Just when I needed a pick me up...

(the soundtrack: Explosions in the Sky, The Earth is Not a Cold Dead Place)
I can’t say that I’m really sad or really down… I’m just sort of floating right now, going through the motions, waiting for the cloud, the bubble, whatever is all around me, to just burst so I can breathe, can have some sort of tangible reaction to being back. Being back in the village that is. I just spent two, almost three weeks, on vacation, speaking English, eating at restaurants, walking at night, constantly being surrounded by other people from the United States, being a hop, skip, and jump away from public phones, amenities, a car, internet, places that reminded me of places I would frequent in Austin, the list goes on… and now, I’m back in the village. It’s not a bad thing, it’s just different.
I went into work my first day back and immediately was thrown back into South Africa. Sometimes I feel like I’m a ping pong ball, bouncing from one interesting, exciting, new, and different thing to the next. My first day back I bounced from vacation, everything’s kind of Western, right back, smack, in the middle of South Africa as my everyday life knows it. Synett, Magale, and I caught a ride, with someone Synett knew, to Giyani (a town a couple hours Northeast of my village) to turn in some reports that are required in order for our NGO to receive funding for the next year. It was such a South Africa in the Peace Corps kind of afternoon. It was pouring down rain, the 3 of us were all smushed in the backseat (and they so kindly gave me the middle. Ha!), and the drive seemed endless. When we got to the offices we were informed that all the reports had been filled out wrong, that we would have to go back to our office the next day, finish everything up, correctly,and then fax the new reports by the end of the day. We were all a little bummed and knew we had some work cut out for us, but none of us were particularly upset. On the drive home we stopped at a couple of bottle stores for our drivers and the Spar (big grocery store) for our lunch. Magale grabbed a cart and the three of us made our way through the store picking up essentials: cold drinks, a whole cooked chicken, a loaf of white bread, some custard/jello dessert, and 3 candy bars to finish off the meal. We paid, got back in the car, and it was there, smushed, all together, that I held the whole cooked chicken on my lap while we ate it with slice after slice of bread. Next came the cold drink (I haven’t seen many South Africans who drink while they are eating, usually it is done after you’re finished), then the custard, then the Kit-Kat. We talked about our holidays, they laughed when I told them about taking the bus, we slept, and none of us got home before 6:30 that evening. I love days like that. Days where I’m not sure what is going to happen next, where there is just one goal (to turn in the report) and everything else is just left to chance.
I made it to work one more day before I had to SMS my supervisor to let her know I wouldn’t be in, I was exhausted and in need of some time by myself. Synett came by in the afternoon to check on me and a few neighbors stopped by to welcome me home. It feels good to be missed, to know that although I may spend a lot of time by myself here, I have made enough of an impact on people that they notice when I’m gone and are happy to see me back.
The last couple of days I’ve been kind of homesick. Not the kind where you want to go home, but the kind where you don’t know where you belong. I’m still new here, still trying to adjust to village life, still trying to integrate into my community, and sometimes get sort of frustrated that I’ve been in this country for almost 6 months and I’m still not settled. I have a routine, though, and people who wave at me on the road, knock on my door with bowls of fruit, walk with me and give me the Sotho words for things we pass. I love all this, I love my life here and am totally content with living in the village. With waking up, opening my door and hearing the cows leave the kraal for the day, with hearing the rooster MmaDiapo (my host mother) bought at Pension Day crow at random times, with having Kori help me get water for my very own water barrel, with bucket baths, with pap and chicken every once in awhile, with devouring books, with people from the village calling me on vacation just because they were thinking about me. But, and isn’t it funny that there is always a but?, I’m conflicted. I’m not really holding on to the life I was living 6 months ago, I just fear that I won’t be able to ease back into that life when I’m finished with my time here. Silly, isn’t it? Silly that I am even thinking about a year and a half away. That I’m allowing myself to focus on a fear that is just that, a fear. A big part of me is stunned, a little shocked even, that I would even go there… let myself think such things while I’m in such a beautiful country, surrounded by 10 different kinds of fruits, warm people, and an experience I won’t have forever… that is just a short time thing (unless I choose to live here after my service). A dear friend gave me some advice several months ago, he said to stop living in both worlds, to start living here because that’s where I am, those words were one of the best birthday presents I’ve ever received. I take it all one day at a time. I try to live by the rule that I can’t have an idea of how things should be and then try to fit my experience to that idea. I give myself some credit for moving here and trying, working with what I have within myself and all around me, to make small changes. This is all good and I know it. The Sunday before Christmas I went to church with Keri in Polokwane. The sermon was titled “It’s Time for Change” and even though it was really long and I drifted in and out of focus, the pastor did make some good points. The important one I hung onto and journaled about was pinpointing the time for change in your life. You feel a desire to change, the big decision is to follow that desire, find what works for you and follow through. I felt the desire to change for years before I got here. Now I think I’m changing so constantly and consistently that I don’t need to move anymore, don’t need to feel restless and antsy, just need to focus on how good it feels to be changing, to be alive and awake. I can’t say that I knew joining the Peace Corps would do this for me. I spent the months before I left Austin in a haze (a different kind of haze than what I’ve been living in here), I was scrambling to get everything done, tying up loose ends before I left the country, hanging out with people, eating at all my favorite restaurants, and buzzing constantly, all while being distracted and having some part of my brain focusing, obsessing, stressing on my moving away. Back to being in conflict. Thing is, I miss Austin. I miss getting hugs from people I love and care about so much. I tear up at the weirdest times, (last night it was when I heard “Wind Beneath My Wings”, yeah, ok, laugh, ha ha ha ha ha ha, I know, it’s hilarious.) because I’m struck, (maybe overwhelmed? paralyzed?) by how quickly my whole body reacts to missing someone or something, how appreciative I am that I have the life I have, know the people I know. I knew all this in the States. I knew all this and maybe that’s why I didn’t struggle much with making the decision to move here. I needed the change and I had the support to make that change. In the car on the way to Kwa-Zulu Natal Karabo, his friend from the states, and I were all playing the alphabet game, trying to remember places in Austin that started with every letter. I struggled on more than a few letters and felt a little weird that I couldn’t come up with answers more quickly, I mean it is my hometown. Times like that and I kind of panic. Austin is changing, the States are changing, people are changing, life is moving, and when it’s all said and done I really don’t have a clue how things are going to work out. That’s the scary part and… at the same time.. the beautiful part.
This vacation was the first real out of the village traveling I’ve done. The first days where I’ve been exposed to the people of South Africa that don’t live in my village or in my shopping town. It was good. Reaffirmed that you can’t make assumptions or generalizations about people, everyone is coming from a different background, heading towards a different destination… everything is grey. I was exposed to different views of where this country has been and where it is heading. I was exposed to many a special comment about how people in The States are viewed.
I talked to a 20 year old Afrikaner who was well read when it came to world politics, and yes, had been on a koombi (which is what most black South Africans take… you don’t see many white people) before. I talked to a 50 something year old white man of British descent who had been arrested for speaking out against Apartheid. I talked to the 27 year old white guy, born and raised in Cape Town, who is teaching English in a Zululand school. I talked to our 18 year old hippo tour guide about his take on how South Africa is changing, how it’s different from when he was growing up. They all said they loved their country and didn’t want to live anywhere else. I talked to a guy from England who has spent the last 14 months traveling the world and said some of his favorite times in this country were in the villages. I had a girl on a dance floor ask me where I was from and then tell me that I sucked because I was from the U.S. I had several people say that they appreciated what we were doing here, that they understood we’re just trying to help. I had several people seem confused as to why we were here and say that our work was “messed up”. I was challenged a few times on why I was here, what decisions I had made to get me where I am today, and how I felt about all the work I was doing (or not doing). I don’t think anyone can truly get this experience unless they go through it themselves, but even then, it’s different for everyone. It’s hard to answer such questions… especially when they’re asked by people who wouldn’t choose to do this themselves and don’t really seem in support of me being here. Every answer I do seem to come up with, seem to give, seems so simple, basic, or trite in the grand scheme of things, BUT (there’s that word again).. it isn’t simple, basic, or trite, not at all. This is HUGE for me and I truly believe, just by me being here, other people are affected. My work here might not be on a grand scale… I know most of the time the changes I am helping to make are really very small, but I know there are changes. The other day in the office Synett and I talked for a long time about what I would like to do when I got back to America. Through that conversation, that 45 minutes, she learned that not every person in the States is rich, living in a big house (or a house period), driving a car, white, and on a first name basis with Oprah. In return she and I both made the connection (for the millionth time in our lives) that just because a lot of people all live in the same space of land, does not mean that they are exactly the same. (South Africa is a perfect example.. the country with 11 official languages).
Earlier, when I was feeling kind of frustrated with having to wash 3 weeks worth of clothes in two buckets, I met my neighbor Phenyo (feign-yo) Rapola, who is ten. She yelled over the fence hello and said she wanted to be my friend. I yelled back that I would love her as a friend and it’s nice to have friends who are neighbors as well. She waved and said she was going to write me a letter. 15 minutes later, while in my room addressing a letter to Amber, Kori knocked on my door and said Sebiso (Phenyo’s sister) was asking for me. I went to the fence and a letter, in an envelope and all, was passed over. I love letters (people know this) and I have to say this letter is one for the books.. or for my wall anyway. On a piece of notebook paper, in very good English, my new friend Phenyo had penned a note that included things like “I love you very very much. You are lucky because some of them when I say I want to be your friend, they say no that is why I say you are my best friend, Mmapula. I have four sisters and a brother. Do you enjoy South Africa? My favorite game is net ball. My favorite color is blue. Enjoy your day. God Bless you. Bye for now.” And stapled to such a sweet note was a photo of her, smiling so big, and holding a birthday cake. Just when I was letting things get to me a little too much…. South Africa sends me a new friend and gives me a new story.