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.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
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.
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.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Today
Hmm..how to describe today? Where do I begin? Should I start with the hospital visit or how about the death of one of the students in my program? Maybe I should talk about the spider that crawled down my body as I was writing this. Hmmm..what a day and it is only 1:00. Where to begin?
First, apologies for not posting anything really of value in the last two months. Nida, my best friend and partner in crime, came to visit me in South Africa and we have been very busy getting up to no good. She left this week and there is an odd sadness now that I am attempting to deal with. I guess you just don’t realize how much you miss having people that understand you and your culture around until they come bless you with their presence and then have to return to where they came from. Nevertheless, I am incredible grateful that she was able to come and I truly welcome anyone from back home who wants to come and share even a day of this experience with me.
Today I went to the hospital with one of my students who should remain nameless. It was supposed to be a routine appointment that had been made for months. We arrive 15 minutes early and she and I go to the therapist that we need to see and ask her if she can start with the appointment while I go and get the file. The therapist denies our request and sends us over to admissions. We go to admissions and explain that we just need them to create a file for my student. They say that we can talk once we get in line in the waiting room. We go into the waiting room, which by this point is meagerly accommodating the 100 people that are already present in this 15 by 40 feet room. We buy some sodas first so that we do not dehydrate sitting the in sauna known as the “out patient department waiting center”…what kind of center this it is supposed to be is beyond me..maybe it is the center of hell…who knows. Twenty minutes go by of staring at the floor and me being stared at by almost everyone in the room because I am, as always, the only white person in that waiting room. I start asking myself stupid questions like, “Why does this room smell like eggs and vanilla yogurt?” and the classic “I wonder if I would get medical attention any sooner if I stuck this straw into my eye?” Unfortunately, I am afraid the answer to that last one is probably no because almost no one would notice. So we sit and we sit and we sit. Finally, after an hour and a half, an office worker comes out to collect these small blue cards from people. Of course my student does not have one because she is a new patient. The lady tells me in am in the wrong line, this from the exact same lady that told me that I was supposed to be in this line in the first place. So after a two hour battle, my student and I give up. We have missed her appointment and still have no blue card or file to show for it. All I have to show to the whole thing is a bit of chicken grease on my pants from the gogo that was sitting next to me. She must have split a little on me as she pulled the chicken drumstick from the deep recesses of her purse and proceeded to gnaw the entire thing, including the bone, with her two teeth. Oh how I love chicken.
As our school khumbi driver drove me home, I realized that despite the ridiculous slowness, administration is almost always slow and that this really isn’t that different from home. Yes, had we stayed we would have waited for at least three hours before we saw our intended therapist. Nevertheless, the bureaucracy is the same and I felt like this place was similar to home. Then I found out that one of the students who was supposed to be in my lifeskills program, which is starting in two weeks, died this weekend. Was this student sick? Was it an accident? I don’t know yet. But I do know that our school loses on average 3-4 students a year and I am bitterly reminded that I am not home. Three to four students a year is absolutely unacceptable to me. In my entire school career, there might have been a total of 10 students who died, this including my time in college as well. Yet this number will be easily reached by the time I leave this place in less than two years now. Morose experiences like this are all too common here and remind me to be cognizant of the reasons why I am here in the first place. My gogo (grandmother) here in South Africa died two weeks ago, a student in my program died today, and I work with people everyday with both feet in the grave almost up to their knees and I yet I do not cry. Why? Am I not sad? Am I not affected by this? Or am I adapting to the way to being here in this First World- Third World country? Am I similar to so many South Africans who just have to accept the deaths of the friends in family members almost immediately because they are sure to attend the funeral of a difference friend or family member the very next week? How do people cope with this? Perhaps they cope exactly the way that I am. Maybe the accept death too readily or perhaps not at all. Who knows…I don’t.
So this is a part of life here in South Africa. Frustrating administrative experiences in almost all government departments, the ever present loom of the death, and spiders the size of oranges that crawl on you as you type. But things are good here as well. I walk outside and I feel the sun on my face and the wind in my hair as Kwa-Zulu prepares for summer. And a nice lady sees me and remembers me asking for donations for my school for the lifeskills and crafts project I am starting, and she gives me eight completely full bags of material for sewing and beading projects because she has a daughter who is mentally disabled and she wants to help me help my students. I have 6 rand (less and one USD) in my Peace Corps bank account until Wednesday when we get paid and I am okay with that because I have some food in my room and if I did not I know that there are multiple people in this town who just want to support me and would feed me in a heartbeat if I mentioned my lack of funds. In fact, I only eat dinner four nights a week at the most at home because others like to feed me so often. I am in awe of the generosity and how far “ubuntu” (“I am because you are”) really carries people here. South Africa is hard, cruel, and so dark sometimes that you cannot see if you are coming or going, but it is so much more alive and striking than I could have ever imagined it. I really am blessed to be here and I can only hope to continue to have this opportunity for as long as the season permits.
Oh and PS, the grant that I spent forever and a day writing was fully approved…just waiting for the check! Booya!...yeah that’s right…I am bringing it back.
First, apologies for not posting anything really of value in the last two months. Nida, my best friend and partner in crime, came to visit me in South Africa and we have been very busy getting up to no good. She left this week and there is an odd sadness now that I am attempting to deal with. I guess you just don’t realize how much you miss having people that understand you and your culture around until they come bless you with their presence and then have to return to where they came from. Nevertheless, I am incredible grateful that she was able to come and I truly welcome anyone from back home who wants to come and share even a day of this experience with me.
Today I went to the hospital with one of my students who should remain nameless. It was supposed to be a routine appointment that had been made for months. We arrive 15 minutes early and she and I go to the therapist that we need to see and ask her if she can start with the appointment while I go and get the file. The therapist denies our request and sends us over to admissions. We go to admissions and explain that we just need them to create a file for my student. They say that we can talk once we get in line in the waiting room. We go into the waiting room, which by this point is meagerly accommodating the 100 people that are already present in this 15 by 40 feet room. We buy some sodas first so that we do not dehydrate sitting the in sauna known as the “out patient department waiting center”…what kind of center this it is supposed to be is beyond me..maybe it is the center of hell…who knows. Twenty minutes go by of staring at the floor and me being stared at by almost everyone in the room because I am, as always, the only white person in that waiting room. I start asking myself stupid questions like, “Why does this room smell like eggs and vanilla yogurt?” and the classic “I wonder if I would get medical attention any sooner if I stuck this straw into my eye?” Unfortunately, I am afraid the answer to that last one is probably no because almost no one would notice. So we sit and we sit and we sit. Finally, after an hour and a half, an office worker comes out to collect these small blue cards from people. Of course my student does not have one because she is a new patient. The lady tells me in am in the wrong line, this from the exact same lady that told me that I was supposed to be in this line in the first place. So after a two hour battle, my student and I give up. We have missed her appointment and still have no blue card or file to show for it. All I have to show to the whole thing is a bit of chicken grease on my pants from the gogo that was sitting next to me. She must have split a little on me as she pulled the chicken drumstick from the deep recesses of her purse and proceeded to gnaw the entire thing, including the bone, with her two teeth. Oh how I love chicken.
As our school khumbi driver drove me home, I realized that despite the ridiculous slowness, administration is almost always slow and that this really isn’t that different from home. Yes, had we stayed we would have waited for at least three hours before we saw our intended therapist. Nevertheless, the bureaucracy is the same and I felt like this place was similar to home. Then I found out that one of the students who was supposed to be in my lifeskills program, which is starting in two weeks, died this weekend. Was this student sick? Was it an accident? I don’t know yet. But I do know that our school loses on average 3-4 students a year and I am bitterly reminded that I am not home. Three to four students a year is absolutely unacceptable to me. In my entire school career, there might have been a total of 10 students who died, this including my time in college as well. Yet this number will be easily reached by the time I leave this place in less than two years now. Morose experiences like this are all too common here and remind me to be cognizant of the reasons why I am here in the first place. My gogo (grandmother) here in South Africa died two weeks ago, a student in my program died today, and I work with people everyday with both feet in the grave almost up to their knees and I yet I do not cry. Why? Am I not sad? Am I not affected by this? Or am I adapting to the way to being here in this First World- Third World country? Am I similar to so many South Africans who just have to accept the deaths of the friends in family members almost immediately because they are sure to attend the funeral of a difference friend or family member the very next week? How do people cope with this? Perhaps they cope exactly the way that I am. Maybe the accept death too readily or perhaps not at all. Who knows…I don’t.
So this is a part of life here in South Africa. Frustrating administrative experiences in almost all government departments, the ever present loom of the death, and spiders the size of oranges that crawl on you as you type. But things are good here as well. I walk outside and I feel the sun on my face and the wind in my hair as Kwa-Zulu prepares for summer. And a nice lady sees me and remembers me asking for donations for my school for the lifeskills and crafts project I am starting, and she gives me eight completely full bags of material for sewing and beading projects because she has a daughter who is mentally disabled and she wants to help me help my students. I have 6 rand (less and one USD) in my Peace Corps bank account until Wednesday when we get paid and I am okay with that because I have some food in my room and if I did not I know that there are multiple people in this town who just want to support me and would feed me in a heartbeat if I mentioned my lack of funds. In fact, I only eat dinner four nights a week at the most at home because others like to feed me so often. I am in awe of the generosity and how far “ubuntu” (“I am because you are”) really carries people here. South Africa is hard, cruel, and so dark sometimes that you cannot see if you are coming or going, but it is so much more alive and striking than I could have ever imagined it. I really am blessed to be here and I can only hope to continue to have this opportunity for as long as the season permits.
Oh and PS, the grant that I spent forever and a day writing was fully approved…just waiting for the check! Booya!...yeah that’s right…I am bringing it back.
Monday, July 7, 2008
And now this...
Well folks, its been a while. I know this. In my defense though, I have been very busy and internet access has been rather limited these past few weeks. I am in a internet cafe right now in Pretoria waiting for the time to pass so I can take the taxi to the airport and fly to Durban to meet Nida! Hooray for vacation! I have been up in the Limpopo region for about two weeks with HIV training and grant writing seminars and other Peace Corps stuff. It was really nice to be able to see some familar faces and hear the uncomfortably nasally accent that is so deemed the "American" accent. Us SA-17ers spent the last two weeks working hard and then playing a little bit harder. Needless to say...this is tiring.
Life is been pretty rockin still in the ole Kwa-Zulu Natal region. Not gonna lie...it feels like I moved to the Artic..it is FREEZING here! I know all of you USAers are sittin pretty and complaining about the "heat wave" that struck the East Coast...well be thankful. At least you can feel your toes when you sleep. Frost producing cold + no insulation in buildings = lack of feeling to minor extremities. Oh well though, summer will come back soon and the sweat will start pouring and my hair will fluff up into the all too sexy afro that I fondly refer to as "my summer do' ". Oh the joys of having wavy hair..love it. In the infamous words of my PCV friend Therese Claxton..."get used to it".
I really don't have much to say and I know I say that a lot. It is just that all of the poignant and possibly interesting things that I might have to say come to me either in the overstuffed khumbi or while in the shower; obviously neither of these enviroments is very conducive to this odd way of sharing feeling and experiences known as blogging. Going on vacation starting an hour ago so I am sure this week will be more exciting than the last and I will have something to say. No promises though. Oh and I am doing something surprising this week..I'll upload some pics...for now..its a secret.
Much love...
Life is been pretty rockin still in the ole Kwa-Zulu Natal region. Not gonna lie...it feels like I moved to the Artic..it is FREEZING here! I know all of you USAers are sittin pretty and complaining about the "heat wave" that struck the East Coast...well be thankful. At least you can feel your toes when you sleep. Frost producing cold + no insulation in buildings = lack of feeling to minor extremities. Oh well though, summer will come back soon and the sweat will start pouring and my hair will fluff up into the all too sexy afro that I fondly refer to as "my summer do' ". Oh the joys of having wavy hair..love it. In the infamous words of my PCV friend Therese Claxton..."get used to it".
I really don't have much to say and I know I say that a lot. It is just that all of the poignant and possibly interesting things that I might have to say come to me either in the overstuffed khumbi or while in the shower; obviously neither of these enviroments is very conducive to this odd way of sharing feeling and experiences known as blogging. Going on vacation starting an hour ago so I am sure this week will be more exciting than the last and I will have something to say. No promises though. Oh and I am doing something surprising this week..I'll upload some pics...for now..its a secret.
Much love...
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Newness
First of all, ngiyaxoliza kakhulu (I am very sorry)(and also, there is a click on the “x” in case you wanted to know). I am terribly sorry about not writing for over twenty days now. There are many reasons for this; ranging from the intense schedule that I have been keeping to the fact that I was just in a place where I did not have any desire to share my thoughts. Now, I am feeling a bit more optimistic and am back to writing. In fact, I am writing a lot this week because I am working on my VAST Grant proposal for my school and also working on seeing how I can get the Dell Foundation involved. I would also like to create a website for Inkanyiso and the projects that we are doing. I am currently editing/ re-creating the Inkululeko Babies Home website, which was difficult in the beginning but is promising now. When I left the states I had no idea how to create or edit websites. It is amazing what you can teach yourself with two free hours and the internet at your finger tips. Thank God for Google!
The past twenty days have been incredibly challenging in so many ways. The novelty of being in a new place is starting to wear off. The newness of South Africa never wears off for me, but the novelty of discovering Vryheid for myself has. Everyday I wake up at six in the morning. I get ready for school and am out the door by seven. I work from 7:30-2:00 and then try to get a ride into town from one of my co-workers. I walk from town to my home which takes about 15 minutes and I start working with the orphans at my home at 3:00. On most days I stay until about 5:30, but sometimes we are just having too much fun or someone is sick and I stay until 7:30 when they go to bed. I work one 11 hour day on the weekends and I usually have half of Fridays and Sundays off. At first, being this busy was what I needed. I needed to stay busy to avoid being lonely or homesick. This has worked so far, but now I am exhausted. So I am working on creating a new schedule so that I get some more time for myself while still getting the work completed that I want to do.
Working so much has made a drastic difference in how I feel about the working world and has helped me to narrow down some of the options of careers that I might want to try in the future. Working with the Inkanyiso special students is rewarding but it just takes so much longer to see what difference my work is making. This is because we are working on skill transfer with these students and behavior modification in order to give them more of a chance out in the real world and to help them make positive choices that will prevent them from becoming infected with HIV. The developmental work that I am doing with the children at Inkululeko is probably a bit more gratifying because I can see the results almost immediately. The babies who didn’t talk before are now shouting and mumbling in tongues that only they can understand. However, they have started to put together sentences that we can understand. Yesterday, one of our babies said “Asihambeni” (let’s go) in Zulu and then “Aunti Christi, come to bathroom” within the same minute. My mouth dropped open and I asked him what he said and he said it again. I now understand why new parents want to tell you all about what their kids just said or did without realizing how boring it is to hear story after story about how little Johnny or Suzie went to the toilet for the first time or said a coherent sentence. I have become that person. I brag about “my” kids all of the time and people give me that “will-she-please-shut-up” look. I am just so amazed by them and how quickly these children are growing. One of the four year old boys who lives at the house where I live pointed to his cheek and said “Aunti Christi, put one right here”. Obviously there was immense cuteness and I had to plant a big old kiss on his dimply little cheek. Look, I did it again. I am that proud parent. Oh well, it can’t be helped.
In other news, I saw seven elephants on the way home from Pongola the other day. I was just riding in the khumbi when all of a sudden someone yelled “stop” and we pulled over. There stood seven elephants standing behind this measly excuse for an elephant fence. It seems that only in Africa do you stop to check out elephants near the freeway and then resume driving about five minutes later as if it was no big deal. I also went to Hluhluwe Game Reserve last week and saw rhinos about three feet from the truck. No joke. Rhino + only three feet = wet your pants scary. I saw vultures everywhere so I know that there had been a few kills recently but I was not fortunate enough so see any lions or cheetahs. Speaking of cheetahs, I went to use the restroom and on foot had to pass by four warthogs (also dangerous) and three zebras to get there. What I did not know at the time was that a man had been mauled by a cheetah in the same area where the restroom is only 16 hours before I was there. Next time, I will read the newspaper before I go to the park and assume that there is fence as there should be. Silly me, I thought there would be fences to keep dangerous man-eating animals like lions and cheetahs out of the camps where humans sleep and walk around…then again, what do I know? Nevertheless, it was still an awesome day.
I also went on a township tour with my friend Xolile and some people from the Netherlands. In case you don’t know what a township is, a township is large ghetto, but much scarier than any ghetto in America. Not that ghettos in America aren’t scary, because they can be scary as well, but trust me, the Bhekuzulu township has got the meanest ghettos of New York beat by miles. The people are very friendly in the township and look bewildered to see a white person in their community but are still very hospitable. However, I would not recommend visiting said township at night because there is a whole different atmosphere. Xolile was our tour guide and took us all around. She took us to a sheebian (local tavern) at ten in the morning in which she and I had to kneel on the floor (customary thing to do when asking for something from an elder) and beg the owner to let us show the Netherlands people what a sheebian looks like before it opens. The owner, his wife, and their baby live in the one room house/hut that is attached to the sheebian and only separated by a small wall with an open window. The smoke from the cigarettes/joints fills the room in which their baby shares with them and undoubtedly causes havoc on the developing infants respiratory and nervous system. It is sad to see, but they are working to support themselves and probably many other family members and it is difficult to fault people for that when so many other people aren’t trying to work. But this is life here for so many and what can you do to make it better? If you know, please tell me, because I am greatly lacking plausible ideas.
Well folks, I must get going because school is almost over and I have to get home in order to run in circles around the kitchen table with my ten favorite South African children while singing gospel children’s songs and jumping up down to innumerable belly giggles from some of the cutest kids on Earth. Don’t you wish your job was as amusing as mine?
The past twenty days have been incredibly challenging in so many ways. The novelty of being in a new place is starting to wear off. The newness of South Africa never wears off for me, but the novelty of discovering Vryheid for myself has. Everyday I wake up at six in the morning. I get ready for school and am out the door by seven. I work from 7:30-2:00 and then try to get a ride into town from one of my co-workers. I walk from town to my home which takes about 15 minutes and I start working with the orphans at my home at 3:00. On most days I stay until about 5:30, but sometimes we are just having too much fun or someone is sick and I stay until 7:30 when they go to bed. I work one 11 hour day on the weekends and I usually have half of Fridays and Sundays off. At first, being this busy was what I needed. I needed to stay busy to avoid being lonely or homesick. This has worked so far, but now I am exhausted. So I am working on creating a new schedule so that I get some more time for myself while still getting the work completed that I want to do.
Working so much has made a drastic difference in how I feel about the working world and has helped me to narrow down some of the options of careers that I might want to try in the future. Working with the Inkanyiso special students is rewarding but it just takes so much longer to see what difference my work is making. This is because we are working on skill transfer with these students and behavior modification in order to give them more of a chance out in the real world and to help them make positive choices that will prevent them from becoming infected with HIV. The developmental work that I am doing with the children at Inkululeko is probably a bit more gratifying because I can see the results almost immediately. The babies who didn’t talk before are now shouting and mumbling in tongues that only they can understand. However, they have started to put together sentences that we can understand. Yesterday, one of our babies said “Asihambeni” (let’s go) in Zulu and then “Aunti Christi, come to bathroom” within the same minute. My mouth dropped open and I asked him what he said and he said it again. I now understand why new parents want to tell you all about what their kids just said or did without realizing how boring it is to hear story after story about how little Johnny or Suzie went to the toilet for the first time or said a coherent sentence. I have become that person. I brag about “my” kids all of the time and people give me that “will-she-please-shut-up” look. I am just so amazed by them and how quickly these children are growing. One of the four year old boys who lives at the house where I live pointed to his cheek and said “Aunti Christi, put one right here”. Obviously there was immense cuteness and I had to plant a big old kiss on his dimply little cheek. Look, I did it again. I am that proud parent. Oh well, it can’t be helped.
In other news, I saw seven elephants on the way home from Pongola the other day. I was just riding in the khumbi when all of a sudden someone yelled “stop” and we pulled over. There stood seven elephants standing behind this measly excuse for an elephant fence. It seems that only in Africa do you stop to check out elephants near the freeway and then resume driving about five minutes later as if it was no big deal. I also went to Hluhluwe Game Reserve last week and saw rhinos about three feet from the truck. No joke. Rhino + only three feet = wet your pants scary. I saw vultures everywhere so I know that there had been a few kills recently but I was not fortunate enough so see any lions or cheetahs. Speaking of cheetahs, I went to use the restroom and on foot had to pass by four warthogs (also dangerous) and three zebras to get there. What I did not know at the time was that a man had been mauled by a cheetah in the same area where the restroom is only 16 hours before I was there. Next time, I will read the newspaper before I go to the park and assume that there is fence as there should be. Silly me, I thought there would be fences to keep dangerous man-eating animals like lions and cheetahs out of the camps where humans sleep and walk around…then again, what do I know? Nevertheless, it was still an awesome day.
I also went on a township tour with my friend Xolile and some people from the Netherlands. In case you don’t know what a township is, a township is large ghetto, but much scarier than any ghetto in America. Not that ghettos in America aren’t scary, because they can be scary as well, but trust me, the Bhekuzulu township has got the meanest ghettos of New York beat by miles. The people are very friendly in the township and look bewildered to see a white person in their community but are still very hospitable. However, I would not recommend visiting said township at night because there is a whole different atmosphere. Xolile was our tour guide and took us all around. She took us to a sheebian (local tavern) at ten in the morning in which she and I had to kneel on the floor (customary thing to do when asking for something from an elder) and beg the owner to let us show the Netherlands people what a sheebian looks like before it opens. The owner, his wife, and their baby live in the one room house/hut that is attached to the sheebian and only separated by a small wall with an open window. The smoke from the cigarettes/joints fills the room in which their baby shares with them and undoubtedly causes havoc on the developing infants respiratory and nervous system. It is sad to see, but they are working to support themselves and probably many other family members and it is difficult to fault people for that when so many other people aren’t trying to work. But this is life here for so many and what can you do to make it better? If you know, please tell me, because I am greatly lacking plausible ideas.
Well folks, I must get going because school is almost over and I have to get home in order to run in circles around the kitchen table with my ten favorite South African children while singing gospel children’s songs and jumping up down to innumerable belly giggles from some of the cutest kids on Earth. Don’t you wish your job was as amusing as mine?
Monday, May 12, 2008
Clumsy Cause' I'm Falling In Love
Falling in love. We’ve all done it. Life just isn’t nearly as fulfilling without having fallen in love at least once. Some people take the plunge and jump headfirst off a very large cliff straight into what they believe will be a pool deep and wide enough in which to bathe in love forever. Others have taken that fall and have found that the pool isn’t nearly deep or wide enough and they are badly hurt. Many just poke a toe or two in to test the waters, ever cautious in case the water should be too hot or too cold. We call those that take the leap without hesitation fools because love is something that should be carefully considered with thoughtful insight as to the possible consequences of what pain may lay in the aftermath if things just don’t go our way. We berate those who have been hurt before saying that the past is the past and it is time to move on. And we applaud the water pokers who stick only a toe in before deciding whether or not this is a no-go. We think that these people are responsible because they get close enough to enjoy the rewards of loving and being loved, but they are also far away enough to not be devastated when there is love lost. Me, I am one of the reckless ones. I am learning to love with abandon. Seemingly I am disparaging all reason and moving into uncharted waters. This is in more ways than one and I have never been this way before.
I am hopelessly in love with the work I am doing here. I am unabashedly in love with the children who are touching my life here and are allowing me a peek into theirs. When I see little Thembi, who was not walking when I arrived, take 62, yes 62, steps across the yard at the babies home without falling; my heart swells with pride and I am in awe of her. How can such a little creature learn a skill that she will develop the rest of her life in such a short amount of time? I arrive at school and I look into the windows of the classrooms to see blind children coloring inside the lines and autistic children singing songs with the correct words. I am absolutely fascinated by the human spirit and the drive to want to create and be recreated. Most of these children are orphans, live in homes with five or more people to a room, sleep in flea infested beds, starve on the weekends, freeze in the winters, and burn with fever in the summers. They have every reason to sit in the dirt and idly let the days slip away. But they don’t. We say the kids here are disabled, but we are not entirely right. They are not disabled as much as they are differently-abled. These children laugh, swing, jump, scream, and play as much as “normal” kids do. The world is so stacked against them and their chances of escaping some of their circumstances are grim. Yet, they smile and they are happy. Every giggle and every new step taken by these children is another reminder that circumstances do not determine happiness; only you have the power to decide that. This is a hard lesson I have had to learn here. In the absence of so much, there is still so much to be thankful for.
So I am in love once again. This time not with a new hobby or with a new partner; rather, with the children here and the work I am doing. A few people have brought up the point that I should try to remain somewhat emotionally detached from those that I work with because in truth there will be a terrible amount of sadness that will come with loving these children and this job. Maybe remaining detached would shield me a bit from the pain of seeing others suffer and die, but I am sorry, I just cannot do that. They say you cannot choose the person you love, only how you will love them. It is my decision to love these kids in spite of the hurt that I know will come. It is my decision to give myself entirely to this job and to take that plunge. I know I do not have to, but I want to. I would rather love and lose then to remain on the sidelines wondering what this would be like if I could just step in. This is the most rewarding thing I have ever done because at the end of the day I realize that I given so much but I have gained far more. A ton of children have taught me this and a special someone continuously helps me be aware of and grateful for the small miracles everyday. So folks, today decide to do one thing that scare the pants right off of you and make it happen. Do something courageous and if it was the right decision, you will know and if it was wrong, you will know as well; but at least you can say you found out. And if this is difficult, and it probably will be, ask yourself what are you gaining by standing outside the fire? Just try it…I’m glad I did.
I am hopelessly in love with the work I am doing here. I am unabashedly in love with the children who are touching my life here and are allowing me a peek into theirs. When I see little Thembi, who was not walking when I arrived, take 62, yes 62, steps across the yard at the babies home without falling; my heart swells with pride and I am in awe of her. How can such a little creature learn a skill that she will develop the rest of her life in such a short amount of time? I arrive at school and I look into the windows of the classrooms to see blind children coloring inside the lines and autistic children singing songs with the correct words. I am absolutely fascinated by the human spirit and the drive to want to create and be recreated. Most of these children are orphans, live in homes with five or more people to a room, sleep in flea infested beds, starve on the weekends, freeze in the winters, and burn with fever in the summers. They have every reason to sit in the dirt and idly let the days slip away. But they don’t. We say the kids here are disabled, but we are not entirely right. They are not disabled as much as they are differently-abled. These children laugh, swing, jump, scream, and play as much as “normal” kids do. The world is so stacked against them and their chances of escaping some of their circumstances are grim. Yet, they smile and they are happy. Every giggle and every new step taken by these children is another reminder that circumstances do not determine happiness; only you have the power to decide that. This is a hard lesson I have had to learn here. In the absence of so much, there is still so much to be thankful for.
So I am in love once again. This time not with a new hobby or with a new partner; rather, with the children here and the work I am doing. A few people have brought up the point that I should try to remain somewhat emotionally detached from those that I work with because in truth there will be a terrible amount of sadness that will come with loving these children and this job. Maybe remaining detached would shield me a bit from the pain of seeing others suffer and die, but I am sorry, I just cannot do that. They say you cannot choose the person you love, only how you will love them. It is my decision to love these kids in spite of the hurt that I know will come. It is my decision to give myself entirely to this job and to take that plunge. I know I do not have to, but I want to. I would rather love and lose then to remain on the sidelines wondering what this would be like if I could just step in. This is the most rewarding thing I have ever done because at the end of the day I realize that I given so much but I have gained far more. A ton of children have taught me this and a special someone continuously helps me be aware of and grateful for the small miracles everyday. So folks, today decide to do one thing that scare the pants right off of you and make it happen. Do something courageous and if it was the right decision, you will know and if it was wrong, you will know as well; but at least you can say you found out. And if this is difficult, and it probably will be, ask yourself what are you gaining by standing outside the fire? Just try it…I’m glad I did.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Overworked, Not Paid, and Completely Content With That
Being a Peace Corps volunteer is at some times exciting, other times mundane, and always exhausting. I cannot say that this is true for every one in the Peace Corps or even for my group as a whole, but for me, I have never worked harder in my life. While I am not building homes like I did with Habitat for Humanity or ripping small trees out of the earth like I did for ASB Florida, I am so challenged with the work I am doing because it is so much harder to constantly bend your mind than it is to break your back. I am at work right now during tea break/recess, and taking a moment to drink my cold instant coffee and write a little. This is one of the few times of the day when life is relatively quiet. When I say relatively quiet, I mean exactly that. There are fifty students with different disabilities ranging from autism, mental retardation, Downs syndrome, and cerebral palsy to disassociated language disorders, hearing impairment and limited sight disorders; and the majority of them are running around the school screaming, crying, squeaking, yelping, clapping, laughing, and/or jumping up and down. Screaming kids + recess = a very much needed tea break. At two o’clock today I will leave school, go the library to return my books/ get some quiet, pick up some groceries, visit the post office, and then return home to eight more excited children. While this is exhausting at times, it is not overwhelming.
I signed my contract for the Peace Corps having a few ideas of what I might be doing in Africa and this was not at all what I expected. This is FAR better than I could have ever imagined. I have never laughed and learned so much in my entire life as I have done here. Today marks the 100th day since I left home, as a very special somebody pointed out to me today. Today marks the day of 100 days unforgettable memories and unbelievable experiences. When people ask me what life is like for me here, I say “It’s great. I am having the time of my life and it is challenging” and all of those things are true. However, I realize that answer is fairly lame and unimaginative. It is just that it is so difficult to put into words how and what I do daily. Things that might seems insignificant in the States are a huge deal to me here and I try to explain my day or what I am up to and it just falls so short of helping people to understand this. For instance, the other day in the grocery store I asked for some bread in Zulu and also where to find better avocados and I got and understood the reply that was in Zulu. This might not be a big deal to many people who go to the grocery store and understand what is being said to them, but for me it was a great big deal when someone replied to me in Zulu even when they speak English. It made me feel more accepted and now every time that I go to Pick n’ Pay I talk to that lady in the bread aisle about her day and her family in my very lacking Zulu. Also, when I walk out of the store sometimes, people shout “Nqobile” and I wave to the teachers from my school or from my friends in eMondlo. This wouldn’t mean as much in the States where you see people you know everyday, but here, where I am a virtual stranger to almost everyone I see daily, it means the world for someone to notice me and take the time to say hello. It also makes my heart swell when I get home and have little Mpatho running up to me with his arms open wide screaming “Aunti Christi, you are here” and then he allows me to pick him up and swing him around while wrapped in a big bear hug. While I can’t be around my siblings to read them stories at bedtime or play with them outside, I had 21 other little ones that are a wonderful addition to my life and are entirely unique in their own ways. I really wish I could say something more substantial now but I must get back to work. Until then…
I signed my contract for the Peace Corps having a few ideas of what I might be doing in Africa and this was not at all what I expected. This is FAR better than I could have ever imagined. I have never laughed and learned so much in my entire life as I have done here. Today marks the 100th day since I left home, as a very special somebody pointed out to me today. Today marks the day of 100 days unforgettable memories and unbelievable experiences. When people ask me what life is like for me here, I say “It’s great. I am having the time of my life and it is challenging” and all of those things are true. However, I realize that answer is fairly lame and unimaginative. It is just that it is so difficult to put into words how and what I do daily. Things that might seems insignificant in the States are a huge deal to me here and I try to explain my day or what I am up to and it just falls so short of helping people to understand this. For instance, the other day in the grocery store I asked for some bread in Zulu and also where to find better avocados and I got and understood the reply that was in Zulu. This might not be a big deal to many people who go to the grocery store and understand what is being said to them, but for me it was a great big deal when someone replied to me in Zulu even when they speak English. It made me feel more accepted and now every time that I go to Pick n’ Pay I talk to that lady in the bread aisle about her day and her family in my very lacking Zulu. Also, when I walk out of the store sometimes, people shout “Nqobile” and I wave to the teachers from my school or from my friends in eMondlo. This wouldn’t mean as much in the States where you see people you know everyday, but here, where I am a virtual stranger to almost everyone I see daily, it means the world for someone to notice me and take the time to say hello. It also makes my heart swell when I get home and have little Mpatho running up to me with his arms open wide screaming “Aunti Christi, you are here” and then he allows me to pick him up and swing him around while wrapped in a big bear hug. While I can’t be around my siblings to read them stories at bedtime or play with them outside, I had 21 other little ones that are a wonderful addition to my life and are entirely unique in their own ways. I really wish I could say something more substantial now but I must get back to work. Until then…
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