The world is smaller than you think

The aptly named Big Hole

2008-11-06T19:08:00.000-08:00

Again... I'm far behind on blog entries. This one should be dated September 15th
“Flamingoes!”

I smsed my friend. Indeed to my right, a large wetland area appeared covered in places by a pink sheen. Flamingoes flying, flamingoes standing, fishing. Incredible.

I had been on the road for six hours and switched Khumbis four times to get here, but in a few moments I would arrive in Kimberly. The large wetland area is a tourist attraction here and one of the largest gatherings of these oddly elegant waterfowl in the world.

This past weekend I took a trip to a neighboring town/city, which is where two volunteers are stationed. The town, Kimberly, is immersed in the sort of quirky history that the English are exceptionally good at telling.

Kimberly’s birth came from diamonds being found in a nearby field. This is the town where the De Beers mine is located and where the headquarters of De Beers mining company is located. It was here that John Cecil Rhodes literally drew the modern map of southern Africa, though now Northern Rhodesia is called Zambia and Southern Rhodesia is called Zimbabwe.

The McGregor museum is Kimberly’s largest, so a fellow volunteer and I decided to scope it out. It was particularly interesting in both what it contained and what it did not contain. Though extensive effort had been made to incorporate the history of the native Africans into the museum, it seemed the history stopped when the diamonds were discovered. This is by no means the fault of the original curators, as the English are notoriously good at recording history, making even some mundane activity noteworthy of extracting from a diary and placing on a museum display. The Africans were not as good at this or at least it didn’t seem so from the exhibit, and so the exhibit was fairly Anglo-centered.

The building itself, an old Sanatorium (fancy word for old fashioned health retreat) was wonderful in all it’s Victorian splendor. Altogether quintessentially British. The town itself retains trappings from that era, from beautiful cathedral that I was told had the longest nave in Southern Africa... or was it the South Hemisphere... regardless, it was a massive structure built a century ago- stepping inside it is like taking a step back to those times, to the parks and buildings, all steeped in English charm.

But Kimberly is not British, it is South African. While I was there I attended the finals to a province-wide cultural dance contest, which was incredible. to be continued

So I'm in Africa

2008-10-04T08:41:00.000-07:00

After a year in South Africa, I have finally been on my first daytime safari in the Pilanesberg National Park in Northwest Province. It was awe-inspirinig. We left Johannesberg at five in the morning to arrive at the park shortly after it opened. At first, we saw nothing, then in the distance a few wildebeests appeared in the early morning sunshine. The trick on safaris is not to look at the bush, but to look through the bush.

Our next sight was a warthog who decided that it liked to travel on the dirt path rather than the bush. It's family was a little bit further on, little wart-hoglets? following a larger hog. The car slowed and we caught glimpses of zebra through the high grasses. Little did we know how many more zebra we would see.

My first sighting were three kudu on a ridge, which was magnificent because there were no trees in the way and we could watch them adeptly manuever up the mountainside.

After a turn, we stopped as my friend has seen an elephant. Upon closer examination, there was an entire herd of them, including two calves being lorded over by there aunt.. or so I was told.

And nearby in a place called predator world:

Pain beneath the surface

2008-09-29T13:49:00.000-07:00

This weekend I was reminded that though I live in a relatively peaceful country, the rest of Africa can be brutal.

“[The rebels – Lord’s Resistance Army] would come into the mission and say, I want food. You had to give them food. They would kill you otherwise and take your food. If they saw you had a car they said give me the keys to your car and I will let you keep your lips. There would be times when you would see a beautiful woman who had her lips cut off and you knew that this wasn’t just a threat.” He went on to describe other atrocities that I would not like to post online. The conversation had not started like this, it was I who asked him about his experiences in Uganda.

“Do you see these scars?” He said, showing me marks on his legs. “These are from bullets in Uganda. We were praying rosary when raiders came and started shooting. One of the women with me was shot through the buttocks. I crawled on hands and knees through thorns.” He paused to examine his hands. “The wounds from the thorns have since healed. I don’t remember how I ended up in my bed, just remember the gunfire and crawling, but somehow I made it there. Luckily no one was killed. The bishop allowed me to rest for a week to recover.”

Yet despite having survived this, he expressed a joy in life that was infectious. His eyes would sparkle and a genuine smile would illuminate his face, his white teeth seemingly illuminated in his dark face. His faith was in God and in people, and he truly embodied the African spirit of Ubuntu, that you are a person, and as a person he respects you, he radiated the feeling of mutual respect for one another. I was his guest at the mission and we talked as equals. As we are both aid workers, we shared our frustrations with the work and also what kept us motivated to do the work we did. It was inspiring to be with those two, sharing stories

On the way back to my own site, I sat in the car next to man who I could tell was not a Tswana. In his hands was a magazine with a script that looked closer to Arabic that anything I had seen in South Africa. We got to talking and I learned that he was an Ethiopian political refugee. Naturally, I was curious and attempted to be discreet in asking as to the reasons for fleeing his country and he went on to explain that it was locked in conflict, whether internal, or with Eritrea. He told stories of hitchhiking, running, and waiting on his long trek from Ethiopia to South Africa. He told of those in his group who were eaten by lions in Kenya, others who were left behind, others who didn’t make it.

Regardless of this, he wanted to pay for my taxi fare. I was humbled, feeling selfish, a little guilty for having it so easy in my life. I felt at fault for my initial disbelief. The atrocities that were so easy to dismiss in literature was now face to face with me, a dark undercurrent to the continent, a continent scarred over and over again, but a continent which somehow through it all has maintained an infectious, almost spontaneous joy. People who are genuinely happy to see you, who will stop time for you, because you are a person. Not all Africans are like this, but it is incredible to see this survive in the face of such atrocities.

p.s. If you click on the picture, you should be able to see a baboon running away from me.

Worries

2008-09-26T13:30:00.001-07:00

(This entry was written after I stayed a few nights in Pretoria, one of the capitals of South Africa, and what had been an all white city, now slowly being integrated, I was in Pretoria on Peace Corps business and a rugby tournament was taking place, so the hostel was pretty full, some blokes invited me to share the warmth of their kameeldorn, camelthorn fire)

We had been gathering around a fire for awhile. As usual, I was the interesting outsider, which gave me an opportunity to share Peace Corps goals as well as my personal goal, as many of these conversations go, the talk turned to the future of South Africa.

“Where do you think South Africa is going?”

My usual answer is that it depends largely on the average South African and that it is my job to make sure that the South Africans I come into contact with, no matter the race, are both educated and emboldened to take their future in their hands.

You see, Philip. I talked to some blokes from Zim (Zimbabwe) yesterday, and they say we’re headed down that same path.

He was referring to the land repossession in Zimbabwe, where under the Mugabe government, land is taken from whites and then given to the blacks, in an effort to empower the blacks and reconcile the ills of the past, when blacks were forced off their land.

“Now let me tell you, the minute they start taking my land from me, land that has been in my family for generations, I will fight for it. That land is my heritage, my great grandfather bought it on bond, cleared it, made it productive. I want to give that land to my children and if armed men show up at my farm with weapons to take me off my land, they will have a fight on their hands. I will be dead, but so will about a hundred of them.”

“We will give up to a point. If they buy our land from us, then it’s different, but I’m a farmer, I want to farm. That’s my life. I’m good at farming, my farm is productive. Why should I have to give up doing what I’m good at?”

“It’s not that we don’t want to help. We understand what was done in the past was wrong, and let me tell you, if I were of a different race, I would be so enraged by the inequalities that I’d probably commit crimes to right the balance, but I’m not.”

“As I’ve said, I’ve tried to help. I’ve had labourers on my land who I taught how to farm and now they are doing the same on the tribal land. They’re taking a risk because the land belongs to the chief, if he wants to take it back, he can and there’s nothing they can do about it. They’ll be trapped because the rest of the society wants what they have, and they feel entitled to it, so they take it. That’s the end of that man’s time and effort. It hasn’t happened yet, but it could.”

“I’ll give you that there are some racists out there, people who don’t want to do anything with the blacks, but that’s not only on our side. There are plenty of blacks who hate the white man.”

I don’t remember when but at one point in time one of the security guards, a black South African came around the fire. The very same people who were just trying to teach me Afrikaans were now speaking a language with clicks which I recognized as Xhosa, but regretfully don’t understand. South Africa has at least 11 official languages… it’d be difficult to learn every one.

Then the conversation shifted to respect and how language, in particular, means a great deal here in South Africa. Nelson Mandela once said, “When you speak to a man in a language he understands, you speak to his head; when you speak to a man in his own language, you speak to his heart.” And it was true, once the white South Africans began to speak Xhosa, all apprehension melted away from the face of the guard, smiles abounded on both sides and I took a mental snapshot of what South Africa could become.

I’m no historian or anthropologist, but I do believe, that South Africa has a unique potential to overcome the racial prejudices of the past. I don’t believe it will be easy, nor that it is certain to happen, but there, in that moment, a glimmer of the new South Africa was seen. I hope and pray to see more.

A Rugby Match

2008-09-26T13:08:00.000-07:00

I attended a rugby match where there was no beer for sale at the stadium. I was distraught, having imagined watching a rugby match with a fine Namibian brew in my hand. Alas… apparently imbibing is done before the match. Or smuggled in.

Now before you dismiss rugby as a brutish sport that involves brawn a not very much brain power, you might want to stop by a match. These boys are athletic and look it. Unlike American football where you have several players that seem to store a lot of weight in their stomachs, the professional rugby players seem to store it all in their upper body. The game is action interrupted by a few pauses here and there when the ball goes out of play. The players think on their feet, improvise and are incredible athletes, as they sprint up and down the field, to score by kicking it between the goal posts or running it to the other side of the field. In an odd way… it reminded me of Quidditch, Harry Potter’s sport. Maybe because I still don’t understand the rules to either.

During the match it is common for them to lift each other up, cheerleader style (odd comparison I know) in order to catch a throw in.

Rugby has an incredible following, among white South Africans at least. The demographics in the stadium definitely demonstrated the opposite of South Africa’s racial composition, now it was 85% white and 15% other races. However it did demonstrate how tight-knit the white community can be as a chap sitting two rows in front, knew the white South Africans in the village next to mine.

The rugby match we attended was a mere 80 minutes long, however the fans were around the stadium, braaiing up a storm. Flags were everywhere, there was a palpable atmosphere of relaxed enjoyment, mingled with the scent of meat grilling and face paint.

In some ways, the match reminded me of American football or gridiron, as it is known here. The cheerleaders wore similar uniforms and danced like the American cheerleaders. And the fans were just as fanatical. I saw plenty of blue faces, many wearing a Viking hats with bull horns- supporters of the Blue Bulls. A cheetah costume indicated an ardent supporter of the Free State Cheetahs. Did I mention there were a lot of flags?
The first half we (another Peace Corps Volunteer, Peace Corps medical evacuees from Ethiopia, Swaziland, Mozambique) tried to decipher the rules and the cheers/jeers from the fans. We had planned on asking someone from the crowd, but the night sky opened into a drizzle in the second half and the stands cleared for the covered space, others covered there heads with their flags and signs and stuck it out. We were with the diehards… and emerged, bobbing along with the euphoria of the crowd, drenched but entertained.

It would have been better with a beer, though.

Somehow the plants know it is spring

2008-09-21T13:31:00.000-07:00

About two weeks ago, the African scrub started to sprout green leaves, signaling the start of spring. I found this odd, as we still have yet to have any rain since autumn.

Such are the seasons here, the tail-end of winter is marked with high mischievous winds that pick up dust and make sure it permeates all clothing. The dust has an upside as well, it means you can see the winds and turn your back to them to avoid being sandblasted too much.

And now blossoms are appearing on the trees, different birds have arrived, baby animals are growing out of their cute phase and into adolescence, and the places where the veld had been burnt are turning green with new shoots of grass.

When I first saw fire in my host family's yard, I was (understandably) alarmed, but my host mother (who had set the fire) assured me that it was they always did and that it wouldn't spread beyond the yard. It didn't.

However, I have seen fires far in the veld, flickering in several spots. I doubted people could be at three places at once.

One fire of note I first saw when I was headed back from town with my host family. Town is about 80 km away from where we live. While still in town I noticed the sunset looked odd... there was a cloud which seemed to be lit from the bottom. As the sun set and we approached one of our neighboring villages, we saw that it was indeed a large grass fire. It was eerie to see the smoke rise, reddish on the bottom and then white on the top, til a point, and then get blown away. I watched for awhile, transfixed, but then focused my attention elsewhere.

I haven't heard anything more about the fire, so I assume it burnt itself out before reaching the village.

Other parts of the country have not been so lucky as fires fanned by the high winds have done some damage in Mpumalanga, KwaZuluNatal, and Eastern Cape.

But not here. For now, I'm enjoying the windy opening of spring, except when I need to turn my back to avoid the next batch of airborne sand.

A package!

2008-09-18T14:33:00.001-07:00

This entry is to commemorate the arrival of a package of cookies and the amazing people who decided to send me them. Thanks Julie and Allan! Julie- the cookies are/were delicious and you are incredibly well liked by my host family now. Allan... thanks for being inquisitive enough about the inner-workings of the postal system to send me a box/envelope of cookies.

Thanks!

Back at training

2008-09-18T14:33:00.000-07:00

The sun rises over an old teacher training college, bathing everything in a swath of red-gold splendor. The sunrise disguises the reality that the college was abandoned with the fall of apartheid 14 years ago. During the day, it is easier to walk through derelict buildings, some of which have been burned; their ceilings open to the African sunshine. The African veld has claimed its right over some of these buildings, grasses sprout from roofs, birds have made nests in nooks. These buildings almost feel haunted- lightbulbs swing in their melted fixtures, the winds add ambiance of eeriness and make me feel like I should be in a movie about some lost civilization which curiously abandoned its centers of learning.

That changes with addition of Peace Corps, which uses this center for training. 43 trainees and a dozen host country nationals acting as language and culture instructors, add a palpable heartbeat to the surroundings. The training college is being restored, buildings are being repaired, and weeds cleared as the Department of Education has decided to use the buildings for seminars once more.

Peace Corps has given me the opportunity to take a step back in time. I’m now at the training site for the incoming class of Peace Corps Volunteers. A year ago, it was I that numbly walked into the South African sunshine, now there is a new group… not as large as mine, but equally diverse and on their way to be successful Peace Corps Volunteers.

It is a wonderful decision by Peace Corps Staff to involve actual Peace Corps Volunteers in the training. Peace Corps staff, though they do know about our situation, see it from above, they know where we are, if the site is safe, are familiar with the principals that are their contacts in the villages etc. However, we are the workers, where training meets implementation, facing unique problems that Peace Corps does not comprehend. Training without volunteers present would seem detached from the present situation and miss out on the wealth of information already generated by past and present volunteers.

As a Corps, we are much quicker to collaborate with one another, choosing not to re-invent the wheel, but using tried and true material and adapting it to our current situation. We are able to offer each other not only professional, but emotional support and yes, there are even Peace Corps couples, which naturally quite a few people know about within a day or two as news travels about as fast as sound through the Peace Corps grapevine. Every now and then a few tendrils have lost their connection to the main vine, but on the whole, news travels.

Our goal as Volunteer trainers is to equip the new trainees for service in the field; we’ve amassed a skill set that we find necessary to pass on to the next generation. It is our pleasure to pass this on.

As a Volunteer at training, I returned to my early days, remembering how it felt to step off of the plane, recalling the ideas, optimism, and hesitant interactions that pervaded those initial moments. I also recalled the novelty of life here, and why I am honored to serve my country and the people of South Africa.

As the training site fades into the veld, I wish all of you trainees (and now official volunteers) the best of luck.

Why I love Afrikaans

2008-09-17T12:07:00.000-07:00

Afrikaans is a new language, developed in South Africa in the last 300 years or so. It stems from Dutch, and had influences from some of the native languages, as well as the languages of the other European colonists. They all had to communicate, so out of this hodgepodge arose Afrikaans. As it is a new language, it doesn't have all the oddities of spelling that older languages have, which makes it awesome.

Amalgamation of Successes

2008-09-16T01:20:00.001-07:00

Sometimes it seems that Peace Corps is nothing more than time spent being frustrated over inequalities, incompetence, cultural differences and general lack of progress. And that is most definitely not Peace Corps. Tangible results are initially hard to come by and in those early stages success is measured in smiles, small steps, and trust. I don’t mean to belittle a volunteer’s contribution during the observation period (first 3 months at site), lovingly termed lock-down by fellow volunteers.

But it’s in those initial months were the community sees you every day and either accepts you as one of its own or holds you at a distance. Success comes when the stares stop and the smiles abound. When the children scream your name from afar and come running toward you… rather than run screaming away from you. Success is your first sickness free week.

Peace Corps during that period teaches you to appreciate the small things. The smiles, the nervousness, the unknown.

It was during those three frustrating months when I got my first bright ray of sunshine. My former host sister called. Peace Corps paired us with a family in the training village during training. During this time, she and I had spent hours going over math and whatever other subject she needed help with. I admired her tenacity; she was not only going to school, but was in charge of cooking meals at times, cleaning at others, and basically running the household. She also studied. She studied every night. We went over math together when she asked for help and the first thing I did was take away her calculator. She depended too much on it, using it as a crutch to cover up not knowing basic math theory. We spent hours honing her skills, reviewing. Before long her friends were coming over and she was helping them.

She called unexpectedly after I had been at site (different from the training site) for about two months and I could hear the excitement in her voice,

“Thabiso, I got top marks on the maths examination!”

I was impressed.

“And I’m going to get a certificate because I received some of the highest marks in the class!”

The long sought after feeling of accomplishment had arrived.

I know my work may not be acknowledged nor even appreciated right away, if ever. I do relish the few times it will be acknowledged, but don’t dwell on them. When times are less fruitful and I really need a boost, I’ll look back at them and realize that these small moments make everything worthwhile. Learning to appreciate life’s small additive successes makes life worthwhile.

A rocky day

2008-09-10T12:24:00.000-07:00

A typical day for me begins slightly before sunrise around 6 am. At that time the birds begin to sing, the donkeys bray, the cocks crow, the dogs bark and I turn over in my bed, especially when it's cold (freezing.. remember I have no heater, stone walls and a zinc roof don't do much against the cold/heat) . Fortunately, we only have dogs. The other animals I can hear in the distance.

Usually I get up, make breakfast and check my gmail and the New York Times on my phone, bathe, brush teeth, change, shave and head to work. I throw in playing with the dogs at one point in time as it would be hard to ignore them, they are super energetic and always ready to play and fight over my attention. If necessary, I'll do some polishing of my shoes and cleaning up before school as well.

I work at two primary schools (for the most part), so depending on where I am headed for the day, I either walk along the road until I can catch a ride with a taxi (minibus) or walk 10 minutes to my closer school. The other school is about a 50 minute walk away, which is doable, but I prefer not to arrive dusty to school.

This morning I was walking to my close school when I heard something odd. A metallic clang. Followed by another. And another. As I drew nearer to the school, a man was taking bricks that had been laid in the yard to prevent erosion and throwing them into a donkey cart. Odd. I supposed that the bricks were needed for something else.

I noticed my host mother, also a teacher at my school, standing outside the gate. The gate was locked. She explained that man who was now throwing rocks into his donkey cart had locked it and that there was not something right with him. Teachers who had already arrived had taken their classes into the classrooms, but one class was still waiting outside for their teacher. I took another look at the man.

Two more teachers approached the locked gate. Looking at the man with annoyance... and a bit of fear. It is well known in the community that the man is prone to madness, but to a large degree it is tolerated. It is viewed as shameful to send a family member away for treatment or schooling, so though we had known about this man before, we had just had harmless incidents.

I asked the teachers if it would be acceptable to call the police, as this man had rocks, was mad, and was near children. They responded affirmatively and I dialed the police and handed the phone to one of them. The children outside the classroom bothered me. I looped around the buildings and beckoned the children to follow. Once we were on the other side of the buildings we sang a lively few rounds of "Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes" until I checked and saw that the man was now building a barricade with the stones in the road. This meant that the children could go back to class and lock the door, which is what all the teachers ended up doing. I decided to call the police again as they had previously told the teachers that there were no police cars available. This time they assured me there was one on its way.

The man blockaded the road with his donkeycart for a bit and after stopping a few cars, decided he needed more bricks, so he came back into the yard. My principal then called the police. The head of the SGB (School Governing Body, like PTA, but with more power) was now trying to get to the school, but had his progress hampered by the man.
I decided to continue working, but to keep listening in case I was needed. I followed up with one of the teachers I had been working with and she asked me if I could review verbs with the third graders. So a game very similar to Simon says evolved, which then led to the hokey-pokey. Then it was time for them to write a test, so I left and saw that the police had arrived. They were driving off with the man... but his donkey cart was still in the yard. Though very tempted to take a joy-ride, I continued with my work.

At break-time, two of teachers asked me if I would kindly help them bring truant learners back to class. The learners had decided that attending school for half a day was enough and that they wanted to spend the rest of the school day outside playing a game involving coins. As they saw me approaching, they ran. The teachers and I then met to see what options were open to us. They had already contacted the parents previously, had the learners write a contract, and didn't know where to go from there, so we went through a few options in the school's disciplinary policy, including calling the police to the school a second time. We decided to give them a written warning, warning them that they could be expelled.

The day went on. I helped the adminstrative assistant complete some database work and then helped some teachers with subject knowledge. Then, shortly before school let out, five learners were escorted into the office. Some of them obviously terrified. The head of the SGB had been walking through the village and stumbled across the errant learners hiding in a donga or gully. They were in trouble and they knew it.

Luckily for us, the principal had already printed out the letters and we had already discussed what we were going to do. The children received quite the verbal haranguing.

Then after-school I hosted had a professional development workshop on Mentoring and Coaching which had been requested by the principal.

Eish, what a day.

A sheep of Thanks

2008-09-02T04:55:00.001-07:00

As I've warned you before, this blog follows chronology only very roughly, this entry is about nine months old...

My host father has asked me several times if I can take a sheep or a goat back to America with me as a gift of thanks. He said I could then slaughter it in the states to show how thanks is given in rural South Africa.

That is an accurate picture of life here. Gratefulness is still measured in cows, sheep, and goats. For my birthday, in fact, my host family slaughtered a sheep for me (well, I helped… wearing gloves this time) and told me to invite people over, which fortunately coincided with Thanksgiving, and even though we were on travel restriction, Peace Corps allowed us to visit our closest volunteer and share Thanksgiving with them. Luckily I’m the closest neighbor to several volunteers. So I turned 23 in the Thanksgivithday celebration.

This proved to be quite an occasion as one of my teacher’s shared my birthday and was over for the braai, a South African BBQ. We, all of us, prepared half the food South African Style- Pap or bogobe, a stiff porridge made of maizemeal, and then threw in some American overtones, salad, mashed potatoes, and green beans. Sharing cultures through food…. There really is nothing as lekker.

One wonderful thing about South African families is that you know who your relatives are… that is unless you are a Peace Corps volunteer and suddenly have 30 or so more new and intriguing names and faces to remember. I ended up making a rather elaborate family tree to help me out on this one. But I digress, family is central to the interconnectedness of rural South African life. I don’t mean this in a traditional western sense. Family, especially the term uncle, is a much looser concept. Uncle is both a term for your parent’s brother or brother-in-law, but also a term of respect for someone who wouldn’t be considered your uncle in the western sense. Family is everyone who is remotely related to you.

And so part of the family came over from the neighboring village and partook in the feast, as did the local family. One interesting feature of the evening was when we brought tables outside, the Americans were quite a ease sitting at the candle-lit table and sharing the meal in that manner, whereas my African host family chose to sit in a circle, as they was their custom. In the end, we did manage to mingle, but it was quite humorous and poignant to see the differing cultures reflected so visibly.

It was also amusing to see the different interactions we had with one another. Some of my host family seemed to feel a little awkward around the handful of Americans that were there. The volunteers were less awkward, or to quote a volunteer, “Awkwardness becomes the norm for us, so awkward ceases to exist.” Since I knew everyone who came, I could see how differently some people acted.

One of the remarkable aspects of the BaTswanan culture is their openness to strangers and eagerness to be hospitable. The visitor is well treated, to the point of the ‘Tswana avoiding any particular topic that might lead to conflict. Now this is true in other cultures as well, but I found a particular iteration in my time here, where I notice people doing everything to make me feel well for the moment, including the extreme of telling me they’ll do something, even though they have no intention of actually doing it, just so that I will feel good at the moment. The fact that I will be let down later can be tempered, but there are very few times a person will tell you something that will let you down. And so some in my host family were exceedingly cautious in talking with the volunteers not wishing to disappoint, which lasted until they were repeatedly invited to come and sit with us at the table in a typical Thanksgiving style. Please don’t get me wrong, I also joined my host family’s circle, but felt that unless they were invited repeatedly to the table, they would not come. And so, surrounded by some of my friends in Peace Corps and my host country national host family, we celebrated Thankgivirthday until the candles had burned low on the tables and the Milky Way stretched brilliantly across the night sky.

A few weeks later, my host father asked if I could take a goat home on the plane with me. I was honored.

“We really liked the camp Thabiso”

2008-07-31T12:30:00.000-07:00

As I was broke from Youth Day (we operated on our own personal funds until funding came from the states which was only accessible two weeks later), I decided be a villager for the break. The fact that I traveled home during the school year might have had something to do with it….

But as usual, I decided to run a camp for the children and a computer workshop for the educators that were also in town (Excel this time- how to keep a gradebook), and I’m glad to say, there was learning going on. I awoke the first day of camp was heavily loaded. A backpack, guitar, 5 kg bag of flour (I’ll explain) , another bag full of tangrams, and a bucket in which I usually wash clothes.

As a looked towards the school, a handful of children were already there. I knew that there would be more coming from our house, because well, the host cousins come over every time I have a camp. They also tend to be immensely helpful in preparation.

The camp worked like a charm, very few discipline problems, a massive papier-mâché globe was made, and about 50-60 children excitedly asking me daily to look at their tangrams to see if they got it right. Some are quicker than other, some require a little help, but on the whole tangram time is something looked forward to by all, but it can be mayhem. On occasion, I calm the room down by having a sing-a-long, which tells you just how loud it can get when the tangrams come out.

By far the favorites are “Oh Susanna!” followed closely by an Africanized version of “This Land is your Land” i.e. from Table Mountain to the shores of Durban…

The final event in the camp was a math competition for two prizes my family had sent me. Yes, the children got excited about math… too excited at times as they would literally jump out of their seats to answer a question. This led me to move the competition outside, where everyone wanted to see the flashcards.

As this was the third camp I conducted, I’ve begun to see personalities in the students. Two particular students had enjoyed darting in and out of the previous camps and now came early, trying to read. This tells me that I’ve either learned a bit about classroom management, or skipping camp has lost it’s novelty, perhaps a little of both.

Happy Birthday Madiba

2008-07-18T15:14:00.000-07:00

"I have fought against white domination, and I have fought against black domination. I have cherished the ideal of a democratic and free society in which all persons live together in harmony and with equal opportunities. It is an ideal which I hope to live for and to achieve. But if needs be, it is an ideal for which I am prepared to die." Nelson Mandela - Rivonia Trial, where he could have been sentenced to death.

Today was Nelson Mandela's 90th Birthday, so I wish him all the best and would like to thank him for inviting the Peace Corps to South Africa.

This remarkable man is both the grandfather and father of post-apartheid South Africa and is a role model, not only for South Africans, but for many in other parts of the world.

Branded as a terrorist, and to be sure, he was one. He sought to overthrow the state, using terror if necessary. However the leader that emerged in the transition to democracy was one of compassion, forgiveness, and self-sacrifice. Many South Africans hold him up as the model of South Africa. Well-versed in his traditional culture, yet educated in the ideals of democracy, a smart humble man.

To be sure, his presence at the helm is missed, but I do feel, it's time for people to follow Nelson's model, not just clamor for him to lead them again.
God Bless you Madiba, I pray for you and the future of South Africa.

Another congrats!!

2008-06-23T09:42:00.001-07:00

And congratulations to Erica! My younger sister graduated in June from High School and I am exceptionally proud of her. I’m told her valedictory address was amazing and I look forward to seeing it at one point in time… and then again whenever I return home and you can tell me who everybody is. Just know, I was definitely thinking of you on your graduation and praying that you wouldn’t fall while climbing the stairs. Heels and stairs just don’t seem like a good idea.

It was quite something to be at the “Night with the Stars” with you Erica. You have grown to be a remarkable young lady and I know you’ll do well in everything you do. You are very true to yourself and I pray that you continue to be blessed and share this blessing with others.

Added July 2: I finally watched the speech on YouTube (took me an hour and a half to load... slow connection), it's the by far the greatest high school graduation speech ever, check it out: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YxvcnuWmx-U

Youth Day 2008

2008-06-23T03:38:00.001-07:00

Thanks to all who uploaded pictures to my computer: Stacy, Rebeckah, and Adam. I'm using your pictures and thank you for the use of them!

June 16^th 2008 marked the beginning of what we hope to be an annual Empowerment Cup for learners in the Primary and Secondary Schools. The event was held in conjunction with am HIV testing drive we organized with the local clinic, and the reason we held the tournament in the first place was to promote healthy lifestyles. Two other volunteers and I sat on the advisory board for the event with about 15 host country nationals, and after we realized one grant application was infeasible- nearly a month after writing the initial grant, I rewrote the grant for a much smaller (cost-wise) event. After months of planning the event had arrived with anywhere from 700 to 900 people in attendance. I’ll present it in snapshots.

I wake up to the Circle of Life, my new alarm tone, and walk outside. I can see my breath and know that after awhile I won’t be able to feel my feet. There is a slight haze over the African savanna. The sun is still hiding behind the horizon but the dawn has sleepily begun, slowly changing the color of the sky and everything around me. Roosters crow and I mentally thank my family for not having one, as they can be quite loud. A few moments of tranquility before the day begins. It’s 6:15. I go to wake the others. A cup of coffee and a day-old handmade tortillaful of leftover lentils later, we’re on our way.

The day is still cold, we are all wearing gloves or wishing we were wearing them. We arrive at the field and begin preparations. We told our counterparts we would meet them here at 7:45… and we assume they will come at 8:30, one comes at 8:15 and we are delighted. By this point in time we’ve put up some signs and balloons, one person has already gotten tested for HIV, and we begin to set up the field. There were two fields to set up so I leave the group with two other Peace Corps Volunteers to help set up the other field.

Three primary school teams arrived on-time, which was wholly surprising. Three arrived late, that was expected. The referees arrived latest of all…. a full two hours late. Late even by African standards. I decide to stay on the primary school side of things, knowing one of my African counterparts and fellow tournament director is at the other field and will be able to manage fine. The games get underway, at last two hours behind schedule. I cross out the times on the schedule; they were more of guidelines anyway. We need to redo the brackets anyway because some teams are showing up much later than scheduled. The day is about the youth, so let them play. Though in all fairness, we do charge the two teams that were excessively late two goals, as they were both playing teams that had played a game previously. The coaches weren’t too pleased. If only they had read the rules, it was in there….

I arrive at the clinic and join the line of people waiting to be tested for HIV. I’m the fifth in line. The counselors have been at it all morning, since 7:30. It’s one now… they’ve never had this many people want to be tested. They look at us in line and tell us that they are exhausted. They look it. This is tough work, imagine you have to tell someone they are HIV positive and encourage them to live a healthy life. One pair of counselors have been going for hours non-stop. It’s time for lunch and then since it’s a holiday, they had planned on leaving early. Come back tomorrow. Since the last person they tested was not affiliated with organizing the event… and the next three people were… I know that some who normally wouldn’t have gotten tested were tested today. Success in my book. Hundreds more know about it and have seen others that were tested. Awareness bracelets were made and donated by a recently-founded women's group in the village. Thank you Mandy for helping them learn this craft and thank you to whomever donated supplies!

Back at the fields, a few missed calls by the refs, but the games proceed as planned. The first game even started with the learners pledging to live a healthy life. For times sake we moved the pledge to the end, more of an exclamation point than a capital letter.

Children yell, Thabiso! (my SeTswana name). I can’t help but smile. This is very common, but they are coming towards me excitedly. They try four times in English to ask me correctly for an extra ball that I brought with me. On getting it right, I lend the ball to the learner. I think they were coached by another volunteer, that or it’s gotten out that I only let people borrow my things when they ask me correctly in English ~ using please ;). I will let them try as many times as possible and even spell it out for them, but it must be done. My host sister’s English is improving by leaps and bounds.. probably because she likes to borrow my things.

Injury. The promised EMS didn’t show. I’m it. I have no ice, just the Peace Corps med kit and the clinic down the road if it’s really bad. Ok, doesn’t look bad. Nothing broken. Just a really hard hit. Dehydrated too. Water. An orange. The kid is fine. It’s amazing how tough these kids are, some are even playing barefoot. Amazing.

I realize it’s a fine line to walk between being a micro-manger and not caring. I definitely erred on the former side for this event. It’s the professional referee in me coming out. However, with all due respect, the primary school games are done nearly two hours before the others and we abided by more of the rules… again lapse in communication between what was desired and what happened. Making a big deal out of it is pointless, but not mentioning it makes the point null. A bit of tight-rope walking is done when talking to the directors on this side of the tournament, making sure people know what was supposed to happen.

A team sticks around to show its support for a neighboring school. Cheering ensues. Rich African smiles. I can see coaches who genuinely care for the kids that they are teaching. They inspire them, they lift them up. Yes, they want to win and when they do it’s all smiles. When they don’t, there was no yelling from them. There were even smiles at times.

A pile of speakers the size of a minivan crank out music through the African sky. A celebration indeed. Children dancing or jiving as it is known here. Having a good time. No School today as it's a national holiday. Today is a day for the kids; it is afterall, youth day.

The crowd pushes into the tent to see the gospel group perform. I look around nervously for the police; it’s getting really crowded. They are hanging back. This is their country. I suppose they know what is best. I mentally draw a line of crowding that, when crossed, is when I’ll ask them to do crowd control… though that is what they were here for.

A policeman asks me why there was no catering. I explain that the bill was footed by a limited fund in which there was no money for food. He seemed to understand. Seems like a faux pas to not have catering at an event like this, but there was no money. Either we would lose our credibility with the village, or we have an event without food. The latter is fine.

Trophies hoisted aloft by joyous children and teenagers. Traditional Dancers, gospel singers, good job Africa. Spontaneous dancing and singing. Happy Youth day!

The tent is disassembled. Everyone is paid. It’s time to leave. The day is done… it’s been a long one. I definitely enjoyed it, so did the children!

Special thanks to Natalia... the Duct/Duck Tape came in really handy!

Heartfelt Congratulations!

2008-06-23T03:28:00.000-07:00

The pageantry of a Rice Commencement is quite dazzling, in fact, it makes me want to get another degree. Then I look at what the first degree did to my bank account. Eeish! I had flown to the states for this, to see Julie graduate. I knew nearly exactly what would happen, after all, the last graduation I went to was… well my own, but it wasn’t what event was going to take place that was the reason I was there, it was who was taking part in that event that mattered.

For those of you who don’t know (I fathom it is very few), Julie and I have been dating for nearly two and a half years now (it will be two and half by the time I post this) and when I joined Peace Corps, I promised we would see each other before a year of service was done. As you can imagine, it has been quite the rollercoaster ride, quite harrowing at times, and I do firmly believe that since we are getting through this, we can get through anything together.

And there she was, in full regalia, smiling along with her classmates, looking as gorgeous as ever. The previous days had been filled with her family coming down to town for this and me getting to know them. Mexican food, Japanese steak, food and more food. Definitely a plus, but to see her again, be in the same time zone, this was what makes me smile even now, sitting in a room in rural South Africa. To see her after not seeing her for months is a joy that cannot be put into words. Just the thought brings back the familiar glow around the heart, the way everything changes to be just more splendidly real.

So there I was, knowing that this was her day. Yes, everyone expected her to graduate, but it still didn’t diminish the fact that she did. I am proud of her and rightly so. Congrats Julie! Thank you and your family for the hospitality.

Every time I do see you, I am reminded of how incredible you are. I couldn’t be luckier.

A proud moment

2008-06-12T23:52:00.000-07:00

In retrospect, I am extremely glad I went back to the States and I was surprised at how little had changed. I suppose I’ve gotten used to little things changing, and having more attachments to people than objects. Or perhaps I’m in a phase of my life when everything changes and so I’m surprised by stasis.

After all, I had one of my best Peace Corps moments while in the states. Before I had left, I told my principal at my key school that he could contact me via an email account I had set up for the school. I left detailed instructions on how to send an email and perhaps even showed him once. Not my usual training style as I usually have him actually go through all the motions. Needless, to say I wasn’t expecting anything.

Then:

Hallow Thabiso,how are jou?

We missed you a lot,but everything is going well.

Greet your family,tell them that you have tought us a lot and we will keep on thinking of you everyday.

I have make a mistake when I am trying to delete document from the HP printer I have delete the printer from the laptop and 

I do not know how to install it.

Good bye 

From:

Gerald Sephecholo

I was flabbergasted and incredibly proud. I wrote back, and he replied with this message:

I have received your mail and successfuly used your tips and it has worked.

Thank you very much for help until we meet next week and enjoy days spending at home.
 
From:
Mr Sephecholo

A school that did not even have a computer a year ago was now sending emails around the world. In a way, I don’t think my Peace Corps service will end so long as that principal stays at that school.

Being away from family makes you realize how important they really are. The BaTswana are so surprised to learn that I voluntarily left my home and family. Families here, though broken at times due to husbands and fathers either MIA or working in the mines, are strong. There is a prevailing sense of family, to the degree that I feel a little guilty when I don’t call my old host family at least twice as often as they call me.

But back to my family. I do miss you guys very much. Seeing you for these few days was great. I love all the letters/emails I get. Mom, Dad, Anita, Erica, and Manuel, I couldn’t ask for anything better than ya’ll. I treasure pictures of ya’ll and now my memories of us together are ever sharper. I know as time goes on that time together will be harder to come by, but I do appreciate all efforts of you to be there when I was in town. Love ya’ll and it’s time to head off to bed now.

Back in South Africa

2008-06-10T23:20:00.000-07:00

Again... I'm behind this happened about 2 weeks ago...

And I’m back in South Africa- extremely tired. My arrival at the Dallas airport was harkened by the news that my flight would be three hours late leaving because it was flying around a line of tornados (despite the deceiving screen display which said it was on-time.) No problem for me; Julie, Mom and I looked at pictures of Africa and when it got to be a bit much, old pictures of family that I have on my computer. I was not the only one stuck in this predicament, as an elderly lady was also flying back to SA, as she had one day left on her visa. We ended up going through the same hoops in Atlanta, realizing when the gate opened 6 hours after our arrival (and her first burrito) that we actually were flying standby on a full flight… which was quite annoying. I wouldn’t have minded the 12 hour layover in Paris, but a full flight. If I had known, I would have stayed in Dallas a day longer and taken the first flight out, instead of waiting in Atlanta airport for a day, and then realizing that I wouldn’t be leaving. She ended up being able to get on the flight, so after standing in front of an attendant who seemed to think I was irate when I asked her what kind of options I had (she had been typing into the computer for about 3 minutes before I asked) I headed off to my hotel with the other standby passengers, luckily with my laptop and the boon of a free travel kit courtesy of Delta airlines.

I made the best of the showers (running water!!) and the free wireless (I acquired a Hero’s addiction on the other side of the Atlantic) and managed to at least keep my family and Julie up to date.

The next day consisted of me waiting around in the airport- some of the staff at the restaurants even recognized me!- and then boarding my plane to South Africa 24 hours after I should have. Oh well, such is life. If there is one thing I’ve learned from being a Peace Corps Volunteer it is to be flexible… and that it helps to be patient at times.

Again, there is a silver lining to everything, even long-distance flights. Now planes have dozens of movies for you to see, so a movie-starved person such as myself, saw movies I never really thought I’d ever spend money to see (27 dresses, I am Legend, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, an episode of Scrubs, etc.) The free drinks (even alcohol) help as does the refreshment stand in the back, that is… until you are asked to leave. That incident took place on my way to the states, as my neighbor (a Park Ranger going from South Africa to Alaska) and I probably spend a good hour there and then other people wanted to join us. We promptly returned to our seats and began playing a quiz game against each other, the young lady who composes songs for South African television, and some person in seat 41A who didn’t supply us with a name. It was also on that first flight that I met the US Ambassador to Swaziland.

But yes, I’m back in South Africa… and tired. There is a rugby match going on in a stadium just around the block, but I’m too tired to go, which means I’m really tired. Trying to fight jet-lag… good night.

Xenophobic Violence

2008-06-10T05:27:00.000-07:00

Dear Family and Friends,

As many of you may have heard over the news, there have been xenophobic attacks here in South Africa. This email is to assure you that a) I am safe b) that you needn’t worry about me and c) to explain what exactly is happening.

Firstly: Safety, Peace Corps is extremely concerned about the safety of their volunteers, often mandating certain safety precautions that seem at times, superfluous. Volunteers have been pulled from their sites if Peace Corps hears the slightest whisper that the volunteer would be in danger by staying longer in that area, often against the volunteer’s wishes. All of the areas that experienced violence, volunteers have been banned from going to for quite some time (ever since before I arrived in South Africa). The areas are in the Townships or Locations, which in the Apartheid era were places that the black South Africans were forced to live. Per Apartheid design, they are outside the major cities. I was actually in Pretoria (one of the capital cities) at the time, and everyone around me was as disgusted as I was at the attacks.

The safety and security officer for Peace Corps alerted us promptly and told us that he was meeting with officials from the South African Police Service to monitor the situation even more closely. He urged us to be vigilant in our own communities, as he always does.

And lastly, what exactly is going on? The attacks that have left dozens of people dead, and hundreds if not thousands more homeless took place in the Townships, which some people have referred to as the South African version of ghettos. These, by design of Apartheid, are removed from the cities, and not places I can accidentally go; I have to want to go there. Poverty is a factor there, as is ignorance. The attacks were on fellow Africans and people of Indian or Asian descent- immigrants that had established businesses, albeit small ones. South Africa has become an immigrant destination as millions of people from all over Africa move here in search of opportunities that were much harder to get or denied to them in their countries of origin (think Zimbabwe). Those that committed the crimes felt that they were taking jobs away from South Africans and threatened them, when in fact it stems more from jealousy that someone who immigrated could have the opportunity and ability to have a successful business when South Africans had not taken advantage of the very same opportunity. .

As far as I know, the violence was only in the Townships and though there were a handful of individual Townships involved, the problem is being dealt with by the South African Authorities. The president has come out to condemn the attacks and the feeling of South Africans is one of shame.

Back in the States

2008-06-09T00:07:00.000-07:00

Again... I'm behind on posting... this is from awhile ago.

A little dreary-eyed, back in the sanitary smell of airports, 25 hours after my flight left from Oliver Tambo in Johannesburg, my kudu jerky seized by customs agents (12 oz of jerky- spiced dehydrated meat…what could be the harm in that?) a few steps more and I was home. Well… back in the states.

The notion of home is somewhat an abstract concept to me as a Peace Corps Volunteer. My house is in South Africa, my job is there, yet my life is exists on both sides of the Atlantic. I cannot distance myself from the goings on in the states, to do so would deny my roots there, which is something which I am not supposed to do as a Peace Corps Volunteer. America made me who I am, not staying in contact with those on the other side would seem like denying part of myself. Peace Corps in that sense seems impermanent, a fraction of my life, a life I know will involve a return to the states. My life is and isn’t in South Africa. My job is here and I enjoy it a great deal, but nothing can compare to being together with family and friends to the degree that I had in the states.

But there I was, striding off the airplane and glancing around the baggage claim for my family. It was wonderful to see them. In a way it was like coming home from college, a short visit between semesters, a slow but predictable advance away from the time I could call home the place where my parent’s live.

Since coming back for this visit, I have had the question, well, does it feel different? How has it been adjusting back to life in the States?

The only part that I find a little disconcerting, besides my little brother being taller than me, is driving on the right side of the road. This is worse when I’m in the passenger’s seat, as that would be the driver’s seat in South Africa. I need to remember wide left turns and small right ones. It helps when there are lines and arrows painted on the road, and I’m sure I’ll get used to it again after a few days.

Everything else, the vastness, the infrastructure, the wealth are all familiar sights to my eyes. To be sure, I see America in a different light. I see the opportunities present here, the business infrastructure, the transportation systems, the vastness, the land use. I also see the rampant consumerism, the sense of entitlement of the best and the latest no matter the cost. This may only be particular to my area of the States, but I have not traveled to any portion of this country where that is not present.

It’s amazing how much can happen in two weeks, and how minuscule two weeks can be in the large scheme of things. To think that my Peace Corps training consisted of just four two week periods in unfathomable, so much was learned, so much was done. Then at site, especially during the mandated observation period the weeks seemed to crawl by. I live in a fairly remote area; the houses in my village are spread apart.

Again in less that two weeks I will be back on the plane flying back across the Atlantic, but for now it’s a whirlwind seeing my family, seeing a few friends, doing a few chores here and there, going to a graduation and somehow also relaxing and getting used to the time zone before needing to readjust in those short weeks.

The Test

2008-04-27T11:22:00.000-07:00

Read the entry titled “The Scare” below, as it will make this entry make a little more sense. This happened last Thursday.

To both set an example and actually know how a test was conducted, a nearby volunteer, Adam, and I decided to go to the clinic to see what it was like to be tested for HIV here in rural South Africa. We are also organizing an event, where we plan on educating the villagers about the virus and felt a little hypocritical telling people to get tested, if we hadn’t been tested ourselves. This way we would know exactly what went on behind the closed door of the testing room.

So we walked into the clinic and asked about getting an HIV test (hopefully the villagers aren’t getting the wrong idea about us… one of our friends had already laughed that we were going to go Brokeback ~ a reference to movie where they are two gay cowboys). They were a bit surprised, perhaps by our openness to getting tested, or perhaps because they think it is a disease that wouldn’t affect the makgoa, the white men.

We waited around for a bit, as some of the staff were on a lunch break, and then we were ushered into a room where the counseling and testing was done. We explained what we were doing and that we would like to take pictures, and so, she told us, that was ok, though she seemed a little confused at our ease that another person would watch the test being administrated. We asked if we could use the pictures in publications- yes. So the pre-test counseling began. First did I know what HIV was and how it was transmitted? Yes, it was a virus that attacks the human immune system and is contracted through bodily fluids, such as blood, semen and breast-milk. Then came the questions that I hadn’t thought about before, how would I react to a positive result?

Um, wow. I hadn’t thought of this. I knew I was negative, but how would I react? I answered as best I could that I would be shocked, as I would have no clue where I would have contracted the virus. I would probably tell my family and friends and discuss my options with a doctor. Then I would, though probably haltingly, get on with my life.

It was then that the irrational fear crept in. How would I really react to a positive test? What if everyone had been wrong about me cutting myself with the knife? What if I was the first documented anomaly? The fear of the unknown was back. I was nervous.

Then it was time to sign the form saying that I had gone through the counseling. Ok not too bad. Why was I nervous? I really didn’t have anything to fear. At the same time, I realized that if I was going through this fear and I really had nothing to fear, I could only imagine what others who had engaged in more risky behaviors would be going through.

Then a few questions about my age, nationality (race), whether I had sex, and if I had sex did I use protection, and it was time for the test. Then we went through what the test would entail. A nurse, not the counselor, would come in to prick my finger. She told me to relax and asked me how I felt. I said nervous.

Ok done. A small prick. Not too bad. Like getting tested for iron before donating blood… though I have felt faint after that.

Then the blood would drip into at small hole on a testing device. They would then add a few drops of a solution. I felt her squeeze, a little more pain..

The mixture would travel up a strip in the test. If one line showed up near the end of the test, I was negative, if one showed up at the beginning of the strip and the end, I was positive. If I was positive, they would do another test. If that was positive, they would send out my blood for an ELISA (a very sensitive assay).

Now it was time to wait. Slowly the mixture advanced… this was agonizing. Seconds elapsed… why was I nervous? I couldn’t have gotten the virus. Unless there was something that scientists didn’t know? More seconds went by. Maybe a minute.

The line stopped. One line. Negative. Phew. I could breathe normally again.

Adam was next. He was also nervous. We both had waived our privacy rights so we could document what happened. Time for me to take pictures.

We then went through post-testing counseling in which we were asked how we felt- relieved. Then a reminder on how to avoid contracting HIV and we were done.

The counselor took an interest in what we were doing and we are now working on a brochure explaining what happens during the test. The more people now about what will happen, the less they will fear.

Then it was off to a meeting at a local NGO about setting up our event, which is a tournament to encourage learners to make good life choices and bolster their confidence. We plan on hosting a soccer tournament between the primary schools and then having a healthy living celebration afterwards. Some speeches, traditional dancing, etc. Anyone that gets tested for HIV will receive a bracelet handmade by a women’s group (soon to be founded) in the village. We’re still hashing out the details, but our counterpart seems quite excited about it, as are we. Ok, more updates to come soon.

The Scare

2008-04-27T10:28:00.000-07:00

As I mentioned before, these updates will be in no particular order, as this details something that happened nearly 8 months ago, which means it was and still is quite memorable.

My first impressions of site were that I was living in a dry, fairly barren scrubland. The wind would pick up small spirals of dirt at times and whip them around just well enough so that the dust would get everywhere. There were few trees to speak of, and it hadn’t rained during the entire time I had been in South Africa. This picture should help a little. The picture is staged... if I wanted to hitchhike, that road wouldn't be a good road for it as I have only seen three cars on it... my entire time here.

During my first month at site the rains came. They came suddenly, though with some warning, as a massive windstorm precluded them. I was still in the process of settling in to my place and getting accustomed to my schools and my life as a Peace Corps Volunteer. Nights were cold, so cold I would often resort to pulling my entire duvet and microfiber blanket over me when I slept.

Rain on a zinc roof is deafening; it sounds like marbles. I walked to the window and watched the sheer sheets of rain fall, illuminated at intervals by cold sparks of lightning. I had two leaks which I promptly put buckets under and put a towel under the door as rain water had begun to seep in that entry.

The next day, everything was drenched… and cold. The clear sky was replaced by gray clouds, the sunshine with drizzle that stung your cheeks. The goats and sheep had been in the kraal (corral) overnight and my host mom asked me to come help out, as several of them had gotten stuck in the newly formed mud. I donned my rain gear- pants, jacket, and Gore-Tex Hiking boots- and helped drag the hapless animals into the shelter of an entryway to the house. They were in various stages of hypothermia, some more gone than others. A lamb and a kid were among them and while we were building a fire to warm them, the lamb stopped breathing. It was incredibly sad. One minute struggling for breath, the next silent, no longer moving. Dead. My host mother took a look at the goats and realized that they were probably beyond saving, so she called an older gentleman and a young man from the village and we slaughtered the animals in a wheelbarrow.

I won’t go into a lot of details on slaughtering, but I’ll explain a bit. After hastening their deaths by cutting their throats, we let the blood drain into buckets, then it was time to skin them, which was done by cutting around the hooves and working towards the center of the body. Later on, we removed the innards, etc, but skinning takes a while and was done by two of us at a time. Skinning involved cutting the skin away from the fleshy portion, which can be quite easy in some parts, as there is just some easily cut connective tissue there, but in other areas, you need to really use the knife. While cutting through one of the not so easy sections, the knife the teenager was using slipped and he cut himself. Not too deeply, but blood did begin coming out, so I had him wash it out and used supplies from my Peace Corps Medical kit to bandage him. Then we headed back to work. I continued with skinning… and my knife slipped as well.

A cut on my hand…

Then I realized what had happened…. and time slowed down. A hazy fear started to grow. I dropped the knife and walked over to the tap to wash out the cut. I had cut myself… a teenager had also cut himself. Was it deep? I squeezed the wound, nothing, then after some more squeezing blood did come out.

Oh shoot…….

My vision clouded a bit.

Did I cut myself with the same knife the teenager had cut himself with? Was the teenager HIV positive? He looked to be about 18… oh man… no. This shouldn’t be happening. Could he be infected? Did I just infect myself by helping slaughter a goat? I made sure blood came out of the wound, made sure anything was washed away. A slight panic had set in. I bandaged my hand and then cleaned the knife, something I hadn’t done before. Why had I not cleaned it after the last accident? Was it even the same knife? Why can’t I remember the knife he was using? Please… let it be a different knife…

I knew the possibility of me being infected were slim. First the teenager had to be HIV positive, then I had to have been using the same knife, the virus had to stay alive for the minutes between our cuts, fairly unlikely given the fact that we were cutting the skin away at that time, and I had to have cut myself deeply enough to transfer the virus from the knife.

The chance was really slim… but there was still a chance… Shoot. An irrational fear set in. Despite this, after bandaging myself, I decided to continue helping out. After we finished skinning the goats, I made sure to ask several times if the teenager knew his HIV status. At first he didn’t understand. A little more panic… he didn’t know? Then he told me no… he was negative. Again I asked, just to make sure.. my SeTswana and his English exacerbating the situation. Yes, he seemed to understand.. he was negative, but was he? He probably hadn’t been tested. In stead of calming me, my panic just stayed at the same level it had been before.

How could I have been this careless? I thought again at the chance of me being infected. Slim to none, but if it was slim… could it have happened? I had been so careful all along… one slip-up. I knew what HIV would bring. I had studied the virus in Immunology, and some of my other science classes at Rice…. I would tell Julie, my girlfriend, and end the romantic relationship- our relationship had been rough enough during these months of separation, she had never wanted me to go to Africa and it would be my own fault, it would be over; I would have another 20-30 years to live, and probably devote myself to others similarly infected. That one instant could change everything.

Was I going to be another statistic?

I knew if I was going to do Post Exposure Prophylaxis (medicines to decrease your chance of infection after exposure) I would need to begin taking them within 72 hours in order for them to be effective. The clock was ticking. I went to the schools and worked, observing teachers and the way the school was set up, seeing how things did and didn’t get done. The fears had been allayed by my reexamination of what had happened, but I wanted to make sure. I was fine, but in matters like this, just to be extra careful, I wanted a professional opinion.

I came home… and though I knew I was being irrational of my fear of being infected, I called the Peace Corps Medical Officer. I explained the situation. She informed me that the chances of me being infected were slim (um… thanks) because the virus doesn’t survive very long outside of the body. How long? She didn’t know the exact answer but thought it was in the range of tens of seconds. I asked her if I should take Post Exposure Prophylaxis… she said it was up to me, but that she wouldn’t recommend it as chance of side effects (liver-damage) far outweighed the chance that I was infected. Still I wasn’t completely reassured. I emailed Anita, my sister, who is studying to be a doctor. The email came back the next day and allayed some of my fears. What the Peace Corps Medical Officer had told me was true. I should not be afraid of being infected. All the ifs, made it seem incredibly unlikely that the virus was transferred, if he had it at all. And beyond that, the virus doesn’t survive outside the body for long at all.

Ok, I wasn’t infected, but had tasted the fear associated with a possible infection. Though it was a relief to be reassured, I was angry at myself for being in that situation. I should have known better, after all, I studied the virus, and knew how to handle myself around blood. I decided against telling my parents and friends, as it might actually make them more afraid for me. If I had actually been at risk, though, I would have told them, it would be unfair to keep that from them. But just to tell them to make them worried, that is ridiculous.

I bought gloves to use the next time I slaughtered an animal.

Thanks again to Julie for correcting my abysmal grammar. :)

Longtom Marathon - March 29, 2008

2008-04-13T12:30:00.000-07:00

This entry was written on March 29, same day as elections in Zimbabwe. I was going to wait til those results were announced as well to post this, but I've grown tired of waiting...

This morning at 7 am, there were 21.1 kilometers (13 miles) of incredibly gorgeous mountain roads stretched ahead of me. Two hours and one minute later, they were behind me as I crossed the finish line in the stadium in Lydenburg, Mpumalanga.

I began “training” for the marathon about five weeks ago and averaged 1 run a week, mostly due to rains or working late, interrupted by an incredible trip to visit Julie, my girlfriend. Any funds I collected were donated to an organization called KLM to benefit carefully scholars in Mpumalanga. See the entry labeled Kids and No more Chia Pet.

As this was my first half-marathon, it was very interesting. Since I had been running on flat sandy ground, the ups and downs of the mountains were quite a novel experience- especially the three major climbs in the course. The downhill portions were rather nice, though they presented their own challenges. For me, the most difficult portions for me where kilometers 3-5 and the final three kilometers in the race, which I took seriously enough to finish, but was enjoying it throughout (I think I even managed to smile in photos), looking at the scenery and chatting with other volunteers who were running the race with me. There were 68 participating, about half ran, the other half walked and two participated in the Ultra… a race of 56 km (34 miles). I had a great time and it was nice to be able to run with other volunteers, most of who had not run a half marathon before. I started with one, then was a bit faster on a climb and then another volunteer joined me, and then another. We stayed together for about 16 km and then with three kilometers left one sped up and I stayed with him, but his burst lasted until the 1,5 km mark, where I continued the pace and finished.

I ended up with one of the top 10 times of the volunteers and one of the top three in my group, which I was quite satisfied with, because I had only hoped to finish. What made life even better (besides the free food/water/powerade) was the free massage that we could get at the end of the race. I don’t think I’ve ever had my legs massaged before, but it was pretty good.

Right when I finished I was rather tired, but after some liquids and about five minutes, I was feeling really great. Sure my calves hurt and I had a small blister, but I had energy, which was kind of surprising. I stayed around to watch other volunteers finish the race while continuing to drink copious amounts of free liquids.

Now I’m sitting at the Backpacker’s (Sort of like a hostel) in Sabie and just finished watching a fire display. (Fire on the ends of chains twirled quickly, fire breathing, etc.) I made sure to replace the calories I lost by eating lots and splitting a six-pack with another volunteer. All of us are in various stages of pain and some of us walk a bit differently, but it has been great to see everyone and hope that you enjoy the pictures, whenever I'm able to access and use them. Thanks to Mr. Fine for use of the photos I have up already.

The inevitable

2008-04-12T06:07:00.000-07:00

Saturday dawned with clear blue African sky. No alarm this morning, it’s Saturday, after all and I was up late last night calling back to America. I didn’t have a funeral to attend and I wasn't headed to town, which is nice for a change. However, my host father invited me to come to the neighboring village with him to check the mail and status of the family’s bakkie (truck) which was rattling a little bit more than usual. After 460000 kilometers of driving on roads that look like a giant washboard, its highly likely that something has come loose. Today, the dirt road only felt corrugated in places, a noted improvement since the scraping trucks came through last week. Fortunately, it hasn’t rained since then.

The car repair shop/garage is like any other house here, chickens, some corn growing in the yard, chicken wire fence, a concrete block house with a zinc roof, a lean dog on a rope- but with the addition of three cars in various states of repair sitting in the yard. The owner wasn’t in. We waited, then a rattling engine told us the owner was on his way. He pulled his car (which was probably at least 30 years old… and looked it) into the red dirt yard and told us he would need his co-worker, who has at a funeral a few blocks away, so we headed to the funeral. As we approached the house, I recognized it. But here it was:

Another large striped tent. More women cooking copious amounts of food for possibly hundreds of people. The slow acapella music that rises, falls, and stretches like a mournful dirge on an accordion. Another BaTswanan funeral. Except this one was different. This was a house I knew. It was where another Peace Corps volunteer, Adam, lived and so I had met his host family. The inevitable had come.

The last time I had been here, I had helped take his host sister to the clinic. We had known that she was ill ever since we arrived. The few times I saw her last year she was obviously sick, but around and walking. Not the last time I came. She had been thin before, but now she was emaciated and walked with the aid of a cane while she braced herself against the wall. When she ran out of wall, her mother and I helped her into the truck, which was waiting a short distance from the front of the house.

I assumed she had AIDS or was rapidly progressing that way. After all, she was just a little older than me, 27 most likely, a prime group, and her symptoms seemed to fit. Seeing her so frail, frailer than her ~50 year old mother, was shocking to say the least. My first instinct was concern for myself, a bit of paranoia due partially due to the knowledge of what the virus does. Then I came to my senses, the virus will not travel through skin. She needed help to get to the clinic. She was a person who needed a hand to get somewhere, so I offered her mine. She smiled and took it.

We all knew that she would pass away sooner than the rest of us, but that didn’t stop her from smiling with her mother and me. To her I was Thabiso the moithaopi, the volunteer from the next village who was just offering her someone to lean on and speaking in SeTswana, the native tongue of the area. She might have been a bit surprised, as it is still supposedly uncommon for a white person to act in that way unless they are a doctor or nurse. Her mother was also smiling, joking around as well when I left them at the clinic. Earlier, Adam, the Peace Corps Volunteer who lives in that particular village had mentioned she had been in Joburg for awhile and hadn’t been able to keep food down. We knew she would probably not make it to the end of our service here.

Two days later, I boarded a plane to visit Julie, my girlfriend, in Germany, for a long awaited reunion. However, that incident was a very poignant reminder of where I was before leaving on vacation for a couple of weeks.

Adam’s host sister didn’t make it to the end of our service. She held on for another month and a half and passed away sometime this week. I would not have known except for just happening on the funeral to find the coworker. The word had not made it out to my village. And there I was, a bit stunned. The funeral was winding down, as I could see people leaving, having eaten. People recognized me and asked if I had come to the funeral; I mentioned that I didn’t know she had passed away. They asked me about Adam, who is on vacation right now and probably doesn’t know his host sister passed away. I texted him, but doubt he’ll get the text until he arrives back in country.

I suppose it was a shock because it was just by chance that I stumbled upon the funeral. Since then, I’ve dwelled on it. My last memory of her is of her smiling, knowing full well she was going to die. A noble way to go. Smiling. Despite the virus that crippled her well beyond her years, despite the fact that she was a victim of one of largest pandemics in recent history, she was smiling.

It’s incidents like this that put my life in perspective. Not because I take comfort in the fact that other people suffer more than I do, but that even in suffering, there can be joy. Life, no matter how long we have to live it, should be enjoyed. Be happy with what you have and treasure it. Suffering, at times, seems like a conscious decision.

Introducing Capture the Flag/Hat African Style

2008-04-09T09:32:00.001-07:00

The camp isn't all about learning, though much of it is. I should mention that I'm conducting a skills camp (just myself this time), to help improve enthusiasm for learning and getting some other skills up to par for the children. They seem to enjoy it, as do I, though it's always a bit of a relief when it's over.

It's great to see about 15 kids waiting for me when I come (early) to set up. The rest come pretty much on time, because they know that we will start on time. Those that arrive early get to read books, which they do quite well. I think the reason they come is because they get to play with tan-grams (picture). I've got some kids that are whizzes at them.

I redid the classic song "This land is your Land" to make it more applicable to South Africa, and used it as a listening exercise (the guitar picture is actually from my last camp, where I had other volunteers helping me out... and taking pictures). Most of the kids spelled everything correctly (besides shores... I got a lot of shows, I forgot to roll my r when I pronounced it for them) and were enthused to sing. They've made strides in math as well and today I showed them a simple circuit, something which they were incredibly blown away by. Yesterday I showed them a triple-beam balance, and then a simple balance where they all tried to find rocks that weighed about the same as the 250g weight I had... some brought bricks... it was amusing.

I have a few trouble makers here and there, but for the most part they are good. It takes them forever to settle down sometimes, though I imagine having 60 adults all be quiet when they are doing something exciting would also be a challenge.... I get a lot more respect from them now than I did earlier. At first, when they found out I wouldn't hit them for misbehaving, they relished in that new found freedom, but know we've broken through that gap. I even have a few teacher's pets. ;) I'm also using the camp to try out different classroom management styles to see which one is the most effective here.

Everyday, when they behave, we finish by playing games. Last camp Duck, Duck, Goose was a hit and this time capture the flag has taken over as supreme king of the playground. I let them go through the choosing of teams, explaining of the rules all on their own, trying to stay in the shadows as much as possible because I don't want them to think they need me to play the game. Although.. I used a hat and a bandanna the first time I showed them, and it's become a game where they only use their hats.

The return of the Camp

2008-04-04T06:49:00.000-07:00

I'm hosting a Skills camp for learners at my schools. 65 came today. I need a nap.

Easter

2008-04-04T05:15:00.000-07:00

The church was dark and empty.

Yet another moment where I must have misunderstood what the parishioner told me. I guess that meant no Good Friday service. (Later I found out the Good Friday service was in the next village, 23 km away)

I was determined to make it to an Easter Service and so I traveled to one of the neighboring sites where there was a Roman Catholic Mission. It took me most of the day to travel and when I arrived, the priest (from East Africa) greeted me. He was playing with the children, sometimes instructing them, but it was literally a scene that could have come from a missionary advert. Smiling faces, children running up to hug the priest. I suppose in these villages, he's the only father figure some children know.

The greatest was when the children thought the priest and I were brothers.. on account of our noses. All of the villagers' noses are rather small, almost squashed looking. Whereas my nose is rather large (hence the teasing I get from family and friends) and looks like I have a nose and a third. Then it dawned on them... wait... the priest is black... and you are white. Realizing that the children viewed my nose as a more prominent feature than my skin color brought a huge smile to my face, as well as bit of laughter. The priest hadn't stopped smiling since I had seen them. Working with children can do that to you.

Then the priest, the children, and I watched America's popular export- wrestling. This was all a bit surreal. The pictures of the Pope and Jesus on the wall. A priest. Children. And wrestling. A long talk with the priest afterwards made me smile even more as he was down to earth and just full of joy. He shared his frustrations as well, but they were overshadowed with this amazing sense of happiness just to be alive.

I met with two other volunteers, one had come for the Tridium, and we shared stories until the Easter Vigil Service, which was packed. The next morning, we also attended the Easter service, which was even more packed. After all, we were spending the night at the mission house, so it was at least a show of solidarity with the priest.

And so after cooking and then watching Batman Begins (courtesy of a fellow volunteer, Thanks AJ) with the priests, I headed back to site for the computer workshop (see previous entry).

Computer Workshop

2008-03-31T07:29:00.000-07:00

For two days, I hosted a computer workshop for the educators of the two primary schools where I work. For now, these are two pictures of the workshops (another volunteer's parents came and helped out- Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Clapp!) . We did cover quite a bit of ground and I think they are gaining enough confidence to try things on their own now.

It may seem odd that I'm teaching educators how to use the computer when there is no paved road within 23 kilometers of any of my schools, one lacks flush toilets and all are overcrowded. Nevertheless we have one at each school and I am determined to make sure that they are used to help the schools run better. The computer was provided to the school for administrative purposes, and for now, is under-used. I know there are schools where computers sit, locked up, because they are too valuable to be used. One of my schools has two computers, (one purchased last year at my urging, I'll explain later) and the other has one. For the school with two computers, the principal has taken to the computer and is beginning to improvise and learn on on his own, which is what needs to happen. At the other school, I still have teachers who don't know how to turn a computer on and do not think that it will add anything to their teaching.

This round of computer training included turning on/off a computer, the concept of windows and resizing, creating a folder, moving things to the folder, basic word processing, and certificate designs. I'm also restarting a typing tutorial program that I began last year and hope that it catches on the second time around. The first time around, there was a lot of initial interest, which then fizzled.

I've been doing reading on how to educate adults, so much of that was applied to this workshop... and I think it paid off. I have yet to design a follow-up workshop/activity, but I'm thinking of how best to do that now.

Kids and No more Chia pet

2008-03-19T01:03:00.000-07:00

One of our goats gave birth to twin kids two days ago. It was quite interesting to see the little wet lumps sit for awhile and then struggle to their unsteady little feet. The timing seemed odd, as it is Fall and the day the mother goat gave birth was one of the coldest days here in months. This meant that we took the kids into the garage at night (me in the top photo). But then the weather turned again and it was time to take them back to the kraal (Afrikaans for corral) and so that is the third photo. I'm told carrying them like this doesn't hurt them and they seemed not to mind, even though I prefer actually supporting them as I did in the first photo.

As you can see the weather is having trouble deciding what it wants to do. The only thing that is certain, is that whenever I want to go running, it starts raining. I suppose its because I don't have a car that I can wash.

I've also cut my hair about a month ago, which was a fun (tedious) three hour experience. At the end, it really looked like a medium-sized furry animal was in the bucket I but my hair into. My host family was shocked, as were all my co-workers.

Now I can avoid comparisons to Chia-Pets.

The kids (goats) are a lot cuter than the photos seem to make them and their hair is ridiculously soft, unlike that of their parents.I'd also like to mention now that I'm participating in a half-marathon (the Long Tom) in a week and a half. The purpose is to raise money for scholarships for economically disadvantaged but otherwise brilliant students. If you do so feel inclined to donate, the website is:

http://www.klm-foundation.org/

If you donate, please include my name in the white box as Long Tom participant and yes, it is tax-deductible and you can give any amount, any little bit will help $10, $20 go a long way here in South Africa (after all, I spend less than $4 a day on food):

The marathon itself is described here:

http://www.longtominfo.co.za/

As far as asking for money goes. Yes, my schools are poor and could definitely use more resources; however I'm working on making sure they use the few resources they have effectively before I would think of requesting more funds. Unless you want to build a classroom, we're short on those.

This cause is one I support because it is well managed and is doing something that I feel is very necessary: expanding opportunities for those that ordinarily would not have the chance. It is not nurturing a dependency, but empowering a future, which is what I'm here in South Africa to do. That's all for now.

Seminars

2008-02-21T10:57:00.001-08:00

It seems every week there is some sort of seminar that takes one or more teachers away from our schools. The seminars focus on everything from management, to finances, to curriculum issues. For the past three weeks, I have been a part of these said seminars. The Area Project Office (think school district, but bigger) invited Peace Corps Volunteers that were close-by to lead a three two-day seminars on the Representative Council of Learners, which is essentially a government mandated student council in all schools with a grade 8 or higher.

We planned for the seminar for weeks, we put together a video (with subtitles, so they could actually understand our accents), but we really had no idea on whether the system had functioned before and we were giving a refresher to the students or whether we needed to begin from scratch. To complicate matters, we were also working with two representatives from the Area Project Office, who despite repeated invitations, did not participate in any of the planning of the seminars. This led to a miscommunication as the time that we were to leave did not have the same sense of urgency to our counterparts, and after an hour ride in a covered bakkie, we arrived, nearly an hour later than we had planned, making us look rather unprofessional as some students had already arrived. To my amusement, our counterpart then proceeded to admonish schools that came even later than we did.

However, despite the conflicts, the seminars were very enlightening, for all parties involved. To our surprise, the role envisioned by some of the educators and administrators was for the Representative Council of Learners to function as some sort of student police service, to tell on the learners that misbehaved and to mete out punishment on those learners. To their surprise, this was not the role envisioned for them; rather they were to serve as the student’s voice to the school governance. Only with a very imaginative reading of the rules could such a position even be proposed.

All in all, we were able to coach the basic formation of the groups, the purpose behind them and some of the nuts and bolts that go into organizing a successful student-governing group. In the end, we trained over 100 students in their roles and there was some very encouraging progress, as students began to realize the potential of the group. The students took well to the icebreakers, did some great work in the break-out sessions, and laughed at the right moments in the video. Many were very unsure initially and had a fairly negative take on the group, but we were relentless in trying to focus on the positive. As soon as we broke that barrier, we made progress, which was very rewarding.

I also attended a three-day seminar on how to use the science kits that had been shipped to my schools last year. The science kits are a government initiative to provide the poorest schools with resources that they would probably never be able to afford. The kits are amazing, but as I feared, many of the educators didn’t know how to make heads or tails of them. There were a few things I was unsure about as well… does anyone know what the purpose behind an Ingenhaus apparatus is?

But beakers, chemicals, electrical equipment, scales, and more. Those I can do. Funfunfun. During the breaks, I couldn’t help myself and showed how to use various apparatus (apparati?) and towards the end of the seminar, I ended up teaching some experiments and leading some sessions. It was fairly difficult. Imagine taking a room full of adults who have never been in a teaching laboratory before, have never seen science equipment before, and teaching them, in three short days, not only how to use the equipment, not only the science behind the experiments, but also how to run a laboratory. My schools were especially proud to have me, as they knew that they would be able to ask questions later and I could help with the presentation upon returning to our schools.

I’m excited about incorporating it into the curriculum, and know that the students will take to it well, as they love anything that takes them away from reading about experiments in books without doing them. Imagine never having seen baking soda and vinegar react, used a magnifying glass, connected a circuit, etc. Now we get to use them…

These kids are gonna have a great time!

p.s. Many thanks to Julie for various grammatical corrections!

Letsema

2008-02-21T10:36:00.000-08:00

I participated in something known as Letsema, which is essentially a day when the village gets together does work for a school for the morning and then gets fed. I work at two different schools, each with its own personality. This particular school was in desperate need of repair, due mostly to a lack of maintenance. Funding may have been different before 1994, but now there is money for that, it just is spent on ‘Transport and Catering’ which to me seems at times to be a slush fund when teachers attend conferences or anything remotely related to school business. Fortunately we’ve now decided to have some policy for reimbursements, such as a per kilometer fee, etc.

But back to this lovely event called Letsema. It kind of reminds me of Habitat for Humanity in the states, as in we do manual labor, cleaning, painting, building, and get fed. This particular Letsema was bigger than most because in was the one selected by the district, so the entire Area Project Office (think School District size, except bigger) was there and the school was demarcated with flags, advertising the Letsema.

Work was done all morning and then there were a series of speeches from a town councilor, the village chief, the principal, among others. It was great to see everyone out there supporting the school.

However of note was how little work was done. Yes, the school’s taps were replaced, the classrooms cleaned, and a wall was painted, but it all seemed more symbolic than actually helpful. As far as the wall went, we only painted one small side of the three buildings that are the school. It seemed everyone wanted a turn to wait… and have their picture taken while doing that. For some, they only ‘painted’ until their picture was taken.

Another rather irksome fact was that, where I live, a clean school yard is just dirt, and so the volunteers spent hours pulling up grass from the schoolyard, even though we have a problem with erosion. The original thought behind the pulling up of grass is to prevent snakes from coming close to the buildings, but this was rather excessive, and with the next heavy rainstorm, a lot of soil washed away. To combat this, I’m hoping to convince my school to build flower beds, strategically placed to combat erosion. Even if there are no flowers in these beds, at least the perimeter bricks will do something to prevent the further formation of caves undermining the concrete foundations of the school.

I’m grateful for the work that was done, but like many things, I think the amount of work really paled in comparison with what is left to be done at the school. Still being the idealist that I am, I would have liked to see actual improvements- shelves, repairs, etc. rather than just a cleaning. To me it seems the Letsema was more for show, a demonstration that people were doing something, a half day that made people feel good about themselves, regardless of the actual benefit of the actions. From what I hear, there will be another Letsema in April. I hope this time to have my principal arm the workers not only with mops and brooms, but hammers, nails, screws and wood.

HIV in Africa

2008-02-09T12:53:00.000-08:00

And, so after spending a nearly eight months in South Africa, one of the countries most affected by the pandemic (A 2005 UNAIDS estimate for the number of people infected was 5.5. million, 18.8 % of the populace), it’s time for a blog entry devoted to the subject. For many volunteers, HIV/AIDS work is their primary focus here, but for me it is only one part of my job assignment. That being said, it is a very important part of my job here, but does not preside over all my activities.

To begin with, many people in my village are HIV positive. I visited the local clinic last year and found that nearly half of everyone that goes through with a status test (Test for HIV anti-bodies) ends up testing HIV positive. Many do not even go that far, more than half of the people that come in to be tested, leave without being tested. This probably occurs for a number of reasons, one of which is the information the patients receive in pre-testing counseling. However, despite the rather alarming numbers, I do have hope that at least people are getting tested. As more people become aware of HIV, the more they will listen to preventative measures. Awareness campaigns run from billboards to ad campaigns on the radio and TV (helps to have a state run TV station for those), to programs in schools, chapters in textbooks, and nationwide youth organizations focused on HIV/AIDS.

However, at times, I feel that in the seeming rush to get the word out about HIV, there has been some dilution of the message. Due to the complexities of South Africa, when HIV/AIDS first appeared, it was shrugged off as the Afrikaaner’s Idea for Destroying Sex. After all, in many black South African’s minds, the Afrikaaner population was bent on reducing the numbers and reproduction of black South Africans as well as depriving them of land, rights, etc. Now many say it is the American’s Idea for Destroying Sex, raising some eyebrows as the Americans, to some South Africans, seem to not want them to have children, as they also proclaim that birth control should be taken into consideration. How can Americans not want more babies in the world? Or is it just African babies?

The situation is far more complex than I have described above, compounded by the Mbeki’s government initial denial of the link between HIV and AIDS, a minister in charge of a national AIDS program proclaiming that he wouldn’t get AIDS because he took a cold shower after intercourse with an HIV positive partner, traditional healers who don’t think it is a disease, or think they can cure it with normal herbal medicines, among other factors.

When I came to South Africa, I was aware that about one out of every five people that I would meet would be HIV positive, which of course raised alarm flares. I would have to be extra careful when playing sports, cooking, treating wounds, etc. It was more of a heightened state of alert than anything else. In a way I felt like I was prejudiced, but then I felt that despite any altruistic ambitions that I had, I did not come to South Africa to be infected with either TB or HIV.

My first serious conversation about HIV/AIDS was with a university student, one studying microbiology, or at least that was the plan. Their take on HIV was that it had been in the populace all along, it was only with the increased consumption of chemicals, away from the natural order of things, that HIV could then act and progress into AIDS. I was dismayed, but diplomatic, saying I couldn’t disprove that theory, but that I had learned something else about the virus from various textbooks, going through some detail on the history of the virus. In the end I think I was successful, if not of convincing her than of sowing enough doubt that she might advocate either explanation.

In a seminar, held by the Peace Corps, the presenters where from an organization called Soul City, which through a nationally televised program and various publications, deals with problems that people living with HIV would face. Another focus is preventing the spread of HIV by presenting realistic situations and proper preventative techniques, such a how to prevent an HIV positive mother from passing the virus to her baby by breastmilk. However, even the presenters didn’t really understand what was going on with the virus. They had been trained to say what the pamphlets said, but did not have any information beyond the booklets, which, though informative, were quite basic. In the end, many of the Peace Corps volunteers had questions, which then led to me giving an impromptu presentation on the various targets of the drugs and how they worked (My Rice education at work).

Last week one of the Soul City representatives called me to ask for even more information, which I viewed as wonderful, because he had voiced concern in talking to me that he didn’t really understand the virus and the call showed his attempt to be even more prepared in his future presentations. I hope he continues to call.

But until last week, HIV didn’t have a human face. Then, someone in my village had asked me about CD4 counts and viral load and what it meant when the numbers fluctuated. This depth of knowledge made me suspect that they had either been preparing lessons or this person or someone close to them was HIV positive, because the CD4 count and viral load is the means used to measure the progress of the virus.

In the conversation that followed, which encompassed a rather cursory explanation of the immune system and how the virus works, the person let me know that they had been positive for 10 years. To me, they looked as healthy as many South Africans, and I gave them compliments on taking care of themselves and helping preventing the spread of the virus in a rather frank portion of the conversation. For me, my heart beat a little faster when I found out, more in compassion than fear, but I tried to betray no emotion, because, after all this person had come to me for information.

It was also a step forward in the right direction. This person felt they could trust me with such personal information and it shows that I have a reputation for understanding subjects well. This also makes me do more research on the virus, thus keeping my biochemical wits about me, even in rural Africa.

I know that while I’m here I will go to a funeral where the deceased has died as a result of AIDS, that while I’m here, the virus will spread to people that I know. However, I hope that I can, in just some small way, help curb the pandemic, by making those that live with the virus live healthy lives and avoid the spread of it and those that do not have it live an HIV-free existence.

Disaster

2008-02-03T09:27:00.000-08:00

Friday was just one of those days...

I had a rather rough morning, then:

I had a few frustrations at school that I cannot put into a blog.

I also have a laptop with me in South Africa that helps me immensely not only with keeping track of the two schools I work with (all the info in one place, that I can use at home, plus internet), but also stores my pictures, music, videos, life plans, etc. Granted I do back things up from time to time, but haven't recently. On friday, after I had been working on my laptop because another teacher was typing on the school's computer, I realized my laptop adapter wasn't working. It has a little green light that usually stays lit when there is electricity running to it. Now, I plug it in, the light flickers, and is gone.

This means I can't charge my battery, which also means that now that the battery has run low, I can't access any of the files on that computer...

This isn't the first time this has happened, but the last time I was able to get a replacement part in two days, which was still irksome.

So I spent a few hours making sure it was the adapter and not anything else... and then began work again on the school's computer.

I hadn't finished when school let out, so I came back after school to work and also to plan for a vacation that was coming up soon.

While this was on going, a windstorm blew through, so I stayed at the school to wait it out. This was then followed by a thunderstorm. Now, I was a little annoyed, because the power flickered before the storm, making me lose whatever I hadn't saved (fortunately not a lot). I hadn't eaten yet, so I was really hungry as well.

I waited the storm out, chatting with friends on mxit (via my cellphone).
Then there was a break in the storm, so I decided to run home.

It was rather dark, lit up at times by brilliant flashes of cloud to cloud lightning. I was concentrating on not twisting my ankle (fortunately I had worn my boots, thanks Anita!) and staying as far away from the electricity poles as possible. Then...
WHAM!!!
I ran into a barbed-wire fence.

And bounced off... Unfortunately the barbs were sharp and it looks like a cat attacked my chest and leg. (Peace Corps does give us a whole host of shots, so I'm good in case the fence had rabies, Hepatitis, Tetanus, etc.)

Then, I steered clear of the remaining fence and made it home. I doctored myself up, chatted with friends from home on mxit (Thanks for your concern guys!) and had some food.

I think in the future I'll try to avoid barbed wire.
I should be able to get a replacement adapter in about two weeks.... arg.

And that's life here for right now. Not all days are like that.

How I spent my summer vacation

2008-01-08T04:52:00.000-08:00

Pretty, isn't it?

Before I forget, I'd like to thank my fellow PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers) for their unwitting contribution of pictures. I really appreciate it. Most of these pictures are theirs, but since I'm in them, I was there too. Ms. Sawyer, Ms. Hochman, Mr. Shpeen, Ms. Gaul, and Mr. Kumar... thank you, and yes, I do know your first names, but I'm sure Peace Corps prefers that I don't put those.

Summer vacation began with running two different summer camps, one at a neighboring school an hour and twenty minutes walk away. Fortunately, I had a working bike then. Key words in the last sentence are 'had' and 'working'.
I might be lying on the 'working' because during the days I went to that camp: the pedals broke, handlebars fell off, and on the last day of camp, on the way home, the tire exploded. To look on the bright side, I've learned a lot about bike repair. But back to the camps, they were kind of test runs of organizing children's events, advertising, expected turn-out etc. The camps were essentially sports camps, though we did read or sing/teach the children everyday as well. They learned a host of new games such as 'Duck, Duck, Goose' and 'Capture the Flag'.
The chorus of 'Oh My Darling Clementine' was definitely a hit as well, to the consternation of my fellow volunteers, who had come to help out with the camp. Many thanks to them, as their help was incredible and the cuisine improved while they were here.

After that, I had about one day to pack, and then it was off to Kimberley, to pick up the rental car. After traveling for half a day there, We picked up the rental car and then drove it to another Volunteer's site, where I promptly fell ill, most likely from a combination of an ear infection and heat stroke. To add to that, I may have had eaten something not-so-great as well. The next morning was spent touring the clinic of a rural South African village as a patient. I did have to wait for about two hours for a five minute visit, in which I explained I was allergic to sulfa drugs etc and where the pains were. I was given a slew of medicines and felt a little better after leaving the clinic. However, a bit later, I started having allergy symptoms, so I added allergy medication to the medicines they were perscribing me. It wasn't until the next day that I looked at one of the second ingredients listed and realized I was taking a sulfa-drug, which would explain the allergy symptoms and rather unhappy bowels.

Our next stop was our training village near the Botswana border where we spent the 23rd to the 25th. My host siblings have grown immensely, but I did manage, despite still feeling awful to take pictures with them, even getting one to smile for me. Christmas
Eve by the way, is celebrated by lighting firecrackers and shouting 'Happy!' Quite similar to how New Years is celebrated as well.

Then it was off to Pretoria for Christmas, where I took this picture, in front of what I call the 'Fro Flower:

The reason I could take this picture was that we were in the rather beautiful gardens in front of the Union Buildings, as Pretoria is one of the capitals of South Africa.

Then it was off the Drakensburg Mountains in KwaZulu-Natal (see the first picture). Which meant even more driving. All in all, I traveled more than 3500 km.

For those of you astute friends that might be wondering, yes, I did pack more than one t-shirt... and I did wash clothes.

So we arrived at a lodge on boxing day, and unfortunately didn't have provisions to begin a three day hike the next day. Fortunately, we were able to buy everything the next morning and then six of us set out on a three day hike to climb Champagne's Castle, a mountain of about 3300 meters.

We hiked one day to the base of the mountain. Summited and descended in one day, and then spent the next day hiking/limping back to the car. We were all rather sore.

As you can see it was cloudy, which was alright because when the clouds opened up we would see an amazing view, providing a convenient reason to stop and rest, and then it was time to climb again. The climb took us five hours, descent took us four... and I'm really glad we didn't take the tent up the mountain and camp there, as had been recommended.
The shadowy figure in this picture with the semi-cowboy hat is me. This was the last big climb, in a rather steep rockfall. And we were essentially hiking into a cloud. We finally reached the top and then climbed the peak we thought was the highest, and then thought another one was higher so we walked along the ridge to that one, unknowingly straying into Lesoto, a mountainous country completely surrounded by South Africa.
So then it was time to toast nutella covered biscuits at the top of the mountain... and take a picture, gotta love camera timers.

Upon our return we headed for St. Lucia, where we went on a turtle tour, which entailed driving through a national park at night, seeing lots of animals... and then driving on the beach and seeing none. Alas, no sea turtles were seen that night, however we did see the tracks of one and in the park we saw a baby white rhino being leading it's mother, which was really cool.
And we got to hang out at the beach, which was also nice. We returned and did some hiking. It was not as overcast, but the beauty was overshadowed by some playful baboons in the parking lot, that thought cars were jungle gyms.

The mother and baby baboon were especially cute, but we didn't get a good picture of them.

After that, it was time to head back to site, so AJ and I caught a ride with a Norwegian that had been staying in the same hostel as us.

Now, the next picture requires some explaination. Driving in South Africa is like driving in a simulator that throws random situations at you. First of all, you are driving on the wrong side of the road, the gearshift is to your left, so all the roundabouts, and turns are a bit odd. Couple that with potholes on the roads, when there are roads (a lot of South Africa is paved, except in the rural areas, which is where volunteers usually are, so we did get stuck in sand... twice). To add to that, animals like crossing the road. Donkeys, horses, monkeys, dogs, baboons, goats, sheep, and cows are common sights not only on the sides of the road, but on the road. Every now and then there will be people too, some of them dancing, some not so sober, but all in all it keeps you on your toes.

However, unfortunately, some of us that usually drive on the right side of the road have a tendency to veer slightly to the left, which is what happened to our Norwegian friend, and we hit a rather large pothole, blowing out two tires, knocking off two hubcaps, and leaving us stranded by the side of the road for two hours (funny how there is only one spare tire). And so, after all that, I returned to site, safe ... and healthier than when I left.

Animal pictures...

2007-12-03T03:39:00.000-08:00

So.. I'm in Africa...

which means that there are lots of animals....

I've decided to show you the more interesting photos I've taken. At left you see maybe the cutest animal in the world.. a baby donkey, which you see all over the place. Donkeys come in any different colors, from white, gray, brown, and black.

Below you see a dung-beetle which are quite plentiful as you get out of town, but that requires a long walk. He's actually pushing the dungball with his back legs, it's really funny to watch.

Here you see a rather interesting pair. A meerkat snuggling up against a 3 month old puppy (Boerhound, I believe is the breed). The two love chewing on each other, which is kinda fun to watch.
During our swearing in ceremony, we stayed at a beautiful game reserve, which was quite amazing, just 30 minutes from the capital city, there were we, among lions and springbok... to name a few of the animals that were there. The lions roared at sunset, it was really cool sounding.

The lion keeper was something else.

So I did the same with a smaller animal...

He actually is quite social and plays with you, nibbles on you, sleeps on you, eats any insects in the house, will squeal when he doesn't see you. He'll also chatter when he sees a snake.. and then attacks it and kills it. Quite useful... I want one....

And on weekends at my schools, these are the kids that hang out there... I'm out of internet time now... but this will be updated soon...

Funerals

2007-11-25T12:44:00.000-08:00

So this past weekend, I went another funeral, it’s my fourth in as many months, and no, I didn’t know any of the deceased. Funerals are written into the fabric of Batswanan life. (Quick language lesson one person from the Tswana tribe is a Motswana, the plural is Batswana). Anyway, Saturday mornings are funeral mornings, I have seen three funerals at once in the same graveyard. It was rather interesting to watch as the ministers would trade off and the songs would alternate.

Funerals begin with vigils at the house of the deceased. On Friday, the day before the funeral, there is much hub-bub as a cow is slaughtered, a tent set-up, massive amounts of food is prepared and an overnight vigil of singing begins. Sometime during the week the grave is dug by the younger men of the community.

In our training village, I was there as the vigil was beginning, which takes place when the coffin is brought back to the deceased house. The coffin must come in the front door, and as the front door hadn’t been used in years, we had to remove the lock in order for it to open. Then some prayers are said over the coffin, a kind of last goodbye and in this case, the coffin was then taken back to another house, because two brothers had died and the preparations were taking place in the other house.

The coffins were carried in. First, through the men who stood on the outside of the house and then through tent, where the women were all holding candles and singing.

Jackets are required of men and women’s heads are supposed to be covered throughout the entire funeral process as a sign of respect. It doesn’t matter what the jacket or covering looks like, but they must be there.

Friday nights you can hear if there is a funeral near you by the singing. The singing isn’t too mournful, but it’s not joyful either. At times, it is somewhat eerie, at other times almost comforting to realize the sense of community here.

The morning dawns and the services start. During winter, the services start at 7 am, during summer (now) the services start at 6 am. Funerals are one of the few events that actually start on time. The service usually takes place in a tent and consists of several speeches, prayers, and songs for the dead, outlined in a program. The service can last anywhere from an hour to two and then the coffin is brought to the waiting hearse, which can be a van, a modified truck, or a khumbi with seats removed.

The procession proceeds to the graveyard, with some people walking and others driving their cars.

At the graveyard there is a tent for the family and the rest of the people gather round, usually separating by gender. The minister/priest continues the service there. Singing and a few speeches are made. Depending on the funeral, some speeches actually make the people laugh.
As the casket is lowered, songs continue. The men of the community, as a sign of respect, share four to five shovels between them and take turns filling the grave. Singing persists thoughout this, however at one funeral, as the casket was being lowered about six people burst into tears and left the graveside to wail on the perimeter of the graveyard.

Sometimes many funerals are going on at the same graveyard, so there is cooperation between the ministers on who sings when, with the other congregation staying silent while the other sings.

After the grave has been filled and covered with rocks, it is time for the unveiling of the tombstone, if there is one. This literally involves taking cloth off of the tombstone and then putting it in place.

Then the crowd breaks and heads back to the house, where the feasting begins. Traditional food is served. Pap (Porridge from Corn meal, kind of like grits but more solid), meat, and some kind of vegetable salad thing. Drinks include fruit juice and in my new area Gemmer, a ginger drink that is quite sensational, literally. It kind of burns while going down, but leaves you feeling very refreshed.

In my training area, we had traditional beer after the funeral, which was really thick and seemed like a meal and a half in itself. It was brewed during the week of the funeral and tastes like a combination of sorghum an beer, but it's not bad. It seems some community brew this beer, called bojalwa, and others do not, as I haven't seen any at my site, but it was at the funeral in our training village.

Funerals on the whole are quite different from those in the states, being more a community event than a private affair. Rather that have the graveyards on the outskirts of town, the graveyards are small and part of it. It seems from every house, there is a cemetery within walking distance.
These graveyards dot the landscape making it very evident that death is just another part of life here.
I'd like to thank my friend Adam for the use of one of his pictures... it's the one at the top, when the grave was being dug. I wasn't around for that, hence I have no pictures of it.

All Saints Day

2007-11-08T12:05:00.000-08:00

A couple days ago was all Saints Day, which meant I attempted to go to church. Actually not only did I attempt to go to church, I actually made it there while the service was still going on, however because there was no taxi (I’ll attach a picture sometime of what is loosely defined as a taxi) that I could take at that time, I arrived after having walked 45 minutes there. However, the service seemed to be rather nice from what I gathered. Afterwards there was a procession to the nearest graveyard (there are lots of small graveyards here) where I’m pretty sure we said a rosary and then (this I’m sure of) placed candles on graves. I placed mine on an unmarked grave that was probably that of a child, as it was smaller than most of the others. It was beautiful as we the sun was beginning to set and we could see the candles panning out over the graves. (The candle I placed is the one directly behind the priest.)

Funerals here are common, I’ve been to three so far, and despite the somber connotation that someone has died, it is a rather social event, something that nearly everyone attends on a Saturday morning, but funerals themselves are enough for an entire entry (with pictures).

Sundays are days when everyone goes to church. Services last anywhere from 2-4 hours and I still have yet to determine exactly what time the services start. I've been the only one there when I arrived at 9, so when I arrived at 10:30 the next week, thinking I'd be on time, they let me know that the service actually started at 9. Announcements can also be notoriously long, I attended about 1.5 hours of mass, and then 1.5 hours of announcements.... Again church will be another entry, this is just an intro.

The only problem with this weekend arrangement is that I need to do my shopping for groceries, and the best bet for groceries is the nearest town… 23 km away, so occasionally I take off right after the funeral, or wait to see if some day in the week my host family is taking their truck to town.

Picture is of the all Saints day blessing of the graveyard.

Bringing the internet to Rural South Africa

2007-11-08T11:34:00.000-08:00

Today (actually about three weeks ago, now, but I just posting it now) both of my schools received a connection to the internet courtesy of the Department of Education. The idea is that my schools don't have regular efficient communication with the head office (one of them doesn't even have a phone). However, it’s one thing to have it, it’s another thing to use it or even know how to use it. The internet connection essentially consists of a modem/router that attaches to the computer via a network cable. The modem has an antenna kind of thing, looks like an older wireless router, and uses a SIM card, much like a phone does.

I was not aware that this was going to happen today, but when I arrived at my far school this morning, my principal said there was a computer workshop in a neighboring town and would I go with them so that if they didn’t understand something I could relay the information to them when we arrived back at school. So I was expecting an introduction to databases, word-processing, etc.

The session was supposed to start around 8 AM and we were told to bring the school’s CPU. We arrived at 9:20 or so bringing the entire computer (before I had arrived, they had thought the monitor was the CPU). We also picked up several people along the way, normal for my village in South Africa. If you have a car, it is a taxi. There are no paved roads in my town, so due to the recent rains, the road was rather bumpy. It great to go with a local, because they know pretty much where all the worst bumps are (I can compare it to driving on Kirby in Houston, except the road here is dustier and has more ridges that make you feel like you got a free massage with your ride.

The people from the department did not arrive until after 10. When they did arrive, there was little order as some teachers had wandered off. Very few of them knew how to connect a monitor, keyboard, etc, so some of the seminar was spent on that after rounding everyone up.

The instructions on how to connect the modem were clear to me, but not to my coworkers. There was a lot of miscommunication and disorder in the workshop, but in the end, at least some of the principals and teachers understood (or had written down) the instructions.

In the end, it was useful to see what kind of training the teacher’s were receiving, so I’ll be able to work from there. Unfortunately, there was a language barrier (not only English, but basic computer lingo, like CPU, mouse, etc.) between the presenter and the teachers, so I do feel that many teachers just jotted down the instructions without trying to understand them. Unfortunately, that is what many students do here as well. But, on the upside, it did make the question and answer session very short, which is quite unlike Peace Corps, where Q & A sessions are notoriously long (hours long at times).

Many educators (teachers) here have expressed feelings of frustration in regards to the computer and not knowing how to use it, which makes me a popular fellow and helps me to establish rapport.

Some of the teachers have also “taken” computer courses, but learned nothing. This is mostly due to them not reading the assignments, but copying the answers from another person who took the course years back. When my host mom asked me for help with the course, she was dismayed that I wouldn’t just give her the answers. After all, she could then get the certificate. I was, shall we say, diplomatic in my response.

Tomorrow, I’m headed toward the further school again, so I’ll begin to realize yet again, that it probably wasn’t such a great idea to teach the kids the High Five….

And we’ll see how the information superhighway affects the schools.

And the picture is me studying by oil lamp… during one of the power outages weeks ago. As the storms have dissipated, so have the disruptions in internet and electricity. I just thought it be a good idea to include a picture with each entry. Oh here’s a picture of a storm where I lost electricity as well..

This entry is really for Friday

2007-10-21T14:14:00.001-07:00

So today was a banner day for being a Peace Corps Volunteer as I was probably a little socially obtuse, incredibly resourceful, and appreciated by a random stranger. So this morning was great! The headache that I had had the previous night was gone, I was up before my alarm and the sunrise was amazing.

Another Peace Corps Volunteer called right after I finished talking with a friend that called from America, so I hurried up a bit and caught a taxi. As I was waiting for the taxi, the children walking to the closer school (Maikao) waved said hello and asked when I would be coming back. They've decided it's really cool to great me in English and Setswana, so I get to 'practice' both languages. So after a 10 minute or so taxi ride (the taxis are VW mini-bus looking things, and you ride with 14 other people, usually) I arrived at the stand and walked to the school, where some of the kids already knew my Setswana name, Thabiso (pronounced T-habiso, there's no th sound in Setswana, making for very interesting English pronunciation. Thabiso means bringer of happiness). Evidently our principals hadn't told the other principal that we were coming, so we met the principal as he was leaving for an appointment at the nearest optometrist (1 hour 15 minutes away). So we kinda wandered around until someone, who happened to be the deputy principal, showed us around. She stressed several times that we should call before our next visit, but I think we made a good impression. I did get the impression from some of the teachers that if we were working at other schools, why were we visiting theirs?

So after about a 40 minute tour, we were suddenly done with what we had planned for the day, so we walked the 50 minutes back to my school that is pretty much right next to my house. (town is the opposite direction of my far school, so that was out of the question). We could have taken a taxi, but it's also a good idea for us to walk, since we usually bounce ideas off each other. It also helps people realize that despite the fact that we are about the same, age, height, aren't black or Indian, have similar Setswana names (Kagiso and Thabiso), we are not the same person.

I briefly showed him one of the schools where I work, he'll get a better tour on Tuesday, and then we walked to my house, where we hung out on the roof, admiring a bird's nest and my handiwork in patching up a place where the concrete had cracked and was letting water in. I headed to school, where I attended a really long staff meeting, without even falling asleep!!! I did speak at the meeting, introducing them to the internet (courtesy of the Department of Education's project to get us connected, I'll blog that story as well) and letting them know that yes, I was here to help, but I had the same 24 hours as everyone else and that I like to sleep (which they did laugh at, yeah for humor).

After school I helped draft the language policy document for a school in the area, whose teacher just happened to be around. This consisted of me mostly asking her the right questions, in the end, she realized she had done the entire thing by herself, and complimented me on my teaching, and was blown away at the fact that I was 22. Many of my teachers have kids that are older than me, it's weird.

After that, I went home to find I was locked out of the main house, so I cleaned until they came home. As a volunteer I'm supposed to take two desks from my school. But since they are already overcrowded and short on desks, I couldn't bring myself to do it, but then I found about the storeroom (or junkpile) and got permission to use whatever I could find there since they just keep dumping more stuff on it every year. Using my host families pick-up we drove to the storeroom (literally an small abandoned two-room cinder-block house next to the school that was packed full with broken, old frames of desks and the wood that they use to make the desks).

I put the key in. It wouldn't fit. After about five minutes of jiggling the key around it still wouldn't fit. So I climbed in the window frame, and tried the key on the other side of the door. Wrong key. Luckily there was only one other person with me to laugh at me. Since I already looked like a thief (climbing in the window) I figured that actually doing what I came to do wouldn't be that bad. I was there, and I had the pick-up so I rummaged around and found some really nice looking frames and not so nice looking boards to use as desks. So I spent the rest of the evening making the boards look nice, washing them, sanding them down and making them into desks.

My host mom came out and was shocked, her classroom is one that is overcrowded. Over 40 1st graders in one class, sitting three to a desk at times, and all it took was a little time, sandpaper, soap, and screws to fix? Which means some will support me when I go to the principal and ask for a teacher work day to fix up everything that is broken in the school (well, not everything, but a half day would do wonders...)

And then lo and behold, it's time to eat/cook and check email. I get an email from Julie and leave the soup on the stove and run and get my computer. When I come back, the soup had boiled over, and the other pot was getting dangerously close. Of course my host mom comes into the kitchen at that point in time and kinda shakes her head and laughs as I explain in Setswana that yes... I made a mess. But the soup was good. My host sister was playing on the computer/ watching the rugby world cup. South Africa plays tomorrow against England, so naturally I facebooked Father Justin, the chaplain at the Rice University Catholic Student Center who is from England and played rugby, to ask for forgiveness in rooting against England.

However, this side of the Mediterranean Sea, the entire TV was just a giant celebration that they've come this far and that they might win and so people are composing songs, dances, etc, just for the final. It's madness; it's great, esp when you get to cheer in at least three languages (and your rugby mascot is a wild antelope/deerlike looking thing called a Springbok). My host sister even told me that her blood was green. Great time to be here!

Go Boks!!!

Sidenote: The Springboks won!!!!

Another sidenote: The picture is actually a sunset, not a sunrise, but you can kinda see why this area is called "the Texas of South Africa."

We interrupt this Peace Corps experience

2007-10-19T14:52:00.000-07:00

.... to say go Springboks go!! (in at least three languages!) Half of the news today was devoted to the fact that the South African National Rugby Team made it to the finals... and is playing England tomorrow in Paris. My host sister told me today that her blood was green and started singing one of the numerous songs that have sprung up for the occasion (Leon Schuster has one, I think he's the only one anyone in the states would recognize), but you turn on the TV and all the newscasters are wearing jerseys. It's great! We talked about it a bit a school, but not for long, but there is definitely some excitement, at least among the younger kids, here in rural South Africa.

The person that I associate with rugby, Fr. Justin, is rooting for England most likely, but I've decided to root for the Boks, because I really like the songs and who could root against a Springbok that plays rugby?

Go Boks GO!!!

p.s. I'll return to a more normal Peace Corps experience after the IRB Cup is over.

So what am I doing again?

2007-10-14T13:00:00.000-07:00

I assume many of you are wondering a bit what exactly it is I am doing. I’ll let you know as soon as I do.

All joking aside, beyond the three main goal of Peace Corps (provide trained individuals to interested countries, promote understanding of host country nationals to Americans and promote understanding of Americans to host country nationals) my project has four main goals.

1) Assisting teachers in improving their teaching and classroom practices in all subjects

2) Complement the Department of Educations training of teachers and school managers

3) HIV/AIDS awareness and education both in the school and community

4) Working with educators, parents, and community members to strengthen the partnership between schools and communities

And … whatever else I decide to work on. In Peace Corps lingo that is termed a secondary project.

So right now my job consists of observing teachers while they teach, all in all, establishing rapport, and making detailed notes on any ideas they might have to improve themselves, and ideas that I might have. Needless to say, I’ve written a lot in both categories.

Why is this necessary?

To begin with, I’ll give a short history of apartheid education. To save on time, I have not included annotations to any of my sources, as many of them are oral. To begin with, Black education (please note that the term Black as used here is not by any means to be degrading, I would say Native Africans to be politically correct, but that is going too far, because doesn’t science claim that we share African ancestors? Please note that South Africa has a number of races, ethnic groups, etc. I use terms to describe people as they describe themselves, I personally dislike labeling people, but to make generalizations, one must, thus, I return to Black education) before the advent of missionaries was not the formalized training that one is used to in the Western world. Much of what was learned was learned from the communities, with an initiation ceremony (which could be quite painful) into adulthood in initiation schools which were taught by elders or one approved by elders to teach the youth. Initiation schools were only a few months and only right before initiation. This way, people knew their roles in society. Shaka Zulu did change this practice, but that is another long tangent.

Missionary Schools began to operate with their goal being the salvation of the soul of the African. Intellectual and white superiority in the terms of “civilized culture” were often taught as well, asking the Blacks to give up their indigenous beliefs for the purposes of being civilized. The two main groups of whites (term used here to describe those of European descent, who have fair complexion, straight hair, etc.) were the British and the Boers (or Afrikaaners), who did educate the Blacks but largely through Mission schools. That changed after Apartheid policies were adopted (following the 1948 ascension to power of the National Party).

The 1953 Bantu (Word formerly used to describe Black Africans) education act essentially changed the schools from being state-supported mission schools to being directly under the control of the government. However, some mission schools continued operating without help from the government, among them the Roman Catholic mission schools (the Seventh-Day Adventist and United Jewish Reform Congregation were the other mission schools that continued without government funding).

However, the other schools that had been registered/handed over to the government were soon to be put under the policy of the Department of Native Affairs. Here’s what the brainchild of this Bantu education act had to say about it:

Excerpts from Minister of Native Affairs Dr. H.F. Verwoerd:

“There is no place for [the African] in the European community above the level of certain forms of labor. It is of no avail for him to receive a training which has, as its aim, absorption into the European community.”

“Until now he has been subjected to a school system which drew him away from his own community and misled him by showing him the green pastures of European society in which he was not allowed to graze.”

So, to make a long story short, Bantu education focused on forming productive workers that knew how to follow orders and not question them, to only aspire to a certain level, as that is the limit their racial background allowed them to reach. Their schools were also funded 1/7 as much per pupil as pupils in white schools.

This policy started in the 50s, meaning the educators today are largely a product of the old system. Even though they have been re-trained in new techniques (i.e. encouraging critical thinking) it is easier to revert to the old ways, after all, it got the teachers where they are, why make more work for them?

Education and thus community involvement in education was actively discouraged as well, so, in a nutshell that is why I am here. To facilitate. To empower. I’m ready.

Arrival in Africa

2007-10-09T11:21:00.000-07:00

As promised, it's time to flip between memories and the present. We arrived in Africa after being in the air for about 18 hours. I was pretty exhausted, having met my second cousin Anna-Lena in the airport in Frankfurt and not having slept much either in Philadelphia (where we had two days of paperwork prep for South Africa) and the wait in JFK was horrendous (Can you believe there is no way to send a package from JFK? You can only send letters, which means I had to send my sister her car keys from Germany)

I had dreaded leaving for Peace Corps, I was excited about the job, but really dreaded leaving. My Grandmother had just passed away, I hadn't really had time to grieve with family and saying goodbye to friends and family, especially Julie, was excruciating. I knew it was best, but the realization of the length of time was not something I looked forward to. The morning I left, everything was in a fog, all I really did was put one foot in front of the other, my vision was blurry pretty much the moment I stepped out of the car. It didn't really stop being blurry until well into the flight to Philly, probably when I started sleeping.

Needless to say, the next few days were a mixture of emotions. It was great meeting new people, but I was more concerned about what was happening in Houston than with what was going to happen for the coming months. Probably not the best way to start a new job, but there wasn't any way I could not be concerned. So it was in that state that I landed on African soil. Emotionally drained, tired, kind of in survivor mode more than new job mode.

But we (all 90 or so of us) loaded ourselves and our luggage (90 people packing for two years is a lot of luggage) and headed off to our orientation center, better known as Mankwe. After leaving the airport there were definite signs we were in Africa, a troop (I think that's the right word) of monkeys scampering through the veld, billboards with South Africanized English, etc.

As we pulled into the training center the people soon to be known as our LCFs (language and Culutre Facilitators) sang a song of greeting. Zebras were just on the other side of the fence, the ubiquitous red dust was beginning to creep into our belongings and I was headed for bed.

Note: I didn't take this picture, someone else did... but I was still there.

Doors

2007-10-07T13:09:00.000-07:00

Today, Saturday, was a day of doors. I got a new door and we took the car to the car guy (really not sure what to call him). He promptly disassembled the door, worked with some wires and in the end the door worked as good as new. No ordering of parts, no waiting in a building, no offering to change the oil/windshield wiper fluid/ brake fluid/suspension/ catalytic converter etc.

I didn’t realize installing my new house door would take all day. Why a new door? Peace Corps likes to keep us safe, and so when the door wouldn’t shut because it had gotten bigger during the rains, it was time to take a trip to the only place in town that sells doors. (I also ripped the handle off trying to close the door)

The store is an Afrikaaner-run (Afrikaaner = descendent of the Dutch settlers that colonized South Africa back in the day) hardware store in the main shopping district. And by main shopping district, I mean the clinic, a tavern, the post office, gas station, etc. only two real stores. One is the hardware store, the other is a Chinese shop run by the only two Chinese gentlemen in town. We’re are not quite sure how they ended up here, but until my communication skills improve (I think they speak broken Setswana) I won’t be able to find out. There has got to be a good story there. To clarify, the town where I live is nearly all Black South African. The exceptions could be counted on my fingers in a village of upwards of 10,000.

Upon first asking they said they were out of doors (no pun intended), but as I was asked by another cashier what I would like someone remembered they had two doors left. So I got one, along with the necessary equipment and then spoke with the owner, who was delighted to have a visitor from Texas. He was even more delighted when he found out that I spoke German, as he was of German-descent himself and spoke German. (Afrikaans is somewhat like German, so he could converse in both languages). He invited me and the other volunteer out to his farm for beers and steaks. We've decided to wait a bit before taking him up on the offer because we don't really know our schedules and we don't want to appear to be preferring the company of the better-off people in the village, as we are here for the entire village.

When we brought the door back, is wasn’t quite what my host mother had in mind… she had wanted something fancier, but I told her we could make it fancy later, let’s put it in before the next storm.

Of course it wasn’t the right size. I found out that power tools would really save time. Everything we did was done by hand. What would have taken 15 minutes with a circular saw took at least two hours as we had a conventional saw and a plane. As we were working on the door, we had visitors, and I divided my time between working on the door with the ranch-hand, getting visitors drinks, and cleaning up my room since I had unexpected visitors. The work took all day, but in the end I added a coat of varnish and let it dry before closing the door… and the door closed, it was great.

I’ve been doing a lot of settling in here in my permanent site. I live with a host family of a married couple and their ten-year-old daughter. The ten-year old goes to one of the schools I work with and my host mother teaches at that very same school. They have a daughter that goes to boarding school and another daughter that is already out of school. They also have a dog, cows, sheep, and goats. Since it is spring, it’s great to see the lambs, kids, and calves running after their respective parents. Part of this settling in has been pointing out the leaks in my tin roof, which ended up in a trip to that very same roof where I found the problem, an exposed beam. While I was up there, I also spotted a birds nest. The eggs were still warm, but I didn’t have the heart to cook them, but I did end up cooking dinner for the family because my host mom was tired. While I was cooking, the family in Texas called. It was great. After dinner I managed to chat with many of you, and Julie sent me songs, which were amazing. ( I can’t get “Come back to Texas” by Bowling for Soup out of my head). A great end to the day of the door.

Interspersed with these current episodes will be flashbacks to earlier, when I didn’t have a blog. I’ll try to make sure to label which entry is which, but just thought I’d give ya’ll a heads up.

Intro

2007-10-04T10:32:00.000-07:00

And welcome! Glad you made it!

You may be wondering how a Peace Corps volunteer is updating his blog from rural Africa, so I have one word for you: cellphones. The village that I live in has no public phones, and perhaps two landlines, at a clinic and at a school, however, it is not uncommon for families to have two or more cell phones. I’ll write more on cell-phone etiquette later… oh wait… my cellphone’s ringing, I know I’m in the middle of talking to you or a meeting, but the call must be more important. Let me go talk for a few minutes, still stand in front of you…

…However

The great thing about cell phones here is that some of them can be used as modems for computers, which is exactly how I can be nearly anywhere in South Africa… and still poke someone on facebook. (and it’s free for me to receive calls!)

So, do I feel that this isn’t the “real Peace Corps,” that I’m living an American’s life in South Africa? Well, no.

This isn’t the Peace Corps of the 60s, we aren’t as detached from the global community; the world has gotten smaller. Technology has reached these areas and we should use it, especially since one of the Peace Corps’ three goals is to provide Americans with an insight into the various host countries and one of my programs particular goals is help the erase future inequalities in education

To begin with, what am I supposed to be doing in South Africa? I was selected for the School and Community Resource Project and so I’m here in a rural village in the North West Province of South Africa working with two primary schools, which on the government’s scale of poverty, rank among the poorest schools in the nation. The schools are not allowed to charge school fees because unemployment is over 75%. Houses do not have running water, some don’t have electricity. There are school lunch programs because some students do not get enough to eat at home.

It’s very difficult to give an accurate description of why I’m here without giving a background in the recent history of South Africa. Until 1994, South Africa was ruled by a white minority, which had conceived of a system of apartheid. Apartheid was a notion that the races had developed separately for many centuries, so they could continue to develop separately by creating racially homogenous sections of the country. These sections would be “self-governing,” similar to Native American reservations in the States. It wasn’t the original land, they had had, but it was some land. However, this system was systematically used to exploit the non-white populations. The most striking example was a powerplant built in a black section, in order to power a white section. Black workers worked in the power plant; however, none of them had power in their own homes, which were right next to the powerplant.

During this time, a system of education was implemented in the Black area in which Blacks were prepared for their position in life, which was one of subservience. They learned by rote learning, and were educational spending on each Black learner was one seventh of that which was spent on a white learner. Critical thinking was de-emphasized and little effort was put into maintaining standards in these schools by the central government. I’ll go into that more later.

One thing that you must remember about South Africa, is that the country could have literally imploded in the early 1990s when the decision was made to transition to a truly democratic South Africa. Luckily, leaders from all camps kept the turmoil to a minimum, and that’s why South Africa is the country it is today. However, there still are glaring socio-economic and racial divides (usually the two go together) and that is part of the reason we are here.

So I’m here to work with the schools to improve the education they are offering their learners (as students are called here). Both of my schools have a computer, and lots of educators (as teachers are known here) didn’t even know how to turn it on. I’m also tapped for my Math, Science, and English skills. However, I do find it incredibly rewarding to be in the schools (both of my schools are primary) and see the curious faces of the children as I tell them that I flew in an airplane (the Setswana word for airplane is eropleini ~ something that I found amusing). Some of them walk around barefoot which I find amazing in a place with thornbushes.

I live with a host family. I don’t live in their house (which has running water and electrical outlets, I live in two rooms in a house just behind theirs. Unfortunately, my outlets don’t work… nor do I have running water.

The area where I am is known as the Texas of South Africa and yup, it kinda looks like it. I see people riding horses, windmills and lots of cattle. They even have a hat that kinda looks like a cowboy hat. So, I must work again tomorrow, so I’m off to bed. (Btw, the stars here are just incredible)

Disclaimer

2007-09-16T12:02:00.001-07:00

The views in this blog are my own and do not represent those of the United States or the United States Peace Corps.