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.