the hump

You know when something feels a little bit off? Where you feel like you're carrying around something extra? Last night after talking to my mom I just couldn't go to sleep, my stomach was knotted. Maybe I was wired because of all the brownie batter (and then brownies) I ate in the afternoon or maybe it was because my mind was reeling with all the things I felt like I HAD to get done in the next few days. Maybe it was a little bit of both. I'm leaving in a few days to head to Cape Town for the first time since I've been in the country, I have a few things I want to finish up before I leave, and things just seem a little more complicated than usual... or maybe I'm just a little more sensitive than usual. I haven't had knots in my stomach in months and sleep usually comes fairly easy here just cause I'm so tired a lot of the time and love the idea of lying peacefully in my bed. After tossing and turning for 45 minutes I turned to my old standby when it comes to sleep remedies... good ol Valerian. Popping a couple of those pills reminded me of nights in Austin before I started this whole process... this whole experience. There were nights where I would lie awake wondering where I was going to be posted or what my room would look like when I went to bed in a new place. And there were nights where I would wake up in a cold sweat... a little shaken... and once my eyes adjusted to my room.. my Austin room... I was reassured and could, at least, attempt to go back to sleep (although it took a little while)because I was still home, in a familiar place. I had been thinking about applying to Peace Corps for years before I actually did it. My trip to Belize, for a WEEK, in 2004 had me longing for a little hut on Hummingbird Highway... when I got to Belize City and caught a taxi I tried to conjure up ways, with the 5 local guys we picked up on the way to the airport (3 were drunk and had been picked up at the bar), I could stay in the country on the 50 bucks left to my name. When I was on the road during the Great Trip West in the fall of 2005 I was soothed by my freedom and all that my eyes were taking in... the canyons, the arches, the mountains, the caverns, the big trees, the great bodies of water, the moon, the train whistles, the sun, the wide open sky. In the Winter of 2006, right after the beginning of the New Year, I drove my Grandpa to town to pick up some cat food and a King Cake at Marceaux's Grocery and he asked me to swing by the new library. We didn't get out of the car, but we did sit in the parking lot for a few minutes before we headed towards home sweet home. He asked me if I was interested in being a librarian like my mom, I said I had thought about it, and he told me that whatever I did he would be proud of me. All of those moments... and about a bagillion other ones... pushed me a little closer to finishing the application I had been sitting on for a year... pushed me through that process... to get to this experience. I landed in South Africa one year ago today. I think, about now, on 21 July 2007 I was writing my first journal entry in country. How time flies. And oh how it just drips, drips, drips slowly.
So when I woke up this morning I was coming out of a Valerian haze (it calms some people... it knocks me out) at 6:45, a little later than usual. I heard Mabu, the shepherd, arrive for his work day, open the door to the room he keeps his bike in. and stared at the ceiling until 7. My stomach in knots, I counted all the places I could see the sky in my tin roof... all those places that show light, but don't leak when it rains. I got up, made tea, worked on a couple work emails that lightened my load a little, and then headed to work in time for our Monday morning, 9 am staff meeting. Stomach still knotted. I typed up a few things in the office. I talked to coworkers... on the outside no one could tell anything. I wanted to leave, but didn't want to miss the meeting so was waiting things out. Sat for a good while trying to figure out how I was going to get my leave request to Peace Corps, all the fax machines in the area are down because someone stole the cables. How I was going to finish up an application I've been sitting on for weeks now. And then a car drove up outside the door and a man and woman rushed in, rapidly speaking Sepedi, sitting in the chairs provided for visitors, going through all the greetings through clenched teeth. Stomach turns, knots go tighter. I know part of my job is to be there to support my office and learn all the ins and outs of here... well that's what I like to do anyway...but as soon as this man started speaking, yelling, rather, all I wanted to do was run. Stomach acid churning. I sat at the computer with my back to the whole office and tried to translate as much as I could. This man, in his fancy car, was from Pretoria and was representing his mother who was a carer for my organization until this morning. Last Thursday, there was a carers' meeting in the office... a meeting where they all showed up and sat in rows of plastic chairs facing Synett, Mogale, and Esther who sat behind the office furniture table. Synett handed out envelopes filled with their stipend for July, no back pay to cover the last 3 months they haven't gotten paid though. Then, Esther spoke softly to them, told them that The Department of Health was instructing all NGO's (this goes for all the NGO's I know of in the local area) receiving funding to reduce the number of carers working for them to 26. Our office had 32. 6 women would be let go and the carers would know if they still had a job when they answered their phone Monday morning and there was someone from the home based care office on the other end of the line. If they didn't get a call, they didn't have a job anymore. My office has no money. Some of them seem to think that I'm here to bring them money. My coworkers are using the ink in the printer to make copies of job applications, their certificates, and ID's so they can mail things off and hopefully find a job that pays. They show up at 8 am every morning and work until 4 and they haven't been paid in 3 months. There is no stability. Kids aren't showing up to our drop in centres anymore because there is no food, the meat went first, then the beans, and finally the last of the mealie meal. Kids who have no food were relying on the one meal a day the drop in provided and now they don't rely on that. My supervisor is out of the office until October for maternity leave or it was, at one time, maternity leave, but she's using the time to cope and heal because she went into premature labor on the 4th of July. Both her twin baby girls died that weekend. I was told if I am threatened by anyone connected to the carers losing their positions I am to direct the people who threaten me to the office. The board hasn't met in a few months. We're all trying in that box with the two windows and the computers and the desks and big metal cabinet that is the "kitchen" holding the tea and bread and tea fixin's, but man, it's a battle. I'm here for capacity building... to help with sustainability... and everywhere I turn in that office I see smiling faces, people I care about, who have taken care of me, who are worried about their future... and then my mind floods with ideas on where we should focus, what we should do to take care of some needs. Funding for food for kids, stipends for carers, salaries for the office workers, educational health talks, income generating projects so the office can be more independent, donations, contributions, pats on the back, support... and my mind spins and the knots get tighter. I know, realistically, that there needs to be some boundaries, I need to to step back and not get worked up, and usually I'm able to do that. My absorption time limit is at about 2 1/2 weeks now. I can see and hear things that hurt, absorb the images of homebound patients sick with TB/AIDS, kids that don't have food, whole families living in a room the size of mine, push aside my own longings for a good hug from home, and deal... for over 2 weeks. Then around that time I crack. Sometimes it drags me down for a good couple of days, sometimes all I need to do is go to bed, sometimes I just need to cry, sometimes I just need a vacation.. some time away to get some perspective. It depends. I never want to stop this kind of work though. I might want to walk away from my office, but I'm always back the next day.
Things are tougher than I imagined them being. I guess it's always like that... you have an idea of some place, some thing or some person and once you see it or meet them or are given time to just be with such things/people... you learn all the little details of the bigger picture, things just get fleshed out, and your original thoughts aren't as sharp as they once were... they're blurred with all those little details. It's tougher here than I imagined... but I'm tougher than I imagined. When you're faced with awful things, when you absorb a lot of negativity, a lot of dark... and you need to be recharged... you can also see the things that are shining light that much brighter. Kids' smiles radiate, conversations that involve cultural exchange can be hilarious, you respond to peoples' "I'm so proud of you"'s with "I'm so proud of YOU" instead of a shrug and a brush off, dancing is a release, MmaDiapo filling my water barrel, taking me with her to funerals, showing me so many things, and laughing with such humor all making me smile, coffees with good friends are like birthday parties because they're so special and not so everyday, Synett's laugh when we talk about things that make me realize she's a true friend, the mountains behind a blue sky full of fluffy white clouds make you stare with your mouth open, the moon, as full as it can be, rises and you take the time to stand in the yard and watch its slow ascent. Some things are sad and hard to take... but you fight. You fight because you can change some of those sad things so the moon will still look beautiful, you can be proud of yourself and other people, so proud, you can have all those cups of coffee, you can dance and not care what other people think, and so kids' smiles will still radiate.
I know all this. I believe it. I don't think it's too idealistic because it's all right in front of me. BUT I'm not sure if all that fighting can help change so many things that are so hard right now. So I'll just sigh, I'll still go to work, I'll still try, I'll take all the necessary breaks, I'll breathe through the stomach knots, I'll take Valerian, I'll eat Nutella, and I'll make changes where I can... cause that's what I can do and that's what I want to do.

Happy Birthday, Madiba

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others." -Nelson Mandela

So THAT'S how a sweet potato grows!

Yesterday, instead of fightin' to figure out what I was going to do in the office all day, I stayed back at my house and hung out with the family. We had a pretty "village in Africa" kind of day. Right now there is a water shortage.. and the communal taps are turned on on Wednesdays and Saturdays.. SO... while my family members were filling up wheelbarrows with empty jugs to take, to fill, I stayed back and watched the bore hole we have in the yard (kind of like a well)... that was giving some water, but at a slow trickle. My job was to entertain the kids and transfer water from the bore hole buckets to big water drums in the yard when the buckets got full (this took awhile).. in the mean time I played with Karabo (one of the coolest kids ever and my cousin) and Pheteletso (a little boy who has been visiting the family). We played with one of those big balloons that has the rubber band attached to it for bouncing... then it popped... I gave them each a plastic scary monster finger puppet.. then
they fought over which color they wanted... we colored... until they had used every sheet of paper I had brought out... and finally we just played in the dirt until it was time to dump the water... and we all carried the bucket to one of the big water drums in the yard to fill. Eventually about 5 big water drums and my little one were filled by about noon. It was a long morning, but now we have water for the rest of the week. I ate lunch and read some in my room before heading to the farm with MmaDiapo. I've been wanting to go since I first moved here and Wednesday we walked down the tar road towards the hospital, towards the farm! The farm... a small space of land that is crammed with beetroot, spinach, tomatoes, banana trees, mangos, avocados, sweet potatoes, mealie meal, green beans, cabbage, and morope (a root that is like a turnip... not much taste.. boil it and mash like potatoes). It was a nice afternoon. Really nice. Our mission was to fill the black bucket MmaDiapo had brought from home, some people in Metz wanted to buy some sweet potatoes.

In preparation for digging, MmaDiapo put on her big sun hat and took off her shoes.


Posing with all the sweet potatoes she found. Some plants were more fruitful than others, we found some potatoes the size of my hand! The rolled up mealie meal bag on the ground next to her was used as a cushion when she carried the bucket ALL THE WAY HOME on her head.


And walking home. I will always be impressed with the strength women in the village have. They work hard and are the glue in the community. The water to MmaDiapo's right comes from the dam and is used to irrigate the farm. All along the inside of the trough there are holes that are blocked with tree stumps and rocks. When land needs water, these plugs are removed to let it flow.

Living Quarters

When I got my shelves in my room a few months ago I mentioned that I would post pictures of my room after I had settled in, unpacked. MmaDiapo and I were talking yesterday about how small she thinks my room is... and how she's hoping to give me some more space when her new house is finished. Yeah, it's small... I would even go so far as to say it's tiny... but I love it. It's my space... and I've worked hard to make it a little retreat, a place that I enjoy being in. Did I mention it has the best bed, places to put my stuff, and pictures that make me smile on the walls? What more could you want? Enjoy the tour....

"Old" Room

This picture was taken at the beginning of December, about a week after I moved in. It was rainy season, my walls were leaking, and the best bed and I had yet to meet. That's my bath bucket in the foreground..some things just don't change!


Because I spent the first 3 months in the village in the house with my first (or second, depending on how you look at it) host mother I didn't buy much with my settling in allowance... besides a bazillion Jungle Bars (chocolate covered granola bars). My first big purchase for my room? An electric kettle to boil my drinking water and for tea! For 3 months I lived off of a diet of tuna, granola, granola bars, soy milk, peanut butter, pap, chicken, and, yes, ramen noodles. I am so glad I'm beyond those days. The backpack on the floor is the one I lived out of until I could unpack my "non- essentials" bag.

What my room looks like... NOW. To get the full feeling... pretend you're the hands of a clock and follow the pictures around.

My door is just to the left in the picture. There are 3 of my new shelves (they hold my food) and the cupboard MmaDiapo gave me that I use for all my hygiene stuff and my books, PC papers, the letters I've gotten since I've been here, and all the random stuff I'm not sure what to do with. A few items to note: the mop: very important when it comes to gettin' up all the water that I sloshed out of the bucket when taking my bath, OMO: the washing powder that has a way of being tough on your clothes... and your hands, iron: I can't even begin to tell you how many times I've come out of my room and people have asked, "You're going to work like THAT? Do you own an iron?", Gueydan Museum tote bag: important to represent where you come from!, very top of cupboard: storage area for all my grocery bags, books: I'm slowly making my way through all of these... PCV's like to share and we like to read.


This is what I see every morning when I wake up (notice my "Thank you for this life" paper). Items to note: my "closet": a bit of twine around the posts holding up my roof and I've rigged a place to hang my clothes, underneath closet: bucket storage area, purple yoga mat peaking out from behind my clothes, orange towel: AMAZING. quick dry!, my shelves: hold all of my clothes.


What you see when you open my door and stare straight ahead. Items to note: my purple fuzzy blanket thanks to PC, my map of South Africa (with everyone's sites documented), my Doctors Without Borders world map, the BEST bed!


All my pictures, my fridge, the chair I'm borrowing from MmaDiapo's kitchen. Items to note: handheld Yahtzee, Nalgene I bought in Estes Park with Texas sticker bought at Carlsbad Caverns, people I love, wire Acacia tree I bought by the taxi rank in Tzaneen, my cell phone, and three important books: Tao Teh Ching, Word Power Made Easy, and the journal I keep of things I don't want to forget about living in South Africa.


And last but not least... my kitchen. Items to note: my oven, blue bucket is for food, greenish bucket is for water, curtains are compliments of my family, cold drink bottle that needs to be returned, Cubs hat, tile floor, blue door, and Timbuk2 messenger bag that is TOUGH!

Smooth as a skippin' rock

It's a true Monday and after a full weekend I'm not sure how to get myself in a place to handle the day. Saturday we got our stipends deposited, so, after washing my hair and having tea and toast for breakfast I headed to find a koombi to town. I had to walk a little ways from my village, to just past the hospital, before I caught a taxi heading to the taxi rank, but the walk was good, allowed me to clear my head. When I got to the taxi rank I was immediately whisked away to the last seat on a Tzaneen taxi.. and it was the front seat ( in some areas this isn't such a good thing, as the front seat people are in charge of taking the money and counting it for the driver, giving people change, etc.. but not so much around here). The man occupying the middle of the seat, in between the driver and myself, was the guy I had met a few days before on the main road in Metz. He's from Nigeria and is in the area for 2 months to work on the road crew, laying pipe, filling holes, and tarring. An interesting guy with some interesting things to say. He asked where I was from in America and my reply of, "Texas" was met with,"Oh, I've been to Sheffield." Sheffield, Sheffield. Where is Sheffield? Is it in Illinois? No, no, that's Springfield. "Hmm, I'm sorry, I can't think of where Sheffield is in the States. Do you remember which area of the country it was in?" "No, no I don't, but I'll be heading back to the UK soon and there's a chance I may be placed in Sheffield again." "OH. Sheffield in the UK. Uh huh. Yeah, I've never been there." Then before I could attempt to explain that no, the UK and the US are not the same country... the driver turned up the dance club music and the three of us spent the rest of the trip in a yelling conversation (had to let the music be heard by everyone... and the driver didn't want people going to sleep) about game reserves and what you're supposed to do if you find yourself in a situation where you're in the middle of nowhere with an elephant looking as though it might want to stomp you. (You clap loudly) Town. This weekend wasn't the best weekend to head there as it was month end (when everyone gets their pension and grant checks), lines that are already pretty long, were going to be three times that. But good coffee and a chance to meet up with some other volunteers made it worth it. I ran my errands, bought the Lucky Dube CD I've been wanting (ever since a burned copy corrupted my iTunes), got some new paper and a good pen for letter writing, and sat at Woolworth's finishing up a couple of my Newsweeks from the last Peace Corps' mailing. Lunch was at the good Indian restaurant with Jaceson, VIrginia, Erin, and Ronda, before I headed back to the taxi rank. I had the taxi luck. When I got to the taxi rank, I was able to get the last seat on the koombi heading for Metz and piled my two grocery bags (6 litres of milk, cheese, crackers, 2 liters juice, lentils, cereal, bread, and butter) in for the ride. I ended up sitting next to a guy who talked to me about the current situation in Zimbabwe (sad and overwhelming) and who used his internet phone to look up a few news articles so I could get caught up. Got back to the village pretty quickly, hauled all my food back to my room and sat on my bed, not sure what to do with myself. Antsy, tired, fried, overwhelmed, claustrophobic, trapped, blah, stressed, tense, emotional, you name it, I was feeling it. I got to talk to a good friend from the States... and although it was a good conversation and I was very much in it, I couldn't tell you half the things I said. Yesterday, because I was having such a hard time I just threw myself into washing all my clothes and spending the day cleaning my room. I'm just tired. I don't want to complain. Don't want to come across as complaining, but it's a risk I'm willing to take. I AM TIRED. I don't want to leave here. I don't wish I had more amenities. I'm ok where I am... I'm just exhausted, worn out, worn down. This is isn't the kind of exhaustion that is remedied with sleep, I get plenty. It's the kind that is rooted in being here for almost a year, taking in so much, and feeling your limbs shake because you're starting to buckle from some of the pressure. I know I'm lucky. I recognize this everyday. I have made the choice to be here. I can leave whenever I choose. And I choose to stay. I wish I could be someone who could just take it all, absorb it, and not complain, someone who can take the weight and not bend, but I don't think that it's very realistic to put such expectations on yourself. Nothing is perfect.. no one is perfect. I am living with way more amenities than I ever expected to have when I signed up to do Peace Corps, but I'm also living a very different life than I once thought I would live during my service. I know I've gained a lot of positive things and grown a lot as a person, learned a lot about the world and how big, yet small it is... and I'm really, really hoping that, after all has been said and done, the negative things I've seen, heard, and absorbed during my time here, that mess with my head on a pretty regular basis, won't end up doing more harm when I'm through with my service. I really, really hope.
I've been thinking a lot about the work I'm doing and trying to do here. A few big things have happened to spur such thoughts.
*Abby left to fly home for a visit last week and while talking to her about all the feelings attached to making such a journey... I was having my own little panic attacks. AMERICA?! I'm eventually going to go back there. What the hell am I going to do when I get back there? How am I going to handle going out at night? Not having to spend so much time alone? People asking me questions about here? People not asking me questions about here? Realizing more and more how I've changed? Seeing people I love and hold so close after so much time of not seeing them? Consumerism? Options and options and options? Yards and houses and cars NOT behind big, tall, barbed, electrified, fences and gates? Lots and lots of white people. A wasting of resources. Pressures. Thoughts of the future.
*While Abby was in the air flying, possbily, over the ocean, some people from my "place" were in the village. Yep. Oh yeah. Metz village had some Americans visit! On Thursday morning, the pastor from a nearby village who is on my NGO's board of directors, stopped by the office. "Ah, Mmapula. There are people from your place here." "Whaaaaat!?!" "Yes. At the Lutheran Church. You should go greet them." Oh you better believe I was going to greet them! We locked up the office and headed down the main road to the church to meet all these people. I'll admit, I was a little nervous. I'm pretty comfortable in the village and with people from the village... and I'm comfortable with PCV's.. but I've had some mixed experiences with people from the international community who are here to do any sort of volunteering. I ended up spending the day with a great group of people. On a trip connected with their church they had come over to provide basic dental and eye care to hundreds of people in the local villages in the Metz area. It was good to see instant results.... people who were having pain because of infections in their mouths could have teeth removed... people who couldn't read because their eyes wouldn't allow them to.. were given, not one, but two pairs of glasses (glasses and sunglasses).. people were smiling, needs were being met. It was awesome, heartwarming, and really, really good for me to witness. I know all the volunteers were tired.. they had been working long days, were seeing all sorts of sad cases, were spending hours and hours giving parts of themselves, and were exhausted. Such work is exhausting. Over the last few days I've met so many people who have come up to me and asked me if I knew the group. "Oh good! They helped me get glasses!","I haven't been able to read my Bible for some time now, but last night I got to!", " My tooth had been bothering me, but now that it's gone, it feels better on that side of my face!" They helped and touched hundreds of people during their short time here, but I'm most touched by the members of my African family who were helped. It's a personal thing. Maria (MmaDiapo's older sister), Margaret (her daughter), and MmaDiapo's brother's wife all got glasses on Friday. Thursday they tried to get on the list to be seen, but showed up after all the numbers had been given out. On Thursday night I encouraged all of them to get up really early and get to Lorraine (the village the volunteers would be in on Friday) before 9am so they could have a place in the queue. That's just what they did. They left their houses early and at lunchtime on Friday, when I was coming back from the office, all of them showed me their glasses, smiling big, and talking excitedly.
*I read an article in the May 26/June 2nd, 2008 Newsweek called "An Immigrant's Silent Struggle", about a man, Robert Kosi Tette, who had immigrated to the US from Ghana about 10 years ago. He recently went back to Ghana for a visit and wrote about the thoughts he had had as he sat at an onion seller's stall in Accra. The quote that struck me and has stuck with me is as follows:
"It was as though I had run 10 consecutive marathons, one for each year abroad, and my body screamed for rest. My trip home was in anticipation of a respite, but instead I felt as though I were drowning in a melting pot of cultures. Part of me wanted to settle permanently in America and put closure to the direction my life was heading. Another part still longed for the uncomplicated life I once knew in Ghana-despite the illusive price of acceptance. Most of us leaving home never quite considered how much we would change or the scarring challenges ahead of us. I could still remember a time when my thinking was no different than the onion seller's. Someone had seen beyond that and given me a chance to come to America, so I still felt compelled to give something back. Perhaps I should have been asking myself if I really wanted to trade places with the onion seller. Deep down I knew my answer was no. Enlightenment had come with the loss of innocence and a silent struggle. My cultural dichotomy was no different from what other immigrants from other cultures faced in America. I could stop dwelling on being torn between two countries by accepting my new identity as a progressive blend of the two and embrace new responsibilities."
*Friday, in the office, Esther compiled a list of the "poorest of the poor" children and families our NGO serves and later on that day we spent a couple of hours unloading 50kg bags of mealie meal and plastic bags full of beans, laundry soap, powdered milk, and other needed items, from a bakkie (pickup truck). Watching those families come from far off villages, most of them remote, back next to the mountains, to pick up the food and haul it back to their homes really struck a chord. So many children who don't have food. Poverty staring us all in the face. So many people awkward about asking for the food, but needing to do so.
Things to think about.
I'm off to work... I feel better getting some of my thoughts out there... but before I go I'd like to extend a thanks to all who read this blog, who comment, and who send me good thoughts. Thanks to you. Support is greatly appreciated.... and thank you for bearing with me and my writing. My grasp on the English language is slipping... and although I try to practice with a Word Power book, reading all the time, and keeping up with my letter and journal writing... I still have trouble spelling certain words, making grammatical decisions, and completing thoughts. So thank you, loyal readers. Thank you very much.

Heartbeats

I’m not trying to take this entry down to “sad town” .. but I figure I need to continue to be true to my school and write about things that I think about and see and hear while I’m having this experience. Some things are hilarious, some things break my heart and when read, will break your heart, some things only get the response of a shaking of the head or a shrug because I’m not sure where to file them away. I’ve been meaning to write for weeks now, but even though the words were coming, the connection between them and pen and paper, or my fingers and the keyboard, was cut off. Sometimes I’m just overwhelmed. How am I supposed to remember all the little details that make one moment, one memory, whole? I can’t. But I try.
A couple of weeks ago, while I was on an adventure, out of the village for the day (a blog covering that coming soon!), I got a phone call from my friend John, the Managing Director of a water and sanitation NGO in Tzaneen (one of the towns closest to where I live). I was on the side of the main tar road, just past the old mealie meal mill, when my phone started buzzing in my bag… and kept buzzing. Not an sms, a phone call. A PHONE CALL! Frantically searching at the bottom of my bag (thank you, my Gueydan Museum tote bag compliments of my Grandma aka R.G. Dimple) and eventually after squatting and dumping everything out on the ground, I found it. I answered, calm, cool, and collected. Hey John! Turns out his organization had some extra money on the side due to the exchange rate (euros to rand) and if I could write him a proposal, to be turned in that next week, I could have some funds to cover a project in my village. A project in my village! So there, squatting on the side of the tar road, the contents of my bag in a little pile in front of me, I wrote in my moleskine journal the areas that needed to be covered in the proposal. And, there, in that spot, after I had hung up the phone (thanking him profusely for such an opportunity), I did a little excited dance, jumped up and down, and used some airtime to call Abby. I was out of breath and talking a mile a minute, but what an opportunity! MONEY! Money that I could spend on something I chose. My mind was reeling… there are a few projects I’d thought about either starting myself or helping out with in the village… and on my adventure I thought about all of them and made plans to meet up with Tanya to discuss them. That next week I met up with the Project Manager for an NGO in my village that does a lot of work with OVC’s (orphans and vulnerable children), I had decided to use the money to purchase needed things for a few child headed households in Metz and the surrounding area. Monday we had a meeting, Tuesday we went on home visits, and Wednesday and Thursday I wrote out my findings and fit them into a proposal complete with a background of all the kids the money would be helping (a total of 12), a budget, and a predicted output. It felt really good. One of those weeks where I kept saying over and over again… so THIS is why I’m here! Applying for money that I was going to, hopefully, get was exciting and fulfilling, but meeting all those kids definitely struck a cord with me, was the most important aspect of the work I was doing. There was the family of 7 that was in need of a pit toilet and had been disposing waste in a hole in the yard. The oldest was in grade 12. And there was the family of 4 (all under 18 as well) that had been able to move into their own house (built by the NGO), but was still in need of a toilet and a water pipe/tap for their yard. And there was Ophelia. Oh Ophelia. God, how that girl got in my heart. When I saw how Ophelia was living it was hard to shut down any emotional responses and ask her straightforward questions about her life and her history. At the ripe old age of 22 she is a veteran when it comes to living on her own and taking care of herself. Her mother died in 1999 when she was just 13. She’s been relying on herself and community services for 9 years. 9 years. Her home is one room that is very unstable and in great need of repair, the walls are cracked and the roof leaks when it rains. She is determined to finish high school, even though a few times she has had to stop and work to earn the money to cover her school fees. In her front yard, you will find the foundation for the house that the government promised to build her a year ago. She was so quiet, tough, and tried to hide tears when it looked like all the questioning was getting to be too much or something had hit a sore spot. Before we left I looked her straight in the eyes and told her that I admired her strength. And I do. We applied to get funds to fence in her yard to keep the goats out and so she could grow a garden, food to eat and also a little extra to bring in a bit of an income. And we asked for a bed to replace the boxspring she’s been sleeping on. I know this is a reality… and I know this is part of my reality… she is my neighbor, she lives in my village, I know a little bit about her life, meeting her has affected me….but I still shake my head and my heart hurts when I think about all the people all over the world who have no access to a proper toilet, a roof that is stable, clothes to keep them warm, food for their bellies, and clean water for drinking and cooking. If you don’t have these basics met how are you supposed to stay healthy? How are you supposed to focus on all the other things that make life that much harder?
My proposal was approved. Relief. Excitement. Hope. Next week, Mary, John’s wife and counterpart, and I are going to meet up in the village and discuss final little details. Families will have water and toilets and food and places to sleep!

The eggplant and cultural exchange or something like that

Yesterday morning Synett and I were working on a funding proposal when tea time came around. The office had enough avocados (brought in from Synett's yard) and there was tea, but bread and atchar needed to be purchased in order to have the expected full spread. We walked to the chips' stand where William Letsoalo scooped atchar (green mangos marinated in fish oil) into a cup we had brought and then headed over to the bakery to get the bread... fresh out of the oven! We walked through the door, greeted people as we passed, and headed for the bread rack... about 20 loaves, warm and sweatin' in their bags, had just been brought out. And there, at the very top of that rack, were eggplants. I'll admit I got excited. Not really sure how I feel about eggplant. I've never really cooked with them, and although I'll eat them when they're in a dish, they're not my favorite vegetable. BUT I was excited... something new! My eyes got big and I asked the woman standing near "Ke bo kae?" (how much?) and decided to splurge on the R2 veggie for experimental purposes. I grabbed the prettiest one because I'm not really sure how to judge and handed over the R2 coin. As I was heading towards the door with Synett, describing to her just what I may do with it... "I could slice it and fry it! I could look in my Peace Corps cookbook and see if they have any recipes! I could put it in a spaghetti sauce! Oh I wish I had some Parmesan cheese! I do have noodles though... I could just cook it up with some onions and garlic and eat it like that"..... Ben, the bookkeeper for Taposa, called after me. "Mmapula come here a second, I must ask you just what this is." And, yes ladies and gentleman, the THIS he was referring to was the eggplant he had just sold me. "Ben, didn't you just sell this to me?" "Yes, I did... it was grown just down the road 1 km or so." "Oh. Well, it is very nice. I am excited to try to cook with it, to see what I can make, and if it will taste good." "But, what is it? Will you write the name of it right here?" And that's just what I did. I wrote "eggplant" in the ledger, right next to the box recording how many cans of garden peas had been sold. I then described how I've eaten egglplant in the past and some suggestions on how it could be cooked. He thanked me and said he might just try one himself. Those few minutes were very Africa. Very Peace Corps. It's the little things like that, that happen everyday and keep me intrigued. I tell ya, you never know just what the day is going to bring.