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.