Monday was a linguistic trainwreck. The kind you just can’t look away from. There is a new Salvation Army pastor in the village, originally from Mozambique. He wants to learn English. One of my teachers, who is very active in the church, volunteered me. Sure, why not?
I walk up to the house, which is right behind the church and built by (of course) the donations of Salvation Army churches in America. So now you know where the $5 you paid for that awesome Halloween costume last year went.
I walk in. “Sanibonani!” I say. “Yebo.” He replies. We are polite in siSwati. I turn to his wife. “Ninjani?” (how are you?) “Si…khona??” she replies. How odd. She sounds suspiciously like me in her confusion. “Oh, she is also from Mozambique, she is just learning siSwati.” Her husband tells me. “Oh, I’m sorry! Avuxeni!” I am both contrite and proud of myself for remembering correct greeting in xiTsonga. (Later, a teacher tells me that I did not in fact remember the correct greeting in xiTsonga. Avuxeni means good morning. It was currently 2:30 in the afternoon.). Once again, Mrs. Pastor shrugs her shoulders and shakes her head. “No,” her husband tells me again, “we are from Mozambique. Portugese only.” I am a moron.
So we progress to the lesson. “What do you want to learn?” I ask naively. (The condition in which I ask most of my questions, come to think of it)
“English.”
“Oh, okay, well, we can do that. But we need a place to start. So what parts of English do you want to focus on? Conversations? Sermons? Travel? Reading? Writing? We need a starting point. So what part of English do you want to learn the most.”
“No, just English. All of it.”
“Oh…kay…” Of course, as you can see he essentially already speaks English. Not perfectly, not smoothly, but functionally. So where do I start? We dance around a bit, we try to find a good starting point, a good teaching method, some way be can both leave this interview feeling like something has happened. The longer this goes on, the more doubtful that outcome begins to look. I have decided in my head that really what he mostly needs is practice with a native speaker, so why don’t we just hang out and chat for an hour a week or so. The blank, open notebooks and pencils hovering in the hands of he and his wife tell me that this is not their preferred approach.
So we abandon that approach for a bit, and he offers to teach me some Portugese. I can now say “Boa Tardi” and “Bom Dia” (good afternoon, good day) with reasonable accuracy. Five minutes later I forget how to say “I am thirsty” within 30 seconds of him telling me. I am still a moron.
Somehow, during all this mess, we discover that we have both taken a decent amount of French in high school. We switch to French. I begin mixing my siSwati and French, because its been about two and a half years at this point since my last French conversation. We say goodbye, and make plans to meet up again the next day, when I promise to have something actually prepared.
“A demain!” I say.
“A demain!” He replies.
“Abrigado!” calls his wife.
“Bye!”
Thirty minutes. Five languages. I start laughing hysterically, and don’t stop until I make it home.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Thursday, February 07, 2008
Locutius
The powers that be have recently set each school in our circuit, or region, or province, or…something, a task. The school has to decide on the best teacher and learner of 2007, so that those who are chosen can go to an awards ceremony and serve as an encouragement to those around them, etc...
At the school I’m at this week, we were apparently given all of 18 hours notice to get this done. The principal held a brief after-school meeting on Wednesday to let the educators know and give them a chance to think things over, then on Thursday morning they had to decide. It got a little ugly.
In America, of course, the situation might be handled delicately, but the idea of picking a ‘best’ for the year would make sense, and be seen as a fairly run of the mill thing to do. It’s not virtual blasphemy to acknowledge different levels of skills, and that some teachers might be way, way better than others. That’s just how it is. Some people are really good at their jobs – better than other people in fact. Lets acknowledge and reward them for it.
Here…not so much. Here the most common use of the term Ph.D comes not when we’re discussing relative educational levels, but instead the acronym: Pull Her/Him Down. Which means that it doesn’t do to try and rise above those around you, because those around you will only get mad and try to drag you back down. Or say, “fine – you do all the work then if you’re the best.” It’s a very South African thing, with any number of dimensions. The idea that the collective is more important than the group, of course, plays a big part. Ubuntu’s evil twin. It seems to me that its almost rude to rise too far above the rest, its disrespectful. Like saying that you’re better than them. Being the best – or rather, being the stand-out best – is like giving the finger to everyone else around you. So you can imagine some of the dismay when the educators were asked to choose just one of a collective to be singled out as the best. They were deeply uncomfortable with the idea, and both the Principal and Deputy Principal had to keep reassuring them with, “no, no, we know that we are all the best teachers. We are all good. But we just have to choose somebody to go to this function. Just one name to go to the function. But we are all still the best.” Of course, everybody sitting in the room knew it was a lie. Quite a few probably could have pointed out the lady who honestly is the best teacher in the school, because last year we had a teacher of the month award and she got it. But they just couldn’t bring themselves to do it. They suggested drawing names out of a hat, they suggested going by who does the most extracurriculars, they even suggested having the principals or myself just choose (I declined. I’m not stupid. I know what disaster would ensue for me if I chose just one, even though the choice was so obvious to me I wanted to pull my hair out). In the end, they chose one of the favorites of the staff, not the best teacher, far far from it, and the principal knows it too, but a nice outgoing guy who adds to – surprise – the group dynamic.
Of course, now you may be wondering: but what about the Mercedes? Is Babe that out of touch with the community, or is that entry or this one full of it? Well here’s how I see it: I think that a certain amount of mobility within the community is perfectly acceptable. Babe’s not the only one with a Mercedes (though he’s certainly the one with the poopiest*), and therefore the Mercedes is acceptable. It falls within the acknowledged range of success and status in the village. Some people, who do well and have good jobs and a fairly high status in the community, those people have the material goods to show it off. And even if they don’t have all those things, they can still attempt to mimic them with the physical status symbols. The Mercedes falls within the acceptable collective status/success continuum. Saying you’re the best – or better than everybody else – does not.
Or maybe not. Maybe this is what it is: The Mercedes is a tangible status symbol. Big houses, satellite TV, an American hanging out at your house and school, the enormous entertainment system – all of these are tangible, we could even say commercial or material symbols. Materialism on that level is a relatively new thing in this culture. I can practically guarantee you that nobody in Steenbok drove a Mercedes prior to 1994. Because they are new, the rules haven’t been made yet.
Or maybe not. Maybe its this: The tangible, material symbols are proclaiming status not only amongst the smaller group – one school, one family, one village – but within an entire society. I said, I can practically guarantee you that nobody in Steenbok drove a Mercedes prior to 1994. So could there be a certain sense of pride to see that car go up and down the road? Does it become not just “his” Mercedes, but instead “our” Mercedes? Does the big house with the satellite TV in fact not show up the neighbors, but instead instill in them a sense of pride that now they too can live in a neighborhood with big houses and satellite TV (even if the house isn’t theirs). Maybe the acquisition of things that were previously unavailable to the group – even if they are only being acquired by an individual member – serve as a sense of pride to the whole group. Now they can do that too.
The third option seems the most likely to me. But more than anything else all the possibilities and interpretations just serve to remind me that I’m still only an observer here – and probably not all that good of an observer. I’ve been in Africa nearly 19 months with not that many left to go, and I’m still just making my best guess. It is entirely possible, and even likely, that all of the above is complete bull pucky. If I showed it to somebody who stayed here, they would probably just laugh their heads off and point out all the places where I was wrong.
But after over a year and a half in Africa – I’m okay with that too.
At the school I’m at this week, we were apparently given all of 18 hours notice to get this done. The principal held a brief after-school meeting on Wednesday to let the educators know and give them a chance to think things over, then on Thursday morning they had to decide. It got a little ugly.
In America, of course, the situation might be handled delicately, but the idea of picking a ‘best’ for the year would make sense, and be seen as a fairly run of the mill thing to do. It’s not virtual blasphemy to acknowledge different levels of skills, and that some teachers might be way, way better than others. That’s just how it is. Some people are really good at their jobs – better than other people in fact. Lets acknowledge and reward them for it.
Here…not so much. Here the most common use of the term Ph.D comes not when we’re discussing relative educational levels, but instead the acronym: Pull Her/Him Down. Which means that it doesn’t do to try and rise above those around you, because those around you will only get mad and try to drag you back down. Or say, “fine – you do all the work then if you’re the best.” It’s a very South African thing, with any number of dimensions. The idea that the collective is more important than the group, of course, plays a big part. Ubuntu’s evil twin. It seems to me that its almost rude to rise too far above the rest, its disrespectful. Like saying that you’re better than them. Being the best – or rather, being the stand-out best – is like giving the finger to everyone else around you. So you can imagine some of the dismay when the educators were asked to choose just one of a collective to be singled out as the best. They were deeply uncomfortable with the idea, and both the Principal and Deputy Principal had to keep reassuring them with, “no, no, we know that we are all the best teachers. We are all good. But we just have to choose somebody to go to this function. Just one name to go to the function. But we are all still the best.” Of course, everybody sitting in the room knew it was a lie. Quite a few probably could have pointed out the lady who honestly is the best teacher in the school, because last year we had a teacher of the month award and she got it. But they just couldn’t bring themselves to do it. They suggested drawing names out of a hat, they suggested going by who does the most extracurriculars, they even suggested having the principals or myself just choose (I declined. I’m not stupid. I know what disaster would ensue for me if I chose just one, even though the choice was so obvious to me I wanted to pull my hair out). In the end, they chose one of the favorites of the staff, not the best teacher, far far from it, and the principal knows it too, but a nice outgoing guy who adds to – surprise – the group dynamic.
Of course, now you may be wondering: but what about the Mercedes? Is Babe that out of touch with the community, or is that entry or this one full of it? Well here’s how I see it: I think that a certain amount of mobility within the community is perfectly acceptable. Babe’s not the only one with a Mercedes (though he’s certainly the one with the poopiest*), and therefore the Mercedes is acceptable. It falls within the acknowledged range of success and status in the village. Some people, who do well and have good jobs and a fairly high status in the community, those people have the material goods to show it off. And even if they don’t have all those things, they can still attempt to mimic them with the physical status symbols. The Mercedes falls within the acceptable collective status/success continuum. Saying you’re the best – or better than everybody else – does not.
Or maybe not. Maybe this is what it is: The Mercedes is a tangible status symbol. Big houses, satellite TV, an American hanging out at your house and school, the enormous entertainment system – all of these are tangible, we could even say commercial or material symbols. Materialism on that level is a relatively new thing in this culture. I can practically guarantee you that nobody in Steenbok drove a Mercedes prior to 1994. Because they are new, the rules haven’t been made yet.
Or maybe not. Maybe its this: The tangible, material symbols are proclaiming status not only amongst the smaller group – one school, one family, one village – but within an entire society. I said, I can practically guarantee you that nobody in Steenbok drove a Mercedes prior to 1994. So could there be a certain sense of pride to see that car go up and down the road? Does it become not just “his” Mercedes, but instead “our” Mercedes? Does the big house with the satellite TV in fact not show up the neighbors, but instead instill in them a sense of pride that now they too can live in a neighborhood with big houses and satellite TV (even if the house isn’t theirs). Maybe the acquisition of things that were previously unavailable to the group – even if they are only being acquired by an individual member – serve as a sense of pride to the whole group. Now they can do that too.
The third option seems the most likely to me. But more than anything else all the possibilities and interpretations just serve to remind me that I’m still only an observer here – and probably not all that good of an observer. I’ve been in Africa nearly 19 months with not that many left to go, and I’m still just making my best guess. It is entirely possible, and even likely, that all of the above is complete bull pucky. If I showed it to somebody who stayed here, they would probably just laugh their heads off and point out all the places where I was wrong.
But after over a year and a half in Africa – I’m okay with that too.
Friday, February 01, 2008
^3
And finally, there are lots and lots of new pictures up at snapfish, if anybody is interested in looking at them.
Why I'm Rooting for Barack
"...I will speak...as someone whose grandmother lives in a hut without indoor plumbing in a Kenyan village devestated by HIV/AIDS." Is this an outstandingly ludicrous political statement that you kind of just have to laugh at? Sure. But hey, I live in that village too, so I'm sold.
Also, what the US really needs is a first Gogo to keep things in line. Nobody messes with a Gogo.
Also, what the US really needs is a first Gogo to keep things in line. Nobody messes with a Gogo.
I Wish I Was...
(Apologies to the immediate Miller family – especially Mira – who have already read this. But I liked it, and wanted to expand).
Today, a grade 3 teacher walked into the school office and asked me to help her with something. “Awesome!” I thought to myself. “I would love to help you!” I said to her. She then explained that she was having some trouble disciplining her learners – “I’m too soft with them you see, they just think I’m their friend.” Could I maybe help her come up with some ways to improve discipline? Well sure. Let’s sit down and plan. But no wait – there’s more. “You see, whenever I leave my classroom – like now when I came to talk to you – they are just running up and down and making noise. How can I keep them quiet?” A year and a half ago, I would have been circumspect and non-confrontational about maybe, you know, just as a thought, things might be better if she was in her class instead of with me. (“well…lets go to your class and see what we can do.”) Six months ago I would have suggested, with a sense of abject and defeated cynicism, that she at least give them some work to do if she doesn’t ever plan on being there. Today, I have essentially 6 months of school to go, and I said. “Oh! I know! I have the perfect solution for you – its really easy! Do you want to hear it?!” “Yes, please.” “Stay in your class! Problem solved.” The teacher then began laughing at shaking her head at my ridiculous solution, and then left the room still laughing and has yet to ask me about it again – since obviously by giving such an absurd answer, I was just joking and never meant to help her in the first place. This response has not changed at all over the last 18 months, nor do I imagine it will in the next 6. It’s just one of many things that make me miss America – and be more than happy to be heading back in not too long.
Quite often, in fact, I find myself becoming a lot or a little homesick. What I never knew, before I came here, is that homesickness has its levels and degrees, and in the past year and a half I think I’ve experienced many (though probably not all) of them. There’s the raw, ripping, grief-like feeling of being 10,000 miles away from everyone you love and all those who love you; the sudden sucker-punch of dislocation just when you thought things were fine; the sense of isolation and frustration that comes from sitting in the middle of a conversation that you can’t understand – and probably wouldn’t even if it was in your own language. Most of all though, there is the constant and low-grade sense of alienation, of disconnect or misconnect. Its as if even while I sit and move in the middle of things – take the taxi, go to the store, walk down the street, chat with a friend – some part of something is not quite genuine, is not entirely supposed to be there, and I just can’t quite get to the heart of things, behind the scenery and the script to the reality. I am, constantly, out of place. That *is my place, to be the alien, the mascot, the obvious one. Its one of the reasons that going to Pretoria and walking through the campus is such an escape. I am escaping into the invisible, to a place where I am unseen, and therefore normal. To a place where -- to those around me even more than myself -- I could be at home.
Which of course is completely normal, I think. It is grinding, the constant process of being the alien, the mascot. Smiling and greeting, being stared at, and always always always standing out. To the point that on my worse days I can only hope that there will be enough of me left after all this grinding to last seven more months. Home, after all, isn’t the place where everybody knows your name (and that could probably be a mixed blessing in a bar, too) – because I’ve got that now, and Celebrity and Home are two very, very different things. Home, I think, is the place where you know everybody else’s name, and more than that you know that you belong to it, and it belongs to you more than any other place in the world. (“Its not so very difficult to own something.” in the words of Neil Gaiman, “You just have to know that it’s yours, and then be willing to give it up.”).
Steenbok does not belong to me, and I do not belong to it. We are visitors to one another, brief – if powerful – moments in one another’s existence. That’s not ownership, or belonging, so its not home.
Will as many people ever know who I am in Davis, in Ventura, in wherever I end up eventually? Will I have as big an impact there, or will the place shape me in the same way, with the same sharp and fleeting collision? No, probably not. But they were, it will be, mine, in the same way and for the same reason that Africa never could and never will be. I have no right to claim a place here, that’s what it is. Just like you can see a place for the first time and think “Home.” “Mine.” I think in the same way you can know that a place, a person, whatever, isn’t meant to be yours.
I remember in one of my very first letters home I wrote something along the lines of, “I can feel myself falling in love with Africa, and that surprises me.” It’s still true, of course. I still love this place. I love the feeling of coming home (a place can of course be home, even if it’s not Home) through the bush, watching the sun set to my right. I love that the other day one of my teachers called me “skoni,” which means ‘sister-in-law’ (no I haven’t married anybody! It’s also a term of endearment). I love this place, but I don’t own it, and it doesn’t own me. We maintain our distance from each other, and on some level we both know that it will not last. The place where we are coming from is not the same – and neither is our destination, even if the road parallels for a bit. Which is why a suggestion as simple and obvious to me as a teacher staying in her classroom, instead seems to that teacher the funniest thing she’s heard all day.
Today, a grade 3 teacher walked into the school office and asked me to help her with something. “Awesome!” I thought to myself. “I would love to help you!” I said to her. She then explained that she was having some trouble disciplining her learners – “I’m too soft with them you see, they just think I’m their friend.” Could I maybe help her come up with some ways to improve discipline? Well sure. Let’s sit down and plan. But no wait – there’s more. “You see, whenever I leave my classroom – like now when I came to talk to you – they are just running up and down and making noise. How can I keep them quiet?” A year and a half ago, I would have been circumspect and non-confrontational about maybe, you know, just as a thought, things might be better if she was in her class instead of with me. (“well…lets go to your class and see what we can do.”) Six months ago I would have suggested, with a sense of abject and defeated cynicism, that she at least give them some work to do if she doesn’t ever plan on being there. Today, I have essentially 6 months of school to go, and I said. “Oh! I know! I have the perfect solution for you – its really easy! Do you want to hear it?!” “Yes, please.” “Stay in your class! Problem solved.” The teacher then began laughing at shaking her head at my ridiculous solution, and then left the room still laughing and has yet to ask me about it again – since obviously by giving such an absurd answer, I was just joking and never meant to help her in the first place. This response has not changed at all over the last 18 months, nor do I imagine it will in the next 6. It’s just one of many things that make me miss America – and be more than happy to be heading back in not too long.
Quite often, in fact, I find myself becoming a lot or a little homesick. What I never knew, before I came here, is that homesickness has its levels and degrees, and in the past year and a half I think I’ve experienced many (though probably not all) of them. There’s the raw, ripping, grief-like feeling of being 10,000 miles away from everyone you love and all those who love you; the sudden sucker-punch of dislocation just when you thought things were fine; the sense of isolation and frustration that comes from sitting in the middle of a conversation that you can’t understand – and probably wouldn’t even if it was in your own language. Most of all though, there is the constant and low-grade sense of alienation, of disconnect or misconnect. Its as if even while I sit and move in the middle of things – take the taxi, go to the store, walk down the street, chat with a friend – some part of something is not quite genuine, is not entirely supposed to be there, and I just can’t quite get to the heart of things, behind the scenery and the script to the reality. I am, constantly, out of place. That *is my place, to be the alien, the mascot, the obvious one. Its one of the reasons that going to Pretoria and walking through the campus is such an escape. I am escaping into the invisible, to a place where I am unseen, and therefore normal. To a place where -- to those around me even more than myself -- I could be at home.
Which of course is completely normal, I think. It is grinding, the constant process of being the alien, the mascot. Smiling and greeting, being stared at, and always always always standing out. To the point that on my worse days I can only hope that there will be enough of me left after all this grinding to last seven more months. Home, after all, isn’t the place where everybody knows your name (and that could probably be a mixed blessing in a bar, too) – because I’ve got that now, and Celebrity and Home are two very, very different things. Home, I think, is the place where you know everybody else’s name, and more than that you know that you belong to it, and it belongs to you more than any other place in the world. (“Its not so very difficult to own something.” in the words of Neil Gaiman, “You just have to know that it’s yours, and then be willing to give it up.”).
Steenbok does not belong to me, and I do not belong to it. We are visitors to one another, brief – if powerful – moments in one another’s existence. That’s not ownership, or belonging, so its not home.
Will as many people ever know who I am in Davis, in Ventura, in wherever I end up eventually? Will I have as big an impact there, or will the place shape me in the same way, with the same sharp and fleeting collision? No, probably not. But they were, it will be, mine, in the same way and for the same reason that Africa never could and never will be. I have no right to claim a place here, that’s what it is. Just like you can see a place for the first time and think “Home.” “Mine.” I think in the same way you can know that a place, a person, whatever, isn’t meant to be yours.
I remember in one of my very first letters home I wrote something along the lines of, “I can feel myself falling in love with Africa, and that surprises me.” It’s still true, of course. I still love this place. I love the feeling of coming home (a place can of course be home, even if it’s not Home) through the bush, watching the sun set to my right. I love that the other day one of my teachers called me “skoni,” which means ‘sister-in-law’ (no I haven’t married anybody! It’s also a term of endearment). I love this place, but I don’t own it, and it doesn’t own me. We maintain our distance from each other, and on some level we both know that it will not last. The place where we are coming from is not the same – and neither is our destination, even if the road parallels for a bit. Which is why a suggestion as simple and obvious to me as a teacher staying in her classroom, instead seems to that teacher the funniest thing she’s heard all day.
Friday, January 18, 2008
RIP
Yesterday was an excellent day. In the morning I met with the Principal and head teachers at one of my schools to discuss our ideas for the coming year – by which we all meant my last 7 months in Steenbok (!). We discussed mainly two ideas at great length – a possible career fair for the 6th and 7th graders, and the creation of a school-wide vision for the coming years.
The impetus for the career fair is simple – you ask kids what they want to be when they grow up and they pull seemingly random (yet standard) answers out of a hat. “I want to be a teacher, a doctor, an engineer…” Which are all great of course, but then you ask them how they plan to do it and the answer is once again standard: “I don’t know.” They don’t know what’s really out there, what subjects they need to study, what school they have to go to, how to get a scholarship, or even to fill out a basic job application or create a resume. So yesterday afternoon, two teachers and I sat down to brainstorm every career we could think of in the area. We came up with over 50 in less than an hour, and realized it would be a little bit difficult to have them all get up and talk one by one for only one day. Then another plan began to take shape: We’re going to hold a career week, instead.
The first day will feature a speaker who will describe various job opportunities and possibilities in the area along with – well, I’m not really sure what she’s going to talk about, but she’s a local something or other and the teachers thought it would be a good idea to have her come and kick off the whole thing. That same day we’ll give the kids one of those ridiculous interest/skill inventories that’s supposed to tell you if you’ll make a better architect or taxi driver. (I know they’re absurd and label-y and probably not all that useful anyways, but I have a feeling the kids have literally NO IDEA what angle to begin looking from, so at least we can give them a starting point.) We’ll also give them a time table and summary of the various speakers who are coming over the next week to take home to their parents. The idea here is two-fold: One, trigger parental discussions about the child’s possible future; and two, invite anybody in the community who wants to come. We’re going to make this open to anybody who’s interested in stopping by and learning about possible careers. In a community with 70% unemployment, I think we may get a visitor or two. Over the next few days, we’ll have hopefully lots and lots of people from different jobs and places coming to talk to our kids and tell them how to get where they’re going in different sessions throughout the day. The speakers will be put in a certain classroom at a certain time, and the kids can decide whom they want to go listen to.
I know this all sounds pretty complicated, but what’s really cool is how simple it actually is. Invite people to come talk to the kids at a certain place and time, tell the parents about it, invite any community members who are interested. The other amazing thing is that its not just me setting things up. This is truly a group effort – in fact the teachers are the ones who came up with pretty much all of the careers, the plan for a week-long event, and the logistics of it all. I think that’s really cool, and I also think its something I probably couldn’t have done in the beginning. Finally, after a year and a half at site, we’ve started to reach this point of planning together, working together, not just me trying to drag people along. I love that. Too bad I’ve now only got effectively 6 months left to enjoy it. Its honestly enough to make me think about extending for a third year…except that I really, really can’t wait to get back to showers. And microbrews.
We also talked about the idea of creating a school vision, which was actually an extension of a conversation we’d had back in November, that was initiated not by me, but by sever of the deputy principals. I want to help each school create a school vision of quite literally what they want to see when they look out the office door. What do they want their school to look like? Where do they want it to go? And how should we get there.* We came up with a long, ridiculous process, but its one that I think is really suited to the school and will work. We’re going to ask everybody in the school – everybody – what they want to see. From Grade R to Grade 7, teachers, SMT, general workers, the SGB, and parents. Then we’re going to sit down in what I can only assume will be a series of mind-numbing, hair-pulling (for me) meetings, and try to find common ground among all of those different desires (though I’m betting most of them will be pretty close). The result will be our school’s vision, and we can start planning how to get there. Sure it seems a little bit bulky and not terribly efficient, but I think it will work. Once again, the great thing is that we’re not doing things my way, we’re doing them our way.
Those were the two big collaborative efforts of the day, but it was the two smaller personal ones from which I got to take a pretty big feeling of personal satisfaction.
I’ve started teaching world history to one little girl in grade 6 during her normal English period. She spent most of her school time in Joburg, and consequently already speaks English better than pretty much anybody else in the village (possibly including me). Spending her time reciting, “The ball is on the table. The boy sees the ball. The boy is playing with the ball.” is one of the more useless things I can think of, so her teacher and the principal agreed to let me pull her out during English class when I’m around so that we can work on something together instead. And when I asked, she wanted to learn history. So now the two of us our learning World History. Which I’ve definitely never taught, in addition to never having taught anybody one on one. So this should be fun. But she’s smart, and asks good questions, and together we’ll figure it out.
All of the above is pretty good of course -- career fairs, school visions, world history -- however I’ve definitely been saving the best, the thing that gets me the most excited and of which I am the most proud, for last.
Izora has *not only* mastered the main tune of the alphabet song, *not only* does she mostly get and average of 14-16 of the letters in there when she’s singing it, *not only* has the concept of signing various letters while she does it, BUT: As of yesterday she’s mastered A-C on their own. She can point to them and name them without any help from me. And just like that, this 3 year old is suddenly ahead of half the kids in grade 3. What a smart kid.
*In other words: ‘Quo Vadius.’ Man was Sports Night a good show.
The impetus for the career fair is simple – you ask kids what they want to be when they grow up and they pull seemingly random (yet standard) answers out of a hat. “I want to be a teacher, a doctor, an engineer…” Which are all great of course, but then you ask them how they plan to do it and the answer is once again standard: “I don’t know.” They don’t know what’s really out there, what subjects they need to study, what school they have to go to, how to get a scholarship, or even to fill out a basic job application or create a resume. So yesterday afternoon, two teachers and I sat down to brainstorm every career we could think of in the area. We came up with over 50 in less than an hour, and realized it would be a little bit difficult to have them all get up and talk one by one for only one day. Then another plan began to take shape: We’re going to hold a career week, instead.
The first day will feature a speaker who will describe various job opportunities and possibilities in the area along with – well, I’m not really sure what she’s going to talk about, but she’s a local something or other and the teachers thought it would be a good idea to have her come and kick off the whole thing. That same day we’ll give the kids one of those ridiculous interest/skill inventories that’s supposed to tell you if you’ll make a better architect or taxi driver. (I know they’re absurd and label-y and probably not all that useful anyways, but I have a feeling the kids have literally NO IDEA what angle to begin looking from, so at least we can give them a starting point.) We’ll also give them a time table and summary of the various speakers who are coming over the next week to take home to their parents. The idea here is two-fold: One, trigger parental discussions about the child’s possible future; and two, invite anybody in the community who wants to come. We’re going to make this open to anybody who’s interested in stopping by and learning about possible careers. In a community with 70% unemployment, I think we may get a visitor or two. Over the next few days, we’ll have hopefully lots and lots of people from different jobs and places coming to talk to our kids and tell them how to get where they’re going in different sessions throughout the day. The speakers will be put in a certain classroom at a certain time, and the kids can decide whom they want to go listen to.
I know this all sounds pretty complicated, but what’s really cool is how simple it actually is. Invite people to come talk to the kids at a certain place and time, tell the parents about it, invite any community members who are interested. The other amazing thing is that its not just me setting things up. This is truly a group effort – in fact the teachers are the ones who came up with pretty much all of the careers, the plan for a week-long event, and the logistics of it all. I think that’s really cool, and I also think its something I probably couldn’t have done in the beginning. Finally, after a year and a half at site, we’ve started to reach this point of planning together, working together, not just me trying to drag people along. I love that. Too bad I’ve now only got effectively 6 months left to enjoy it. Its honestly enough to make me think about extending for a third year…except that I really, really can’t wait to get back to showers. And microbrews.
We also talked about the idea of creating a school vision, which was actually an extension of a conversation we’d had back in November, that was initiated not by me, but by sever of the deputy principals. I want to help each school create a school vision of quite literally what they want to see when they look out the office door. What do they want their school to look like? Where do they want it to go? And how should we get there.* We came up with a long, ridiculous process, but its one that I think is really suited to the school and will work. We’re going to ask everybody in the school – everybody – what they want to see. From Grade R to Grade 7, teachers, SMT, general workers, the SGB, and parents. Then we’re going to sit down in what I can only assume will be a series of mind-numbing, hair-pulling (for me) meetings, and try to find common ground among all of those different desires (though I’m betting most of them will be pretty close). The result will be our school’s vision, and we can start planning how to get there. Sure it seems a little bit bulky and not terribly efficient, but I think it will work. Once again, the great thing is that we’re not doing things my way, we’re doing them our way.
Those were the two big collaborative efforts of the day, but it was the two smaller personal ones from which I got to take a pretty big feeling of personal satisfaction.
I’ve started teaching world history to one little girl in grade 6 during her normal English period. She spent most of her school time in Joburg, and consequently already speaks English better than pretty much anybody else in the village (possibly including me). Spending her time reciting, “The ball is on the table. The boy sees the ball. The boy is playing with the ball.” is one of the more useless things I can think of, so her teacher and the principal agreed to let me pull her out during English class when I’m around so that we can work on something together instead. And when I asked, she wanted to learn history. So now the two of us our learning World History. Which I’ve definitely never taught, in addition to never having taught anybody one on one. So this should be fun. But she’s smart, and asks good questions, and together we’ll figure it out.
All of the above is pretty good of course -- career fairs, school visions, world history -- however I’ve definitely been saving the best, the thing that gets me the most excited and of which I am the most proud, for last.
Izora has *not only* mastered the main tune of the alphabet song, *not only* does she mostly get and average of 14-16 of the letters in there when she’s singing it, *not only* has the concept of signing various letters while she does it, BUT: As of yesterday she’s mastered A-C on their own. She can point to them and name them without any help from me. And just like that, this 3 year old is suddenly ahead of half the kids in grade 3. What a smart kid.
*In other words: ‘Quo Vadius.’ Man was Sports Night a good show.
Monday, January 07, 2008
All Tuckered Out
I have more thoughts percolating in my head, but they've yet to make themselves into a coherent post, so it will just be a little bit longer until that goes up. Today is, I guess, my last day of vacation (or my last day before going back to site at least) and after a few days of decompressing in Pretoria I will be more than glad to get back. I have a lot of plans and projects for my last two terms at school, and I can't wait to see just how many we can pull off before August 21st. In the meantime:
Me and Bhutazwa at Amazing Grace on Christmas Day. I may have to smuggle him home at the end of service. (Also, if anybody could explain to me how to rotate pictures on blogger I'd be very happy).
Mom goes on Safari*.
Dad goes on Safari too.
Hippos! What you can't see is the 27 car pileup (plus one very impatient minivan) as everybody tried to get up and down a rail-less one lane cement bridge to the main rest area/lunch stop while simultaneously trying to get as many yawning hippo photos as possible.
And giraffes. Which are very tall. And also very funny looking.
Lions. A whole pride of them came right up to our safari truck (yes, safari truck. With real tourists and everything. I preferred to think of it as a different aspect of wildlife spotting).
An elephant hanging out in Kruger. We saw lots of these. They don't seem to worry about people too much.
Dad looking deeply concerned next to the crocodile ("flatdog") warning sign in Swaziland. We saw a wildebeest body dissapear in less than 2 days.
Mom cooking in my kitchen in Steenbok. We made delicious spaghetti for my family. We thought it was delicious, at least.
Mom and Dad on a hike in Swaziland. Aww.
There were also some very precarious bridges on the way. Fortunately there were not too many crocodiles at this particular bend in the river. (I would also like to know how to rotate this one.)
Dad is king of the mountatin.
New Years dinner in Cape Town, yay! Note the all-tequlia margaritas on the table, and the fact that I wasn't given fair warning in the look on my face.
Long Street in Cape Town on New Year's eve. Its like Mardi Gras, but with more Afrikaans.
An African Jackass penguin. Really. They live in Cape Town on the beach and swim in the Indian Ocean all day. I think this pretty clearly proves that these are the smartest penguins in existence. None of that freezing their tails off March of the Penguin BS for these guys.
All in all, it was a long, tiring, and very satisfying trip.
The parents should theoretically be posting all the rest on snapfish sometime in the near future. When they wake up from their naps.
*Random trivia fact for the day: 'safari' apparently translates to 'walk' in Swahili (which is not siswati, for those of you who may have been confused). This is why you have to go in the biggest, and most petrol intensive vehicle that you can find.
Me and Bhutazwa at Amazing Grace on Christmas Day. I may have to smuggle him home at the end of service. (Also, if anybody could explain to me how to rotate pictures on blogger I'd be very happy).
Mom goes on Safari*.
Dad goes on Safari too.
Hippos! What you can't see is the 27 car pileup (plus one very impatient minivan) as everybody tried to get up and down a rail-less one lane cement bridge to the main rest area/lunch stop while simultaneously trying to get as many yawning hippo photos as possible.
And giraffes. Which are very tall. And also very funny looking.
Lions. A whole pride of them came right up to our safari truck (yes, safari truck. With real tourists and everything. I preferred to think of it as a different aspect of wildlife spotting).
An elephant hanging out in Kruger. We saw lots of these. They don't seem to worry about people too much.
Dad looking deeply concerned next to the crocodile ("flatdog") warning sign in Swaziland. We saw a wildebeest body dissapear in less than 2 days.
Mom cooking in my kitchen in Steenbok. We made delicious spaghetti for my family. We thought it was delicious, at least.
Mom and Dad on a hike in Swaziland. Aww.
There were also some very precarious bridges on the way. Fortunately there were not too many crocodiles at this particular bend in the river. (I would also like to know how to rotate this one.)
Dad is king of the mountatin.
New Years dinner in Cape Town, yay! Note the all-tequlia margaritas on the table, and the fact that I wasn't given fair warning in the look on my face.
Long Street in Cape Town on New Year's eve. Its like Mardi Gras, but with more Afrikaans.
An African Jackass penguin. Really. They live in Cape Town on the beach and swim in the Indian Ocean all day. I think this pretty clearly proves that these are the smartest penguins in existence. None of that freezing their tails off March of the Penguin BS for these guys.
All in all, it was a long, tiring, and very satisfying trip. The parents should theoretically be posting all the rest on snapfish sometime in the near future. When they wake up from their naps.
*Random trivia fact for the day: 'safari' apparently translates to 'walk' in Swahili (which is not siswati, for those of you who may have been confused). This is why you have to go in the biggest, and most petrol intensive vehicle that you can find.
Friday, January 04, 2008
Family Vacation
I need some time to process the last couple of weeks before I post any sort of substantitive blog entry. But in brief, mom and dad came out and we had a really amazing time -- Kruger, Amazing Grace, Steenbok, Swaziland, and Cape town -- all in less than two weeks! It was really great. Here are some photos to prove it:
At the Amazing Grace Children's Center in Malelane, passing out christmas gifts. I think mom bought out at least three different dollar store toy sections.
By "passing out gifts" of course what I actually mean is "putting the box on the ground and letting the riot happen." The kids were actually very very good about sharing everything and playing with all the toys together. No thrown elbows or body checks in sight, just a bunch of really happy kids on christmas.
Where we all live!
Wild dogs in Kruger! We saw these on a night drive. They're incredibly rare, we were very lucky.
At the Amazing Grace Children's Center in Malelane, passing out christmas gifts. I think mom bought out at least three different dollar store toy sections. 
By "passing out gifts" of course what I actually mean is "putting the box on the ground and letting the riot happen." The kids were actually very very good about sharing everything and playing with all the toys together. No thrown elbows or body checks in sight, just a bunch of really happy kids on christmas.
Where we all live!
Wild dogs in Kruger! We saw these on a night drive. They're incredibly rare, we were very lucky.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Two More (okay, 2.5)
Okay, these are my final comments on camp/life in general for now:
Should any of you like to knit, and be looking for a cool project, I can now highly reccomend mother bear. I've seen the faces of the kids when they get their bears -- they were passed out at breakfast on the last day of camp, while some counselors spontaneously began to sing Christmas carols -- and it was just one more moment at camp where suddenly the room was full of happy, crying, singing people. Awesome.
My computer has what I'm going to euphemistically call the chicken pox (and will studiously avoid call "being dead") so while I have tons and tons of photos of camp and thanksgiving and lots of fun things like that -- well, it may take a while until they make it online. Dammit.
And finally, Camp Sizanani has a website at www.worldcamps.org if you want to see pictures of camp activites in general, even if I myself do not happen to be in them.
Should any of you like to knit, and be looking for a cool project, I can now highly reccomend mother bear. I've seen the faces of the kids when they get their bears -- they were passed out at breakfast on the last day of camp, while some counselors spontaneously began to sing Christmas carols -- and it was just one more moment at camp where suddenly the room was full of happy, crying, singing people. Awesome.
My computer has what I'm going to euphemistically call the chicken pox (and will studiously avoid call "being dead") so while I have tons and tons of photos of camp and thanksgiving and lots of fun things like that -- well, it may take a while until they make it online. Dammit.
And finally, Camp Sizanani has a website at www.worldcamps.org if you want to see pictures of camp activites in general, even if I myself do not happen to be in them.
In Which I Become Mariah Carey
I just got back from two weeks at a girls camp in the Northwest province (a girls camp which I blessedly was not in charge of, but only helping out at, I might add). Its an amazing program called Camp Sizanani ("Helping Each Other" in Zulu) that takes kids from Soweto, the big famous and extremely poor township outside of Jo'burg, and brings them to essentially summer camp for two weeks. They do Sports, Arts and Crafts, Theater, Adventure, Swimming, and -- crucially -- Lifeskills. The whole camp is designed around lifeskills, actually, with each activity being specifically focused on increasing self-esteem, communication, empowerment, and all the good stuff like that. So of all the above activites, imagine Becca goes to camp to help out, what would I obviously be doing?
If you answered swimming, you were too right (and blindly guessing). I originally went with the intention of doing Lifeskills, I mean thats my 'thing' right? However, it turns out that one of the major and unexpected skill deficits of the South African camp counselors was the ability to swim. Nobody knew how to swim, yet counselors were needed to teach swimming. A conundrum. And there I was. Suddenly in the pool four hours a day for nine straight days when I thought I'd be teaching all about gender roles and HIV instead.
It was amazingly fun. About 98% of the girls had never been in a pool, never been in a large body of water of any sort before, and to see them progress from outright terror to enthusiastic swimmers was such a blast. One girl, of whom I was particularly proud, told me that a number of years ago she'd spent four days in the hospital after nearly drowning in a swimming pool. But she got in the water, even though I could see how scared she was, and by the end of the nine days she was splashing around indistinguishable from the rest of the kids. Thats bravery.
I was also in charge, along with two other girls (one another PCV, one a South African) or a cabin of 14 13-14 year old girls. Oh my god, what an age. I was reminded why teaching middle school is considered a punishment in the states. It was a little bit funny, though, to watch them vascillate between being the little girls they had just been, who only wanted to have fun, and the adults whom they were pretty sure they should be -- and much too cool for any of that fun stuff. You could see the battle in their eyes, and it was hard to get too mad at them for anything. In fact, they were all incredibly sweet girls (even the ones who pretended not to be) and I think we all surprised ourselves on the last day with how much we were going to miss one another.
The whole experience, in fact, is hard to summarize except for by describing the last day. On average, in a moment to moment sort of way, it was herding girls from one place to another, teaching lessons, eating bad food, attempting to enforce lights out, solving arguments, attempting to wake them up again in the morning, and generally two weeks of exhaustion. That was moment to moment though, that was the surface. I think on the last day we all sort of realized what we had created in the meantime. During those moments, or inbetween, something really cool had happened.
The closing ceremony of Camp Sizanani is a lot of singing and speaches and poetry around a campfire, followed by a bridge or tunnel of camp counselors which all the girls walk through, stopping one by one for a hug and special message from each adult they'd interacted with over the past 9 days. Not only was there not a single dry eye anywhere, I don't believe there was a single person who wasn't a sobbing mess that night, especially including me. It was amazing. Girls talked about what a life changing experience they'd gone through, about what they'd learned and the bonds they'd made with the other counselors. They mentioned how they'd love to come back and be counselors themselves next year (and quite a few actually do), and generally affirmed Camp Sizanani as one of the best things that had ever happened to them. It was really beautiful.
One of the images that I'm left with, the one that sort of expresses camp to me, happened towards the end of our time in the pool. We'd progressed beyond kicking and putting our faces in the water (well, most of us) and had moved on to actual moving-our-arms, kicking-our-legs real live swimming. I had the girls swim to me one at a time, always backing up just a little bit, but always right in front of them where they could see me. My constant litany was "its okay, I'm right here, I'm not going to let anything bad happen to you, you're safe." and I think I said it more than was necessary, because to be able to promise that to a child here is a luxury I won't often have again. So I said it a lot, and I think it was comforting for all of us, and especially healing for me. But we swam out, or rather I walked back and the girl swam to me, until finally I stopped with my back against the rope that demarcate the shallow and the beginning-to-be-deep ends. Then I would stop the girl, and hold her up, and point back to where we had come from -- about 15 feet. "Look! You just swam that whole way, all by yourself, you swam that far! Aren't you proud of yourself?" And inevitably the girl would turn around and her face would break out into a look of awe. In the process of getting there, I don't think she'd realized where she'd been going. And all of a sudden, she'd really accomplished something. Something that a week ago had seemed almost impossible. That one look, when she looked back and saw just how far she'd come, thats Camp Sizanani for me, and something that I think is going to stay with me as one of the highlights of Peace Corps.
If you answered swimming, you were too right (and blindly guessing). I originally went with the intention of doing Lifeskills, I mean thats my 'thing' right? However, it turns out that one of the major and unexpected skill deficits of the South African camp counselors was the ability to swim. Nobody knew how to swim, yet counselors were needed to teach swimming. A conundrum. And there I was. Suddenly in the pool four hours a day for nine straight days when I thought I'd be teaching all about gender roles and HIV instead.
It was amazingly fun. About 98% of the girls had never been in a pool, never been in a large body of water of any sort before, and to see them progress from outright terror to enthusiastic swimmers was such a blast. One girl, of whom I was particularly proud, told me that a number of years ago she'd spent four days in the hospital after nearly drowning in a swimming pool. But she got in the water, even though I could see how scared she was, and by the end of the nine days she was splashing around indistinguishable from the rest of the kids. Thats bravery.
I was also in charge, along with two other girls (one another PCV, one a South African) or a cabin of 14 13-14 year old girls. Oh my god, what an age. I was reminded why teaching middle school is considered a punishment in the states. It was a little bit funny, though, to watch them vascillate between being the little girls they had just been, who only wanted to have fun, and the adults whom they were pretty sure they should be -- and much too cool for any of that fun stuff. You could see the battle in their eyes, and it was hard to get too mad at them for anything. In fact, they were all incredibly sweet girls (even the ones who pretended not to be) and I think we all surprised ourselves on the last day with how much we were going to miss one another.
The whole experience, in fact, is hard to summarize except for by describing the last day. On average, in a moment to moment sort of way, it was herding girls from one place to another, teaching lessons, eating bad food, attempting to enforce lights out, solving arguments, attempting to wake them up again in the morning, and generally two weeks of exhaustion. That was moment to moment though, that was the surface. I think on the last day we all sort of realized what we had created in the meantime. During those moments, or inbetween, something really cool had happened.
The closing ceremony of Camp Sizanani is a lot of singing and speaches and poetry around a campfire, followed by a bridge or tunnel of camp counselors which all the girls walk through, stopping one by one for a hug and special message from each adult they'd interacted with over the past 9 days. Not only was there not a single dry eye anywhere, I don't believe there was a single person who wasn't a sobbing mess that night, especially including me. It was amazing. Girls talked about what a life changing experience they'd gone through, about what they'd learned and the bonds they'd made with the other counselors. They mentioned how they'd love to come back and be counselors themselves next year (and quite a few actually do), and generally affirmed Camp Sizanani as one of the best things that had ever happened to them. It was really beautiful.
One of the images that I'm left with, the one that sort of expresses camp to me, happened towards the end of our time in the pool. We'd progressed beyond kicking and putting our faces in the water (well, most of us) and had moved on to actual moving-our-arms, kicking-our-legs real live swimming. I had the girls swim to me one at a time, always backing up just a little bit, but always right in front of them where they could see me. My constant litany was "its okay, I'm right here, I'm not going to let anything bad happen to you, you're safe." and I think I said it more than was necessary, because to be able to promise that to a child here is a luxury I won't often have again. So I said it a lot, and I think it was comforting for all of us, and especially healing for me. But we swam out, or rather I walked back and the girl swam to me, until finally I stopped with my back against the rope that demarcate the shallow and the beginning-to-be-deep ends. Then I would stop the girl, and hold her up, and point back to where we had come from -- about 15 feet. "Look! You just swam that whole way, all by yourself, you swam that far! Aren't you proud of yourself?" And inevitably the girl would turn around and her face would break out into a look of awe. In the process of getting there, I don't think she'd realized where she'd been going. And all of a sudden, she'd really accomplished something. Something that a week ago had seemed almost impossible. That one look, when she looked back and saw just how far she'd come, thats Camp Sizanani for me, and something that I think is going to stay with me as one of the highlights of Peace Corps.
Like the Pantages, But Not at All
One of the first things we did at camp, by which I mean within 30 minutes of picking up the kids in Jo'burg, was go and see the Lion King. I don't mean we rented the movie and popped some popcorn -- or even projected it onto a convenient wall after dark. I mean 1800 children, their families, the camp counselors and directors, and four extremely happy Peace Corps Volunteers went to a local performing arts center where Disney had essentially donated the entire 1pm matinee of the South African production of the Lion King musical to Global Camps. This was not what I expected when I signed up for camp, but boy was I happy about it.
I'd seen the Lion King before, years ago in LA (for somebody's birthday, as I recall), and I'd remembered it being pretty awesome. So-so music (especially the weird fillers not written by Elton John) but AMAZING costumes. The Lion King is all about the visuals, the unbelievable puppets and characters and scenes that the artists have created. Thats what I remembered. Of course, the major difference between when I saw it with Tess and when I saw it two weeks ago were the 1800 children from Soweto who had never seen anything like this before in their lives. That and the fact that we were seeing it actually in Africa gave it an incredible depth. Here they tweak the languages of the songs quite a bit, which is fun. A lot of the original music was written in Swahili -- the parts that weren't in English, of course. Here they've instead switched a lot of the Swahili for Zulu, and also managed to fit in I believe all 11 official language plus Khoisan, a language which consists almost entirely of clicks and whistles which very few people speak anymore. The kids loved it.
In fact, the kids loved all of it, and while getting to see the Lion King was a wonderful experience on its own, getting to see the Lion King with all those kids is probably going to be my hands down best musical theater-esque experience ever. They were literally leaning forward on the edge of their seats, applauding, laughing, pointing, yelling, clapping and occasionally even singing along. (Hakuna Matata, especially, was a hit. Though according to the little girl next to me who apparently did in fact speak Swahili: "It means no problems not no worries." How can I not love seeing the Lion King in Africa?) When the performers came out for the final curtain call, the kids went wild screaming and applauding for all their favorites -- all except for the man who played Scar, who got perhaps the longest and loudest "Boooo!" I've ever heard. The poor guy. Once I stopped laughing I felt a little bad for him.
I'd seen the Lion King before, years ago in LA (for somebody's birthday, as I recall), and I'd remembered it being pretty awesome. So-so music (especially the weird fillers not written by Elton John) but AMAZING costumes. The Lion King is all about the visuals, the unbelievable puppets and characters and scenes that the artists have created. Thats what I remembered. Of course, the major difference between when I saw it with Tess and when I saw it two weeks ago were the 1800 children from Soweto who had never seen anything like this before in their lives. That and the fact that we were seeing it actually in Africa gave it an incredible depth. Here they tweak the languages of the songs quite a bit, which is fun. A lot of the original music was written in Swahili -- the parts that weren't in English, of course. Here they've instead switched a lot of the Swahili for Zulu, and also managed to fit in I believe all 11 official language plus Khoisan, a language which consists almost entirely of clicks and whistles which very few people speak anymore. The kids loved it.
In fact, the kids loved all of it, and while getting to see the Lion King was a wonderful experience on its own, getting to see the Lion King with all those kids is probably going to be my hands down best musical theater-esque experience ever. They were literally leaning forward on the edge of their seats, applauding, laughing, pointing, yelling, clapping and occasionally even singing along. (Hakuna Matata, especially, was a hit. Though according to the little girl next to me who apparently did in fact speak Swahili: "It means no problems not no worries." How can I not love seeing the Lion King in Africa?) When the performers came out for the final curtain call, the kids went wild screaming and applauding for all their favorites -- all except for the man who played Scar, who got perhaps the longest and loudest "Boooo!" I've ever heard. The poor guy. Once I stopped laughing I felt a little bad for him.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
That Was Unexpected
On tuesday of this week I did what I had initially planned to be a short workshop/lesson about HIV for my teachers at Bhambatha primary. I honestly had no idea how it would go, but I had a couple of main vague goals in mind: 1) teachers need to be educated just like everybody else; 2) people in the community respect teachers, so whatever the teachers are saying had better be accurate; and 3) free captive audience.
I initially planned to take about an hour, and stole what seemed like a good amount of basic activities from resources peace corps had given us (I could have made up my own, I suppose, but why reinvent the wheel?). I had no idea how much my teachers already knew, how receptive they would be, or if they would even want to be there at all. We ended school at 11 to start -- normally I would have protested, but its the end of the year and they're not really doing much -- and I prepared myself for blank stares and high amounts of resistance. Which is about what I got for the first 10 minutes, until things took a turn for the amazing.
What started out as a planned 1 hour workshop turned into a 3 hour conversation and lesson about HIV. Basic facts, how to stay safe, prevalent myths, social causes, the science behind it, what teachers as community members can do, and...most crucial of all...testing. At the end all of my teachers seemed so positive that I asked them how willing they were to test. If I called the local home based care organization and asked them to come to the school, would teachers test? I got some startled looks, some nervous headshakes. After all, agreeing on the importance of testing in theory is one thing, and not too hard. Actually getting tested yourself, in a county where 1/4 are infected and the stigma and shame are so deep-rooted no one will even call AIDS by its name...well, thats a different deal. But then, the principal said "Yes! We are educators, we are community leaders, we must test!" and the deputy principal agreed, and then another teacher, and another. They told me that if they made the call, they would go.
I was astounded. And I made the call.
Today three people from Thembalethu Home Based Care came to my school to test any teachers or staff that were willing. I was prepared with candy and certificates of bravery for anybody who was willing. I was expecting maybe the 3 or 4 that had committed to step up, maybe 1 or 2 more. Instead virtually every adult in the school got tested.
Almost every adult!! 20 out of 25!! In a place where most people believe that its just better not to know because the stress will kill you. A friend of mine couldn't talk hers into it even with the potential of a R5000 raffle payoff. I just can't convey how truly astounding it was that this many people got tested. Even the testers were shocked.
I am so proud of my teachers. The certificates I made them say "...for demonstrating outstanding BRAVERY and LEADERSHIP in learning their status" and thats exactly what they did.
I initially planned to take about an hour, and stole what seemed like a good amount of basic activities from resources peace corps had given us (I could have made up my own, I suppose, but why reinvent the wheel?). I had no idea how much my teachers already knew, how receptive they would be, or if they would even want to be there at all. We ended school at 11 to start -- normally I would have protested, but its the end of the year and they're not really doing much -- and I prepared myself for blank stares and high amounts of resistance. Which is about what I got for the first 10 minutes, until things took a turn for the amazing.
What started out as a planned 1 hour workshop turned into a 3 hour conversation and lesson about HIV. Basic facts, how to stay safe, prevalent myths, social causes, the science behind it, what teachers as community members can do, and...most crucial of all...testing. At the end all of my teachers seemed so positive that I asked them how willing they were to test. If I called the local home based care organization and asked them to come to the school, would teachers test? I got some startled looks, some nervous headshakes. After all, agreeing on the importance of testing in theory is one thing, and not too hard. Actually getting tested yourself, in a county where 1/4 are infected and the stigma and shame are so deep-rooted no one will even call AIDS by its name...well, thats a different deal. But then, the principal said "Yes! We are educators, we are community leaders, we must test!" and the deputy principal agreed, and then another teacher, and another. They told me that if they made the call, they would go.
I was astounded. And I made the call.
Today three people from Thembalethu Home Based Care came to my school to test any teachers or staff that were willing. I was prepared with candy and certificates of bravery for anybody who was willing. I was expecting maybe the 3 or 4 that had committed to step up, maybe 1 or 2 more. Instead virtually every adult in the school got tested.
Almost every adult!! 20 out of 25!! In a place where most people believe that its just better not to know because the stress will kill you. A friend of mine couldn't talk hers into it even with the potential of a R5000 raffle payoff. I just can't convey how truly astounding it was that this many people got tested. Even the testers were shocked.
I am so proud of my teachers. The certificates I made them say "...for demonstrating outstanding BRAVERY and LEADERSHIP in learning their status" and thats exactly what they did.
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Briefly
From a Swazi Volunteer:
"You will not see tangible, measurable results in 2 years anywhere close to what you hope or expect. The saying that "what takes a day in USA takes a week in Africa, what takes a week in USA takes a month in Africa, what takes a month in USA takes 1 year in Africa" is close to true for reasons that you have no control over. So after your first month on the job, when you are still in USA mode, write down what you would like to achieve in 2 months time. This now becomes your 2 year work goal. NOTE: You can achieve more than this if you move into "take charge mode" but not through a capacity building approach. Also, in 2 years, you will probably not move out of USA mode."
When I read this, I first started to laugh very hard. Then for a brief second I thought I might cry. Then I just laughed some more. Its a pretty good summation.
"You will not see tangible, measurable results in 2 years anywhere close to what you hope or expect. The saying that "what takes a day in USA takes a week in Africa, what takes a week in USA takes a month in Africa, what takes a month in USA takes 1 year in Africa" is close to true for reasons that you have no control over. So after your first month on the job, when you are still in USA mode, write down what you would like to achieve in 2 months time. This now becomes your 2 year work goal. NOTE: You can achieve more than this if you move into "take charge mode" but not through a capacity building approach. Also, in 2 years, you will probably not move out of USA mode."
When I read this, I first started to laugh very hard. Then for a brief second I thought I might cry. Then I just laughed some more. Its a pretty good summation.
Monday, November 05, 2007
Its Not Just Me
An unexpected consequence seems to be coming out of my family's attempts at renovating. In the storage room -- now the porch -- there was a bookshelf, you can actually see it in one of the photos below I think. Obviously as soon as I got home last month and saw my surprise I brought all of my books inside (where they now happily live in more cardboard boxes than I would have expected), however my host family never bothered. Consequently, there is now a bookshelf full of all sorts of random things (disentegrating siswati bibles, old text books, ANC policy documents...) just gazing out onto the street. Nothing good, or I would have saved it, but still lots of books just sitting there.
This week I've had at least two sets of visitors that I know of -- primary grade kids come to sort through this apparent treasure trove. I assume that many more have stopped by when I haven't noticed or haven't been around. They're not looking for anything in particular, they're just awed and a little excited at the prospect of so many books waiting out for them -- free to touch or read or page through without any adult discouragement or intervention. Its like watching birds come to a birdfeeder. Unfortunately at the moment the birdfeeder is full of nutrasweet rather than anything actually nutritious, and I don't want to leave any of my very very small stock of picture books out for fear of damage. But it makes me happy to see, and it gives me hope for the library we're building at Ekwenzeni and the one I think will be forthcoming too at Bhambatha if the renovations ever happen. Kids want to read. They want those books. If we build it, they will come.
Thats kind of reassuring, isn't it?
This week I've had at least two sets of visitors that I know of -- primary grade kids come to sort through this apparent treasure trove. I assume that many more have stopped by when I haven't noticed or haven't been around. They're not looking for anything in particular, they're just awed and a little excited at the prospect of so many books waiting out for them -- free to touch or read or page through without any adult discouragement or intervention. Its like watching birds come to a birdfeeder. Unfortunately at the moment the birdfeeder is full of nutrasweet rather than anything actually nutritious, and I don't want to leave any of my very very small stock of picture books out for fear of damage. But it makes me happy to see, and it gives me hope for the library we're building at Ekwenzeni and the one I think will be forthcoming too at Bhambatha if the renovations ever happen. Kids want to read. They want those books. If we build it, they will come.
Thats kind of reassuring, isn't it?
Saturday, November 03, 2007
More pictures...
because I do not win at blogger.
All our pumpkins, lined up in a row.
My butternut-o-lantern guards the house at night.
Bonga strikes poses with her gorgeous face paint and lovelier pumpkin. (Its me...can you tell?)
All our pumpkins, lined up in a row.
My butternut-o-lantern guards the house at night.
Bonga strikes poses with her gorgeous face paint and lovelier pumpkin. (Its me...can you tell?)
More Pictures!
Bubble blowing on the front lawn. Best dollar store purchase ever.
Everybody strikes a pose with their pumpkins and friends. Latoya and Azora look on a little confused.
Sarah demonstrates the art of perfect pumpkin carving.
Masks in grade 3! Seriously, how cute are they?
"Trickatricka!!" Siswati for trick or treat. Here we're trick or treating for stickers, because hopping 65 9 year olds up on sugar is not a good way to start the day.
A grade 3 boy acts out his grandfather costume. His teachers and friends and I were all cracking up.
Friday, November 02, 2007
Ups and Downs
About a week and a half ago, as an exercise at our mid-service training, we were asked to graph our relative morale from month to month since we had gotten here. Mine seemed to be generally fairly high, though just like everybody else's its gone into a bit of a decline the last few months (like I told Omar, who has just finished his two years and is now off travelling: "Its not exciting and frustrating any more, its just frustrating!" "Yeah, thats pretty normal for right about now."). But like I said, on the whole I rate the last 15 months pretty highly. I attribute this to two things: 1) I really am having fun, and am generally fairly optimistic; and 2) I opted to focus on the best parts of each month rather than the worst. Had we been asked to graph things bi-weekly, or even weekly, there would have been a whole lot more down and things would have been a whole lot more bipolar. This week is an excellent example.
First, the ugly:
Monday and tuesday I once again braved the corporal punishment workshop. I've discussed my thoughts on corporal punishment already, but here I've taken the stance that if its not obvious its probably not that bad, so I don't want to get into it. However, the principal asked me to, so I did.
The first day bordered on disastrous. My teachers argued that the governemnt and department of education were in fact in the wrong, since both Jesus and the Bible advocate beating children (the first time I heard this argument I tried countering: "but didn't Jesus say suffer the little children? and turning the other cheek? Jesus never hit anybody, did he?" I've since learned that this is an entirely worthless strategy, so now I just go with a simple "I don't know. But it is still the law.") By the end of the day I'm pretty sure that I had just convinced them even more of the importance of beating their children. "But Nomvula, of course you are shocked by the extreme levels of violence in South Africa, its because you're from a different culture." Right about there I quit. Not a lot of counterarguments to that one, are there?
The second day was better. We talked about all the different ways teachers could keep discipline without sticks or paddles or any of that. Positive reinforcement, stickers, being in your class (...), all the strategies that we never have to think twice about because we grew up with them, but that are completely foreign to my teachers. It was good! It was great! They were engaged, they asked questions, they agreed that they could and would use all the strategies. They even came up with a few of their own and discussed them. Afterwards quite a few -- including the principal and deputy principal -- came up and thanked me for such a helpful workshop, and promised to do their best.
Success!!
Until today. When I walked into the staff room and saw one of the HODs (department heads) beating the crap out of a learner with a cane until the learner was crouched on the ground, crying and yelling and holding his hands up to protect himself. The childs crime? Hitting another learner. Yup, that beating will definitely teach him that beating people is wrong. (I did pull the HOD aside to speak with him, after initially storming out of the room. We discussed why he did at and what else he could have done...ironically, one discipline technique I highlighted in my workshop.)
Fortunately, this same week I've been spending the large majority of my time with two of my favorite teachers in the village. They are hands down the best of the 60 I work with. They care about the kids, teach the whole time, use a variety of activities and methods, actually plan their lessons, integrate reading and writing...I could go on and on. I love these women. Monday I brought in Swimmy to share with the kids. I figured that I would entertain myself by doing a readaloud, and maybe model it to the teachers as well. I showed Maria -- one of the teachers -- the book, and she immediately grabbed it out of my hands in excitement. Two hours later, there stands Maria, stealing my lesson and doing a phenomenal reading of Swimmy to 65 3rd graders. She stopped to ask questions, translated, had them act out swimming, talked about adjectives...it was wonderful. The kids were enthralled. I wanted to hug her. The next day, as a follow up activity, she had them summarize it in siswati (I suggested that she also ask them to extend the story "...what do you think swimmy and his friends do next?" but apparently that was a little much for kids who aren't even used to repeating in their own words, let alone making up their own things to talk about. Baby steps.)
On Wednesday I also taught what they deemed a "lesson", and I deemed "goofing around because its a holiday" about Halloween. I explained the concept of jack-o-lanterns...the looks on their faces were priceless. Think about the concept of pumpkin carving for a second, its pretty weird. So we drew our own jack-o-lanterns, and then I had them put on masks that they had made for homework and go trick-or-treating for stickers. Apparently the siswati for "trick or treat" is "Trickatricka!!" and I consider that a perfectly valid cultural adaptation. Then we talked a bit about their masks, and I had all of them write poems in English and Siswati about who they were. It was great. I don't claim educational value, but I did get some excellent photos.
After school, Tom, Sarah, myself, and any respective siblings we could find (or steal in Sarah's case) decided to get together for some pumpkin carving. Because you can't have a real halloween without jack-o-lanterns, can you? Unfortunately, what with being in the wrong hemisphere and all, South Africa is a little low on pumpkins at the moment. So we opted for carving butternut-o-lanterns, which worked equally well. Soon a small pack of grade 5 boys wandered over to see what ridiculous thing the crowd of white people was doing. Fortunately Sarah had brought face paint, and I just happened to have some bubbles with me (stickers, bubbles, shiny beads -- the peace corps volunteers essential kit). Soon we had a full on halloween carnival happening!! Here's Tom carving and arranging the lanterns, there's a couple of toddlers running around chasing bubbles, here's a boy with clown face paint. It was awesome. Tomorrow, I'll post pictures.
First, the ugly:
Monday and tuesday I once again braved the corporal punishment workshop. I've discussed my thoughts on corporal punishment already, but here I've taken the stance that if its not obvious its probably not that bad, so I don't want to get into it. However, the principal asked me to, so I did.
The first day bordered on disastrous. My teachers argued that the governemnt and department of education were in fact in the wrong, since both Jesus and the Bible advocate beating children (the first time I heard this argument I tried countering: "but didn't Jesus say suffer the little children? and turning the other cheek? Jesus never hit anybody, did he?" I've since learned that this is an entirely worthless strategy, so now I just go with a simple "I don't know. But it is still the law.") By the end of the day I'm pretty sure that I had just convinced them even more of the importance of beating their children. "But Nomvula, of course you are shocked by the extreme levels of violence in South Africa, its because you're from a different culture." Right about there I quit. Not a lot of counterarguments to that one, are there?
The second day was better. We talked about all the different ways teachers could keep discipline without sticks or paddles or any of that. Positive reinforcement, stickers, being in your class (...), all the strategies that we never have to think twice about because we grew up with them, but that are completely foreign to my teachers. It was good! It was great! They were engaged, they asked questions, they agreed that they could and would use all the strategies. They even came up with a few of their own and discussed them. Afterwards quite a few -- including the principal and deputy principal -- came up and thanked me for such a helpful workshop, and promised to do their best.
Success!!
Until today. When I walked into the staff room and saw one of the HODs (department heads) beating the crap out of a learner with a cane until the learner was crouched on the ground, crying and yelling and holding his hands up to protect himself. The childs crime? Hitting another learner. Yup, that beating will definitely teach him that beating people is wrong. (I did pull the HOD aside to speak with him, after initially storming out of the room. We discussed why he did at and what else he could have done...ironically, one discipline technique I highlighted in my workshop.)
Fortunately, this same week I've been spending the large majority of my time with two of my favorite teachers in the village. They are hands down the best of the 60 I work with. They care about the kids, teach the whole time, use a variety of activities and methods, actually plan their lessons, integrate reading and writing...I could go on and on. I love these women. Monday I brought in Swimmy to share with the kids. I figured that I would entertain myself by doing a readaloud, and maybe model it to the teachers as well. I showed Maria -- one of the teachers -- the book, and she immediately grabbed it out of my hands in excitement. Two hours later, there stands Maria, stealing my lesson and doing a phenomenal reading of Swimmy to 65 3rd graders. She stopped to ask questions, translated, had them act out swimming, talked about adjectives...it was wonderful. The kids were enthralled. I wanted to hug her. The next day, as a follow up activity, she had them summarize it in siswati (I suggested that she also ask them to extend the story "...what do you think swimmy and his friends do next?" but apparently that was a little much for kids who aren't even used to repeating in their own words, let alone making up their own things to talk about. Baby steps.)
On Wednesday I also taught what they deemed a "lesson", and I deemed "goofing around because its a holiday" about Halloween. I explained the concept of jack-o-lanterns...the looks on their faces were priceless. Think about the concept of pumpkin carving for a second, its pretty weird. So we drew our own jack-o-lanterns, and then I had them put on masks that they had made for homework and go trick-or-treating for stickers. Apparently the siswati for "trick or treat" is "Trickatricka!!" and I consider that a perfectly valid cultural adaptation. Then we talked a bit about their masks, and I had all of them write poems in English and Siswati about who they were. It was great. I don't claim educational value, but I did get some excellent photos.
After school, Tom, Sarah, myself, and any respective siblings we could find (or steal in Sarah's case) decided to get together for some pumpkin carving. Because you can't have a real halloween without jack-o-lanterns, can you? Unfortunately, what with being in the wrong hemisphere and all, South Africa is a little low on pumpkins at the moment. So we opted for carving butternut-o-lanterns, which worked equally well. Soon a small pack of grade 5 boys wandered over to see what ridiculous thing the crowd of white people was doing. Fortunately Sarah had brought face paint, and I just happened to have some bubbles with me (stickers, bubbles, shiny beads -- the peace corps volunteers essential kit). Soon we had a full on halloween carnival happening!! Here's Tom carving and arranging the lanterns, there's a couple of toddlers running around chasing bubbles, here's a boy with clown face paint. It was awesome. Tomorrow, I'll post pictures.
Saturday, October 20, 2007
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.
Friday, October 12, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, October 01, 2007
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.
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.
Friday, September 21, 2007
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).
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).
Sunday, September 09, 2007
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."
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, August 20, 2007
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.
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.
Sunday, August 05, 2007
#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.
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.
Thursday, August 02, 2007
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.)
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.)
Friday, July 20, 2007
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!
I will resurface in a few days with more africa-stuff (and probably just a little harry potter stuff).
Hooray!
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)