over my head and screaming loud enough to wake up all five of the neighbor’s dogs. Though bats are nearly blind, they are far from deaf, so the bat had a massive fright and flew right back into the hole in the wall where it came from in the first place. Now thoroughly alarmed and very awake, I open the door and the windows hoping that my nocturnal friend will leave. No such luck. Now there is only two options I see here. Either the bat leaves or I do; so I grab my towel and toiletries, and I head out the door. Time to shower and start the day at FIVE IN THE MORNING!!!! To make a long story short, the bat left the same day without my knowledge of exactly when or how.

Today is November 25, 2008, nine days since the bat incident and so much has happened in these past 216 hours. I have finished all of my project wrap-ups at school and I have secured and closed up my classroom. The learners left and are now home enjoying the holidays with their families. Our learners left mid-November and won’t come back until mid-January…which only means one thing for us “teachers”…VACATION!! I am going to St. Lucia for Thanksgiving with other Peace Corps people, which should be a great time. Good friends, cold drinks, great food, sun, and the beach…what more can a PCV ask for? I would like to add though that swimming at the beach is nearly impossible because in St. Lucia, it is the only place in the world where crocodiles, sharks, and hippos (all very dangerous to humans in the water) coexist . Needless to say, I am going to stay on land. I am also cleaning up my room, doing loads of laundry, and other menial tasks in order to get ready go to America for Christmas!! Hooray for Christmas in a climate that is not 88 degrees Farenheit indoors and even hotter outside!!! Shortly after coming back to SA, I am going to Cape Town as well with some friends so it should be a blast because we are taking the wine route and my pregnant friend is our DD, much to her dislike, so bring on the incredibly cheap but incredibly delicious South African wine! After my return to the oh-so-happening town of Vryheid, a brand new school year will start and my project will be in full force. Did I mention that the town slogan of Vryheid, which is actually published on all of the tourist information, is “Vryheid, where it’s happening”! Now I am not quite sure what “it” is because I have not yet seen “it” happen here, maybe I am not looking though.

Since school has been out, I have busied myself with other things, mostly the children here at the Inkululeko Babies Home. I have learned an incredible amount about health care and VCT (voluntary counseling and testing for HIV) within the past five days. Last Tuesday, one of the babies at our home was found to be very ill. Without getting into too much detail about this baby, whom we shall call Baby A for privacy reasons, I would like to share a little bit about health care in my town, most of which is probably true for much of South Africa. How I got involved in Baby A’s hospital visit or the ensuing madness is unimportant here, the fact is I volunteer and live at this the Home so sometimes volunteers are called to do things that are more difficult than they expected. Children, by law, are supposed to get treatment first in health care situations before adults in hospitals and clinics. From the time that I arrived and the hospital with deathly ill Baby A, to the time that Baby A was finally given any treatment whatsoever besides an x-ray and being diagnosed with a condition that I cannot name here for privacy reasons, was two hours. When I went to admit Baby A to the children’s ward, I was asked by the nurse who made me wait 25 minutes while she finished her coffee, whether or not I am breastfeeding. The look of bewilderment on my face must have answered her question because for the first time in thirty minutes she actually looked at the baby and saw that we have no where near the same skin color and that clearly I have not given birth in the last six weeks. She said “Hawu, phephisa” (“Oh, sorry”) and then asked me “Where is the mother” to which I explain Baby A is an orphan. Not satisified with the answer, she asks me questions about Baby A’s birth history. I reply that because I not Baby A’s mother, and because Baby A is abandoned, there is no way for me to have a birth history and that I am sorry but I only know the history since the home recently received Baby A. She angrily clicks her tongue and her pen and continues to write for ten more minutes. Meanwhile Baby A was not responding to any touch, pinch, words, or to the bottle. Obviously, I was very concerned, but managed to keep calm because if I were to shout or demand anything from the staff at the hospital about how this critically ill baby has been waiting two hours for treatment, they would definitely play a power game with me and make me wait longer as they have done so many more times before. Regardless, Baby A was admitted to the ICU here at Vryheid District Hospital on Tuesday with a serious condition, but one that is treatable and can be completely cured. Baby A died Saturday morning.

Can accurately put into words how I felt about the whole situation that went down at the hospital admittance and after? Probably not. Can I write about how ridiculous and sad the situation was/ is? No, because it is probably not fair and this is not an appropriate space to do so. However, I can say this. There were many mistakes made that day; many on the part of the hospital staff, maybe some on the part of our staff, probably even on the part of my involvement. I could point fingers at the nurses and say that they don’t care about their jobs or the children of that ward because coffee and nap time were deemed more important that dying babies. Yet, there were four nurses that day for forty-nine seriously ill children. If that was me, would I have been running around trying to serve as many children as possible in the best way I can? Yes. But I also have not been working for a system where there are over ten children per nurse to care for with a lack of equipment and effective medicines for years. Can I say that I think that they could have done better? Yes, they could have, but they did not and there are many reasons for that; some completely ridiculous and others incredibly valid. The point is, I cannot judge even though I find myself desperately wanting to place blame somewhere because I just really believe that people, especially children, deserve better. And because they deserve better, I am reserving judgment because being angry or wishing that things were different isn’t going to keep this from happening again. I have had nine days to think about this and I am now in a different place in my mind then where I was on Saturday. I also realize that even if Baby A had been given the best treatment that the world has to offer, we will never know if that would have changed the outcome. Barak Obama said “We are the change we have been waiting for” and he doesn’t know it, but those words resound in so many American’s minds and are a verbal expression of the silent resolve that numerous people are using to improve our world. While I cannot change what happened last week, I can try to prevent it from happening again. I can create relationships with the hospital staff that will help ensure better treatment for our kids here at the home. I can be vigilant in identifying illnesses or problems in our children early and making sure that their problems are not shrugged off but instead given the treatment and attention that is warranted. I can help the local staff in recognizing problems in our children and also help them in giving better service delivery while still being able to fulfill their other responsibilities. I can create a better system for drug delivery and record keeping for our kids that is user-friendly and effective for the caretakers and the administration. These are things I can do. These are things I want to do. These are things I am working on because I know that there might be someone coming behind me to do the same things I am trying to do or their might be someone who can do it better, but I do not know if and when they will come so I must do it now. Now is not the time to think about what I am lacking but instead about what I have to give. I know I cannot save the world and I do not intend to. Jesus saves; not me. But I know I can give what little skills and knowledge I have along with my time and effort and that will just have to be enough. I know what I am doing…the question is what do you plan to do?

In the one week since school has ended, I have spent over thirty hours at the hospital with our kids learning about them and about the system. I am trying to create healthy working relationships of mutual respect between the hospital staff and our staff so that our kids will get the treatment they need when they need it. I know this is an uphill battle, but I think it is worth it and after spending the night with Toddler N in the hospital when Toddler N came down quickly with something serious, I know that to get good service, you have to be willing to help. FYI...Toddler N is doing much better and hopefully should come home soon. I have also learned that if you want to get CD4 counts done, get a chest x-ray for TB, get viral load counts, or see a doctor in the HIV/TB clinic run by the CDC, you have to get up pretty early in the morning because the doctors basically stop seeing people after their lunch break, which starts at one. I also now am on a first name basis with the records clerks, the pharmacy staff, and one doctor in the CDC clinic. Hopefully these relationships will grow and together we can find ways to fix the problems that we are facing in this ARV rollout and clinical service delivery. Will this make a difference? I don’t know, but it doesn’t hurt to try.

So folks, this has been how I have spent my last nine days. It is now a cool 89.9F in my room and I am sweating like a pig and feel as if I am going to pass out from heat stroke in my little oven of a room. If only heat could make you tan then I would be a bronze goddess. Time for a shower. Hopefully there will be water. The municipal water pipe broke again for the third time in two weeks, but at least there are no red worms swimming in the water this time. I am sorry for the somewhat heavy subject matter of this blog. I promise that I did my best to censor this and that I am trying to keep this as positive as possible. I think that it is also very important that I do not paint the reality of life here as something that is it not though and everything is not made of lollipops and gumdrops. However, it is all in how you see it and from where I am standing life is pretty good.

“Help me break down the walls of separation within our community. Help me build bridges of love and understanding. Help me sweep away the debris of isms, phobias, broken connections, and shattered hopes. Prepare my heart to prepare the way. Encourage me to think the first thought, to make the first sound, to speak the first word. Help me break the silence”.
-A prayer in the midst of a church living with AIDS

Change

November 5th was probably, without exaggeration, one of the greatest days of my entire life. I am writing this at school since nearly all of the kids have left. The main water pipe for Vryheid burst last Thursday and the water has been off since then in most places in town. My house recently got water back, but unfortunately it is undrinkable because of the tiny red worms that were enjoying a nice swim in our water supply. However, the water at school is still off and obviously this is a problem. My school is fairly modern in that we have 10 flush toilets for 342 children, many with bowel control problems even on a good day. However, when the water is not working, this means the toilets won’t either. So, I will leave it up to your imagination as to what happens when you have 342 mentally disabled children who have to use the toilets and are told that they cannot because the toilets are already full to the brim…I’ll let you meditate on that one for a minute. Okay…done now? Good. Well, you can envision the sights and smells that this school is now going through due to the lack of any water whatsoever. Therefore, the children do not have to come to school tomorrow and Friday, thought the staff will. I believe my kidneys may shut down soon because I think they cannot take this lack of ablutions availability even though I am greatly restricting liquid intake. Yet, even the incredible inconveniences of going thirsty in bloody hot Africa and not being able to use the restroom for 7 hours a day, could not possibly bring me off of this incredible natural high.

OBAMA WON!!!!! And somehow this makes the world suddenly and profoundly a different place. No matter how many little red worms come out of my tap and no matter how ungodly hot it will get today, this day cannot be a bad day. My faith in humanity has been almost entirely restored and I can honestly say that for the first time in a long time, I am proud to be an American and not afraid to show it. The fact that so many Americans saw the obvious need for change in decided to vote in favor of giving this world another shot seems pretty phenomenal and incredibly invigorating after these past eight years have been less than fabulous for America. So thank you Jesus…you let my people go!

Now after that brief tribute to the day of great happiness, we pan back to life here in Africa. Things are going well with my project and I am fairly happy with what I am doing. The school term is ending next week for the learners and two weeks after that for us educators. I brought my classroom for eik to chic in less by painting all of the walls and also am in the midst of finishing painting the world map mural on the back wall of the room. With just a few furniture additions and a bit of paint, the room transformed and my students are constantly talking about it. Healthwise, I am doing fairly well, but I am 98% sure that I have an intestional worm. How I came to believe this, I am not going to share with the world wide web community, but I will say it has been less than pleasant. No worries though, I am deworming myself today with just two simple pills, loads of Powerade, and prayers that I will not choose to quit the Peace Corps if I actually see the worm(s). Oh the joys of living and eating in a developing country.

On a less incredibly disgusting note, I helped with registration at the Itala Challenge this weekend and received my awesome t-shirt. The Itala Challenge is the highest rated kayak race in Africa and people from all over the world come to battle the river and each other in a race to the finish. I went down the same river six months ago, but it was not nearly as far or even in the same rapids as these guys and gals attempted on Saturday. It was an intense race and 20 of the 250 paddlers had to be pulled out of the river and were not allowed to finish due to the complete and utter destruction of their boats on the rocks of the good ole Pongola River. We stayed in chalets in the game reserve and also on the river after the race, so we were able to shower and sleep indoors which was much better than the other option of sharing two showers with all 500 people involved in the race at the camping site.

Today I am going to sew more pencil bags for my students. My learners should be coming to class tomorrow, at least some of them, and they will learn fabric painting which will be translated into final products of uniquely painted pencil bags. We will sell these bags at the end of November at a local craft fair. I am fairly sure that the bags will sell well because the shopping bags that my last class painted sold out in the first three hours at the last craft fair. However, we bought those bags and just sewed on the extra painted pockets. This time I want to use some of the tons of donated fabric that I was given to make the bags rather than buy them because I would rather use the donations than drain my VAST grant money so soon. Therefore, I have had to teach myself how to sew on a machine. It was not going so well for a while there, but now things are better and I am on a roll….five bags made…fifteen more to go. My learners also made over 25 wine glass marker sets, many of which I am going to bring to the States over Christmas to see if there are any potential buyers…they cost two dollars people, I think you should consider digging deep and buying a set. Thanks! I am also going to put together a website for my school next week since we do not have one and this obviously does not help donors and other interested people in obtaining info about the school. Also…I would like to toot my own horn for a second here…I made pizza entirely from scratch last night. I handmade the dough, made my own sauce mixture of chakalaka and tomatoe sauce, shredded my own cheese, cut the pinapples and green peppers, and put baked that bad boy to perfection in the somewhat defective oven. This is the second time I have made this delicious delicacy and I must say that both pizzas were absolutely scrumptious. If you know me at all, then you must know that I am by no means an excellent chef; so while this feat might seem small to you, it was quite an accomplishment to me with my meager means and insufficient cooking skills. So toot toot…go me!

Well folks, I do have sewing to do…as incredibly and regrettably domesticated as that may sound…I need to get back to work. I have uploaded some pics with more to come soon..check em' out. Until next time…

The Rooster Chronicles

How on God’s green earth do I begin to describe these last two weeks. What a time of growth. Not only have I grown, so has my project, the relationships with my students, and the inventory of my classroom. Currently I am at school taking a much needed break from painting. I was supposed to paint my classroom with my students in an effort to teach them the technical skills of painting and also the work skills of being on time, quality of work, etc. However, this was not to be because most of my students are not back to school yet. The students just came back this week and it usually takes about two full weeks for the school to get all of the learners back as many come from far away and their parents can only bring them when they can afford transport. There are other reasons for the kids coming late as well, but those are things not worth getting into because I will become unreasonable and venture off into multiple tangents about little respect is given to children here in South Africa. Call it the maternal instinct; I just don’t care for excuses. Regardless, my learners are not here and the painting has to be finished before next week when we are to start the five times a week life skills, work skills, and technical skills training. So that leaves me painting, taping, and cleaning up for the next two days. But, I am happy; no complaints.

Peace Corps has this World Map Project where PC volunteers paint…you guessed it…WORLD MAPS on walls at schools, community centers, etc. This is supposed to provide a semi-accurate depiction of where countries are located and their size relative to other countries. It is supposed to broaden some horizons and provide for learning activities that are bases in both geography and sociology. However, my kids cannot read so well and teaching them about geography and country capitals will not be beneficial or perhaps even possible for them to learn. So, the reason why I decided to paint the world map is primarily because I want my learners to stop asking me if they could buy a boat could they row to America and where my state is located. Once I finish the map, I will post a picture of my face on Virginia and pictures of their faces in South Africa and I will once again kindly explain that Virginia is no where near California and therefore, the distance alone makes in nearly impossible for me to have meet Mel Gibson, though we share the surname. Our uses for the map here at Inkanyiso Special School are probably not exactly what Peace Corps had in mind, but they are useful to us nevertheless. I am guessing that throwing suction cup darts at the map as a learning activity is probably not conventional but hey, who needs normal?

I am painfully aware that I work at a special school because as I am writing this I am looking out of my window of my class and there is Themba with a plastic bag on his head again singing “Avukile Amasango (The Gates Are Open)”. Wait, I have to go take care of this….okay back now. Sorry for the momentary delay in service delivery, but I think that if Themba had suffocated for almost the forth time today, that would have been less than pleasant. I am also very conscious of the fact that perhaps my Peace Corps experience is not at all how I envisioned it would be before I got here, because it is so different and so much better. I never thought I would work at a school, never mind, a special school that is very special in almost every way possible. For instance I was painting cutting elastic pieces for one of the sewing projects my girls are going to work on when I realized that two of the pieces I had cut and set out on the chairs to organize everything outside are missing. Then I hear this hacking sound mixed with some clucking and I turn around to face the biggest baddest rooster I have seen in my life. This rooster must be at least a foot and a half tall if not two and with the most brightly colored feathers I have seen on a domestic fowl. And hanging out of this rooster’s mouth is one of my elastic pieces. I immediately became angry because it was already taking me forever to prepare all of the materials for my girls and then this cock (yes, that is what they call them here) took my materials. I really believe that either you get mad, get even, or get it all and of course I chose to get it all. So I commence chasing this rooster as he squawked and yelled into a corner and as I almost had my hand on him to get my elastic back, he jumps at me and scares me enough that I take a few steps back. Then he runs and oh how he ran. So I chased him. As I am chasing this domestic fowl across the school grounds I eventually become acutely aware that I am being watched and I stop. I look up and I realize that over half of the student and teacher population has just seen this American chase this Africa hell-raising rooster across the yard and they are amused. I smile, wave, and say in Zulu “Just playin’” before I amble my way back to my class to hide my head in my silly American shame. I realize that this rooster probably mistook the elastic for a worm but at the time I was just fed up with having stuff stolen because the same day someone stole the soap I just bought for my class. Not to worry though, the rooster is still on school grounds and I am sure we will meet again; next time I will be ready.

I recently had a conversation with one of my students as well which would not seem to be anything special back in America but it meant a lot to me here. It was also in English so I was actually able to understand the majority of what he was saying. Phumlani came to my class on Tuesday as I was painting and talked to me frankly about South Africa and was really interested in what I am doing here. He ended our thirty minute dialogue with “Miss, you have too much to learn. We, black people, are dying and there is nothing that you can do to help us. We have to fix ourselves, but we like that you are here and you are nice to us.” In some strange way, he stole every last little bit of hope for me actually making a difference, yet at the same time he made me realize that I may have already done enough by just being here and that was gratifying in itself. Knowing that one of my students actually believes that lecture that I am constantly doling out about how we are responsible for our own wellness and inversely our own demise; the choice is entirely up to the individual regardless of circumstance. Many of my learners try to pass of their choices as completely contingent upon one circumstance or another while attempting to believe that they actually have to take no responsibility for their choices. This is something we are working to change because even when your back is against the wall, you always have choices; not that things will work always out the way you wish regardless of your decisions, but you have choices. One of my students understands this and has internalized it. Maybe this happened before I came, maybe after. Regardless, it is fairly astounding.

“Even if I knew that tomorrow the world would go to pieces, I would still plant my apple tree.”-Martin Luther

A Day in the Life

I get up. It is 6:05. “Ugh, cha!” (Ugh, no in English for all your non Zulus =), I say to myself. I turn the alarm off, ten more minutes won't really matter. I know this lie I tell myself is false and that in fact I could really use those ten extra minutes, but as a creature of habit, I push snooze on my trust and excpetionally cute alarm clock egg that does almost everything except for make my breakfast ...yeah its from Brookstone. “Beep, beep” says the 6:15 alarm; “Ugh” says me. Today is like every other day; it is new. I get dressed in my dark blue Mr. Price on clearance skinny jeans (the name doesn't exactly fit me right now..well I guess the jeans don't either) and my Old Navy beige tunic top with the black undershirt. I look in the mirror; “Not bad”, I say. Then I look at my hair and, well, to say the least, my hair does not really present me as someone that anyone would want to wake up to in the morning. Yes, it is that bad. No amount of laughably expensive hair product could contain this mighty mane. Thanks for the curly/straight/weather prediciting hair mom and dad. Love it. I do the morning yo-yo where I run in and out of my room to see if my ride has arrived as I am jam everything that even minorly looks school related into my fabulous Timbuk2 bag that I affectionately refer to as the monster. My ride arrives, I hit the gate button and I am off!

My feet hit that pavement but are cushioned by my stylish yet “artsy” Kangaroo shoes. I get in the car with the usual “How are you”s and the “Oh I slept well as well”s. My prinicipal, who is also my unpaid but incredibly generous ride giver, talks with me about the world news and about all things American until we arrive at the “Location”, yes that is right, people call this area the “Location”. My school is located in a township which is called BhekuZulu or “Location”, funny, in fact there are many “Locations” in this provience and so asking the questions “Where is your location?” when trying to find out where a particular store is via phone is not always the proper question to ask. Moving on... I get out of the car and grab my larger than life size bag from the back seat. As I am walking to retrieve the keys to my glass I meet Student A. Student A is mentally retarded, as are all of our kids at school, and she hugs me. She give me one of those big huge hugs that in America seems to be reserved for close friends and family, but no, not here. After a minute or so, I pry her off of my chest and tell her “Ngizokubona e clasini” (I will see you in class). She smiles and agrees to let me go. I look down to zip up my bag again and I notice the drool on my shirt place ever so nicely in a not so inconspicous place on my chest. I think to myself “Great, now people will think I am nursing”. Then I remember that is just drool and am thankful that the girl did not drink Kool-Aid this morning. Tide To-Go pens should come in the Peace Corps medical kits. Maybe I should lobby for those when I get some free time. Oh well, not today.

I get the keys for my class and I am open up the door to my ply-wood and iron-roofed classroom. I am thankful that is still standing everytime that I see it. There are terrible fires happening now in KZN and the soot is carried for miles and miles now. I wipe off the chairs and tables in my classroom because they now have this elegant black matter all over them. I think to myself that arsonists should get much more time in jail than they do as I scrub the soot off of my coffee mug. I waltz into the daily staff meeting at 7:45 ready to get down to business. Of course, almost everything that is talked about does not apply to me because I am not getting paid and because I am not affected by certification issues.The meeting ends and it assembly time. I stroll, not walk, but stroll on over to the hundreds of children lined up in a little skewed patters facing the assembly leader. When I say I stroll, I mean it. Because times seems to not exist sometimes here, I can take as much of it or as little as I choose to do almost any task. I am on time for everything, if not early, here. Time is completely irrelevant here but still absolutely essential. Dualism..it's crazy, I know. The children sing two songs and they pray. Off to classes.

My first class trickles in and we chat for a few minutes about Tupac, the wrestler John Cena, and how it is mysterious that Americans do not eat pap. I am trying to up my cool factor with my kids so that they trust me and are more receptive to the programs that we are about to begin. Today we are focusing on hygiene. The learners get a picture of a body and are each asked to circle on their picture which places on their body that could use a bit more vigilant cleaning. Most circle their armpits. Some circle their feet, and others circle more private areas. We talk about what they are doing to keep themselves clean and healthy and then we talk about how we can improve. We do a few lifeskills activities like the “Who got sprayed with perfume” game and the classy “Who's shoes smell the worst” game, the latter of which was not my idea. I give my class sweets, yes, it is a bribe, but the cool factor is not easy to achieve with teenagers.

My class leaves and I stroll, not walk, outside to get some water for the kettle for tea time. Yup, tea time. Happens at least twice a day without fail. I get make the tea in my trusty kettle and I sit back and enjoy my ten minutes of uninterrupted bliss. Back to work. I then sit at my desk for the next four hours making lesson plans by going through the traditional lifeskills manual and the more risque one as well. I drink tea, write lesson plans, drink tea, check my e-mail on my phone, drink tea, organize binder, drink coffee, use the restroom, and stare blankly at the wall because I just cannot think about any more lesson plans or prevoctional skills manuals until tomorrow. The school bell rings as I am having a conversation with my other teacher friends and we are off. I bum a ride, literally, by walking around asking people to take me into town because my normal ride is out. And now I am here...it is 2:46pm at the internet cafe and I am about to talk home to 14 beautiful little faces that will stare up at me with their perfectly white little teeth and scream “Aunti Christi is here!” This is my day. This is how it normally goes. This is completely fulfilling.