Photos

So here you have the roadside view of what my house now looks like. (There are some before shots at snapfish if you want to compare.) I've decided that I'm just going to look at is as haveing a really big, nice patio. Maybe plant some flowers in the giant dirt pile in front.



And here a lovely shot of the next door kraal (cattle pen) and some neighborhood kids who were begging me to "shoot me! shoot me!" while I took the first photo.

The Mercedes

Let me reiterate, before I post this, that my blog is just mine and has nothing to do with the US Government's opinion, Peace Corp's opinion, anybody in South Africa's opinion, etc... I can't even guarantee that my opinion today will be the same as tomorrow. You may have noticed, in fact, that all my entries tend to be fairly upbeat. This is partially because I like to think of myself as an optimistic (albeit intensley sarcastic) person, and partially because peace corps volunteers getting too candid has a tendency to spark international incidences.

So. The Mercedes.

The family I live with isn't really poor by village standards. There is enough food on the table, enough clothes for all four kids, television, two working parents, etc... They're doing okay. However, my host-father is a local counsellor, and he apparently felt that without a car, he just wasn't living up to the title. So despite the fact that they do occasionally run out of electricity, that they have four children to feed, that I get hit up for money (and/or told about just how 'bankrupt' he is -- code for asking for money) more than I am comfortable with, despite all this, he bought a car. And not just any car, oh no, the counsellor can't be seen in just any car, he needs a Mercedes. Forget that he has children to feed, forget that they barely have enough money now, he needs a Mercedes Benz. (And then there's that other tiny detail: the lack of a driver's license. But no big deal, apparently).

It makes me angry, but not because a mercedes is a mark of western consumerism bla bla bla. He's a grown man, he can spend his money on whatever he wants and I really don't think there's any particular moral judgement to be made. If you want a mercedes instead of...I don't know...a set of the great works of western literature...why should one be a more moral choice than the other? Its not. I don't think that spending money on status symbols is inherently good or bad (though on an emotional level I may find it silly, but haven't I done the same thing? Or didn't I when I had the cash?) No, it makes me mad because its a choice that doesn't just affect him - he has children! There are four girls living in that house who now have less food to eat and less light to study by because their father needed to show off.* Our power has been going out fairly consistently now because they can't afford electricity anymore. My host-mom hit me up for R60 the other day for food (normally I avoid loaning them money, I don't really have that much to loan and I hate being seen as a walking wallet. But what could I do? I love the girls and the thought of them going hungry when I have money is repugnant). I'm pretty sure they wash the car more than the baby (usually with insanely loud and awful music right next to my house), and then there's the little matter of my room being half-demolished for a garage. So I hate the mercedes, a lot. Every time I lose another carton of milk because the powers been off too long, and everytime I see him driving up and down the road honking at people when he should be at work I just start to hate it a little more. I refuse to ride in it, because the thought of the American status symbol hopping into the German status symbol to be shown off around town makes me physically ill.

Does all of this sound a little petty? Maybe it is, maybe hating the car is a way of channelling who knows what other stresses and frustrations that I have to deal with every day all into one convenient package. But I think that its just the embodiment of an idea that I see over and over again here: that the look of a thing is more important than its substance. If a learner has really nice handwriting, but gets the answers wrong, the teacher will praise him or her above everybody else. Conversely, getting the right answer but being too sloppy makes it wrong. Secretaries spend hours on borders, tables, graphics, layouts, because thats all everybody cares about in a document -- the content is secondary. The important thing about a meeting is that you have an agenda and a secretary, not that you have important content and get a lot done. And if a family has a mercedes, they're succesful -- even if the power is off for days at a time. Its all about the look, and never about the big picture.








*The fact that this, and corporal punishment, are the two things that I have refused to concede cultural moral relativism on is interesting, isn't it? They both involve adult's relationships with children. Does this in fact reveal a cultural bias in me? The view that childhood is somehow sacred or inviolate (thanks Victorians)? Or does it mean that moral/cultural relationships between adults are just that -- relationships between two consenting adults of relatively equal power and status -- while children don't get much say in whats happening to them, which makes things less fair? I'm going to go with the second one.

wtf?

The other day I got home after a long, long time away from site – training, Pretoria, swearing-in for the new volunteers, Limpopo, Sabie (geez!) – all excited to see my family again after 3 weeks, start making some delicious spaghetti, and show off my sweet digs to Erica. Unfortunately, instead of all that I got a little bit of a shock as the taxi pulled up in front of my house.

My host family recently bought a car (which is a whole different entry), and decided that they needed a garage for it. Before I left, my host mother pointed to my house and mentioned that they were planning to expand onto it to make said garage. My interpretation of this, aided by her hand gestures and pointing, was that my home would go from two cozy rooms (one that I use exclusively as a sort of studio apartment, and one that we share for storage) to three, with a third room being added on for the car. You’d think, by now, I’d have learned about the perils of assumption in South Africa – I mean, since probably 98%of my assumptions turn out to be wrong, why do I even trust them at all anymore? But, well, I haven’t.

Can you see where this is going?

So I get home, and now instead of home I have one studio apartment-esque space to live in (to reiterate mom: yes, I still have four intact walls and a door) and…one three walled catastrophe that looks like a mix of a movie set and a construction site. The taxi stopped, and we were all staring at what was once the inside of my house. I was a little surprised. Three hours later my family got home from whatever important business they had, and explained to me that there had been some sort of ‘mistake.’ I’m not entirely clear on this, but it seems like the original intent was for three rooms and then…an error was made? “Oops, knocked a gigantic hole in your wall by accident, well, we’ll just keep ripping it out now.” Who makes mistakes like that? More likely, I’m thinking, is that its cheaper to extend one room a few feet for a car than it is to construct an entirely new one.

I’m a bit pissed/surprised/irritated, but I’m willing to call that normal. I mean really, how difficult would it have been to call me with a “by the way, we’re knocking down a wall tomorrow. Heads up.” I kept a lot of books and school supplies in there, and they were apparently just sitting out for anybody to take them for at least a couple of days before I got home. Nothing got taken though, for once I guess the utter local apathy towards books and literacy has worked out in my favor. I guess the local tsotsis don’t see a lot of value in smuggling over to Maputo and then selling the complete works of John Donne and Shakespeare. A canonical western literature black market on the streets of Mozambique seems unlikely, though I’m not saying I wouldn’t stop by.

Geez.

Visible/Invisible

I've been back from SA-16 training for about a week and have been spending my time in Pretoria, more or less awaiting the Tenth Anniversary Swearing-In Celebration(party/shindig/do) that, in typical peace corps fashion, was a bit less exciting than all it was talked up to be. I was promised Nelson Mandela and the Clintons! (okay, true I was promised via 8th person rumour, but still). Oh well. There were still swings and free food (in the words of the American Ambassador to South Africa "...one thing I have learned in hosting you guys is that volunteers can eat their own body weight.") and I got all dressed up for the first time since...well, my own swearing in one year ago today (!). We all looked very formal and elegant, not bad for those used to washing in buckets.

During my week here I've been spending a lot of time walking around the city, people-watching, and generally experiencing the vast difference between third world rural life, and first world city life. I'll be very honest: Unlike a lot of what I see each day, it gives me hope. I love seeing all the different people out together, walking together, playing tennis together. I love walking through the University of Pretoria campus and seeing how non-white it is. Is it 87% African and completely aligned with the demographics of the country? Good lord, of course not. But neither is it the all white continuation of the economic and educational disparity that everyday in my village. People are going to University; the cycle is slowly, slowly, slowly dissolving. And I think that thats even more remarkable when you consider that the students at a University now would have been the very first generation since apartheid, born in it's death throes. What will things be like in 20 years? Or 50? In three generations?

I think that one of the things many of us Volunteers tend to forget is that we do live in...not the worst of the worst, but perhaps the most desperate for help. It wouldn't do much good to send Volunteers to places that were getting their acts together on their own, would it? And so our perception of the system might be slightly skewed -- there are good things happening too. Thats not to say for a second that rural education here is anywhere near what it needs to be. I don't know whats going to happen to this generation of children in my village, I don't know if we are anything but a band-aid for this generation of teachers. But what about rural education in America? How good is that? Admittedly there are places like the Esparto district, where I subbed for a bit, or the many incredibly dedicated and fantastic teachers of Santa Paula (hi guys! hi mom!), but then there's also Gustine (hi Kasey!), the inner cities, and on. American education certainly isn't getting it all right, but there are a whole lot of things that are going pretty well. In the same way, there are a whole lot of things going wrong with education in this country, but there are also the occasional things going right (if you can afford it).

melange

Today I am going to training for the SA-16 Volunteers in Rustenburg (Zeerust? Somewhere far away.) I'll be there for a week talking to the incoming volunteers about integrating into their village and how to become a part of their community. My first thought on this when peace corps told me was "Wow, that would be a good thing to have at training...I wonder how one does it?" So I asked my teachers and my sisters. Latoya's advice: "Um. Patience. I think just lots of patience." Latoya sounds like Peace Corps. One of my teacher's advice: "Well, they should try and get involved in activities and groups in the community, to really meet a lot of people." At that point, I got a little concerned, "wait, Maria, I haven't joined any groups or activities, what am I doing wrong?" "Oh, well. We don't have any in Steenbok. We just have funerals."

There you go

Today I learned that, in siswati, the word for "why" and the word for "story" are the same. How completely perfect.

Binary

Last week, on wednesday, I sat in the classroom of one of my favorite teachers (at my least favorite school) and found myself starting to cry. It was just one of those days, where my sheer inability to change anything got to me -- the excusess, the apathy, the fact that I was watching the exact same scenarios play out that I have been for a year with no appreciable change or improvement. Except maybe for the fact that now I just rationalize what I see more.

Today, on wednesday, I again sat in the classroom of another of my favorite teachers (at my favorite school) and again I started crying. This time though, I was watching one of the teachers who had put together Likusasa Letfu conduct a session on gender roles with every grade 6 and 7 girl in the school as part of the weekly club that they planned back at camp. In front stood the four girls who had attended, helping out Violet (the teacher), leading discussions, and generally showing off all they'd got. I've never been more proud of anybody in my life, I don't think.

I'm pretty sure I have a great job.

More Photos

There are new pictures up on the snapfish site from mine and Roy's vacation, including some shots of my village and house. And lots of animals from Kruger, too. Enjoy!

No Excuses

Recently I've been teaching grade 6 and 7 English after hours at one of my schools. I really enjoy it, partially because I like working with the kids, and partially because it helps me feel productive. I'm operating on the exact opposite of most South African teaching methodology, that is very little lecturing from me, and a whole lot of activity from the kids. (Well, as little lecturing as possible from me. I still love to talk more than practically anything else out there). I figure that since my siswati would be a whole lot better if I actually practiced it, whats going to improve their english much more than just practicing it as much as possible? I figure that I'm providing facilitated practice with a native speaker, as a supplement to their regular classes, which honestly aren't all that bad. Mostly.

Anyway, all of that is nice, in an "I'm being productive in the Peace Corps" sort of way, but honestly who cares about that? Here's the good part:

Today in grade 7 we were doing some writing, so I thought I'd bring in some music to listen to while they worked. After class some girls stuck around to hang out with the exciting and seemingly newly accessible American. (In fact, I think I'm slowly beginning to drift away from 'exciting white lady' and closer to 'exciting really weird lady.' Whatever, I'll take it). They told me that they'd like to dance a bit, so I bust out some Big Bad Voodoo Daddy, a little Bon Jovi, and then...then I hit upon the Flogging Molly.

Today I instigated a Flogging Molly moshpit in a grade 7 South African classroom. Life is good.

#50

So the other day I almost got a puppy -- his name would have been Max -- but then I didn't. Now his name is Bobby.

I wasn't (and still am not) planning to get a puppy, understand. A few of my friends have, and while I am very jealous of them and their pet-having fun, I also feel like I am very, very bad at taking care of things when left to my own devices (witness: Sigmund the Beta). Plus I'm leaving in a year (!), and what would I do with it then? So I know, puppy = bad idea.

However. When I showed up to school one cold, windy morning I started hearing the saddest yelps ever the moment I walked in the front gate. They were coming from a tiny little puppy of the standard village mutt variety. He couldn't have been more than 8 weeks old, his eyes were barely open and I could hold him in one hand, and he was just crying and crying. He was cold, he was sad, and children were yelling and poking at him. What was I supposed to do? I found him a box and brought him into the office. (While the clerks made jokes about my new 'child'). Then I decided that he might just be lost and have a home to go to, so I brought him and his box back outside, along with a jar of water and some of my lunch later in the day, on the theory that if he wanted to go home he could, and if he didn't have a home, well...

I spent my whole morning chasing mean children away from 'the' puppy, as in my mind he slowly morphed into 'my' puppy. I started planning how I would take care of him, how soon I could get him to a vet, who I could get to puppy-sit when I went on vacation, all that. In other words, over the course of just 5 hours I went from "pets = DOOM" to "I have a puppy!"

So imagine my shock and desolation, then, when I walked out of the office at about noon to check on my puppy -- and he was gone! Box and all! I immediately dropped what I was working on (a very challenging and productive game of solitaire, I believe) and went on a puppy-finding mission. After much diligent reconaissance work, ("What are you looking for, Nomvula?" "My puppy!" "Oh...he's over there.") I discovered that one of the Grade 1 teachers had decided that since he was outside, he was fair game, and she'd been wanting a dog for a while. I was very sad at the loss of my potential puppy, but she would of course be able to take care of him much longer (if not better!) than I will. So it is all for the best. I suppose. I made her promise to take good care of him, and to give him a good name. (Bobby. Not bad. I guess.)

The end? Not quite. The next day, the puppy's (original) owner called the school and demanded his dog back.


And that was how I almost had a puppy.




Also, remember this post: http://slainteafrica.blogspot.com/2006/12/renovations.html ? Yeah. I finally got around to the painting party. All I need now is a rug, it will really tie the whole room together.

12 down

Today and yesterday I did the (in)famous corporal punishment workshop with 8 of my foundation phase teachers. I say infamous because it's something that nearly every volunteer does at some point or another, but that doesn't exactly mean its all that succesful. But its sort of like the pit toilet and the mocking and the muggings. Sort of a rite of passage. (No, I have not been mugged. Though many would add to that: "yet")

So, we do the workshop. And I ask them to come up with 2 types of positive reinforcement that they could use in their classroom. My favorite answer, by far:

"Well, instead of yelling: 'Hey Stupid! Stop making noise over there!' we could use their name. Then they will feel proud that we know what their name is."

Yes friends, its been one whole year in the peace corps well spent.



(Also, Molly Weasley is my new hero.)

Should I Read Hegel

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!

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.)

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.

To the residents of Hudson:

I finally got your package today.

You guys are SO AWESOME.

That is all.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.