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.