The Gupta Hits The Metz

June is here! Yay! We got into the village last night and have had a good time watching my family prepare for the party, make traditional beer, laugh at me when I accidentally wore the "uniform" skirt that MmaDiapo made me for Saturday because I didn't understand it was for Saturday, hung world maps at drop-ins, met and hung out with Rejoice's family, went to the post office, ate peanut butter sandwiches, made a visit to the hospital to visit MmaKori, saw the dentist office where my African aunt, Linda, works as a dental assistant, visited Lafata and picked out beaded awesomeness, AND ate my favorite drop in center meal, samp and sugar beans. June is great.. so interested in everything and really grasping the language.

Pen Paling

My pen pal and friend, Matt, just sent me this essay he wrote for one of his writing classes at school and I thought I would share. It seems I'm on trip down memory lane... July's in the past have held some pretty big events in my life... camps, finishing up AmeriCorps NCCC in Denver, flying to South Africa for Peace Corps... In 2005, it was the month when I met some of my pen pals.. people that have since become good friends of mine. Some people may think the whole situation as crazy, but when you put yourself out there, sometimes you get the sweetest of rewards. The short story? Dominique and I were unemployed and passing our days at a local coffeeshop, playing Yahtzee, making friends, and having fun. I posted postings on the Craigslist sites for Seattle, Vancouver, Portland, Madison, Chicago, Boston, Philly, Minneapolis,accidentally Austin, and Columbus. I had something like 80 email responses, I ended up getting letters (at a PO Box) from 30 different people, and now I keep in touch with a handful of people. I got letters from Michael who went on a little touring of the west and he used writing to me as a kind of journal. I went on a 6 week long roadtrip with Jeremy from Austin to Portland, where he now lives (he was originally from Philly). Dave from Vancouver has a typie and a love of trains so I know we're friends forever. Becky and I have written of the ups and downs and exchanged all kinds of good music. I met Dave from Austin for Korean food and coffee and vinyl record browsing and he was a serious calm for me right before I left. I met Michael of Austin right before I left and gave him my favorite Springsteen album (Nebraska) to help with the building of his vinyl collection. And Matt... good ol Matt. He moved across the country from Philly when I moved to South Africa. We started our adventures around the same time. He sends me pictures he's taken and writes me from the tops of hills overlooking the waters of the west coast. This all proves that it is truly possible to have friends you've never met. And they're good friends. Happy 4 years of pen paling you guys!
And here is Matt's essay....

Saying It Slowly
by Matthew

For the most part, getting in touch with close friends, to say how I am, to report my life, voice anxieties, seek advice, all of those things which one seeks friends for; I can, like most people, usually rely on a text message, an email, Facebook, or a cell phone call that more often then not will find the person that I am looking for no matter where they are. This process is so fast that it becomes impulsive. I feel a rush of loneliness and a few alphanumerical clicks reaches out with “what u up 2?” Whether I get a reply or not (and more often then not I do) I can relax and be at ease, confident that my presence in the world is known and appreciated. What I have to say is irrelevant, as long as I am heard. It seems that with the speed of instant communication, that which needs to be to be communicated speeds up as well. My worries and anxieties, rather than needing to be processed, are cast into the world for someone else’s ingestion and interpretation. I need feedback before I can process. Momentary things become news. Or rather, my life becomes momentary. What’s happening in this moment is all that there is. Even though I will forget tomorrow what is happening right now, now is when I need support.
It is because of this dynamic that makes pen-pal-ship a beautiful thing. With a pen pal, life is not so immediate. While techno-enthusiasts might scoff at the idea of correspondence through “snail mail” as old fashioned as platform shoes, there is something about the slowness of this process that can’t be found in an email or instant message. When I write my pen pal (Megan, of Austin TX, now serving in Peace Corps, South Africa) I know that the immediate, day-to-day things that are on my mind will be simply a memory by the time my letter reaches to her, and more than likely will be totally forgotten by the time I receive a response. What happens here is that the slowness adds depth. I have to step out of my life in order to report a bigger picture, because I need to sum up my life, not in the moment, but in the week, the month, the season. Slowness commands attention. The feeling of a pen in the hand, and the way that it applies ink to the page engages in the process of communicating in a way that an instant message can’t compete with. For a different tactile experience, I can get out my manual Smith-Corona, and my thoughts roll out with a gentle ‘’pat-pat-pat-pat’’. Thoughts take different form when they reach the page through the smell of keys pressing ink and the ding of the bell.
Although I’m usually not so creative, Megan often chooses interesting stationary, colored envelopes, and various flat things to fill envelopes, photographs, feathers from the hens that live in the yard of her South African home. The experience is tactile. There is an envelope to tear open and contents to explore. The time and space given to this process is removed from the clutter of a PC desktop and a bursting email in box. There is simply ink and paper. It is this slowness and lack of distraction that allows for the collection of myself, which finds its way onto paper and is shipped half way around the globe.
Letter writing is not the only method of communication which once required more removal from life in years past than in present day. In days long past, telephones were often located in front hallways of homes, creating the sense that to answer it is to invite someone into your home just the same as you would the door. One steps out of his routine to do this. We have come a long way to our current situation, where to be cut off mid-sentence for someone to answer a cell phone is so common that it is barely considered rude. Is it not a shocking adjustment that phones are now a thing of a person, and not a thing of a household? A number belongs to a person and not a place. What of the anonymity that caller ID has done away with? If you don’t answer, am I to understand that you don’t wish to talk to me? On the other side, am I entitled to be unavailable to be reached? Perhaps returning home to find mail in the mailbox and messages on the machine is a better time to process correspondence than to be in a constant state of knowing who is getting in touch.
Today, making plans with friends involves phrases like “I’ll call you when I’m on my way” or “call me and let me know where you are and we can meet up.” How much more confident were friendships of days past, when time and place had to be predetermined, with no opportunity for adjustment along the way? What of meeting a new romantic interest, and committing their digits to memory? Now the numbers associated with those who are most important are entrusted into an electronic catalogue in a device manufactured to be given away free with a contract.
In a world where the speed of communication is constantly being applauded for making life easier, we must remember that with a change in technology comes a change in the communication itself. Content and vehicle are forever intertwined. While the speed of interconnectedness of our time can be a wonderful thing, remembering the richness of slow and inconvenient communication reveals a depth unable to be imitated.

Welcome SA-20!

I'm in SA-16... and SA-20 is arriving on a plane in a couple of hours... so that makes me... OLD. Thinking back to almost 30 hours of traveling 2 years ago and it's hard to tell you how I was feeling. I remember the bus to JFK from Philly... and 4 1/2 hours in line to check my bags... and sitting next to Justin and Nathan, watching them act out the safety videos on our way to Frankfort.. and I ate a lot of chocolate... and I went to the casino with Claire in the Frankfurt airport and won 60USD... and I slept like a rock in the dayroom at the Frankfort Airport Hotel... and I thoroughly embarrassed myself by playing the age game with 3 sisters on my flight to Jo'Burg (and that happened within the first 10 minutes... we still had 9 hours and 50 minutes together)... and buying the last Harry Potter book in the airport)it had just come out and it was my first purchase in country!)... and the bus ride to Mankwe Teacher's College where I ate ostrich jerky and slept, slept, slept. I wasn't particualrly nervous or sad or scared, it was surreal and I was so out of it thanks to exhaustion. Under the exhaustion, though, I was pretty excited. South Africa, huh? And I'm going to live here for a little over two years?
Yep. I lived here for two years.

Going To Get Water

MmaDiapo is pretty set up when it comes to access to water around here. She is lucky. I am lucky. This is not the case for everyone. She has the big rain water tank that fills during rainy season (and the water tastes so good) and she has a tap in her yard that works on occasion. There is never any warning about when the tap may be working and there certainly isn't a schedule we can rely on, but when that water is acomin' the hosepipe is hooked up and all the barrels in the yard are filled. And then family members come over and fill up their buckets, too.

The tap hasn't been turned on in awhile so we've been relying on rainwater for the past month or so. Maite and Margaret headed to the communal tap the other morning to get some water for a couple of days. This is how they do it... wheelbarrows and big jugs filled to capacity. After this load they took a rest and had a teatime. Good thing I made scones the night before! I gave them a treat to have with their Five Roses.

Selahle

Flashback: February 2008. I'm standing in the paint aisle at CashBuild in Tzaneen... trying to decide if I should get the blue paint in a can or buy the white paint and get some blue color to add to it. It all came down to what was cheaper. My walls were leaking in my room and I needed something to seal the concrete... thought I might have it be a pretty color as well. A man and his wife were all the sudden next to me, speaking in Sotho, asking if I needed help. We ran through all the language I knew and then they switched to English. They said I still needed some practice, but I had done pretty well. They asked how I was getting all the paint home and I shrugged and told them all about the taxi to Metz. It soon came out that they lived in Metz... in the big house, right across the ravine, with the two water tanks, on the way to the post office. The husband said he knew where I lived before I could even tell them.... they were friends with MmaDiapo. He would come see me some time to prove that he was telling the truth. Then we parted ways... and it was one of those days where that whole conversation and their help with the paint made the day just a little bit easier. I hauled three huge paint cans through town and then onto the taxi. I was ready to get my room in some sort of homely shape. I got home that afternoon and started the prep work. Right before the sun went down, MmaDiapo was at the door saying that we had a visitor. Selahle (say-la-clay) was standing in the yard laughing. He really did know where I stayed. We all had a good laugh and I walked back into my room happy to have some new friends. From that day on, I would wave at them when I saw them in their yard on my way to the post office. I'd talk (only in Sotho, they wanted me to practice) to his wife when she was catering a lunch for a meeting at Kodumela. We saw each other off and on.... and pretty soon a year and some months goes by.
This morning I greeted MmaDiapo, shook hands with all the kids in the yard, and turned to head to work. Before I was at the gate, MmaDiapo yelled after me that she had some news. "Your friend Selahle has passed." "What? When?" "Last night, late. He had taken a rope to his farm, right next to mine, and hanged himself. It is sad, clearly I had no knowledge of what he must have been feeling or thinking." And that is it, he has passed. I hope he knew how much I appreciated him talking to me, feeling at ease with me. I hope he knew how much I liked his family. I think he did.

This Side Of Paradise

You think these dudes only crow at the first sign of light? Not so much. I am here to tell you that my experience with the roosters in Metz Village has taught me that some roosters, I won't go so far as to say all, will crow any time. 4pm? Yep. 2am? You betcha. 3am? Uh huh. They sure do have some pretty feathers though, huh? I'll have to remember that the next time one is RIGHT OUTSIDE MY WINDOW CROWING HIS HEAD OFF.

Party Prep

Oh, the party. OUT OF CONTROL. For the last week, every morning when I have emerged from my room to head to work, I've been greeted with all the women in my family and Emma, a woman MmaDiapo has hired to help her, working on the yard, preparing for the party. They've got all the kernels off the mealies that have been drying filling big buckets and awaiting departure to the grinding machine... they'll all become meal for the porridge that's going to be cooked.
And they've been working on putting down traditional cement.
Here's Margaret finishing up the final touches on the first layer, which is made of dirt and water.... mixed in a wheelbarrow and then applied by hand.
In this picture you can see the first layer (closest to you) and the final layer(farther away). For the final layer, cow manure and water are mixed together and applied to the mud and water layer. Usually some sort of pattern is made with the application. For MmaDiapo's yard, they've been making the "com-com" pattern... the way they move their hands, in a fan like fashion, looks like they're saying "come, come."
Pretty cool, huh?

Wood Fires

This week, Rejoice and I spent a good chunk of time in the work bakkie driving back and forth between Kodumela, the drop in centers, and Ofcolaco (a small area with a dairy, butchery, store, post office, hardware store, petrol station and fruit and vegetable sellers who sell bags of big avos for 7 rand! There's also the Ofcolaco Club just down the road that serves drinks and burgers... all these things are left over from back in the day when there was an officers club for military in the area). Turns out the guy who's been providing us with wood for the drop in centers' cooking fires has been arrested.
All the drop in centers have cooking shelters where they use the traditional three legged pots (huge) to cook the porridge and beans/chicken/vegetables for the kids. The wood he was selling us at around 340 rand (about 50 US bucks with the current exchange rate) a month was from the bush and it's illegal to cut wood from the bush.
So we used a little bit of money Rejoice had left over from some funding to purchase gas cooking stoves for all the centers.... and went around picking up the gas from Ofcolaco, dropping it at the centers, and Cedric gave demonstrations on how to properly connect the gas line to the canister. Turns out the gas canister only costs a few rand more a month to buy.
And... while we were at the drop in center in Makgaung Village I made a cultural faux pas. I was so fascinated by the fact that the ZCC (Zion Christian Church) has its own coffee (although not really surprised) that I picked up this box and started reading the side. Ledile mentioned something to me about holding the box, I didn't understand, and before I could clarify, she was already out of the room. Seconds later Rejoice, giggling, told me that the church didn't allow women to handle the coffee... it may have been blessed and me holding it was canceling out any powers it may have. I quickly put it down and looked up to say "sorry, sorry, sorry" to the cookers... all of them had looks of horror on their faces. Oops. When will I learn? At least I know not to do that again!

Two Years

Today is the official two year mark since I was in Austin, TX. Hard to believe, eh?

MmaMashego 10 October 1969- 15 July 2009

I think other PCV's will agree with me when I say that the loneliness they've felt here, in this experience, is nothing like loneliness they've ever felt before.
Yesterday, early in the morning, my coworker Esther, from my first office in Metz, passed away.
As I was heating up water for tea last night at a little after 6, I got an SMS from Rejoice letting me know the news. Rejoice said she wanted to write me earlier, but she wasn't sure how to do it, didn't know how to break it to me gently. So last night, I spent a couple of hours numb. I had no reaction. I was shocked, but as far as tears or sadness, it hadn't hit me. Around 8 or so I lost it. I felt really alone and I cried for only a few minutes, and every time I closed my eyes all I could see was her. I had no interest in doing much of anything, so I spent hours lying on my bed. Fast forward through a phone call home, some more crying, and a few hours of staring at my roof, and you'll get to 2:30 am when I finally fell asleep. You see, I spent a long time thinking about my past with Esther, how things were left when I walked out of that office in March, and things are just really complicated.
I walked into Kodumela this morning and walked into hugs. Maite and Rejoice hugged me repeatedly, told me they loved me, and asked if I was OK. All day long people asked how I was doing, if I was OK. I talked to Ledile for a long time in her office... told her I was trying not to cry, and she responded with, "Oh Mmapula, we are all trying not to cry"....and then we cried.
I think now I'm going to go work on my color (Maite said it was a little off)... I'm going to get in bed, eat some supper, and call it a day. Before I close my eyes, I'm sending good thoughts to Esther's children (an 18 yr. old, 14 yr. old, 9 yr. old, and 2 yr. old) and her husband... and will remember that day when we had so much fun at her house, where we watched The Young and The Restless and drank cold drink from the tuck shop.

SA-16 CHOP

I was in the taxi yesterday morning... one of those rides where I was okay sitting still and watching the mountains roll past for the 45 minute trip to town. The driver had put on an IPCC CD and Rejoice was translating the Sotho for me. After a while, everyone settled into their seats, and there was silence, only the music was playing, at a normal volume, through the speakers. I got lost in thought. There are times like this where I love to follow where my mind takes me.... I jump around... I have revelations... I can pass the taxi ride coming up with new ideas. It was on this taxi ride that it hit me so clearly how important the SA-16 CHOP group is. We are tight and very, very close. A couple of weekends ago we had our last get together before everyone starts going their separate ways... and it was great. A full 36 hours of hanging out, talking, staying up late, drinking coffee, hugs, laughing, good food, story telling, and a general feeling of comfort. As I was thinking back on all the conversations we had that weekend, some things became even more crystal clear. We are strong. We all came to South Africa with our own insecurities, confidences, and baggage. We all were knocked down on more than one occasion. Most everyone has a story of hitting bottom and getting back on their feet. At the end of two years, many of us can't really put this whole experience into words. "What a wild ride!" covers it.. but not really. It's a pretty amazing feeling to be part of a group of amazingly strong individuals.. people who I know have my back...that will always get my experience here. I may not have words, I may not know how to explain it all, but they'll always be around to say, "I totally get it, I understand....remember that time when..." Thank you SA-16 CHOP for walking with me on this journey. You know I have your back. I wish I could say more, describe it all so eloquently, but, hey, you guys totally get it...

Initiation School

The boys are always followed by a couple of guys who are around to lead and protect them... I'm still unsure if these are the guys with them in the mountains.

Last Monday when I left home to walk to work, I had to make my way through, easily, a couple hundred people. I have to say, I always get a little nervous when I have to walk through a crowd in the village... one person notices I'm walking through and inevitably attention from everyone near me turns ONTO me. Some days I can handle it, Mondays not so much. Last Monday was different though... no one seemed to care if I was there or not. Yay! I made it to the little stand Salome (MmaDiapo's younger sister) sits at everyday and asked her what was going on. She pointed across the tar road and it was then that I caught sight of all the boys, in their traditional grass skirts and masks, who had come down from the initiation school they are attending in the mountains. So for the last week, while on my way to town with the office or standing on the side of the road waiting for a taxi or walking home or sitting at Ledile's desk...when I've seen a ton of people all walking in the same direction, I know one of the boys isn't too far away. Initiation schools and what goes on in them remains a mystery to me... I've asked a lot of questions to a lot of different people and have come up with very little... it's pretty secretive. This is what I've come up with:
*The schools last around 30 days (some are 3 weeks, some are 7 weeks, some are a month) and are the time when a boy becomes a man... when he finds his place in tribal society.
*Families pay the chief of the village to have their son attend the school.
*Boys are to stay in the bush on their own with no contact with family or friends. They can be brought food by family members, but only men are allowed.
*Some believe that the boys should attend two years in a row... the first year to become
circumcised, the second year to learn more about being a man.
*The school starts with the circumcision that is done by a traditional healer or a sangoma.
*In my area, initiation school is very expensive and some families feel it is more important to
pay to have their son attend initiation school, than to pay school fees for him to attend public
school.
*Some families believe that in order for their son to learn to be a man, he must attend an
initiation school, some believe that if their son attends such a school he will return an evil
person. If a boy does attend an initiation school and comes back to the village returning to his old ways, hanging out with the same crowd, participating in mischief, he is deemed a failure and sometimes is shunned.
*The boys aren't allowed to speak to anyone, they communicate with each other by whistling.
People follow after the boys and it becomes, more or less, a game. They chase the boys, the boys protect themselves by whipping a stick in their direction. On Monday, our taxi was slowed down because there were so many people on one of the dirt roads in Metz.
The boys have come down from the mountains to have people in the village see them and also to ask for offerings. Money, bread, cold drink... you name it. I offered these two boys some coins and in return they let me take photos. (I'm such a tourist and a blogger!)They phaphata-ed (kneeled and clapped, a sign of respect at the offering) and picked up the money. Check out all the bird feathers on their headdresses! Some of them get even more elaborate.
They then danced for me, moving their grass skirts wildly and to the delight of all the people who had gathered around us. Some girls in their audience sang and clapped while they swished.
At the end of the 30 days, the boys are returned to their families and there is a celebration. Some families slaughter a goat or cow and homemade beer is made. In some cases, a boy is presented with a girl to prove he is a man... and to make sure everything still "works". In recent years, a myth began circulating that in order to prove their manhood, boys recently released from the school must have sex with a female who is not their partner.... sometimes new partners who are considered of "lesser value" in the community. Initiation schools have become another controversial point in the whole traditional vs modern situation many South Africans find themselves in. Some believe that initiation schools, dating back thousands of years, are essential, and others believe that they are helping with the spread of HIV and sex with multiple partners, some partners who are very much unwilling. Sex with multiple partners and the use of a condom strongly discouraged, with these new beliefs emerging, the numbers of rapes and HIV infection are rising. The Department of Health has come up with some new guidelines and trainings for traditional healers, sangomas, and other leaders for the schools. The guidelines hope to reduce the numbers of rapes and rate of HIV infection by helping encourage the teachings of not only lifeskills, leadership skills and the responsibilities of being a man, but also human rights and information on HIV and other Sexually Transmitted Infections.
When I talked to Cedric, from Kodumela, about his experience with an initiation school, he said that a lot of things have changed since he did it. He believes that when he did it there was more of a focus on teaching boys morals and survivals skills. When they went out into the bush for his school, they had no contact with people from home, and lived off the land. Now, when he sees all these boys coming into the village multiple times a week and having such contact with villagers... he can't help but think that they're learning how to beg and depend on other people for their livelihood when they're asking for offerings.

That's Our Girl

I've known this little girl her whole life. Sunday morning, at church, Lethabo took her first steps and then the whole afternoon, with all of us watching, she took more and more steps. It's like she's hitting major milestones all at once. She just turned 1 a couple of weeks ago, she's talking in a language that hopefully one day we'll all be able to understand, she calls me Mma (we're working on the Pula part), and she's walking. I took this photo just as she was starting to cry... along with growing up and doing all of these grown up things, she's also now afraid of the camera. Eish! Since I was in Pretoria on her first birthday I bought Maite a disposable camera to take photos with. She said she was curious as to how the pictures were going to turn out considering Lethabo cried every time the camera was brought out.

MMEB (Megan, Mary, Ed, Bronwyn) Hit Up South Africa

I am so lucky. I know I say that and think it multiple times a day... but yesterday when I was sitting at Ledile's big fancy desk at Kodumela and Maite was asking me questions about my family and home in the States... I had to say it again. Over and over. I showed her some pictures from when my parents came to visit. And then some of when Bronnie, Mary, and Ed came for a couple of weeks. And then we discussed plans for my cousin June's visit (!!!!!!!!!!) to Metz in just a couple of weeks. I can't even begin to put into words how great it's been to have people visit me here. It's been HUGE. Not only have I gotten an opportunity to show them where I've been living and what my life is like here, but they get it all just a little bit more. When I talk to my parents on the phone they always ask about the family. How is MmaDiapo? What has she brought home from the farm? Wow, Karabo, Charlie, and Lethabo have all gotten so big! Has Daniel finished the new house? Tell Maite, Mabu, Daniel, MmaDiapo and all the family hello for us. We're all family and it's really nice.
When Bron, Ed, and my cousin Mary all came to visit it was a nice break. January and February of this year were especially tough months and it was nice to see familiar faces, have people to talk to about some of my struggles.
We spent two weeks tooling around South Africa and Swaziland in a VW Polo. Yes. I met everyone at the airport the day before New Year's Eve and we managed to pack 5 people (Keri was on the same flight back from a visit to the States...she spent the first few days with us!) and all kinds of luggage from America into a VW Polo. I say impressive. Thank you to Ed for his fine navigation skills. Thank you Mary and Bron for being cheerful and flexible travelers while riding in the backseat completely surrounded by STUFF.

While in Jo'Burg we all took Mncedisi out for his birthday. He was Chris and Keri's Zulu teacher in training.
Their first morning we were all awake at 5. We showered, dressed, and went to the only place open early for breakfast... McDonald's. Yes. Then we (I mean Ed and his map skills) made our way through Jo'Burg and spent a lovely afternoon, the last in 2008, at Gold Reef City the big amusement park that helps fund the Apartheid Museum. Keri and I screamed like little girls on all the kid roller coasters and I made sure everyone knew that I was a little more than not happy about being on one of those flying swings.
For New Year's Eve, we spent the evening ringing in the New Year eating cornflakes and drinking champagne and dancing around with Afrikaners to music in Afrikaans. How African, right?
We went everywhere in a short amount of time... St. Lucia to see the hippos and crocodiles in the wild. While on a hippo tour Bron and Ed were fascinated by the hippos coming up to the side of the boat. Mary and I were fascinated by all of our fellow boat passengers. It was only fitting. We tried to go on a turtle tour one night to catch a glimpse of endangered Leatherbacks laying their eggs on the beaches of the Indian Ocean... but had to turn back when a huge electrical storm dumped tons of rain on our group. We were all in awe of Gary our guide, who totally needs his own show on Animal Planet, and the way the lightning was striking out over the ocean while we attempted to make it down the beach a little ways. Dark, dark night lit up by strikes of lightning across the sky. Incredible. We huddled under the roof of a souvenir shop, drank tea, ate muffins, and watched Gary tell us stories of his travels and touring past. One day Bron and Ed went snorkeling off the coast and Mary and I found a rooftop deck and drank Pina Coladas. Ah, vacation.
Then we spent a couple of days in Swaziland. Actually drove through the whole country from South to North. We stayed in a pretty cool backpackers (where we met a research team from Texas A&M) in the valley very close to where the King and the Royal Family live. One day we tried driving to their compound, but quickly turned around when we saw the big gate and guards with guns.
We drove through a wildlife reserve and checked out all the animals... even watched a crocodile dine on a zebra floating in a pond. We dropped Ed off for a hike through the reserve, went to scope out some traditional arts and crafts, and then picked him up so we could head to dinner at a restaurant that served traditional Swazi food. (the owner and chef bought all of the food from local women, kept everything organic, and was really, really cool).
And I dragged the girls to a traditional Swazi village where they danced (the Swazis AND Bronnie and Mary!) and we were taught the intricacies of traditional Swazi Village life.
We, of course, went to Kruger and scoped out all the animals there. We didn't catch sight of all the Big 5, but saw two male elephants battling it out.
And we went to Metz. Right smack in the heat of the summer. Troopers my visitors were... troopers I say. Every night we would go to bed covered in sweat and in the morning we would wake up covered in even more.
Everyone brought gifts for MmaDiapo so they all posed with her in her flowers in the front yard.
We even spent a day at the Lafata bead project... buying souvenirs for people at home. My favorite purchase is the one Ed made. A cone shape, covered in black cloth with some beads sewn, and black yarn spilling out the top. He eyed it and asked what it was. "It's decoration." And so he bought it.. and man, I couldn't get over such a find.
We escaped the village a day early because it was just too hot and made it to cooler climates... tried to catch sight of Blyde River Canyon, saw the potholes, haggled for souvenirs, saw a movie, ate Roman's pizza, and then spent some quality time drinking tea and eating muffins before everyone got on their flight home. It was sad to see them go, but it was also reassuring to know I would see them later on in the year! We wouldn't have to wait so long between visits this time.
To Bron, Ed, and Mary... I love that you're my family AND my friends. You rock.

Monitoring and Evaluating

This week Ledile (Program Manager for Kodumela ADP) got an email from the WorldVision National Office requesting that Rejoice do some interviews with people from a drop in center (for orphans) and a creche (a daycare) supported by Kodumela, so information about their services could be gathered. It was decided that the managers, staff members, and a couple of the children on each center's register would be interviewed and we would take some photos to document everything. It was pretty impressive to see. After working so long with an organization that wasn't really in a place to monitor and evaluate any of their programs due to lack of funds and lack of programs... it's interesting to see the opposite end of the spectrum. Kodumela is, in my opinion, a very high functioning NGO. They receive funding from a variety of different sources... the NDA (National Development Agency), WorldVision, PEPFAR (The United States Presidents' Emergency Plan for AIDS Relief), and The Department of Health and Social Development (Limpopo Province). Sally's Place in Makgaung Village and The Lafata Project in Madeira are two huge successes (and two of many successes for the program)....the idea is for Kodumela to continue to help with capacity building, to help them become more sustainable... and then, eventually, they will be able to stand on their own and Kodumela can focus on other drop in centers and schools in the area.
Rejoice interviewing a young mother who brings her little girl to the creche everyday.
Some of the kids who come to Sally's Place standing with their teachers. Sally's Place is a beautiful building that was built with funds from a family in the UK, the parents wanted to build something in memory of their daughter, Sally. Their generosity has, clearly, helped and affected many children and the community as a whole.
And here is the Lafata Project. One of my favorite places in all the local villages. Home to the famous bead project, a greenery, a chicken and egg farm, and a drop in center... all in one.
Rejoice interviewed Radikgong (Johannes) and Linah, the Project Manager (and amazing woman all around).

The Wimp

September 2007. Lerato Onkwe (Keri Dodge), Kealeboga Pule (Chris), and Reamogetse Sebogo (Me) at the Wimpy in Zeerust, NorthWest Province. Lerato got coffee, coffee, coffee. Chris got a burger and iced tea (neither of which tasted like stuff in the States), and I had a cheese, tomato, and egg toasted sandwich.
Wimpy is a fast food chain in South Africa that is EVERYWHERE. The coffee isn't bad, they have pretty okay milkshakes, they offer waffles with different flavored syrups (toffee and chocolate) and ice cream for breakfast, I've heard their burgers are pretty awful, and, for some reason, I've been there a bagillion times. There was the Wimpy in Zeerust, our shopping town while we were living in Gopane, our training village. We went there a few times for breakfast when we were trying to readjust to some modern conveniences we could find here after being in the village for a little while. There's the Wimpy in Tzaneen that I went to with Wanda right after we moved to our villages. We wanted a place to sit and calm our nerves after trying to buy things for our new living spaces and struggling with being on our own at our sites after 2 months of constantly being around other volunteers. We ended up next to the ball pen and jungle gym area for the kids in the non-smoking section. It was not calming. There's the time I was in the Riverside Mall in Nelspruit with Keri and because every restaurant was packed, we settled on Wimpy even though we knew we just might regret it. And every time someone has come to visit, I take them to Wimpy because it is a place a lot of South Africans seem to love. When my parents were here we went back to the one in Zeerust after we spent the day in Gopane. It still wasn't very good. I took my sister, my future brother-in-law, and my cousin, to the one in St. Lucia. When I'm in Pretoria and on my way to the Peace Corps' office, I get a takeaway cup of coffee for the walk or taxi ride. When Abby and I were on holiday, staying in a hut without amenities, we welcomed ourselves back into South Africa with a trip to Wimpy for breakfast. I seem to find myself in a Wimpy quite a lot more than I ever thought I would.
A couple of weeks ago, Jenny and I sat in a back booth in the Tzaneen Wimpy and drank coffee. A Wimpy Mega Coffee for me and a Cafe Mocha for her. I've been on the hunt for a Mega Coffee cup for a while now... and finally was able to purchase one. As the manager who sold it to me said, "You just want to remember all those times you had a good cup of the best coffee in South Africa. You want to take this back so you can remember all your fun times at Wimpy restaurants." Um, yes, yes... you are right. I think that just about covers it.

Coping Mechanisms Two

I feel relief after typing out all those last asterisks. Relief and then in some ways, a little guilt. I want people to know the realities of here...but at the same time, I don't want people to focus on only the bad. There is good battling evil, trying to outweigh evil... there is... and some days I really have to remind myself of that. I need to look at a little kid who doesn't seem scared of me. I need to hug Charlie and Karabo, give them kisses on the cheek. I need to look up at the stars and the mountains when the sun has finally set. I need to read letters and emails from people I love and who love me. I need to have a group hug with the ladies at the bead project. I need to sit with MmaDiapo and have her tell me about the farm and how hard she worked that day. I need to have tea and Milo with Rejoice and Maite in the morning. I need to talk to Ledile, someone who totally gets it, and know that we're in this together. I need to send SMSes and buy airtime to talk to my fellow PCV's who also totally get it.

Those Coping Mechanisms

I was once numb. I once thought I was desensitized to certain things I see in Metz, in South Africa. Now, I'm thinking I had to let those coping mechanisms kick in so I could protect myself when faced with all the little things that seem to present themselves in my everyday life.
Things I will never forget, that have affected me, but I didn't have quite the emotional reaction to them as I would have expected:
*Car accident on the way to Tzaneen. There's a body on the road, the face and torso are covered, the feet are sticking out from under a wrap of traditional fabric. Our taxi stopped and waited for traffic to clear. My eyes were fixed on the feet.
*Visiting a home based care patient. He's sleeping in the living room of his mother's house. He has a sponge (big piece of foam) as his mattress and a couple of thin blankets to cover his thin body. He is HIV positive, he has TB. I hold his hand.
*Another car accident. I'm in a taxi, as we pass the scene is a blur, I see feet sticking out from beneath a teal cloth.
*Kids at a church daycare. 20 of them, in the middle of winter, running around in a small, bare room, waiting for teatime. The daycare is waiting for funding for food... then maybe they can think about getting some toys.
*gates, gates, gates. locks, locks, locks. bars, bars, bars.
*The post office robbery. The next day a man tried breaking into a general dealer (store) and was shot and killed by the overnight security guard. This week a taxi driver carrying women to deposit money from their society in the bank, is shot and wounded... the cash is taken.
*Serious assaults, violations, thefts, beatings, rapes all experienced by other volunteers, my friends, in the group I came in.
*Homes made of tin, board, cardboard, and tarps.
*Sitting in a dark movie theater when all the sudden the exit door is opened and some jokesters yell something in Afrikaans and run off. My heart is beating 10 million times a minute, I was sure they were coming to rob us, and the rest of the movie is shot because I can't concentrate.
*Working with and for so many good people. People I've come to rely on and who have come to rely on me. Seeing their faces and their hearts affected by all that I've seen as well....and more.
*Another accident, 3 bodies this time. Our car has to pass into the other lane to get around. Feet are sticking out, feet just feet from my window. We all comment on how horrible it is, how horrific, but after that I am silent. I am ready to talk about something else.
*Walking to the backpackers in Pretoria after seeing a late movie. Nathan urges us as a group to move to the other side of the road because he has just noticed a guy that looks suspicious. I had no clue.
*Wheelbarrows used to carry water back to the house from the community tap.
*People standing up in the back of a bakkie, so many wedged in they don't move much when it hits bumps. Wind is in their hair.
*Woman standing outside of Pick 'n Pay in Tzaneen. I'm eating an ice cream cone and the cream starts to melt and run down my hand as I watch her, unable to tear my eyes away, beat her son in front of at least 30 people. Punching him in the head. Shaking him. He cries, but silently, and every time a tear starts to roll down his cheek, he wipes it away quickly.
*Walking to work I come across several policeman. They're standing around with BIG guns. We greet each other and talk about the morning. They tell me they are patrolling the area more. They want to catch a so called gang that has taken to robbing people at random. Guns make me uncomfortable. Those big guns don't have me batting an eye.

That Party

We're going to play the two years ago game.

Two years ago my little sister, Bronwyn aka Katlego (her African name meaning "prosperity and success"), posed with me in the "photo booth" at my going away party at my parents' house. Bron was channeling a lion. I knew very little of Africa when this picture was taken... and now I know a little more than very little.

Conflicting

Oh yeah that's a chicken foot. A "walkie".
Flashback: A little over a year ago Tanya and I went to town to celebrate getting paid and buy some groceries (I'm pretty sure there was a trip to the Woolworth's coffee shop, too). In the taxi heading home we sat in the front two seats by the driver, me in the middle and Tanya by the window. After our taxi filled and was on its way out of town we made a detour to the petrol station to fill up for the ride. The driver had gotten enough cash from all our fares. We were sitting at the pump, talking about what a nice morning it was, when all the sudden we made eye contact with a woman running out of the station's office. A white woman running out of the office. At first I wasn't sure where she was headed, but as she got closer it was pretty clear she was coming to talk to us. The conversation went something along the lines of.....
Woman: Oh, hello! I wasn't sure if I could believe my eyes when your taxi pulled up. I saw you two in the front, but that doesn't happen very often, you know people like you sitting in the front of a taxi. Where are you from?
Us: We're from town right now, heading back to where we're staying.
Woman: Are you traveling?
Us: No we live here. Heading home now.
Woman: Well, just so you know, you're safe. They won't hurt you. They are gentle people. They will help you get where you need to go. Do you feel safe? Do you feel okay? There's nothing to worry about, they really are gentle people.
Us: We're fine. This is how we travel. We've done this before. Thanks for your concern.
Woman: Well, of course! You really should stop by for coffee some time. Please come back soon.
And then she walked away....and Tanya and I sat there stunned. How could we recover? We were certain that most people in the taxi could understand all that was being said. And REALLY?! I've never seen that woman again.
The longer I'm here the more strange things don't stick out much anymore. Funny, huh? Now I shrug more and move on with my day... I'm moved or a little disturbed, but I have to keep going, gotta keep truckin'. If something comes up that seems to be conflicting in some way, I have the choice to go ahead and address it, feel confident in addressing it, or just walk away. At one point I was afraid I was becoming desensitized to pretty disturbing things, but now I'm going with the idea that it's my coping mechanisms kicking in. When I'm faced with some chaos, some racism, a wounded country, stressful situations, poverty, death, loss, frustrations and challenges, loneliness...I tend to just focus on what's in front of me... sometimes that's just making it to the next activity, the next hour.
A couple of days ago when MmaDiapo was putting the sheep back in their pen the rope that ties them up outside wrapped around her leg and stripped it of a good chunk of flesh. I saw it pretty soon after it happened and it looked pretty raw, red, but like it could heal nicely. This afternoon she spent hours sleeping and when she woke up her face clearly showed pain. When I asked how she was doing, she limped down the steps and said her foot was bothering her, her leg was swelling. I looked at it and noticed the wounded area was black. I asked what she had been using to help it heal and she replied with "brake fluid". Um. I told her to be careful... that sometimes cuts can get infected and that if hers does it could affect more than just her foot and that area of her leg... it could affect her whole leg, her body. I didn't tell her that I think what she's doing might not be the best thing for her, I didn't tell her that I disagreed... I just wanted to help her with other options.... and asked her if she was interested in going to the clinic. She said she was going to wash it and then rest for the night. I told her to call me if she needed anything, if she started to feel worse.
2 big points to make.... 1: Brake fluid isn't exactly good for an open wound is it? I mean if you can't drink the stuff and your body looks at it as poison, putting it on an open area of your body might not be the best thing, right?
2: Situations like this always make me think. As a PCV I'm always walking a line, I have a unique place in South Africa. I'm American, I'm able to mix and mingle with people of all colors and backgrounds, I have enough money to travel, to go to town, to get a break from the village, to make a choice about where I live and what I do, I have medical care, I have access to resources, I have a freakin' blog... the list goes on. I stand true to my belief that I want to work to help people live the lives they want to lead... so the modern beliefs running parallel to the traditional, the white middle class American female in her 30's who would buy some sort of antibacterial cream for a cut being a daughter to a Black South African retired teacher in her 50's who uses brake fluid on a cut and has little access to antibacterial cream is yet another thing I have to handle with care, another thing I have to sort out.

Those Frilly Bottomed Skirts

Last year when my parents came to visit they brought along 17 Texas Longhorns' t-shirts (compliments of Walgreen's) for all the Phokungwanes. Aw yeah. I gave MmaDiapo one that matched the one I kept for myself and she sewed us matching traditional skirts. This is how we go to church.

Braces

Yet another adventure in South Africa... After 18 years of having my braces off... am I really that old?.... I got half a mouth of metal back in May. Yep. Three months ago the wire that was holding my teeth in place, for those glorious 18 years, broke while I was in Metz. Around the COS conference I had an orthodontist appointment. After taking off the broken wire and seeing that my bite just needed a little tweaking, there was a consultation with Melissa (the PCMO, Peace Corps Medical Officer) and Dr. Heloise, and I got braces put on. It was actually a pretty nice day.. Melissa sat in a chair next to where I was and watched as they glued all the little brackets in place. She kept saying funny things. I kept trying not to laugh. Then we went to lunch and stuffed ourselves full of nachos that taste like ones in America and Chai Tea.
My two favorite responses to my braces by people in Metz? "Man, you white people do some crazy things" and "Oh Mmapula, they are beautiful! Do you get to keep them forever?"
I'm happy to report that thanks to a mouth full of copper and steel my teeth are almost back to normal and I'll have a brand new permanent retainer in place when I head to COS in September.