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…
Monday, February 16, 2009
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
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
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
Monday, November 10, 2008
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…
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…
Saturday, October 18, 2008
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
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
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.
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.
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