yeah, so what if I am?

I get proposed to at least once every week, if not more frequently. In the beginning it wasn't so much annoying as it was awkward... but now... now we know that I do awkward well. Awkward very much describes my life here. Not awkward in an uncomfortable sense, awkward in the "keeps-you-on-your-toes-how-the-hell-did-I-find-myself-in-this-situation-again?-shrugging -seems-to-be-a-good-response-wow-this-is a new-perspective-on-things" sense. It's not the beginning anymore and the proposals still aren't so much annoying.. and they're not really awkward.... they just seem to blend in with everything else. When I get in the taxi and sit next to a man who says,"I want us to be friends" or "I love you" my brain pretty much interprets the interaction as common. I usually smile, say no thanks, say I'm not interested, and that's the end of it. I have had a few times where it wasn't the end, where the guy got a little pushy, I got a little mad, and it took awhile to shake the whole situation off. These proposals aren't coming from a love standpoint, the men (and, hey, one time a woman) usually have no idea who I am... and I don't know them, and once I walk away the conversation moves into my past just like a conversation I would have with someone about the price of tomatoes or how hot the sun is.
Today, after hoofing it everywhere and trying to finish up a few things before everything shuts down for the holidays, I stopped at the NGO down the road to talk about donation letters and what the plan is for the new year. It was hot and I plopped myself onto a chair right in front of the door for the breeze. It was there that I had a conversation with one of the guys who works there. It started off with the proposal, but then after a few minutes, it shifted and turned into a real conversation, an exchange. An exchange! You know where he asks me something and I respond and then vice versa? And it went on for half an hour or so. He asked how old I was, if I was married, and I responded with,"30 and no". He came at it from one common African perspective, wanting me to know that my child bearing years were dwindling, that there were plenty of good men out there, men who knew I would make a good wife, even if I didn't know how to make porridge. He asked if I had ever tried to figure out why I wasn't married, why I was 30 and without children and a husband, why I was waiting until the very last minute to settle such affairs in my life. And I responded. I responded honestly and in such a comfortable way I almost shocked myself.
I thought for sure when I joined Peace Corps that there would be a big group of people fresh out of college, a big group of retirees, and then me, in my late 20's, moving off to try something new, see something new, and maybe, in the process, help bring about some change. A lot of my friends were settled in relationships (married or long term), with steady jobs, buying houses, kids on the way, growing up. And I was moving away from all of that... some people interpreted it as escaping reality. When I think back now, I know I was excited, but I really had no clue as to what I was getting myself into. Maybe a grass hut, maybe carrying my water from the river, maybe sleeping outside when the heat became unbearable. Those were all things I sort of expected. As for personal change... I knew I wanted change, but had no idea how much change would really happen.
When I answered him today, I told him I was very much ok with my life at the moment. I was pretty sure I would find someone who would be a good match for me at some point. If I didn't have kids, I didn't have kids, some things happen that way, and there was always adoption, which I feel pretty strongly about. I don't think there's anything wrong with me and I'm pretty sure I'm doing exactly what I'm supposed to be doing because I know I'm a better person because of it.
When I was walking back to my room for lunch I kept thinking about our conversation... the big realization I took away from the interaction?
This is so hard, sometimes I wonder why the hell I'm doing it, everything can turn on a dime, and there is such an intensity with my extreme emotions that runs parallel to the intensity and extremes in this country...
BUT...
I love who I am becoming, I love feeling change and growth, and I thank South Africa with all its frustrations, insanity, bi-polarness, challenges, and things that I cry and shake my fists over, for its part in helping me find how to be comfortable with myself. I know I still have a ways to go, more things to learn, but I've come to see that that's life. If I can do this... if I can move somewhere so far from the reality I've always known... and make a life, finally fit somewhere that once felt so strange, have friends, and still love myself... hell, even like myself... after so much alone time.... I CAN DO ANYTHING!
Happy Holidays and Happy New Year! I'll see you in 2009! (Aw yeah, I mean that in the blogging sense and in the face to face sense!)
I have high hopes for the coming year.

With what little light coming through that window, we are like trees

I knew this was coming and have been mentally bracing?, distancing?, preserving?, myself for how things were going to unfold, but I gotta tell you things still sway me, still hit my core. I'm sitting here, half a asleep, a little stunned, and not emotional at all, staring at the light that comes through my little window. This week the original group of 90 something people (my group, 2007-2009), the NGO side having 43, is losing 2 more volunteers. Yeah, not much to say. Everything swirls around events that lead up to these decisions of leaving. Everything. There's no real measure of how tough you are or if a person like you can really hack it. There's no concrete idea of success or failure. It is what it all is. It's not so black and white, man, there are so many different shades of gray, and in so many ways I'm tired of pulling things apart to try and understand how all the results come out. I do know that I understand... on some level I can't even really put into words most of the time... why people leave. Why they stay. Why they're tired. Why they're angry. Why they wish to jump over the counter at the post office and hug the woman who didn't overcharge them. Why chocolate still seems to be soothing. Why tears still come. Why it's not about homesickness anymore. Why it's hard to gather words to describe something. Why "I understand" and "I know" have become phrases frequently used. Why lights at the end of the tunnel are where they focus their sights. Why, even after so much loss, when they hear someone is leaving or someone has been violated in some way, they feel the punch in the gut and then the feeling spreads through all the limbs. Why self preservation has become a goal. Why they know love is in all the chaos and they fight to find it. Oh, why they fight, fight, fight through the battle. Why they focus on the little things. Why they tell themselves that being productive and cranking out numbers is not the only reason they're here. Why they gotta do what they gotta do. Why they, even when they're so, so tired, still question why.

An update on MmaDiapo's baby

The chicken is agrowin'! Tonight while sitting on the porch and letting my room, otherwise known as the "easy bake oven", air out and cool off, MmaDiapo told me that as the chicken grows it becomes more and more bold. It stays out in the yard later into the evening, it doesn't follow her around so much, and it's growing too big for its box/bed. She mentioned she hadn't seen the cat in a while, but if she could catch it she would "make sure it becomes not available on this earth any longer". Uh, I think that's a threat.

That watermelon, oh so sweet

So, it's been kind of a busy week, there have been plans and things have been done, but I can't even begin to tell you where the time went. I know I spent a lot of it sitting or waiting or being quiet or reading or lying on my bed or in a car watching the world whiz past or shaking my head or trying to squash a 24 hour bug (on top of a cold) or praying for a break in the heat or ignoring my dirty dishes... and now here it is Wednesday. Funny.
Monday I spent, easily, 7 or 8 hours, trying to be as still as possible so I wouldn't puke my guts out... and without even knowing it was saving up energy for what Tuesday would bring. As Abby so eloquently put it, I always find myself in some pretty strange situations, situations I'm never really expecting. Huh. I guess that's what keeps life so interesting? Or maybe... I guess I'm glad I'm always up for an adventure and try to find the good in each experience?
So, Monday night, MmaDiapo came and asked if I could travel with her and her friend from the church and burial society to Giyani, a town a couple hours away, so they could take care of some paperwork at SARS (South African Revenue Service). I shrugged and said I wouldn't mind at all... she had already gone by my office to check with all my coworkers... and I envisioned my last trip to Giyani, a good 10 months ago, when I was crammed in the middle of the backseat of a Toyota Corolla, a rotisserie chicken on my lap, a loaf of white bread between my knees (South African style catering what what!), chowing down with some people from my office after taking some reports in to the Department. This trip was sure to be an adventure. Ok, well, sort of. Tuesday morning I was up at 5. I had my tea and Jungle Oats and met MmaDiapo outside the gate around 5:45 so we could go pick up her friend. By 6:15 we were heading out of the village. By 7:15 we were rollin' through Tzaneen. And by 9 we were parking the car in a spot near the SARS main building, IN POLOKWANE. Polokwane is the provincial capital. It's huge. It's home to Savannah Mall where there's a McDonald's, a movie theater, a restaurant by the name of Cock'n Bull where one time the owner bought the table I was sitting at a round of drinks... because we were from America... and has a huge taxi rank by the Pick 'n Pay mall that is so confusing; every time I've asked for the taxi to Tzaneen, I've gotten a little wave in a general direction and the reply,"It's that white one" (when we're standing in the middle of a sea of white koombis). I'll be honest, I don't like Polokwane much. I was almost mugged there. I know other volunteers who have had sketchy incidents... it's not somewhere I really need to go. So when we parked I was just trying to wrap my head around the fact that we were there. The rest of the story is hours and hours of waiting, walking around in different shops in the area, but being a little too overwhelmed and nervous, writing a couple of letters, talking to the SARS security guard about how sorry I was that I had eaten my whole granola bar in front of him and had no idea food wasn't allowed in the building, and then sitting on the front steps with MmaDiapo's friend (she never told me her name)in the shade because, yes, we had been there long enough for the sun to shift. I think everything was finished around 3. At 4 we were in an industrial part of town (which made me a little nervous.. but maybe that's just cause I really stuck out) hunting down fabric for traditional dresses. By 4:30 we were back on the road.... tearing through raisin buns from ShopRite, downing drinking yogurt (strawberry flavored and really good!) from a roadside stand, and seeking out a good watermelon to bring home to Metz. We rolled into Tzaneen and made a detour to Maringe's house (MmaDiapo's daughter), which was seriously a mansion... dining room seating 8, flat screen TV, sound system, a toaster and sandwich maker (what?!) and leather couches. More than anything, though, I was impressed with the trampoline. We made our way back home eventually. It was 7:30 or so... and it was so nice to be home and have quiet. I had been craving quite all day. I have become village.
Today is December 3rd. It was 107 degrees in my room at 2 this afternoon. It's my Grandpa's birthday. It also marks a year and two days since I moved to my little room, behind MmaDiapo's house, on the road full of Phokungwanes, and started to become a member of the Phokungwane family. A year ago a papaya was brought to my door and shared with Kori and Khutso. This year I celebrated with a big chunk of watermelon bought from a roadside stand while I was on a mini road trip with my African mother. Little room with the green door, you've come a long way. And, hey, MmaPula, so have you. Grandpa would be proud... and totally would have wanted some of that watermelon.