Even in Africa, its finally here: Harry Potter day, hooray! Thank goodness for this 9 hour time difference, so that I can still claim to have bought my book at (California's) midnight.
I will resurface in a few days with more africa-stuff (and probably just a little harry potter stuff).
Hooray!
Friday, July 20, 2007
Sunday, July 01, 2007
Chilling in Pretoria
So my camp was an amazing success, if I do say so myself. The girls were so into it, the teachers participated, there were no more than 3 major disasters a day. It was really, really great. I feel like now, 11 months in, I've finally Done Something Important. Like this could really make a difference or something for at least a few girls.
It was so great to watch both the kids and their teachers come out of their shells and really begin participating as the days went on. On the first day everybody pretty much clustered by school or age, until Liz, Amber and myself relentlessly made them split up and mix around. By the end of the second day (self-esteem and goal setting) they were talking, playing, hanging out together. The teachers were participating in and leading if not most than a lot of the camp (at one point I found myself just sitting on a bench, watching, and thinking to myself -- "I feel so lazy! Oh wait...they're supposed to do it themselves. Weird.") We talked about HIV/AIDS and there were so many really good questions. A nurse came in, and a local police officer, and talked to the kids about rights and health and puberty and all the rest of it. Possibly the very best part of the whole camp was our "I Can't" Funeral.
An I can't funeral is supposed to be more or less what it sounds like. Kids write down all the things they can't do ("I can't speak siswati, I can't keep the comments to myself, I can't stop being anal retentive about time even though I'm in Africa, etc...")and then you do a short shpiel about "today we are burying I can't, there is nothing we can't do, bla bla bla" and throw it all in the fire. In the states thats how it would work anyway. Here we had an ENORMOUS traditional swazi funeral that I never saw coming. The teachers told me not to worry and that they would take care of things (which of course is traditionally where I would start worrying). So I just decided to wait and see. About 8pm they all file into a small room singing and dancing, they have benches set up like a church, there's a choir, there's a pastor, there's an MC. We have singing and eulogies ("this man, he was very ugly")and sermons and everything else they could think of, until finally after everybody has danced their way up to the front do deposit their card in our beautifully made cereal-box coffin, we all parade outside and toss it into the bonfire. Amazing.
The next day we all got together and planned out clubs, speak-outs, dramas, poetry sessions, and everything else that they could think of to teach their friends and schools about HIV, Self-esteem, and even a little bit of gender roles (like I'm going to let that go just because I'm in South Africa).
So the verdict on the first annual Likusasa Letfu girl's camp: Kick Ass
(I have pictures, lots and lots of pictures, and I will post them all ... eventually. I promise. But for now bear with me, cuz I'm still working on it.)
It was so great to watch both the kids and their teachers come out of their shells and really begin participating as the days went on. On the first day everybody pretty much clustered by school or age, until Liz, Amber and myself relentlessly made them split up and mix around. By the end of the second day (self-esteem and goal setting) they were talking, playing, hanging out together. The teachers were participating in and leading if not most than a lot of the camp (at one point I found myself just sitting on a bench, watching, and thinking to myself -- "I feel so lazy! Oh wait...they're supposed to do it themselves. Weird.") We talked about HIV/AIDS and there were so many really good questions. A nurse came in, and a local police officer, and talked to the kids about rights and health and puberty and all the rest of it. Possibly the very best part of the whole camp was our "I Can't" Funeral.
An I can't funeral is supposed to be more or less what it sounds like. Kids write down all the things they can't do ("I can't speak siswati, I can't keep the comments to myself, I can't stop being anal retentive about time even though I'm in Africa, etc...")and then you do a short shpiel about "today we are burying I can't, there is nothing we can't do, bla bla bla" and throw it all in the fire. In the states thats how it would work anyway. Here we had an ENORMOUS traditional swazi funeral that I never saw coming. The teachers told me not to worry and that they would take care of things (which of course is traditionally where I would start worrying). So I just decided to wait and see. About 8pm they all file into a small room singing and dancing, they have benches set up like a church, there's a choir, there's a pastor, there's an MC. We have singing and eulogies ("this man, he was very ugly")and sermons and everything else they could think of, until finally after everybody has danced their way up to the front do deposit their card in our beautifully made cereal-box coffin, we all parade outside and toss it into the bonfire. Amazing.
The next day we all got together and planned out clubs, speak-outs, dramas, poetry sessions, and everything else that they could think of to teach their friends and schools about HIV, Self-esteem, and even a little bit of gender roles (like I'm going to let that go just because I'm in South Africa).
So the verdict on the first annual Likusasa Letfu girl's camp: Kick Ass
(I have pictures, lots and lots of pictures, and I will post them all ... eventually. I promise. But for now bear with me, cuz I'm still working on it.)
Sunday, June 24, 2007
In Which I Become Coach Carr
My camp begins tomorrow morning at 7:30am. Its been...a process to get here. I don't know what I'm going to see tomorrow. Where the taxis will go, how many people are actually coming as to how many I've planned for, what time things will really get started, or exactly how laughable that to-the-minute schedule I made is.
This is going to be so awesome. Wish me luck.
This is going to be so awesome. Wish me luck.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Photos!
Ok, so, I'm still mostly digital photo technologically illiterate, however I do have a snapfish account. (I'm perfectly aware that this is probably not the best/most efficient site but...it is the one I knew about and managed to get photos onto). Currently there are about 200-odd photos sitting there, however I think you have to have an account to look at them (though the account is free). So if, for some reason, you want to look at a bunch of pictures of me and various other people hanging out in Africa, then by all means create an account and let me know and I'll send you the link.
Photos.
Ta-duh.
Edit: Okay, I sort of know how this works now. Go here. Good luck.
Photos.
Ta-duh.
Edit: Okay, I sort of know how this works now. Go here. Good luck.
Saturday, June 16, 2007
This I Believe
At a training awhile back another volunteer described to many of us the concept of This I Believe and suggested that we should all give it a try, with the results to be sent out later in a mailing or maybe even published in some small way and kept in the PC office. The final results would be due yesterday. I think that its a really great idea, for a lot of reasons. I feel like I'm surrounded by so many amazing people every day that I can't wait to read theirs. I also want to use it with some of my more willing teachers, or even some of the older learners (language proficiency will be a hurdle, but I'll sort that out later). Plus, I enjoyed the opportunity to really sit down and think about what I actually do believe in. Its harder than you think, especially when you consider that you have to cram it all into less than 500 words. Anyway, if any of you are at all curious, here's mine:
I believe in a lot of things. I believe in true love and high adventure. I believe that one of the most important human virtues is simple kindness. I believe that a good sense of humour is essential to pretty much every situation I will ever encounter, and that the ability to laugh at good things, bad things, crap situations, and above all myself is possibly the best coping mechanism I’ll ever have. I believe that life is kind of a funny thing, but that that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t work hard at it. I believe that there is something bigger than myself out there, and that has given me a sense of comfort and strength when I have been lonely, or scared, or hurt. I believe in rock and roll, and that music really can save your mortal soul. I believe that people are people and everything else – gender, race, age, background – is extra. I believe that it is your choices that make you who you are and that it is your choices and your actions by which people should judge you. I believe that there is always a choice.
I believe that the world is an amazing, beautiful, miraculous place, and that I am one of the luckiest people in the world to get a chance to see and enjoy so much of it. I believe that there is tragedy and sadness in the world, and that really, really bad things do happen all too often to good and innocent people, but that my answer to that can only be to enjoy the good things more and fight harder against the bad. I believe that the town I grew up in – the orchards and the hills and the ocean and the strawberry fields – will always be one of my favorite places in the world no matter where else I go, and will always be my home, no matter where else I live. I believe that childhood friends forge a connection that no relationship afterwards can match, and I believe that I am extremely lucky to still be close with so many of mine.
I believe in coincidences, and hard work, and passion, and persistence. I believe that there is literally nothing on this earth that cannot be made better if enough people are willing to work at it, and work hard. I believe that sacrifice is worthwhile.
To put it simply: I believe in joy.
I believe that to live life with joy doesn’t mean that you are ignoring bad things, it doesn’t mean you are in a state of blissful ignorance. Joy in the face of poverty, ignorance, global warming, death, and the million other things that haunt every minute of our lives is an act of strength. It is a declaration that you choose to fight, and struggle, and try to make things better, because things can and should be better. It is a choice to love not just one person or one thing, but everything. And above all, it is a confirmation of life. Joy is the open-eyed embrace of everything the world has, everything the world is, and everything the world can be. This I believe.
I believe in a lot of things. I believe in true love and high adventure. I believe that one of the most important human virtues is simple kindness. I believe that a good sense of humour is essential to pretty much every situation I will ever encounter, and that the ability to laugh at good things, bad things, crap situations, and above all myself is possibly the best coping mechanism I’ll ever have. I believe that life is kind of a funny thing, but that that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t work hard at it. I believe that there is something bigger than myself out there, and that has given me a sense of comfort and strength when I have been lonely, or scared, or hurt. I believe in rock and roll, and that music really can save your mortal soul. I believe that people are people and everything else – gender, race, age, background – is extra. I believe that it is your choices that make you who you are and that it is your choices and your actions by which people should judge you. I believe that there is always a choice.
I believe that the world is an amazing, beautiful, miraculous place, and that I am one of the luckiest people in the world to get a chance to see and enjoy so much of it. I believe that there is tragedy and sadness in the world, and that really, really bad things do happen all too often to good and innocent people, but that my answer to that can only be to enjoy the good things more and fight harder against the bad. I believe that the town I grew up in – the orchards and the hills and the ocean and the strawberry fields – will always be one of my favorite places in the world no matter where else I go, and will always be my home, no matter where else I live. I believe that childhood friends forge a connection that no relationship afterwards can match, and I believe that I am extremely lucky to still be close with so many of mine.
I believe in coincidences, and hard work, and passion, and persistence. I believe that there is literally nothing on this earth that cannot be made better if enough people are willing to work at it, and work hard. I believe that sacrifice is worthwhile.
To put it simply: I believe in joy.
I believe that to live life with joy doesn’t mean that you are ignoring bad things, it doesn’t mean you are in a state of blissful ignorance. Joy in the face of poverty, ignorance, global warming, death, and the million other things that haunt every minute of our lives is an act of strength. It is a declaration that you choose to fight, and struggle, and try to make things better, because things can and should be better. It is a choice to love not just one person or one thing, but everything. And above all, it is a confirmation of life. Joy is the open-eyed embrace of everything the world has, everything the world is, and everything the world can be. This I believe.
Friday, June 15, 2007
But You Don't Have to Take My Word For It
South Africa Strike Foreshadows Political Contest
By MICHAEL WINES NY Times
Published: June 13, 2007
JOHANNESBURG, June 12 — A nationwide strike by South Africa’s public-service unions lumbered into its 12th day on Tuesday, shuttering schools, crippling hospitals and hamstringing courts — but not moving President Thabo Mbeki’s government far toward a settlement.
The standoff mirrors South Africa’s political situation, which pits a stoic Mr. Mbeki against left-leaning unions that accuse him of betraying the nation’s vast lower class. The two forces will clash later this year when the dominant political party, the African National Congress, convenes to choose a new president, an act tantamount to selecting South Africa’s next ruler.
The strike so far has inconvenienced millions of South African adults and children girding for midyear exams, but has done little lasting damage. That could change on Wednesday, however, when hundreds of thousands of municipal workers may desert their jobs in sympathy with the strikers.
“They have the responsibility for picking up trash, for keeping the city power going,” said Duncan Innes, an independent labor analyst in Johannesburg. “If they go out, it could be quite disruptive.”
The strike was called by the Congress of South African Trade Unions, or Cosatu, an amalgam of 1.8 million workers, most employed by national, provincial or local governments. The group’s unions had demanded a 12 percent salary increase and other benefits, but lowered their wage demand to a 10 percent increase.
During the talks, the government raised its initial offer of a 6 percent increase to 6.5 percent, although it was expected to make a new offer when negotiations resumed late Wednesday.
The walkout, which the union says includes 700,000 of its members, has been confined largely to teachers, hospital workers and some government functionaries like court orderlies and stenographers. Public schools have been shut since the strike began, and some private schools began closing this week as strikers threatened to picket them. The government has fired thousands of striking nurses, arguing that they violated a constitutional ban on strikes by essential workers, and has deployed army medical workers in public hospitals.
Violence has been limited. But Mr. Mbeki was angered Monday when the general secretary of Cosatu, Zwelinzima Vavi, warned that very soon the strike would turn violent.
Patrick Craven, the spokesman for Cosatu, said in an interview that “the unions are absolutely committed to keeping this strike peaceful, legal and disciplined.” But Mr. Mbeki condemned what he called the unions’ “message of selfish own interest,” and some political and labor analysts said that more violence could erupt if the strike spread to municipal workers.
Nobody disputes that the teachers and nurses who have walked out deserve a raise. A beginning teacher earns about $700 a month, and nurses may earn as little as $500, at a time when food costs are rising 8.6 percent a year.
In some ways, the wage dispute has been overshadowed by the test of political wills between Mr. Mbeki and the unions — a prelude, some say, to the contest for leadership of the African National Congress.
Mr. Mbeki, president of both South Africa and the congress, is legally barred from running again for national president in 2009, but is widely expected to seek a new term as president of the party late this year. The president of the party effectively controls who becomes its nominee for president of South Africa.
Cosatu, which is formally allied with the African National Congress, has remained officially impartial in the leadership struggle. But unofficially, the group has vigorously backed Mr. Mbeki’s populist rival, Jacob Zuma.
Experts say the strike could become more serious if it spreads beyond public workers to private industries vital to the national economy. But, so far, that seems unlikely; the major union representing miners, for example, said this week that it would not join the walkout.
For now, at least, that leaves members of the public sector, whose ability to bring South Africa to a standstill appears limited.
By MICHAEL WINES NY Times
Published: June 13, 2007
JOHANNESBURG, June 12 — A nationwide strike by South Africa’s public-service unions lumbered into its 12th day on Tuesday, shuttering schools, crippling hospitals and hamstringing courts — but not moving President Thabo Mbeki’s government far toward a settlement.
The standoff mirrors South Africa’s political situation, which pits a stoic Mr. Mbeki against left-leaning unions that accuse him of betraying the nation’s vast lower class. The two forces will clash later this year when the dominant political party, the African National Congress, convenes to choose a new president, an act tantamount to selecting South Africa’s next ruler.
The strike so far has inconvenienced millions of South African adults and children girding for midyear exams, but has done little lasting damage. That could change on Wednesday, however, when hundreds of thousands of municipal workers may desert their jobs in sympathy with the strikers.
“They have the responsibility for picking up trash, for keeping the city power going,” said Duncan Innes, an independent labor analyst in Johannesburg. “If they go out, it could be quite disruptive.”
The strike was called by the Congress of South African Trade Unions, or Cosatu, an amalgam of 1.8 million workers, most employed by national, provincial or local governments. The group’s unions had demanded a 12 percent salary increase and other benefits, but lowered their wage demand to a 10 percent increase.
During the talks, the government raised its initial offer of a 6 percent increase to 6.5 percent, although it was expected to make a new offer when negotiations resumed late Wednesday.
The walkout, which the union says includes 700,000 of its members, has been confined largely to teachers, hospital workers and some government functionaries like court orderlies and stenographers. Public schools have been shut since the strike began, and some private schools began closing this week as strikers threatened to picket them. The government has fired thousands of striking nurses, arguing that they violated a constitutional ban on strikes by essential workers, and has deployed army medical workers in public hospitals.
Violence has been limited. But Mr. Mbeki was angered Monday when the general secretary of Cosatu, Zwelinzima Vavi, warned that very soon the strike would turn violent.
Patrick Craven, the spokesman for Cosatu, said in an interview that “the unions are absolutely committed to keeping this strike peaceful, legal and disciplined.” But Mr. Mbeki condemned what he called the unions’ “message of selfish own interest,” and some political and labor analysts said that more violence could erupt if the strike spread to municipal workers.
Nobody disputes that the teachers and nurses who have walked out deserve a raise. A beginning teacher earns about $700 a month, and nurses may earn as little as $500, at a time when food costs are rising 8.6 percent a year.
In some ways, the wage dispute has been overshadowed by the test of political wills between Mr. Mbeki and the unions — a prelude, some say, to the contest for leadership of the African National Congress.
Mr. Mbeki, president of both South Africa and the congress, is legally barred from running again for national president in 2009, but is widely expected to seek a new term as president of the party late this year. The president of the party effectively controls who becomes its nominee for president of South Africa.
Cosatu, which is formally allied with the African National Congress, has remained officially impartial in the leadership struggle. But unofficially, the group has vigorously backed Mr. Mbeki’s populist rival, Jacob Zuma.
Experts say the strike could become more serious if it spreads beyond public workers to private industries vital to the national economy. But, so far, that seems unlikely; the major union representing miners, for example, said this week that it would not join the walkout.
For now, at least, that leaves members of the public sector, whose ability to bring South Africa to a standstill appears limited.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Good Intentions
I have recently introduced Latoya to "America's Next Top Model" which, for some reason I don't understand, is on TV here on tuesday nights. We have both agreed that it is both a very stupid, and very awesome show, and now have a standing date for every tuesday at 9.
I can only imagine that this was *exactly* what JFK had in mind 45-odd years ago.
I can only imagine that this was *exactly* what JFK had in mind 45-odd years ago.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Downtime
Today I slept in until 8:30 and then spent 3 hours reading Harry Potter while listening to my sisters play outside with their friends. This is pretty typical for a weekend, but given that today is a Tuesday its just a bit off from my regular schedule. The reason, of course, is the massive teacher's strike happening all over South Africa. Nearly every school in the country has shut down. Kids are home, teachers are home, I am busy perfecting the ultimate grilled cheese recipe (hint: simplicity and vigilance are both key). My camp is still on (thank goodness!) The teachers who are working on it with me agreed early on -- when I first started hearing strike rumours and getting nervous -- that because we'd already spent so much time planning, and because the camp is really more of a community project than a school one, we would continue working on it no matter what. So that at least should be okay.
We're pretty much supposed to stay out of politics, Peace Corps "advised" us to stay away from the schools during the strike because we didn't want to appear to be undermining the teachers. I can understand this, and many of my teachers seem to agree to varying degrees. But really, I can only make so many grilled cheese sandwiches.
Also, the best part of my day yesterday was sitting around watching "Ever After" with my family (thanks emily!) In one scene a servant woman is hoeing in the family garden. My host mom started to laugh at her wimpy strokes (is that the right word? What exactly is the motion one does with a hoe called?) when clearly any gogo in the village could have done a much better job. There's some cross culture I never expected.
We're pretty much supposed to stay out of politics, Peace Corps "advised" us to stay away from the schools during the strike because we didn't want to appear to be undermining the teachers. I can understand this, and many of my teachers seem to agree to varying degrees. But really, I can only make so many grilled cheese sandwiches.
Also, the best part of my day yesterday was sitting around watching "Ever After" with my family (thanks emily!) In one scene a servant woman is hoeing in the family garden. My host mom started to laugh at her wimpy strokes (is that the right word? What exactly is the motion one does with a hoe called?) when clearly any gogo in the village could have done a much better job. There's some cross culture I never expected.
Friday, May 25, 2007
Cornflakes
The other day I was sitting on my family’s front porch, chatting with two of my sisters – Latoya and Jabu, who are 14 and 16 respectively. This is one of my favorite parts of the day. Both girls are beautiful, smart, and sweet, and I really enjoy getting to hear about their and their friend’s perspective on big things like the school system, HIV, poverty, alcoholism, immigration, and all the rest of it. But even better is just having two friends who I can sit around and be silly with after school. We talk about Generations and movie stars, and their favorite musicians. They show me the latest dance moves, and I demonstrate over and over how bad my dancing is. Is it strange that two of my closest South African friends are 14 and 16? Maybe, but as I get further and further out of the exceedingly homogenous (age, socio-economic, and, yes, racial to a large degree) experience that was college I’m learning that that matters less and less. They’re my friends because I love the time that I spend with them.
Which is why my blood ran cold when, after sitting together quietly for a few minutes, Latoya looked at me and asked in perfect seriousness: “Ses Nomvula…is it true that white people are better than black people?”
What can you say to a question like that? What could I say? I can’t think of anything more calculated to break my heart. I asked her if she thought it was true. She said, “Well, no, but Bonga [the 8 year old sister] does. She asked mom to buy her Cornflakes because she sees white people eating them on TV. She says white people’s food is better. That’s what I thought too when I was her age, but I don’t anymore.” So we talked for a bit about the differences she sees around her. Why the white people in Malelane all seem to be doing so well, why the black people around her in the village are so poor. About the schools, and Apartheid, and the systemic brainwashing that has taken place over hundreds of years. (“But most white people in South Africa are rich, aren’t they?” “Well yes, richer than most people here, but only because they stole everything.”) Most people in the village feel the same way. They know that, technically, they are now equal in the eyes of the government. They see that there is a black president, a black government, that doors that were closed are slowly opening, but that can’t replace 300 years of, well, being told that white people are better. I am consistently offered the best seat in the car, the best plate of food, the seat of honor at whatever function. Sure some of this is because I’m willing to come volunteer and help out for a couple of years, but when I think about how many 24 year old women from the village would be offered the same perks or choice offerings of whatever, the same deference, the same ease of access, well of course she wouldn't.
But mostly, it all comes down to this: An 8 year black girl old lives in a rural village, in a cinder-block house with a tin roof, no running water, and days when there is no electricity because the money has run out. Everybody she knows lives them same way – many of them much worse off (at least she has shoes). She watches a happy, wealthy, white family eat cornflakes for breakfast in their perfect home. What would you conclude?
Which is why my blood ran cold when, after sitting together quietly for a few minutes, Latoya looked at me and asked in perfect seriousness: “Ses Nomvula…is it true that white people are better than black people?”
What can you say to a question like that? What could I say? I can’t think of anything more calculated to break my heart. I asked her if she thought it was true. She said, “Well, no, but Bonga [the 8 year old sister] does. She asked mom to buy her Cornflakes because she sees white people eating them on TV. She says white people’s food is better. That’s what I thought too when I was her age, but I don’t anymore.” So we talked for a bit about the differences she sees around her. Why the white people in Malelane all seem to be doing so well, why the black people around her in the village are so poor. About the schools, and Apartheid, and the systemic brainwashing that has taken place over hundreds of years. (“But most white people in South Africa are rich, aren’t they?” “Well yes, richer than most people here, but only because they stole everything.”) Most people in the village feel the same way. They know that, technically, they are now equal in the eyes of the government. They see that there is a black president, a black government, that doors that were closed are slowly opening, but that can’t replace 300 years of, well, being told that white people are better. I am consistently offered the best seat in the car, the best plate of food, the seat of honor at whatever function. Sure some of this is because I’m willing to come volunteer and help out for a couple of years, but when I think about how many 24 year old women from the village would be offered the same perks or choice offerings of whatever, the same deference, the same ease of access, well of course she wouldn't.
But mostly, it all comes down to this: An 8 year black girl old lives in a rural village, in a cinder-block house with a tin roof, no running water, and days when there is no electricity because the money has run out. Everybody she knows lives them same way – many of them much worse off (at least she has shoes). She watches a happy, wealthy, white family eat cornflakes for breakfast in their perfect home. What would you conclude?
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Obit
"I listen to feminists and all these radical gals. ... These women just need a man in the house. That's all they need. Most of the feminists need a man to tell them what time of day it is and to lead them home. And they blew it and they're mad at all men. Feminists hate men. They're sexist. They hate men; that's their problem."
Jerry Falwell, this camps for you.
(and from now on I'll get back to talking about Africa, I promise)
Jerry Falwell, this camps for you.
(and from now on I'll get back to talking about Africa, I promise)
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Mother's Day
You know what the best advice I've ever gotten is? The tiny little phrase that manages to pack in more "hell yes, here's something to live your life by" and less trite cliche per syllable than nearly any other?:
"Honey, don't forget: It's easier to ask forgiveness than permission"
Thanks mom. Your words and actions inspire me every day, in Davis, Ventura, South Africa, and everywhere inbetween. I love you.
"Honey, don't forget: It's easier to ask forgiveness than permission"
Thanks mom. Your words and actions inspire me every day, in Davis, Ventura, South Africa, and everywhere inbetween. I love you.
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
Party Hard
Last week was my birthday, and I am now 24 (which is just weird. I'll be 25 when I come home, which is even weirder). I had mentioned to one of my teachers in passing about a month ago that my birthday was coming up while we were driving somewhere. She said, "Oh but you must be at our school that day, we will sing to you!" I laughed, and so did she, and then we kept driving.
So, on my actual birthday, I found myself in a kombie full of grades 4-6 learners on our way to the nearest piano to practice "Funniculi Funnicula." As we pass my key school where that teacher works, I saw her out on the road waving her arms around and trying to flag down the taxi. It stopped for her, and we said hello, and then she talked to one of the other teachers a bit, said something to the kids, and then told me that the next day I had to be at her school to help out their choir (which, incidentally got first place at the competition and will be continuing next week. Awesome.) As we're talking I all of a sudden hear 20 learners burst into:
"Happy Birthday to you, Happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Nomvuuuuuuuula..."
She had apparently told all the kids to sing happy birthday to me, just like she promised. I cracked up. (Although, some of the fun of having all the kids sing just to me passed when they immediately followed up by singing along with the radio's remix of "f*** you you ho." Seriously, wtf Africa).
Anyway, I figured that that was my birthday sing along and that things were all taken care of again until next year. So, the next day I wandered into my key school, where all of the teachers were acting...a bit shadier than usual. I was constantly deflected from the office, told to go hang out in the grade 7 class (where, when the teacher dissapeared for the 3rd time in 15 minutes, I spent an hour or two playing Anagrams and Hangman with the kids). Despite the fact that I was specifically there for a choir practice, the choir didn't seem to be actually practicing.
Finally, at about 11, one of the teachers called me. "Nomvula, come here, we are having a staff meeting." I walk into the classroom, and there were all my teachers sitting in a row, my host parents up front, a giant pink sparkly cake (I immediately though of Emily) and the words "Happy Birthday Nomvula Sambo/Rebecca!!!" written on the blackboard with pictures and multicolored chalk. They had thrown me a surprise party!!! There were speeches, candles, singing, and even a gift. I'll be honest, when it was my turn to give a speech I started to cry a little.
It was so amazing, not only that they would take so much time and effort to do this for me when I don't even know what I've done for them yet (my favorite line from a speech: "Nomvula has done so much for us, I can not even list them all one by one" while I thought to myself, "funny, neither can I.") but because for the very first time I felt like I was being seen as a person. They weren't celebrating the white person's birthday, they weren't just happy that I was there because I'm different, they were throwing a party for my birthday, me as an individual person whom they like on a personal level. I know volunteers who have been at site for two years and still don't feel that way. Some people feel like they are just dolls, without dimension or feeling to the people around them. But now, with only 8 months on site under my belt, to at least a few people I'm just me. Still a white me, of course, that will never go away I think, but at least me.
So, on my actual birthday, I found myself in a kombie full of grades 4-6 learners on our way to the nearest piano to practice "Funniculi Funnicula." As we pass my key school where that teacher works, I saw her out on the road waving her arms around and trying to flag down the taxi. It stopped for her, and we said hello, and then she talked to one of the other teachers a bit, said something to the kids, and then told me that the next day I had to be at her school to help out their choir (which, incidentally got first place at the competition and will be continuing next week. Awesome.) As we're talking I all of a sudden hear 20 learners burst into:
"Happy Birthday to you, Happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Nomvuuuuuuuula..."
She had apparently told all the kids to sing happy birthday to me, just like she promised. I cracked up. (Although, some of the fun of having all the kids sing just to me passed when they immediately followed up by singing along with the radio's remix of "f*** you you ho." Seriously, wtf Africa).
Anyway, I figured that that was my birthday sing along and that things were all taken care of again until next year. So, the next day I wandered into my key school, where all of the teachers were acting...a bit shadier than usual. I was constantly deflected from the office, told to go hang out in the grade 7 class (where, when the teacher dissapeared for the 3rd time in 15 minutes, I spent an hour or two playing Anagrams and Hangman with the kids). Despite the fact that I was specifically there for a choir practice, the choir didn't seem to be actually practicing.
Finally, at about 11, one of the teachers called me. "Nomvula, come here, we are having a staff meeting." I walk into the classroom, and there were all my teachers sitting in a row, my host parents up front, a giant pink sparkly cake (I immediately though of Emily) and the words "Happy Birthday Nomvula Sambo/Rebecca!!!" written on the blackboard with pictures and multicolored chalk. They had thrown me a surprise party!!! There were speeches, candles, singing, and even a gift. I'll be honest, when it was my turn to give a speech I started to cry a little.
It was so amazing, not only that they would take so much time and effort to do this for me when I don't even know what I've done for them yet (my favorite line from a speech: "Nomvula has done so much for us, I can not even list them all one by one" while I thought to myself, "funny, neither can I.") but because for the very first time I felt like I was being seen as a person. They weren't celebrating the white person's birthday, they weren't just happy that I was there because I'm different, they were throwing a party for my birthday, me as an individual person whom they like on a personal level. I know volunteers who have been at site for two years and still don't feel that way. Some people feel like they are just dolls, without dimension or feeling to the people around them. But now, with only 8 months on site under my belt, to at least a few people I'm just me. Still a white me, of course, that will never go away I think, but at least me.
Sunday, April 29, 2007
About Rule One...
This weekend, I also spent some time at a semi-local orphanage helping out a couple of friends of mine with a "Freedom Fun Day" activity camp. Just something fun for the kids to do over a long weekend. There was a little boy there who couldn't have been older than 3. The first time I saw him he was just skirting the edges of all the activities and was completely filthy. His clothes were crusty, his face was snotty, he was carrying around a bucket and rag (not sure why) and there were flies all over his face. He's the youngest kid there by a few years, my friend told me that he and his sister are from Mozambique, though he speaks siswati.
This child broke my heart. He gets fed, he gets washed every now and again, but he's certainly not potty trained (he can't even reach the toilet) so...you can imagine. It was so obvious, nobody touches him, nobody holds him, nobody spends the time to play with him or talk to him or cuddle him or do any of the 100 basic things that every child deserves. The first day he just skirted all the action, though halfway through I gave him some soda (well, I gave him some of Mike's soda) and then he was my shadow for the rest of the day. The second day he was less shy, and got kind of into the balloon game the kids were playing (by which I mean he got sad when his balloon was popped and happy when I got him a new one). Halfway through the day he was happy to sit by Christy or myself, to be tickled and played with, though he still seemed deeply skeptical about this whole affection thing. By the end of the day he was sitting in my lap, perfectly happy with his balloon (or occasionally my watch or camera) and a safe place to be.
When was the last time somebody let this child sit in their lap? When was the last time he was hugged? And this is South Africa, so I had to wonder too: what happened to his parents, and what about all of those old sores on his arms and legs? (Well, you know, southern Africa, 1 in 4 infection rate. Take a guess). This is HIV, isn't it? This baby that I held in my lap because nobody else would, or could. The children with no parents and the classrooms with no teachers. It would be easier if there were somebody to be mad at. Someone who I could go yell at, or blame, or be pissed at until they got their act together. But there's not. There's just these babies with no parents, with nobody to love them, and not a few of whom will die of the same disease their mothers passed on to them.
This child broke my heart. He gets fed, he gets washed every now and again, but he's certainly not potty trained (he can't even reach the toilet) so...you can imagine. It was so obvious, nobody touches him, nobody holds him, nobody spends the time to play with him or talk to him or cuddle him or do any of the 100 basic things that every child deserves. The first day he just skirted all the action, though halfway through I gave him some soda (well, I gave him some of Mike's soda) and then he was my shadow for the rest of the day. The second day he was less shy, and got kind of into the balloon game the kids were playing (by which I mean he got sad when his balloon was popped and happy when I got him a new one). Halfway through the day he was happy to sit by Christy or myself, to be tickled and played with, though he still seemed deeply skeptical about this whole affection thing. By the end of the day he was sitting in my lap, perfectly happy with his balloon (or occasionally my watch or camera) and a safe place to be.
When was the last time somebody let this child sit in their lap? When was the last time he was hugged? And this is South Africa, so I had to wonder too: what happened to his parents, and what about all of those old sores on his arms and legs? (Well, you know, southern Africa, 1 in 4 infection rate. Take a guess). This is HIV, isn't it? This baby that I held in my lap because nobody else would, or could. The children with no parents and the classrooms with no teachers. It would be easier if there were somebody to be mad at. Someone who I could go yell at, or blame, or be pissed at until they got their act together. But there's not. There's just these babies with no parents, with nobody to love them, and not a few of whom will die of the same disease their mothers passed on to them.
Do Re Mi in 6 8 Time
I mentioned to one of my favorite teachers about 2 or 3 months ago that I had studied music a bit in college, and play an instrument or two...including the piano. She, suddenly and spontaneously, broke into any number of emphatic 'hallelujah amen, oh praise jesus!'-es so that I started looking around me wondering if maybe the big man himself had materialised somewhere behind us. Nope, turns out that they were in desperate need of a piano accompanist for an upcoming choir competition in which EVERY SCHOOL IN THREE DISTRICTS was participating. So, you know, good thing I hadn't touched a piano in about a year. So I spent about three days at a semi-nearby teachers center that had a piano, practicing the music that turned out to be kind of hard (damn). And then approximately 3 hours of one saturday playing for all the music teachers/choir leaders so that they could get an idea of what things would and/or should sound like before the big day. (They had the option of bringing their choirs that day so that the kids could actually practice singing with the piano but, well, TIA).
Last saturday was the big competition, and THANK GOD the official piano player actually showed up. The teachers all claimed that they would rather have had me because I "listened better" (which means I was perfectly willing to ignore all musicality and ink on the page in favor of whatever they wanted) and wouldn't really believe me when I told them that no, they didn't. By coincidence two of the schools that I had been hanging out at the past week also did really well and will move on to the next round.
The school that I was at this past week claims that those two schools did well because I happened to be around (because, you know, sporadically clapping my hands to the beat every now and again and occasionally pointing out things like 'hey, I think you're supposed to be a bit louder here' = BEST CLINIC EVER!!!) so my job for the week was to hang out with the choir. Thats fine, I can do that. It was really fun.
I felt so bad for the kids though, the teachers had them practicing 5 hours a day for a week! Which, of course, is just horrendously bad for you. A lot of them couldn't even talk at the end of the week, I'm hoping that the long weekend will help them out some. They're singing "Funniculi Funnicula" which is actually really hard even if you do read music, and apparently none of the teachers do. Every song, every tune, everything is learned by ear or by do re mi sight singing. Its really amazing when you consider how much singing happens around the village and how beautiful it all is. ...But I've spent a lot of time explaining time signatures and rests and chords.
The kids are sounding really good, which is impressive because they've only had a week to practice. I'm rooting for them on Friday, its the second round of competition so they're not just up against the neighboring schools, now there are the rich schools from around Malelane and Komatipoort in it too. I don't know if the teachers are thinking of it this way, but what a coup for the to do well, to win or move on. I know they can, I have total faith in them, and they're so dedicated too. Wish us luck.
Last saturday was the big competition, and THANK GOD the official piano player actually showed up. The teachers all claimed that they would rather have had me because I "listened better" (which means I was perfectly willing to ignore all musicality and ink on the page in favor of whatever they wanted) and wouldn't really believe me when I told them that no, they didn't. By coincidence two of the schools that I had been hanging out at the past week also did really well and will move on to the next round.
The school that I was at this past week claims that those two schools did well because I happened to be around (because, you know, sporadically clapping my hands to the beat every now and again and occasionally pointing out things like 'hey, I think you're supposed to be a bit louder here' = BEST CLINIC EVER!!!) so my job for the week was to hang out with the choir. Thats fine, I can do that. It was really fun.
I felt so bad for the kids though, the teachers had them practicing 5 hours a day for a week! Which, of course, is just horrendously bad for you. A lot of them couldn't even talk at the end of the week, I'm hoping that the long weekend will help them out some. They're singing "Funniculi Funnicula" which is actually really hard even if you do read music, and apparently none of the teachers do. Every song, every tune, everything is learned by ear or by do re mi sight singing. Its really amazing when you consider how much singing happens around the village and how beautiful it all is. ...But I've spent a lot of time explaining time signatures and rests and chords.
The kids are sounding really good, which is impressive because they've only had a week to practice. I'm rooting for them on Friday, its the second round of competition so they're not just up against the neighboring schools, now there are the rich schools from around Malelane and Komatipoort in it too. I don't know if the teachers are thinking of it this way, but what a coup for the to do well, to win or move on. I know they can, I have total faith in them, and they're so dedicated too. Wish us luck.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Abyss
Yesterday I left school a little bit early to begin my walk home. Class had gotten out about 30 minutes ago, so there were still lots of kids all over the place. A few of them decided to walk me home. And then a few more, and then a few more, and a few more – until I had an enormous pack of children giggling and surrounding me like an atom cloud as I cruised down the road. They practiced their English (“Good morning! Hi, Nomvula! Good morning!”). I practiced my teaching skills (“seriously guys, its 2 in the afternoon – at least say ‘good afternoon.’ Okay, how about this: ‘whats cracking’ – say ‘whats cracking’” They didn’t) So we all headed down the road together while everybody in the village laughed at me and my new-found horde. I was beginning to congratulate myself on how well I was putting up with my popularity, feeling all proud of my tolerance and patience, etc… and maybe enjoying my celebrity a little bit too when all of a sudden…my horde disappears? Wtf?
I look around –
I’ve been abandoned for a new and interesting hole in the ground.
Such is fame, I guess.
I look around –
I’ve been abandoned for a new and interesting hole in the ground.
Such is fame, I guess.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Spring Break...Woo!*
I just got back from a vacation in Mozambique – which I can actually see from my backyard, so I suppose it was about time I made it over there. I think that the best part of being an education peace corps volunteer in Africa is probably about the same as the best part of being an education worker anywhere else in the world –ridiculous amounts of vacation time. So for spring break (well, autumn break. I am so tired of this stupid southern hemisphere) we decided to head to a tropical beach.
We spent a night in Maputo, the capital, which is a little bit sketchy but can be pretty interesting if you’re willing to walk all over the place to find stuff. Probably the best part is the ridiculously fresh seafood. There’s a fish market right on the beach, and then all of these little restaurant-like places that are basically glorified kitchens. They cook your food for you for about the equivalent of $2 a plate. Its completely delicious.
After a night in Maputo we got into a bus for a comfortable and delightful 8 hour ride up Tofo beach – which is incredibly beautiful and totally worthwhile. You know all those corona commercials where you’re looking from the perspective of a person in a hammock and its all white sand and completely clear blue water and coconut trees? Pretty much just like that. And I spent about the whole week in that hammock. We also tried to go snorkelling with whale sharks (what a ridiculous sentence to write. Who does that? Who says, “oh, last week when I was snorkelling with whale sharks”) but sadly we never actually found any. We just rode around in a boat off the coast for 2 hours instead. It was a nice boat ride. Maybe some other time.
Generally the whole trip was really amazing (especially the part where I accidentally pulled the handle off the backpacker’s propane stove and created an enormous fountain of flames and explosion that kind of threatened to burn the whole place down, when all I really wanted was to make spaghetti. That was fun.) Mozambique is definitely much more what people probably think of when post-colonial Africa comes to mind. Its very poor, but you can see the remains of the Portugese/Arabic/European influence in the architecture and infrastructure, which is occasionally very pretty even in a completely run down state. It has a very Caribbean tropical feel to it, lots of palm trees and sudden rain storms. I kept thinking to myself how much mom and dad would love the place, its so beautiful and so very real and down to earth at the same time. I wouldn't be surprised if Mozambique and its beaches start becoming a real touristy resort destination in not too many years. (Maybe 20). I'm glad I got to go there now and get the 'backpacker' feel before that dissapears. Of course, it is also a complete economic mess: the people are poor, the streets are covered in filth, and the cops are corrupt.
We actually got hassled by a group of cops when we were walking through Maputo on our last night. They wanted our passports, but only one of us actually had his on him. They wouldn’t accept our PC IDs, were giving us a hard time, and generally things were looking like we were headed towards a night in a Mozambican jail (and…ew) because God knows we didn’t have the money for bribes, when this dude in a car pulled over and just started shouting at them over and over in Portugese. I have no idea what he was saying, but he was pissed. So the cops turned to us and asked if there was a problem here. We said most definitely not and got the hell out of there.
So Mozambique was fun.
*This might look pretty familiar to a few of you getting letters pretty soon. Sorry, but I can only write the only thing so many times in so many ways, you know?
We spent a night in Maputo, the capital, which is a little bit sketchy but can be pretty interesting if you’re willing to walk all over the place to find stuff. Probably the best part is the ridiculously fresh seafood. There’s a fish market right on the beach, and then all of these little restaurant-like places that are basically glorified kitchens. They cook your food for you for about the equivalent of $2 a plate. Its completely delicious.
After a night in Maputo we got into a bus for a comfortable and delightful 8 hour ride up Tofo beach – which is incredibly beautiful and totally worthwhile. You know all those corona commercials where you’re looking from the perspective of a person in a hammock and its all white sand and completely clear blue water and coconut trees? Pretty much just like that. And I spent about the whole week in that hammock. We also tried to go snorkelling with whale sharks (what a ridiculous sentence to write. Who does that? Who says, “oh, last week when I was snorkelling with whale sharks”) but sadly we never actually found any. We just rode around in a boat off the coast for 2 hours instead. It was a nice boat ride. Maybe some other time.
Generally the whole trip was really amazing (especially the part where I accidentally pulled the handle off the backpacker’s propane stove and created an enormous fountain of flames and explosion that kind of threatened to burn the whole place down, when all I really wanted was to make spaghetti. That was fun.) Mozambique is definitely much more what people probably think of when post-colonial Africa comes to mind. Its very poor, but you can see the remains of the Portugese/Arabic/European influence in the architecture and infrastructure, which is occasionally very pretty even in a completely run down state. It has a very Caribbean tropical feel to it, lots of palm trees and sudden rain storms. I kept thinking to myself how much mom and dad would love the place, its so beautiful and so very real and down to earth at the same time. I wouldn't be surprised if Mozambique and its beaches start becoming a real touristy resort destination in not too many years. (Maybe 20). I'm glad I got to go there now and get the 'backpacker' feel before that dissapears. Of course, it is also a complete economic mess: the people are poor, the streets are covered in filth, and the cops are corrupt.
We actually got hassled by a group of cops when we were walking through Maputo on our last night. They wanted our passports, but only one of us actually had his on him. They wouldn’t accept our PC IDs, were giving us a hard time, and generally things were looking like we were headed towards a night in a Mozambican jail (and…ew) because God knows we didn’t have the money for bribes, when this dude in a car pulled over and just started shouting at them over and over in Portugese. I have no idea what he was saying, but he was pissed. So the cops turned to us and asked if there was a problem here. We said most definitely not and got the hell out of there.
So Mozambique was fun.
*This might look pretty familiar to a few of you getting letters pretty soon. Sorry, but I can only write the only thing so many times in so many ways, you know?
Monday, March 26, 2007
Haven't You Always Wanted a Monkey?
Sadly, this entry has absolutely nothing to do with its title. But wouldn't it be fun if I moved to Africa and really did have regular contact with monkeys? I'll have to settle for my 2 year old host sister instead, I guess. She is probably much cuter and smarter than any potential monkey, anyway. And probably throws her own poop around at least a little less.
One of the reasons I love spending time with Azora so much is because language is tends to be a non-issue. The two of us speak roughly the same amount of siSwati, but we seem to understand eachother perfectly anyway. She usually wants to play, sleep, have a drink, or avoid a bath, so we relate well. We also have our language lessons togehter: here is my head, my nose, my eyes, my hands, etc... (I have also taught her to say nose, mouth, spaghetti, and obnoxious in english. Each time she points to her nose when I ask where it is, I am convinced that I live with the most brilliant child in the world).
There are also certain key phrases that she has recently picked up due to having reached the potty-training stage of her career, and these I've had to learn with a certain amount of rapid necessity. So when she informs me that "ngifuna kaka!" I know that its time to get her off my bed and into the pit toilet. (There's also a certain sense of bizarre comfort to know that some words don't change no matter what culture or language you're in. Kaka means exactly what you think it does.) The trip to the pit toilet is accompanied by much commentary from both her ("unuka!") and me ("yeah, it does smell. Don't look down, friend, pit toilet rule 1! Azora, I love you but I am not fishing you out if you fall in." etc...) and finished up with her ordering me to 'sula!'
Any hint that I might have been succumbing to maternal instincts tends to end right there. No matter how much I may adore this child, I firmly believe that in the end we just all need to learn to wipe our own rear-ends.
(I really was planning to write something at least a little insightful up there, but sometimes you just have to give into the bizarre instead. Next time.)
One of the reasons I love spending time with Azora so much is because language is tends to be a non-issue. The two of us speak roughly the same amount of siSwati, but we seem to understand eachother perfectly anyway. She usually wants to play, sleep, have a drink, or avoid a bath, so we relate well. We also have our language lessons togehter: here is my head, my nose, my eyes, my hands, etc... (I have also taught her to say nose, mouth, spaghetti, and obnoxious in english. Each time she points to her nose when I ask where it is, I am convinced that I live with the most brilliant child in the world).
There are also certain key phrases that she has recently picked up due to having reached the potty-training stage of her career, and these I've had to learn with a certain amount of rapid necessity. So when she informs me that "ngifuna kaka!" I know that its time to get her off my bed and into the pit toilet. (There's also a certain sense of bizarre comfort to know that some words don't change no matter what culture or language you're in. Kaka means exactly what you think it does.) The trip to the pit toilet is accompanied by much commentary from both her ("unuka!") and me ("yeah, it does smell. Don't look down, friend, pit toilet rule 1! Azora, I love you but I am not fishing you out if you fall in." etc...) and finished up with her ordering me to 'sula!'
Any hint that I might have been succumbing to maternal instincts tends to end right there. No matter how much I may adore this child, I firmly believe that in the end we just all need to learn to wipe our own rear-ends.
(I really was planning to write something at least a little insightful up there, but sometimes you just have to give into the bizarre instead. Next time.)
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Success!
I found out yesterday that my grant has been approved for a girl's empowerment/HIV education camp this coming summer (Or...winter...June. Whatever). I'm so, so excited, not least of all because this was the first major grant that I've written and it was accepted on the first attempt. I've asked for a little under $3,000 American to fund 4 days at a youth hostel in Kruger Park (!). We're going to spend time with 24 12-16 year old girls from my village to discuss things like gender roles, self-esteem, life goals, relationships, and of course HIV and how it is effected (affected? whichever) by all of the above. I'm ecstatic, and I feel like this is something that really has a chance of helping girls in my village.
As far as my other project goes, I sent out 11 letters last week requesting book donations from various philanthropies and NGOs throughout the world (though mostly the US and UK). Hopefully we'll start hearing back from them soon. Would anybody out there in the US like to do a book drive with me? (Mom? Ed'd? Kate and band-uh!?). This is going to be the only accessible library for 20 miles -- which actually translates to about 2.5 hours. Which, of course, actually translates itself to inaccessibility. My dream is sections of books in SiSwati, Xitsonga, and English. Children's books, novels, books for adult literacy programs, pamphlets and information on health and agriculture, resource and textbooks for learners to do research projects and papers. I want lots of shelves and comfortable chairs and a computer with internet access. I want this to be a place where both kids and their parents can come to spend a few hours just enjoying the written word, or learning something new, or...whatever.
Is this ambitious? Incredibly so. But if there is one thing I've been passionate about my entire life its books and literacy and I can't imagine a better windmill to start tilting at.
Wish me luck, friends.
As far as my other project goes, I sent out 11 letters last week requesting book donations from various philanthropies and NGOs throughout the world (though mostly the US and UK). Hopefully we'll start hearing back from them soon. Would anybody out there in the US like to do a book drive with me? (Mom? Ed'd? Kate and band-uh!?). This is going to be the only accessible library for 20 miles -- which actually translates to about 2.5 hours. Which, of course, actually translates itself to inaccessibility. My dream is sections of books in SiSwati, Xitsonga, and English. Children's books, novels, books for adult literacy programs, pamphlets and information on health and agriculture, resource and textbooks for learners to do research projects and papers. I want lots of shelves and comfortable chairs and a computer with internet access. I want this to be a place where both kids and their parents can come to spend a few hours just enjoying the written word, or learning something new, or...whatever.
Is this ambitious? Incredibly so. But if there is one thing I've been passionate about my entire life its books and literacy and I can't imagine a better windmill to start tilting at.
Wish me luck, friends.
Saturday, March 10, 2007
Likusasa Letfu
I’m currently working on two major projects that make me very happy.
The first is a girl’s empowerment/HIV education retreat that will be held at the end of June. I just finished the grant application for funding, and hopefully I’ll hear back from Peace Corps about it soon. The basic idea behind the retreat is this: women, for any number of reasons, biological as well as psychological and cultural, are at a much higher risk of HIV/AIDS in the village than are men. The women’s movement hasn’t quite made it all the way to Steenbok yet (which is why my key school principal occasionally tries to get me to wash his shirts for him…good luck). Girls in high school and primary school feel compelled to have sex for all the same bad reasons that their counterparts in the US do – so that the boy won’t leaver her, to prove that she loves him, because all her friends are doing it, etc… They also feel far less able to force the boy to wear a condom when they do agree to sex (assuming that they have actually agreed.) Teen pregnancy is rampant and verges on no big deal in the eyes of the girls. I’ve heard estimates that upwards of 50% of the female learners at the secondary school have children. My own estimates put the teen pregnancy rate at about 15% a year in the village. So the idea is, if we spend some time talking to girls from every school about self-esteem, about their own plans for their own futures, about the fact that they really are good enough and strong enough to do whatever they want and say whatever they want, then that itself will drastically effect choices they make in the future. We’re also going to spend time discussing HIV myths and facts, ways to protect themselves, etc… Its impossible to live in South Africa and not have heard about HIV of course. By some estimates the HIV infection rate is as high as 25%. Its highest in Mpumulanga (my province) and rural villages (like mine). They’ve heard ABC. They’ve seen the slogans. But I think that sitting down and discussing HIV, and STIs, and pregnancy – processing things in their own way and words instead of being passive receptors for government slogans – will go a lot further. I hope. I have a teacher from every school in the village of the committee to put this together, and we’ve all already decided that this camp should come back and create some sort of peer-education club at each school when they start up again in July. Potentially this can be a really awesome and sustainable program, or that’s my dream. I’m also really excited because my brilliant host sister, Latoya, is just the right age to go. The girls are going to be chosen via an essay contest, and I know that her English writing skills are good, so I think that she’ll get to go (and I’m not above pulling a few strings either…)
My second project is a school library that has the potential to become a resource for the entire community. The thing about it is, too – I didn’t even start it! A teacher at one of my schools came to me and said that she wanted to start a library for the school. She had already cleared out a room (this is the only school with spare classrooms. Hopefully within the year we will manage to get enough extra space to create libraries at the other two schools too). I told her that I would be completely delighted to help her, and as I just happened to have my copy of Libraries for All on me at the moment, I lent it to her. Finally on Friday she showed me the spare class, already complete with bookshelves. We went through a list of potential book donors, and talked about who we thought could use the library – what kind of books did we want? We both agreed that the dream is creating a community resource and that she is more than willing to act as librarian (which is, in its own way, unfortunate since she’s also one of the best teachers at the school. But we can burn that bridge when we come to it). So we’re requesting books on agriculture and community building and appropriate technology as well as reference and reading books. Looking around the room we could both see it: the computer will go here, the shelves will go here, and chairs and beanbags and tables and lamps and rugs, and… So my job this weekend is to write a general letter from a list of key points that we put together and then tailor it slightly to each organization we identified. I’m also planning to hit up Adventures for Kids and any other groups I can think of for book drives (perhaps some members of the Santa Paula or LAUSD school districts would like to help…?). My nearest neighbor recently got nearly 3900 books donated from one drive to her schools. Not that I’ve ever been at all competitive or anything, but…I’d say I have an obligation to at least double that.
In addition to those major things, I’m also going to start English clubs at two of my schools, and I want to see if I can actually start teaching a class a couple days a week at my key school. What better way to show teachers that it really can be done than through really doing it myself every day?
The first is a girl’s empowerment/HIV education retreat that will be held at the end of June. I just finished the grant application for funding, and hopefully I’ll hear back from Peace Corps about it soon. The basic idea behind the retreat is this: women, for any number of reasons, biological as well as psychological and cultural, are at a much higher risk of HIV/AIDS in the village than are men. The women’s movement hasn’t quite made it all the way to Steenbok yet (which is why my key school principal occasionally tries to get me to wash his shirts for him…good luck). Girls in high school and primary school feel compelled to have sex for all the same bad reasons that their counterparts in the US do – so that the boy won’t leaver her, to prove that she loves him, because all her friends are doing it, etc… They also feel far less able to force the boy to wear a condom when they do agree to sex (assuming that they have actually agreed.) Teen pregnancy is rampant and verges on no big deal in the eyes of the girls. I’ve heard estimates that upwards of 50% of the female learners at the secondary school have children. My own estimates put the teen pregnancy rate at about 15% a year in the village. So the idea is, if we spend some time talking to girls from every school about self-esteem, about their own plans for their own futures, about the fact that they really are good enough and strong enough to do whatever they want and say whatever they want, then that itself will drastically effect choices they make in the future. We’re also going to spend time discussing HIV myths and facts, ways to protect themselves, etc… Its impossible to live in South Africa and not have heard about HIV of course. By some estimates the HIV infection rate is as high as 25%. Its highest in Mpumulanga (my province) and rural villages (like mine). They’ve heard ABC. They’ve seen the slogans. But I think that sitting down and discussing HIV, and STIs, and pregnancy – processing things in their own way and words instead of being passive receptors for government slogans – will go a lot further. I hope. I have a teacher from every school in the village of the committee to put this together, and we’ve all already decided that this camp should come back and create some sort of peer-education club at each school when they start up again in July. Potentially this can be a really awesome and sustainable program, or that’s my dream. I’m also really excited because my brilliant host sister, Latoya, is just the right age to go. The girls are going to be chosen via an essay contest, and I know that her English writing skills are good, so I think that she’ll get to go (and I’m not above pulling a few strings either…)
My second project is a school library that has the potential to become a resource for the entire community. The thing about it is, too – I didn’t even start it! A teacher at one of my schools came to me and said that she wanted to start a library for the school. She had already cleared out a room (this is the only school with spare classrooms. Hopefully within the year we will manage to get enough extra space to create libraries at the other two schools too). I told her that I would be completely delighted to help her, and as I just happened to have my copy of Libraries for All on me at the moment, I lent it to her. Finally on Friday she showed me the spare class, already complete with bookshelves. We went through a list of potential book donors, and talked about who we thought could use the library – what kind of books did we want? We both agreed that the dream is creating a community resource and that she is more than willing to act as librarian (which is, in its own way, unfortunate since she’s also one of the best teachers at the school. But we can burn that bridge when we come to it). So we’re requesting books on agriculture and community building and appropriate technology as well as reference and reading books. Looking around the room we could both see it: the computer will go here, the shelves will go here, and chairs and beanbags and tables and lamps and rugs, and… So my job this weekend is to write a general letter from a list of key points that we put together and then tailor it slightly to each organization we identified. I’m also planning to hit up Adventures for Kids and any other groups I can think of for book drives (perhaps some members of the Santa Paula or LAUSD school districts would like to help…?). My nearest neighbor recently got nearly 3900 books donated from one drive to her schools. Not that I’ve ever been at all competitive or anything, but…I’d say I have an obligation to at least double that.
In addition to those major things, I’m also going to start English clubs at two of my schools, and I want to see if I can actually start teaching a class a couple days a week at my key school. What better way to show teachers that it really can be done than through really doing it myself every day?
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