Extensions

Well, now my fingers are much warmer. Possibly because we recently got a new administrative block (building) at my key school. With that came several heating/air-conditioning units. With those came remote controls to regulate the ambient temperature. With that particular piece of modern convenience, of course, came the losing of said remote controls within five minutes of setting the clerk’s office at 32 degrees Celsius (aka, 90 degrees Fahrenheit). So my fingers are plenty warm now. Also I think I might pass out of heat stroke at any point in the next 15-20 minutes. But such are the sacrifices I’m willing to make to keep you happy, mom.

Girls camp, then: Likusasa Letfu, Part Two* was fantastic. Last year we had 25 girls for four days. This year we had 30 girls for six. We talked about self-esteem, good decision making skills, gender roles (one of my personal favorites) what love really means, and what we expect out of relationships, and of course a whole lot of HIV/AIDS education and discussion. One of my favorite parts, just like last year, was our I Can’t Funeral. Everybody wrote down things they couldn’t do, or thought they couldn’t do (“I can’t speak siSwati, I can’t draw to save my life, I can’t…” You get the idea.) Yunus, another volunteer, then made a fantastic coffin for I Can’t, and we all filed into the ampitheater of the place where we were staying to have a full two and a half hour funeral for I Can’t. Sure in America you would just have the kids write a few things, dump them in a shoe box, and then bury it, taking maybe 20 or 30 minutes, but this is South Africa. That’s now how it works. So we headed into the ampitheater. We sang, we danced, we gave speeches. One teacher, Beatrice, had been so inspired by last year’s funeral that she specifically made a preacher’s outfit, just so that she could be the pastor at this year’s event. In which case, of course, we had a sermon, too. Something about God telling Abraham to go out of his country. I’m not entirely certain how that relates to the death of I Can’t (or rather, none of the reasons that occurred to me seemed to be addressed in our sermon) but mostly that’s probably beside the point. Afterwards, everybody filed past the coffin, stuffing their list of I Can’ts in one by one while singing and doing a sort of conga line. Then we all headed to our bonfire, where there were only one or two more speeches, followed by the ceremonial tossing of the coffin (/bran flakes box) into the fire and of course some more singing. It was wonderful to be a part of, and to see how excited all of the teachers and girls were. To see ownership happening, in other words. After the funeral we all sat around the bonfire for an hour or two, telling jokes and stories and generally just having a good time.*

All in all, it was a great week, and much less stressful that I thought, probably for both external and internal reasons. Last year I was pretty much the only person doing everything, and I was certain that it was all a matter of life and death, too. The schedule had to be followed precisely, everything had to happen just so, and if not then clearly everything else would go straight to hell. Partially that was my fault though: I was the only one who had a clear idea of what exactly I wanted to happen, so I was the one with the burden of making everything go. Also, I’m American, and that mindset just seems to create its own stress. This year, all but one teacher who was there had been there last year, too. Everybody knew the game plan, everybody was in 100% (well, at least 70%. But C’s get degrees, right?). Plus I’m just a lot better at letting things go after two years in Africa. All of that is wonderful, obviously, and sustainable, and great, and better for my long-term health, but… one thing I realized is that without the certain sense that everything around you is going to come crashing down at any second, its much less elating when it goes really well. Everything that happened this year was just as fantastic as the year before, but without the potential of a massive crash and burn, the safe landing just seems a little less exciting. Not that I’m complaining, just making a point. We also had a lot of really great conversations about how to keep things going, how we can extend the program throughout the year, and how financing and planning will happen when I go. Teachers were really taking ownership, especially one lady who essentially ran everything but the lessons this year. It was wonderful to see her sense of empowerment, and watch her change from last year to this. Likusasa Letfu really became her project, and the communities, not just a good idea I happened to have and then conscripted a lot of other people into.

But let me wrap this up, because I know things are getting long. Here’s what I think the point of camp really is, beyond arguing what boys can do and girls can do, and the benefits of using condoms or knowing your status: Girls in this community, and in a lot of communities, are incredibly disempowered. Especially smart girls. The ‘clever’ girl, who speaks up a lot, who gets the answers right and gets them right in excellent English, who knows what she wants her future to be, that girl has a problem. It happens in America, of course (I’m pretty sure I once lost a tail-light on the chia car as a thank-you for setting an economics test curve too high in high school.) But in South Africa this idea of evil Ubuntu that I’ve talked about before begins to come into play. The idea that rising too high is disrespectful to those you’ve left behind, so they try to pull you back down. And its not just the learners who will do it. Even teachers, if they feel a student – especially a smart girl – is getting beyond her place or asking too many questions, will try to pull her back down. It’s not a friendly landscape out there. But now, now there are 30 girls from this year, and 25 girls from the year before that who know that there are other people who think like them. They had a week to make friends with the other smart girls, a week to be just as outspoken and contradictory as they wanted, where speaking out and being clever was encouraged by everyone around them and everyone around them was doing the same. I don’t think that the importance of that support group can be underestimated. To know you’re not alone? That’s huge. To know that when other people try to pull you down, you’ll have friends who are up there with you, encouraging you to keep flying. I’m not going to claim that that happened with every kid who attended, or even with all of them. But I do think that it happened with more than a few, and that that’s where things will start to make a difference. I hope.

*A joke that was specifically translated for my benefit: “A South African and an American decide to go out to lunch at a restaurant together. The South African orders chicken and the American gets a sandwich. As the meal progresses, the American watches the South African annihilate both the chicken, and then the chicken bones, leaving only a tiny pile of the least digestible parts [I watch this happen every day. It’s amazing.]. The American looks at the tiny pile of what’s left with astonishment and asks: ‘In South Africa, if people eat the bones, what do dogs eat?’ The South African thinks for awhile and responds: ‘Sandwiches.’” Hilarity around the campfire ensues. I’ll leave you to draw your own conclusions, but just add that I’ve certainly never seen a dog in this country eat anything remotely resembling a sandwich.