Travel Restriction NO MORE!!!!!

This will be short, but I want to announce to the world and have in the written word that I AM SO EXCITED TODAY! Today, 21 December 2007, the SA-16 Peace Corps group in South Africa is officially free.. officially off the travel restriction that was imposed 3 months ago on the day of our swearing- in. Wow. So now, we are free to travel throughout the country and in celebration I am in town waitin' for a taxi to start my vacation! Three months of travel restriction over. Three months of being an official volunteer behind us. Awesome.
I'm rushing with caffeine and rushing with excitement. Things are just going swimmingly. I am all packed and ready to go to visit some other volunteers in their villages, spend some quality time in the capital city of Pretoria, walk along the beach in Durban, and ring in the new year in St. Lucia. Good food, good conversation, and seeing the sites, here I come! Everything seems to be falling into place. This morning I was up at 5 to get my room all straightened up and to finish last minute packing. I met Tanya (my PCV friend who lives down the road) around 7 :20 and by chance, while we were waiting for a taxi, my host brother drives up and offers us a lift to town.... picking up a couple other people and filling the car all along the way. Town is nuts today... lines for the bank are long, taxis are full, full, full, and shopping carts are brimming with Christmas presents. Happy Holidays/break to everyone! I hope you're spending this time with people you love, eatin' up a storm, and enjoying yourselves. Much Love.

thankful

This has been a good week. Compared to last week, it’s been a great week. I’ve been busy and the month ahead is full of plans, so things are rolling along. It feels good. In the beginning weeks of training my mood shifted every minute, every hour, hitting one extreme and then another. After being in South Africa for a month or so things started to settle, a little. Not everything was such a shock. I was used to pap and cabbage and chicken and beetroot for supper. Used to peanut butter on fresh wheat bread that Mma Mable had bought that morning for lunch. Used to hours in a classroom, under a tree, or in a courtyard with all the other NGOer’s for language, cultural exchange talks, and training. We’d walk through the village, winding our way along the dirt roads (that at one time seemed so very confusing), eatin’ PS Bars (chocolate), drinkin’ cold drink (Coke), and talking about how surreal it all seemed… we were in Africa, we were in South Africa, our host families were this way or that, going to town was so overwhelming, koombi rides seemed so daunting, swearing in was just weeks away, we were excited to eventually be on our own, but nervous that if things were hard while living in a village with 40 something other people from our group, how would things be if we were by ourselves? Now, according to my calendar, I have been in country for 18 weeks. Wow. That’s actually a long time. Longer than it feels like it’s been. Things have settled a little more. I’m in a different village. My PCV friends are spread out all over the Eastern side of the country, in the provinces of Limpopo and Mpumalanga. I’ve learned to manage my airtime and the amount of SMS’s I send. I still eat peanut butter and bread each day for lunch, but also have an apple or banana, too. I know quite a few people in my village by name and each day meet more. In the office I have designed a new spreadsheet to help with my NGO’s monthly reports, taught my coworkers how to use white-out, fix paper jams, alphabetize the files, explained certain English words, and have expressed an interest in starting an income generating project with the carers’, spending at least one day a week at a drop-in with the kids, and investigating who, in the community, is in charge of the new library that is being built(!!!!). My mood doesn’t shift as rapidly now. I can tell I’m a little more tolerant now, a little less afraid of the unknown, a little more settled.

On Thursday last week I tried to explain Thanksgiving to my coworkers, it was a little harder than I thought it would be. “Uh huh, it’s a big, celebrated holiday in America. It’s the day we recognize the Pilgrims coming to the New World. They had a big feast. The Native Americans were basically mowed over and the land they had been living on was taken away from them. Yes, it does sound a lot like what happened in South African history. Huh. It sure is complicated. Basically, Americans spend the day with their families and friends eating a lot of food, like a feast day, watching football, eating more food, and sitting around the living room talking about how much they ate.” I had better luck later on explaining Elvis’ love for fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches (I even made a sandwich (minus the frying part) for people to try, but no one seemed interested). Thanksgiving here was just another day (just like Halloween). I’ll admit that I’ve never been a fan of the actual history behind the holiday, but spending time with my family? going to Grandma’s? sweet potatoes, spinach, cranberry sauce in a can, real whipped cream, rice and gravy, pumpkin pie, coffee? sitting at the kids’ table? I’ll take that any day. This year my cousin (the first grandchild in my family) was getting married Thanksgiving weekend, too. It was hard. Hard to think that everyone would be together, lots of good food would be consumed, dancing would be done, and a girl I grew up with, someone I’m really close to (my cousin and my friend) would be getting married and I couldn’t be there. All the missing put me in a sad mood… I started to wonder if being here was really worth missing out on such big things and even the little everyday things. Things got better, as they always do. On Saturday, I managed to make it to town and a public phone to call the States and I celebrated Turkey Day with my PCV family eating as much as I normally would. We barbequed chicken and burgers, had potato salad, pasta salad, turkey with stuffing, a watermelon, brownie sundaes (!!!), and plenty of wine. A day I’ll never forget.

Top 10 Things I’m Thankful For:

1. A supportive group of family and friends with me wherever I may go
2. A good education (and the option to further it, if I so wish)
3. Opportunities and Options
4. All the traveling I’ve gotten to do, all the traveling I will get to do
5. Having hope, the idea that I can always strive for something more in my life
6. I can find good in the smallest of things
7. Knowing what a hug feels like, what love feels like
8. Never being truly alone
9. Books and the ability to read them, Music and the ability to hear and feel it.
10. Having the freedom to question things, question authority

On Tuesday I woke up early and spent the day at a graduation…a big day for about 30 4 and 5 year olds from the creche heading off to primary school next year. The invitation (and, yes, I got my very own personalized invitation, my host mother happens to be the principal) said that the program would start at 9, so in South African fashion I left the house at 9, thinking I might have timed it right. I arrived at 9:30 and watched as a crew of neighborhood men put up the big tent. At 10:30, I weaved my way through all the attendees, put my backpack up in the office, and eventually found myself in a back classroom having tea with, what looked to be, some VIP folks. Bush tea mixed with plenty of sugar and Cremora, just like the locals drink it, and fresh baked brown bread with apricot jam. Teatime in the village. I talked with Anderson, the photographer, about his 35 mm and showed him my digital camera. I talked with Hope, the Social Work student from the University of Venda, about the research questionnaire she was filling out. And I congratulated Francinah, one of the teachers, on a job well done, told her she should be proud all her students were graduating. During tea my presence was requested in the back office for picture taking. Picture taking. Ha! This was more like a photo shoot. There was one with my host mother and then several of me by myself smiling and laughing (cause after a point it just gets awkward). I was even interviewed and a video was taken as evidence. Awkward. “Yeah, sure, I’ll be interviewed. What do you want me to talk about? Ok, ok. Yes. Ready. Thobela. Leina la ka ke Mmapula Modiba (My name is Mmapula Modiba). Ke dula Mma Modiba (I am staying with Mma Modiba). I am a volunteer with The Peace Corps from America. I am here working with a home based care organization. (laugh awkwardly as camera zooms in and I think about the fact that they’re interviewing ME) I really like living in South Africa and thank everyone very much for being so welcoming and open to having me here. Thanks for all the waves and smiles. Happy Graduation to the Class of 2007!” I have hit celebrity status. Actually my celebrity status might be waning just a touch now that I’ve been here a few months, but I am definitely still a celebrity. Every move I make is seen, people want my picture taken with them (and are sometimes shocked when I want to take their picture), I give autographs (yes…), and when I’m driving on the road I can see peoples’ eyes watching me as the car I’m in passes. The day was pretty long and full. The graduates danced traditional dances complete with beaded belts around their waists and shakers wrapped around their calves and ankles to make noise when they stomped to the beats of the huge wooden drums their teachers and caretakers hit. There was the presentation of certificates complete with caps and gowns and mothers posing the kids to get the perfect pictures. There was the guy from SunBake (the bread company) sharing MC duties with the guy from the local radio station. There were contests with people competing for a free SunBake t-shirt. And, yes, there was a lot of free (SunBake) bread given away…. that company knows their audience, bread is truly loved here, second to porridge (in my opinion) when it comes to most consumed foods. All day long cookers from the crèche and women from the community had been cooking up a storm on the fires out back. Around 2, I wandered into the kitchen to see if they could put me to work serving. This is one of those situations where I get why Peace Corps requested that we include ALL the job experience we’ve ever had on our application. As I stood watching a table in the VIP room, making my way through throngs of people any time a bowl of beetroot or chicken or cabbage salad (cole slaw) needed refilling, I was hit with so many memories from my days of catering. Food consumption at events here is amazing. People do not hold back. Plates are piled high with huge portions and, at times, towards the last big group of eaters, caterers are scrambling to stretch what’s left of the food so everyone can at least get something. While working I was trying to push aside the pangs of hunger I kept feeling. Granola from earlier wasn’t cutting it. The food was dwindling. Women are the backbone for such events (graduations, funerals, weddings, confirmations); people I’ve talked to here say it’s a cultural thing. Women start cooking early, early in the morning (sometimes the night before), they serve the masses, and they, themselves, don’t eat until everyone else has been fed and there’s room to take a break. I made sure all the people in the VIP room were fed, cleared all the dishes, and then found myself right smack in the middle of all the activity of the main kitchen, filling empty plates with cup size portions of pap and cabbage. The women were impressed (and although I was working hard, breakin’ a sweat even, what I did was nowhere near how much they had all done) and every once in awhile, during breaks in the rapid Sotho, I could hear little comments about how Mmapula was working so hard. At 3:30, Francinah collected me from the kitchen. I have to say I was a little sad to go, leaving that room meant leaving food I might get to eat. Or not. She led me off to another classroom where all the teachers had gathered to… EAT! There was food everywhere. I got a plate full of all my favorites (a nice big portion of butternut, too!) and even got a big slice of cake that I ate with my hands to the enjoyment of all the kids in the room. (it was covered in that sugary icing just like grocery store cakes in the States and was the best cake I have eaten since being in South Africa). After getting my fill I was ready to start in on the massive task of dishwashing (which actually is my favorite task). I washed set of dishes after set of dishes that were provided by the women cookers from the community. Every family seems to have a set of dishes that are just for events and the basins that they come in double as serving bowls for all the food. I didn’t get home until hours later, close to 7, and was in bed by 7:30, asleep soon after that. A long day it was, but a good day. Working with the women in the kitchen there was such a sense of community. A lot of yelling and laughing and hugs and people constantly asking after my health, how I was doing. It made me feel good, like I’m starting to belong.

I’m spending my first morning in my new room! My neck and back are a little sore from my bed made of foam (I’m hoping to get some plywood or maybe another mattress) and I’m not sure if I would have slept without my iPod because there was a month end party at the shabeen last night…all night… I don’t think the music stopped until 6:30 this morning… but I am loving it! There was some anxiety attached to moving at first. I started to think maybe I could just stay where I had been living, live in the house, figure out a cooking schedule with my host mother, and finally get to a point where I just accepted how far I really was from everything. You can make some sense of chaos. You can find routines and zoom in on what works, manipulate things that don’t and hope eventually they will. As soon as a date was set for moving to my room, the strained relationship between my host mother and I softened. We laughed more, talked, and a lot of the tension we’ve been living with for the last 3 months dissolved. Funny how that works, huh? As soon as change starts to happen, you find all these positives about what you’re leaving behind, negatives start to fall away. My new room is tiny, but workable. I have all sorts of ideas for George, the handyman I met on the road the other day. A new window to create a cross breeze and give me more light (right now I just have one), some shelves so I can actually unpack, and something to help with the bed. After I hired a man with a truck to move all my stuff from one house to the other yesterday and filled my new room with all my South Africa belongings, I spent the afternoon with my new host brother Kori, and cousin Khutso. Oh yes they gave me a tour of the yard and we filled our bellies with fruit! My room opens up onto a yard that has mangos, peaches, grapes, guava, watermelon, bananas, papaya, tomatoes, corn, butternut, greens, fresh eggs, guinea fowl, chickens, and cows. It’s awesome! I went to the bakery with the PCV down the road from me to celebrate with cold drink and raisin scones, then stood on the corner of our road and the main road for a good 45 minutes greeting people and talking to passers by before settling in for the night. I couldn’t say I’m a pro, but I’m getting really good at moving around, adjusting to new families (this new one is my 3^rd in South Africa), so I know that after each move there is a feeling of relief that I’m finally at my destination and that relief is then followed by loneliness. The loneliness. When the loneliness strikes, and boy does it, I have to find people, have to open my door, walk to the road, something, just so I’m not by myself. Last night the loneliness hit and for a good hour I was on my bed a little upset, exhausted, and missing things....this is not a good feeling. The feeling passed when I sat in my doorway, ate Oreo’s with my host brother, and wrote in my journal as the sun was setting.

It’s the little things. It’s walking outside to fill my water bottle at the tap and watching the moonrise. It’s talking with my coworker about the dynamics of our office, realizing we have a lot in common, and that we see each other as allies in our work environment. It’s being in a koombi that has just filled up, excited that it seems we’re finally on our way to town, and having the engine die on the incline out of the parking lot. It’s getting out of that koombi and transferring to another, everyone getting in their same seats, and within five minutes starting on our way to town again. It’s getting a ride home from Mpho, a local policeman, in his supped up VW Citi, complete with soundsystem, red and black upholstered seats (to match the red exterior and black interior), and rims. Yes we drove down the main road honking and waving at all his friends, our bodies vibrating from Celine Dion and Cher (who he sang along with). It’s crocheting a baby blanket (that is coming along fabulously) for my coworker’s new son and having some carers ask if I could teach them… income generating project! It’s going to visit baby Mashego and sitting in Esther’s living room, opening baby gifts, passing the baby around, drinking cold drink, and watching “One Life to Live”. It’s getting excited because in mere hours I will see some of my closest friends in the country after being in the village for 2 ½ months. Yeah. Wow. This is South Africa. This is my life.

Really? All this for a cell phone?

I nearly tore into a run the other day when I was walking home from work, readin’ a letter, and passed a house playing, yes, Cyndi Lauper’s “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun”. I could hear people singing along. It, seriously, took everything I had not to run in the house and dance like crazy. Since I missed that opportunity, I just spent the last 15 minutes or so dancing around my room to good ol’ Cyndi. Makes me smile. Makes me think of 80’s dancing, Inside Books benefits, my record player and “She’s So Unusual” on vinyl, and how awesome it is that there are girls in a village in South Africa getting’ down to some good stuff. And yeah, I passed two boys coming from school, listening to Bon Jovi’s “Livin’ On A Prayer”, was on the koombi yesterday when the radio was tuned to a station that was having a “Springsteen” weekend, and on the way back to the village this afternoon heard Maria le Maria in the koombi…my favorite South African group right now.
My mind has been swimming with all kinds of things I want to remember, little details that make up long days in the village. I can’t report doing much in the way of work last week, but I was busy, exhausted once the weekend was here. I went to a few meetings, learned more about the transportation system, started a good book (“Eat, Pray, Love” by Elizabeth Gilbert), sent a couple of letters, and discovered a few more ideas about projects I could work on while here. I have to say it’s the little details that make me tired, exhaust me.
On Tuesday my cell phone decided to stop working properly. Now, it’s sad to say, that, in the States, even if I wasn’t particularly busy, I probably would have felt so put out by having to go take care of getting it fixed. There’s a string of reasons why this is annoying: the phone is only a couple of months old, I paid a good chunk out of my monthly allowance to acquire such a phone, it’s the most direct way people in the States and in South Africa can get a hold of me, and I really didn’t have enough money to take a trip to town to get it taken care of. My first reaction was just to shrug. Oh well. The phone’s broken. Guess eventually I’ll have to do something about it. Guess if someone needs to get a hold of me they’ll have to figure out another way. Funny. I eventually went into action mode a couple of days later and showed my coworkers the problem…. it was working but no graphics were showing up on the screen. After a few practice calls (making sure to hang up before people actually answered… don’t want to use airtime!) and repeatedly turning the power off and on, taking the battery out, and shaking it pretty vigorously, we came to a general consensus: the phone was not working properly. I asked when a good time for me to go to town would be and my question was answered with “Be Free, Mmapula, when do you feel would be a good time for you to go to town?”. That day would be the day to go. Ke tla go bona gosasa. See you tomorrow coworkers! I’ll be back with a brand spankin’ new phone! It was 9:30am and I was going to town. Folks, let’s remember that the day has been in full effect for, at least, a good 4 hours by this point… my day and time were burning away. I was in search of the receipt for the phone and then I would be on my way to town. Simple. I would catch a taxi, get off at my stop, walk the 20 minutes to my house, get the receipt, walk the 20 minutes back to the taxi stop, catch another taxi to the taxi rank, catch the taxi to Tzaneen, and be in town by, what?, 11:30? Noon? Simple. Ha. I left the office and was hit with the heat. Geez that sun was blazin’. Should have brought my umbrella. I sweat across the bakery parking lot, across the crossroads (where the tar road and the main road for my village intersect), and catch a taxi, thanking the driver profusely for coming just at the right time. He drops me off, not at my taxi stop, but close enough to it, and RIGHT in front of the primary school, RIGHT in time for morning break and all the kids to scream and wave. I walk home after screaming and waving back… Duuuuuuumelang! Le Kae?! Sweating. Unlock the gate, unlock the burglar bars, unlock the door, unlock my door, shuffle through my wardrobe, and find that, yes, the receipt is nowhere to be found. The receipt for my 2 month old phone, the freakin’ guarantee that I can exchange my phone for a new one without having to pay any money, is no longer in my wardrobe, no longer in my room, no longer a freakin’ receipt. In a cleaning frenzy a couple of weeks ago that important little piece of paper went up in flames with all the other trash from my house while the neighbor kids and I looked on in fascination (we watched the fire for a good hour). No receipt. Shrug. Locked my door, locked the door, locked the burglar bars, filled my water bottle from the rainwater tank, locked the gate, and walked back to my taxi stop. No taxis. It’s 10:30, one will come soon. Maybe. Thobela boMma. Le Kae? I greet all the women selling Simbas (chips and Cheet-O type snacks) and airtime at little tables shaded by umbrellas. I wait for the taxi. I remember I brought my new book. I start to read, trying to forget about the fact that I’m waiting, that time is burning away, that it’s hot, hot, hot. Hello! Hello? I look up, Hello! A nice man has stopped his Toyota Corolla right in front of me and offered a ride. Heeeellllllo. I situate myself in the passenger seat, greet, and realize that my body temperature is dropping because, yes, this man has air conditioning in his Toyota Corolla. I nearly cry. Amazing. Just when things seem to be building up and I feel as though frustration might show its face, a nice man offers me a ride and has air conditioning. He’s a teacher and is taking one of his students home. Yes, I’m from America. Yes, it’s hot in America. Yes, just like it’s hot in South Africa. I’m a volunteer. I’m here for two years. I work with a home based care. I do love it here. I do miss certain things about America. Thank you so much for giving me a ride. You came at just the right time. I will see you soon. Yes. Thank you. Have a good day. He flags a taxi for me. And then, I’m on a taxi! We’re heading for the taxi rank and the taxi to Tzaneen! I might just make it to town by noon. Or not. We pull into the taxi rank and every taxi I see is empty. Thobela Mma. Which is the taxi to Tzaneen? Ah, that one. I walk to a taxi that has a sleeping driver and is completely empty. It is in that taxi that I sit for over an hour while it fills, one or two people at a time. I shrug. I wait. I eat an ear of roasted corn. I read. It fills, slowly, but surely, and we’re off to town, off to where they sell cell phones. My taxi is carrying 17 people. 4 in the very back row, 3 in the next row, 4 in my row (it holds 3), 3 in the front row, and 2 people plus the driver in front. It’s hot. The window latch is broken and I am sticking to the woman next to me. My arm is stuck to her’s, there is no space between our bodies. I have to breathe. Have to keep telling myself not to flip out. I’m stuck. I’m on my way to town in a taxi that took an hour to fill up. I can’t really afford this trip. I can’t really afford a new phone. My sandals are too tight. I can’t open a window. I can’t bend over to loosen my sandals. When I start to head back later in the afternoon it will take me forever to get home because I live so far from the main road. I am so far from town. If I needed to get out of this taxi I couldn’t. Will she just move a little? Just scoot over? Phil Collins’ Best of album is pulsing through every inch of my trapped body. I read. The feelings pass, I manage to get my mind on my book. As we get closer to town people get off the taxi, but my row still manages to hold 4. We’re approaching the outskirts, we stop, and the man in my row, closest to the door, gets off. The woman slides over a little, air passes between us, the claustrophobic feelings subside, I feel some relief, and the breeze against my sweat feels so, so good. We get to town. Tzaneen is a 45-minute drive from my village and I managed to make it in 4 hours. I thank the driver and kind of stumble out of the taxi, I’m starving, and seriously feel like I’ve spent the morning doing something strenuous; my body aches, I’m tired, and I just want to keep shrugging things off, but it’s getting harder to do. I walk to the mall. Calvin, the cell phone guy at Game (like a Target), tells me I look like I’ve had a rough day. I ask him if I can just purchase a phone exactly like the one I have. He wants to identify the problem, wants to send it away. I explain I don’t have a receipt. There aren’t many options. He steers me towards the display case. In a matter of minutes I have purchased a new phone (with some US savings) and Calvin has winked at me 3 times, telling me to keep my head up, and pointing out that there are positives: I get to keep my old number, I have an extra battery, and I have a new receipt. Thanks Calvin. I walk to the coffee shop, order a huge salad and pot of tea to calm my nerves. I sit in a booth, all the way at the back, read, and calm myself. In the span of the next hour I’m busy with refueling my body, speaking Sotho with my waiter and the man occupying the booth in front of me (to their shock. Most white people, it is assumed, don’t speak any African languages, white people speak Afrikaans.), and get somewhat defensive when I discuss village life with the manager (who is an Afrikaner). I get defensive because he asks how life in the village is and proceeds to continuously be shocked by everything I say. You have electricity? Why would you choose to live with those people? Isn’t it hard? Don’t you miss a flush toilet? No running water?! Why are you speaking that language? I know he wasn’t trying to be rude or insensitive, he seemed genuinely concerned and curious, but I was tired. Such a conversation was making me weary. I HATE, absolutely HATE, the “us and them” conversations. I live in a village, with other people, other people who happen to be black and I am white. Yes, most people do have electricity. I choose to live here for many reasons, some of which are: I want to learn from people, learn about who they are, I want to teach people about where I come from, who I am, I want to attempt to make small changes. It is hard, but the reasons it’s hard are so much deeper and more complicated than missing flush toilets and M&M’s (peanut, please). I, honestly, don’t think about flush toilets, I’m happy to have a place to pee. No running water, but there is water. I speak the language because I want to communicate, want to learn one more piece of the people I live with and around. Conversation over, I feel sick, and once again, time is burning away. I hike up the hill through town to get my water bottle from some other PCVs (I left it last time I was in town). By the time everything is said and done, there is no way I am going to catch a taxi to my village, then a taxi to my taxi stop, and then make it home before dark, so I stay in town. I fall asleep, in my clothes, to the ticking and humming of a ceiling fan. In the morning, I wake up, as always, a little after 6. Take a shower (a shower!!!!) and at 7 make my way down to the taxi rank, greetin’ everyone headin’ to work the whole way. I want to catch the very first taxi back to my village, think maybe I’ll make it to work by 8:30. Ha. I am the first one on the taxi, again. There is one major advantage to this, you get to pick where you would like to sit (preferably by a window that I can open, please). I SMS (text message) my supervisor and tell her what happened. I wait. I read 30 pages. I get an SMS from a coworker about getting her some chicken from Hungry Lion, her favorite fast food chicken place. I get off the taxi to see if Hungry Lion is open. It’s not. I go back to the taxi and I wait some more. I read 25 pages. I go check Hungry Lion again. Still closed. I try to translate the conversation in Sotho in the seat behind me. I watch my seatmate drink half his cold drink (Coke) and then fill the can with Brandy, tasting it a few times to see if the drink is mixed enough for our ride home. The taxi leaves the rank at 10:30. 10:30. 3 hours after I got on it. I shrug. I think how happy I am that we’re finally moving. I make a mental note that if there is a next time I will get a cup of coffee and sit somewhere until midmorning and then head to the taxi rank. On the ride home, while our taxi weaves its way in and out of villages between my village and town (about 4) I put my hair back in pigtails. Fixing my hair in such a way reminds me of a black and white picture of my mom I had on my wall in high school. In the picture, Mom’s in her early 20’s, looking off, away from the camera, and smiling, her hair is in pigtails. Mom. I tear up. Don’t cry, Megan. If you start crying, if you cry as hard as you would like to right now, no one will know what the hell to do with you, people already don’t know what to do with you. I shrug. I switch gears and think of something else, laugh at how ridiculously long my trip to town has turned out to be, all for my phone, the phone I will place on a satin pillow every night if it means I can have it work for forever. I walk into work at 11:45am, about 4 hours after I got on the taxi. I apologize to my coworkers. They tell me to rest. I spend the afternoon reading and sitting in the shade, under a tree outside, with everyone, because it is so hot in the office.
Oh it’s the little things. It’s craving a fresh baked bun from the bakery next door, smelling them all day long, and after work walking in to see that they have a 4 pack right on the top shelf, still warm, with my name written all over it. It’s a rainstorm, in the middle of the hottest part of the day, that lasts long enough to soak the ground and drop the temperature a few degrees. It’s going to a meeting and having a conversation with one of my coworkers and a guy from another NGO about how frustrated they get with meetings starting late (It’s not just me!!!!!!). It’s walking home, having a woman smile and clap her hands when I greet her, asking me for R5 (rand), and looking at me warily when I tell her I don’t have the money she needs. It’s knocking off of work early and having enough time to not only wash all my clothes, but also enough time to clean my room and read. It’s having a 14 year old boy walk part of the way home with me, insist that he is a man, and tell me that he wants to come visit me and be my friend (which actually means be my “special friend”, which actually means be my something between a boyfriend, lover, and husband), all while he is avoiding eye contact and biting his thumb. It’s buying fresh peaches, a big bag of avocados (the last of the season!), and an ear of corn roasted over an outdoor fire with a good, new friend after a great weekend of exploring the area around the village. It’s greeting someone on the road and hearing some people in a nearby yard make fun of the way I said my greeting. It’s waking up to rain hitting the tin roof, knowing that that means there’s more water for drinking, cooking, and irrigating, and that I’ll be slugging through the mud on the way to work. It’s seeing and hearing a HUGE spider, about 3 inches legs and all, scrambling all over my walls the other night, taking a deep breath, and getting it out of my room without totally losing it. It’s giving my phone number to someone and them laughing because the way I say my 4’s makes me sound like a Nigerian speaking English (this is an insult)…WHAT?! It’s riding in a koombi where the sliding door is actually wired to the rest of the taxi’s body and the driver is hittin’ every bump in the dirt road, even if he’s trying his hardest to make his way around them. It’s visiting a coworker in the maternity ward of the hospital and welcoming little Mashego into the world. It’s my coworker getting mad when people stare at me or don’t respond to my greetings because I am no different than anyone else (well, certainly no different than her, we came from the same womb). It’s neighbor kids weaving thin palm leaves together to stick in the holes of the tree where magoro (termites) live and watching them pull the leaves, covered with the bugs, out and emptying their treat into cups they’re taking home. (I learned the ones with the darker heads are the ones you want to eat.) It’s being asked to lead the morning prayer in our office, feeling a little flustered, and coming up with, “Thanks for this day, Thanks for all the people in this room. Amen.”… Oh Mmapula that was a beautiful prayer! It’s being warned by an Afrikaner man that the taxi rank I’m standing near is not safe (it’s MY taxi rank) and that if he were me he wouldn’t hang around such places (oh, mister, how do I explain that I live here?) It’s requesting “Oh L’Amour” by Erasure, explaining who The Kinks are to a fellow PCV, and splurging on lunch at a pub in Hoedspruit. It’s getting good emails and letters from friends and family far away that say I am loved and missed very much. It’s thinking about birthdays, weddings, holidays, and anniversaries that are big celebrations in some very important peoples’ lives (occasions I wish, very much, I could be around for). It’s thinking about the places I can travel and see. It’s waking up and realizing exactly where I am.

Time. Waiting. Fun.

I have a soundtrack to my life (well, I guess everyone does)… I tried, once, to write all the songs down, but the task was too overwhelming. I’ve basically left it to hearing a song and thinking to myself, “yep, this reminds me of such and such.” So the birthday mix my sister sent me is part of my South Africa now. “Beautiful Girls” by Sean Kingston? Yep, my second weekend at site. Reminds me of being on the koombi in Polokwane, at 3 in the afternoon, panicking, thinking we weren’t going to catch another taxi and make it to Tzaneen before dark. I bought an ear of corn at the taxi rank when we were waiting for the taxi to fill. I’m exhausted. I think I say that pretty much everyday… but today, today I REALLY mean it. Yesterday was a 14 hour day. Two nights ago, after drinking some tea and getting’ my chocolate fix, I couldn’t go to sleep. And then I started thinking about how I had to get up earlier than usual and there was some stress… didn’t want to sleep through the alarm. And then the rain started and continued all night long, pelting my tin roof. And then, when I had finally drifted off, it was 5 am and I had to get up. I was meeting one of my coworkers at the taxi rank, had to be there at 6:30 sharp. I could have every entry of a blog focus on an example of the concept of time in Africa, how strange it is to move from the fast paced, time centered States to the more relaxed South Africa. I dragged myself out of bed at 5:15, washed, drank some tea, ate a Luna bar from the states (I’m running low on food and heading to town today), and basically, power walked to catch a taxi at the high school. Yep. 6am. No taxis at the high school. Glancing at my watch, speed walking, and shortening my greetings, I walked towards the post office, hoping that I could at least cover some land and catch a koombi at some point down the road. I grabbed a taxi by the big shade tree where the gogos sit and made it to the taxi rank at EXACTLY 6:30 (I bet anyone who knows me is totally shocked by this… Megan? ON TIME? And on time THAT EARLY?). I was pretty proud of myself and once again gave myself the little speech about letting things go, not stressing so much, and remembering that I’m in Africa now… things are more chill, and everything seems to work out ok. No need to stress. I see my coworker get off his taxi, we greet, I ask what the plan is, he’s not sure because things haven’t been explained to him. We head to the office. He makes a few calls, we head back outside to, yes, sit at the taxi rank for an hour and a half waiting for a bus that might have already passed us. We’re going to an awards ceremony in Polokwane and a bus has been hired to pick up representatives from NPO’s all over our district (kind of like a county). It’s funny, as it usually is, no one is mad, no one is wringing their hands, no one is getting bent out of shape because the bus hasn’t come. We just wait. We laugh. We wait. I talk to a few neighbors. We wait. I ask my coworker about his family. We wait. People here are SO good at waiting. I can’t tell you what time we got on the bus or what time we got to Polokwane or what time the event started (although it was later than the start time on the program), but those details don’t matter anyway. It was a great day. The ride between Tzaneen and Polokwane reminds me of being in a coal car, on the tracks, coming out of a mine, in the cartoons. Both times I’ve done the roundtrip trip we’ve bounced along, at high speeds, on slick roads, switchbacking through the valley and mountains. It’s one of those times where your life is flashing before your eyes, where cars are passing just a little too close, the speed is a little too much, but you don’t even close your eyes or make a silent prayer, you’re too entranced by the surroundings. I had a book, but couldn’t read because I didn’t want to miss the whole hour of lush, green, rolling hills, mountains, flowering trees, the winding river (which my coworker thinks was the Groot-Letaba), and all the nurseries and greenhouses lining the road. You come visit me and we’ll drive through here… we’ll stop, eat some bananas and try to figure out how to describe such a place, such beauty. The event was, well, an event. The three representatives from my office sat in the back (so, according to my coworker, we could talk and be close to the exit, when it got to be too much we could to step outside. Um, how is it that I was PERFECTLY matched with my NGO?). We covered the formalities and award giving, got a good free lunch (pap, chicken, red gravy, butternut, sugar beans, and cold drink (Grape Fanta for my coworkers, I stuck with Sprite), and I networked. It was great. At lunch I, by chance, sat across the table from the very man who supervises all the social workers in Tzaneen. He gave me the name of the man who supervises all the social workers in my municipality, the man who’s office is walking distance from my office. I met a lot of really nice people and, as usual, found everyone really willing to help me out, give me names of people I should talk to, organizations I should see. After we ate and before I headed back to the bus, I stopped by the DJ booth to praise the musical selections for the day. Yep. A DJ booth. If only more employee appreciation days and trainings had DJ booths! The day was full of music. Traditional African beats, some jazz, some folk, some Ladysmith Black Mambazo, and yes, Bill Withers’ ‘Ain’t No Sunshine’ were played in between speakers, when pictures were being taken, and when award recipients made their way to the stage. If people in the audience were moved by the beats, and most of them were, they would just get up and dance. Moved their hips, waved their hands in the air, stomped their feet, and whooped and yelled. YES! The energy was great and I couldn’t stop smiling, laughing, clapping. The DJ and I swapped emails, he said he would send me a list of songs and artists from South Africa I should check out. I’m excited, I miss music so much, and I’m in a country where it’s so important. In the koombi, in the office, in the bakery parking lot, in the house, walking through the village, the Jet Music store in the ShopRite mall.. it’s everywhere. On the way back to the village after such a big day, I sat in the back of the bus with my coworkers and people from the NGO down the hill from ours. I felt like I was on a school field trip. Someone’s cellphone played the soundtrack to a dance party, people pointed out places I should visit in my Lonely Planet, I was taught a few Sepedi words, and I learned more about Mopani worms (worms that are cooked and then eaten with pap. I’ve seen kids in my neighborhood build fires and cook ones they’ve found in the trees, in tins). We stopped in Tzaneen so people could buy food and I opted to stay on the bus, in the back… sat for a good half hour watching kids running around the open air market selling roasted ears of corn, tomatoes, onions, simbas (chips), and lightbulbs, dishtowels, cellphone airtime. Canopies are lined up along the waiting areas for all the buses (buses go in and out of villages and bring people to town, their fares are cheaper than koombis, but they don’t run as often), with women filling plates with pap and stewed chicken. Makeshift restaurants. I love this. I love sneaking glances at my coworkers dancing on the bus, smiling because I’m not sure they really will ever understand how much they already have done for me and taught me. I love breaking an ear of corn in half, eating it, and washing it down with the mango orange juice a friend bought me when she was at the store and thought I should have cold drink too. I love sitting in my office talking to the chairman of the board and the coordinator about politics in the US and learning words in Sotho throughout the conversation. I love having the bus drop me off at the taxi rank, walking a little ways with a woman who’s a carer with another NGO, learning about her family, and then catching a koombi where everyone knows my name, knows where I’m to be dropped off. So many little stories, little things that get me excited about what’s to come. I left work early one day this week and went to visit the crèche (daycare) where I had heard there was beadwork being sold (an income generating project). Awesome. I greeted all the kids, greeted the cookers, and was led across the road to another building, where, in one room, three women were beading. Intricate necklaces, belts, earrings, bracelets, and pouches with patterns based on the traditional. I splurged, bought some belated birthday gifts for myself and promised to be back for a visit and a beading lesson. On my way out the door, one of the cookers called me back over to the kitchen in the crèche. She filled a little bag with biscuits just out of the oven, warm, and ready to eat with cold drink or tea. For me. They went well with my tea that I drank while I watched One Life to Live with my neighbor (I think we’re about 6 months behind the states. The acting is SO bad, but how can you not watch? I mean Jack, who everyone believed was dead, is back!)
My housing is still up in the air. I know I’m moving soon, but soon is relative. Soon can mean tomorrow. Soon can mean Christmas. A couple of weeks ago everyone in my office walked over to see how the preparations of my new room were coming along. It’s great. A little square box of a room to call my own. They’re putting in a light and an outlet, fixing the pit toilet to meet safety standards, and scrubbing it clean. A place to put the little oven I’m going to buy! A place to put all my pictures up in! A place to set up a little writing area! Oh relief. It’s funny how you create routines even in the midst of everything hanging in the balance. I am living out of one bag and only eat foods that are easy to prepare or are prepared. I won’t even go into my diet, let’s just say it’s… interesting. BUT I get up in the morning and wash at a certain time, drink my tea, and go to bed at about the same time every night. I walk a different route home everyday, but still manage to stop at the post office to check mail, the tuck shop nearby to get popcorn, and on certain corners to greet and talk with locals.
I’m rollin’ with it. That’s what you have to do here. You accept things, don’t hold grudges, and relax, because really that’s what everyone else is doing. I feel good. Amazing what a drastic change that is from a few weeks ago… the shock is wearing off, I’m making friends, I stick out, but I don’t notice as much anymore, I’m laughing, really laughing, and things are settling. I’ve got a mean tan… a Chaco’s tan, a farmers’ tan, but tan all the same… and to think we have months left of Summer. I’m a master bug killer. I read by headlamp. I eat insane amounts of carbs. I carry my cellphone and wallet in my bra. I carry toilet paper with me wherever I go. I devour books. I write letters about memories, NGO work, and little things that make me shake my head. I chase chickens out of the kitchen when I make breakfast. I don’t think I ever get all the way clean, but I’ve gotten to the point where I can convince myself that I am. I hitch rides in the back of trucks with many other people, live chickens, huge cabbage heads, and cold drink. I’m livin’ in South Africa.
It still doesn’t seem real. It seems like I’ve just been dropped off in some other world and one day, someone will pop up and tell me it’s time to go back to where I came from.
I know I’ve said it before, but I wish I could describe everything. Wish there was some way to paint the picture, the whole picture, filling all the little holes with all the little details. There are so many things you can’t even begin to describe. Words don’t even do justice. Pictures come out too dark or not close enough, lack emotion. You can write a story, but the visuals, the smells, the tastes are missing… I think that’s why the music is so important to me. The soundtrack keeps getting longer, new tracks are added everyday. I hear a song and I’m immediately pulled towards a list of memories. It’s comforting and it reassures me that even if I don’t get all the little details down, I’ll be able to go back, see and feel some of the same things again.

Clarity...maybe

I had a point of clarity this week. It was one moment where everything shifted just slightly and things all of the sudden fit better…came together..became just a little more clear. I know exactly where I was: I was sitting in one of two chairs that had been offered to my supervisor and I in the back bedroom of this very large (but sparsely furnished) house. My chair was right next to the bed and gave me the perfect view of the oven/hot plate combo, TV, bag of Mebele (porridge), and thin, young woman cleaning sores on her lips with salt water. Her lips were red, red, lipstick red. I greeted her, she responded, averted her eyes, and for the whole 15 minutes we were there I sat trying to breathe, trying to push the lump that kept building in my throat down, turning my head anytime tears actually threatened to leave my eyes, and trying to be involved, engaged as much as possible. My first home visit in my village was with a new patient, a young woman. My age. 29. She’s only been visited a couple of times, trust needs to be built up, so not a lot of questions are asked of her… people visit to check in and let her know that she has a resource, some support…. and no one is sure just what she’s sick with or how she got sick. We prayed. My supervisor, usually so soft spoken, spoke in rapid Sotho with a fierce drive and volume in her voice. We Amened. Sala Gabotse (Stay Well). After we had made our way back through the house, through the gate, and back on the dirt road, I asked my supervisor how she did it, kept going with a job that was so emotionally draining. She said that her heart hurt when she saw people in pain, she wanted to do what she could. I told her that not everyone could do what she does.
Things are starting to change in my brain, change in my life… I’ve been in South Africa for just shy (I mean we’re talking a day here) of 3 months, and these last three months I’ve been pretty self-absorbed and in shock. There are so many little things I can think of that helped build to that point of clarity. Receiving my new South African name: Mmapula, which means “mother of the rain”, when the rain comes, new life is given a chance to grow. Home visits and eating at the drop-in centers with all the kids. Starting to feel I have some sort of routine after a few months of being on autopilot and living out of one bag. Talking to/ hearing from good friends and family in the states and realizing I know some of the coolest people. Deciding last weekend that it was time to start focusing on being happy, reveling in where I’m living, what I’m seeing, and all that I’m learning. Having days full of spending time with my coworkers. Ending my day, everyday, with the long walk home (I’m still not sure, but I think it’s about three miles), winding throughout the whole village, finding new routes, along new (to me) dirt roads (my NGO is at one end, I’m staying at the other end), and having people wave and smile at me the WHOLE way.
It’s hard to write about this sometimes, I have to be in the right mood… there are so many little details I don’t want to forget, I want to make sure I paint an accurate picture of all that I’ve seen, experienced, from my perspective and, at times, that can be pretty overwhelming. With that being said… I’m going to try to give people some idea of what my life is like here. Yep…there’s the disclaimer…. I’m going to be writing about MY experience, from MY perspective…
It’s Spring here…we still have some cool days (in the 60’s and 70’s), but you can feel the heat coming and, boy, is that sun brutal. There are days where the sun beats down and you feel as if there is no escape…you just sweat and find a tree. There are other days where rain wakes you up as it pounds against the tin roof and the wind blows making you forget that summer is just around the corner. I’ve heard right now it’s supposed to be the rainy season… or it’s coming soon….but the last few years there’s been a drought and water has been hard to come by. We’ve had a few days of rain since I’ve been here, but it hasn’t been enough to fill the rivers and people’s water tanks. I’m crossing my fingers more is to come… the mango and avocado crops are countin’ on it!
I have to say life in the village, in some ways, is a lot like I expected it would be, but there are things about it I never would have guessed. I am one of two white people (the other one is another PCV from last year’s group) in a pretty big village off the main tar road, just 45 minutes by koombi southeast of Tzaneen, south of the Letaba Valley (which is known for being green and tropical) and right next to the Drakensberg Mountains in Limpopo Province. The mountains remind me of ones in West Texas… looming, but nowhere near as big as the Rockies. The plants are a mixture of scraggly brush, green grasses, cacti, flowering vines, big shady trees, and mango trees everywhere you look. Elephants? Nope. Lions? Nope. Tigers? Nope. Bears? Nope. BUT! Roosters? Of course! And…. chickens, goats, cows, dogs, a cat (I’ve only seen one), big beetles, june bugs, spiders, and plenty of other insects… we have no shortage of living things. Tables near the taxi rank are full of bananas, avocados, onions, tomatoes, cabbage heads (about twice the size of my head), and butternuts (squash), grown locally, and sold for pretty awesome prices.
A typical day for me, Monday- Friday, starts when my host mother wakes at 5:30am to get ready for work. Usually I turn over, grab my iPod, and keep my eyes closed until she heads out the door at 6:30. I’m up! I grab my sandals, head to the pit to pee, and then grab my bucket to fill with water for my bath. While I’m heating about a gallon of water in the electric kettle (it’s the electricity saver! It takes a 1/3 of the time that it would to heat on the stove) I make myself breakfast, usually granola and soy milk (yep… another PCV and I found it in town). When the water is heated I mix it in my basin with cool water I got from one of the water barrels in the shed outside (no running water and no tap in the yard, my host mother waits for her sons or husband to come home on a weekend to take the barrels to a communal tap or well to fill them. Some people have vehicles to carry the load…others rely on smaller jugs and a wheelbarrow to make the trip). I take my basin to my room to wash, first my face, then if it’s been a few days (I’ve been really pushing it lately) my hair, and then the rest of my body. I brush my teeth, dress, and am out the door, locking the gate around the house about 7:30. I walk towards the mountains. Some days it’s clear, not a cloud in the sky, and the mountains are well defined and there. Other days when it’s rainy, the mountains are covered with such thick mist/ fog, I don’t see them all day… and they have truly disappeared. My walk to a taxi stop right by the high school is about 20 minutes. From the taxi stop my walk to work is about an hour and 15 minutes, a taxi ride is about an hour less. There are mornings where there isn’t such a rush to get to work, where I just want to clear my head, so I’ll walk and when I walk I see so much, so much I would miss if I were in a taxi. I see the puddles forming in the white sandy dirt roads. I see the mothers and gogos (grandmothers) with babies strapped to their backs (with a beach towel or big blanket), hands free for carrying bread, holding the hand of another little one, waving, or carrying that big cabbage head they’re taking home for supper. I see children peering out from behind trees, walls, doorways, gates, their parents, to whisper or yell my name (or if they don’t know me “lekgoa (pronounced lay-ho-ah) which means “white person” in Sepedi). I see the smiles, the waves, the looks of shock when I greet in Sotho, “Thobela” “Le kae?” “Ah, Re gona” “Kea leboga”. I see people dancing in front of the bottle store (tavern) that’s open 24/7… dancing like they are feeling every single beat of the blaring “African Beats”. I see gogos in the shade of a tree laughing. I see people tending fires outside and cooking bogobe (pap/porridge) (and yes, a couple of times walking by at just the right moment has gotten me a seat by the fire with a big plate of pap and cabbage… a family sharing their supper with me). I see women balancing large boxes of eggs or vegetables, stacks of chairs, umbrellas, or buckets on their heads (it’s amazing! the balance!). I see students rushing to and from school in their matching uniforms button down shirts, ties, skirts and knee socks for the girls, pants for the boys… the colors varying by school and age. I see people pushing wheelbarrows going to fetch water. I see hats and umbrellas for protection from the elements. I see people plowing, hoeing, planting in their big vegetable gardens. I see the little kids giving me the thumbs up and yelling “sharp!” (which really sounds like “shop!” and means something along the lines of it’s alright, it’s cool). All these sights are to the soundtrack of kombis going up and down on the main road (the main street through the village is dirt, too… it T’s at the tar road), music blaring from passing cars/kombis/buses and houses… take your pick… Mariah Carey, African Beats, Tupac, Lucky Dube, Bob Marley, roosters crowing (this happens ALL the time… not just when the sunrises), and goats bleating. I pick up different walking companions along the way… some walk the whole time, some eventually veer off towards home, school, the post office. We talk of how far I’m walking (“Aye! That’s too far!”), of America and where I come from (“Is it hot there?” “Do you know Tupac?” “Is wrestling real?” “Does Oprah live close to you?” “Where are you from? America. Is it?!”), how old I am (“Aye! That’s too old!”), drinking in the villages and all throughout South Africa… people have some pretty strong opinions about it, how beautiful South Africa is (some people are shocked when I say this… shocked that I would leave America to come live here), death, how many funerals are happening, how many people are sick (this is mainly talked about with the teenagers), what I’m doing here, and so many other topics that are more superficial, others more serious. Sometimes I’ll be walking along and a car will slow and ask if I’d like a lift. For 10 minutes I’m in the car (1982 Corolla? BMW? A backie/pick up truck? Yep.)of a teacher or a delivery guy or a person from another village just visiting for the day.
From 8/ 8:30 every morning until 4 in the afternoon I spend time trying to become more familiar with my NGO. My NGO is a CHBC (Community Home Based Care) organization that manages 7 drop-in centers and home visits to patients in 6 villages including my own. The drop-in centers are places where OVC’s (orphans and vulnerable children, at risk children/ teenagers) come to receive food, support, and resources. The home visits are accomplished by 32 carers (women volunteers) who tend to patients’ primary health care needs, like hospice nurses, without the nursing background or the salary. I’ll admit, it’s slow starting, there’s a trust that has to be built, and some time has to be spent feeling everything out. I have to get my bearings and so does everyone else. I’ve attended meetings, meetings with the board, the carers’, the cooks for the drop-ins,that were all in Sepedi. I’ve shadowed a couple of carers on some home visits. I’ve eaten lunch at one drop-in… a good filling lunch of beans and pap. And I’ve spent a good amount of time drinking tea and eating an embarrassing amount of bread, from the bakery next to our office, with my coworkers… learning about their families, why they’re working in the social work/helping field, hearing how hard it is to do anything when there is no money, there’s so much paperwork, and it seems like no one is really working with you (ah, social work!). After a few weeks of spending a lot of time reading and writing letters at work because no one was really sure what to do with me and I wasn’t really sure what to do with myself… things are becoming more and more clear… falling into place. I have ideas about funding, filing systems, and possible support networks for the workers. I am truly excited about visiting more patients, trying to find a connection at the hospital nearby, and spending more time with the children at the drop-ins. It’s all pretty incredible. I really lucked out with such a good group of coworkers. They love their work and take it seriously and that makes it easy for me to get up and head to the office every morning.
On the weekends I play catch up…I take a koombi to Tzaneen, meet up with other PCV’s in the area to drink coffee, eat big, splurging meals, do my grocery shopping for the week (my villages’ stores have milk, eggs, bread, chips, cold drink, etc… anything else I have to travel to Tzaneen for), and go to the internet café. Sundays I do my washing (which is quite a job), read, write letters, and clean my room.
Every night I’m in bed between 9 and 10. People here seem to move with the sun and I’m starting to do the same. You wake when it becomes light, at noon you hide from the brutal heat, by 6:30 gates are locked, doors are locked, and everyone is settling in, preparing for bed.
I’m starting to realize, after a few months of constantly checking in with myself, making sure I’m ok and able to hold it together enough to keep truckin’, that it’s perfectly fine to have moments where I don’t know what I’m doing or why I’m here… it’s ok to let go and just be. It’s ok because those moments of not knowing are going to be, and are, balanced by moments of clarity. So I’m letting go. I’m trying not to struggle and fight as much, trying to take things as they are, not focus so much on what’s missing or different. This is an incredible opportunity, already life changing, and I get to experience it.

I've been meaning to start this blog for months... I wanted to chronicle all the little things that were leading up to me actually leaving Austin and starting my job with the Peace Corps. That, obviously, didn't happen. Yesterday I left my home, my room, my parents, my good friends, access to family, convenience, good ol queso, chips, salsa, my bed, some good books, and too many other things to list. Tonight I'm in Philly, I'm going to sleep on a pillowtop mattress in my room that I'm sharing with my roommate from Denver. I'm exhausted. The last few days have been such a whirlwind. I can't believe Sunday night (and early Monday morning) I was dancing to the 80's and smiling at some of my good, good friends... and tonight, tonight I'm sitting in the lobby of the Sheraton typing on my Mac, sitting next to my first friend connected to the Peace Corps. I'll admit yesterday was pretty rough. Emotionally I was all over the place... excited, nervous, exhausted, drained, anxious, and, in some ways, full of doubt... wondering what I had gotten myself into. Leaving my family and good friends at the airport was not nearly as tearful and awful as I thought it was going to be. It was surreal. I'm sort of wondering when it's going to hit me. Logically I know the magnitude of such a move..I'm committing to 2 years of service... but emotionally? My heart feels like it's on a vacation.
Things are good, though. Today at orientation I was finally able to meet some people who knew, personally, what it was like to go through the Peace Corps application process, the medical clearance, the frustration, anxiety, and stress going into something so big, yet so vague.
*In the cab on the way to my hotel, my cab driver looked in his rearview mirror and asked why I looked so scared. It really surprised me because it reiterated just how much my face showed how upset and overwhelmed I was.

The pieces fall together. We Are Together.

Dominique and I just got back from a great trip to NYC! After a fabulous few days, our plane landed in Austin almost a year to the day I turned in my Peace Corps application. We spent a lot of time just walking around soaking up the city, sitting in parks people watching and drinking coffee, and eating, eating, eating. It was what I needed. Our friends, Chris and Daniel, live up off 171st St. (near Columbia) so every place we went was quite a trek from where we were staying, but oh it was so nice to have a free place to stay! We went to Chinatown and saw where Mary and I got on the Chinatown bus back to Philly after our long day in the city, we sat in Central Park and went to Strawberry Fields, at one point we sat on a bench that was in the median on Broadway and were chased away by a rat that was hanging out in the flowerbed behind us... ewwwwwww.
One of my favorite things was getting tickets to see a film at the Tribeca Film Festival. We had bought tickets to see the documentary winner, a movie about Andy Warhol and his life in New York, but after getting on the subway at 8 am on Saturday morning and making it to the Tribeca area after about an hour of traveling, we found out that that movie had been moved to an evening slot. They had decided to show the runner up, "We are Together (Thina Simunye)".. a documentary about a children's orphanage in South Africa. Most of the children taken in by "Grandma" (the woman who at one time was an HIV/AIDS counselor for women) had nowhere to go... their parents and siblings had for one reason or another been unable to care for them (some had died of AIDS). A guy from England (who turned out to be the director) spent a summer volunteering with them, made connections with the kids, and went home changed so much, he decided to make a documentary to tell their story and follow the making of a CD (of the children singing traditional Zulu songs). It turns out the CD has been finished (I'm ordering my copy today) and so far they have made enough money off of it to renovate the orphanage completely and to make room for even more children. Now all proceeds are going towards the educational funds of the children... Grandma wants them to stay with her as long as they need to in order to complete their schooling.. and schooling isn't free. Every time they sang in the movie I got goosebumps and teared up, it was that moving. At the end of the movie there was a question and answer session with the producer (where I found out a lot of the information I've passed on in this email) and he informed us that the children were in NYC and that they were going to be performing at the family street festival Dominique and I had planned on going to. We saw them sing live and it was incredible. At the end of their performance, they each walked up to the microphone, introduced themselves, and stated what they wanted to be when they grew up. The answers? A social worker, a policeman, an actress, the president of South Africa (yep, a young woman said that), and a singer were among them. It was one of the coolest things I've ever seen.
And then the story gets even more interesting.... yesterday I got my invitation for the Peace Corps and I have been invited to go to South Africa. There's a chance that I will be placed in the very same area that the Agape orphanage is in (if so, I will so be visiting!). I'm going to call them today or tomorrow and accept.... once I accept I must fill out passport and visa paperwork, read through my handbook, and quit my job!!!! According to the information I got, I will be leaving July 16th for an East Coast city and some orientation, and then on the 19th I'll be flying out for my host country. July 19th-September 13th (Bronnie's 21st birthday) I'll be in training, living with a host family, and then right after that I start my 2 years of service. Woohoo! I'm excited... I think it's going to be awesome.