melange

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

There you go

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

Binary

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

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

I'm pretty sure I have a great job.

More Photos

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

No Excuses

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

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

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

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

#50

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

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

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

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

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

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


And that was how I almost had a puppy.




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

12 down

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

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

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

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



(Also, Molly Weasley is my new hero.)

Should I Read Hegel

Even in Africa, its finally here: Harry Potter day, hooray! Thank goodness for this 9 hour time difference, so that I can still claim to have bought my book at (California's) midnight.

I will resurface in a few days with more africa-stuff (and probably just a little harry potter stuff).

Hooray!

Chilling in Pretoria

So my camp was an amazing success, if I do say so myself. The girls were so into it, the teachers participated, there were no more than 3 major disasters a day. It was really, really great. I feel like now, 11 months in, I've finally Done Something Important. Like this could really make a difference or something for at least a few girls.

It was so great to watch both the kids and their teachers come out of their shells and really begin participating as the days went on. On the first day everybody pretty much clustered by school or age, until Liz, Amber and myself relentlessly made them split up and mix around. By the end of the second day (self-esteem and goal setting) they were talking, playing, hanging out together. The teachers were participating in and leading if not most than a lot of the camp (at one point I found myself just sitting on a bench, watching, and thinking to myself -- "I feel so lazy! Oh wait...they're supposed to do it themselves. Weird.") We talked about HIV/AIDS and there were so many really good questions. A nurse came in, and a local police officer, and talked to the kids about rights and health and puberty and all the rest of it. Possibly the very best part of the whole camp was our "I Can't" Funeral.

An I can't funeral is supposed to be more or less what it sounds like. Kids write down all the things they can't do ("I can't speak siswati, I can't keep the comments to myself, I can't stop being anal retentive about time even though I'm in Africa, etc...")and then you do a short shpiel about "today we are burying I can't, there is nothing we can't do, bla bla bla" and throw it all in the fire. In the states thats how it would work anyway. Here we had an ENORMOUS traditional swazi funeral that I never saw coming. The teachers told me not to worry and that they would take care of things (which of course is traditionally where I would start worrying). So I just decided to wait and see. About 8pm they all file into a small room singing and dancing, they have benches set up like a church, there's a choir, there's a pastor, there's an MC. We have singing and eulogies ("this man, he was very ugly")and sermons and everything else they could think of, until finally after everybody has danced their way up to the front do deposit their card in our beautifully made cereal-box coffin, we all parade outside and toss it into the bonfire. Amazing.

The next day we all got together and planned out clubs, speak-outs, dramas, poetry sessions, and everything else that they could think of to teach their friends and schools about HIV, Self-esteem, and even a little bit of gender roles (like I'm going to let that go just because I'm in South Africa).

So the verdict on the first annual Likusasa Letfu girl's camp: Kick Ass

(I have pictures, lots and lots of pictures, and I will post them all ... eventually. I promise. But for now bear with me, cuz I'm still working on it.)

In Which I Become Coach Carr

My camp begins tomorrow morning at 7:30am. Its been...a process to get here. I don't know what I'm going to see tomorrow. Where the taxis will go, how many people are actually coming as to how many I've planned for, what time things will really get started, or exactly how laughable that to-the-minute schedule I made is.

This is going to be so awesome. Wish me luck.

To the residents of Hudson:

I finally got your package today.

You guys are SO AWESOME.

That is all.

Photos!

Ok, so, I'm still mostly digital photo technologically illiterate, however I do have a snapfish account. (I'm perfectly aware that this is probably not the best/most efficient site but...it is the one I knew about and managed to get photos onto). Currently there are about 200-odd photos sitting there, however I think you have to have an account to look at them (though the account is free). So if, for some reason, you want to look at a bunch of pictures of me and various other people hanging out in Africa, then by all means create an account and let me know and I'll send you the link.

Photos.

Ta-duh.


Edit: Okay, I sort of know how this works now. Go here. Good luck.

This I Believe

At a training awhile back another volunteer described to many of us the concept of This I Believe and suggested that we should all give it a try, with the results to be sent out later in a mailing or maybe even published in some small way and kept in the PC office. The final results would be due yesterday. I think that its a really great idea, for a lot of reasons. I feel like I'm surrounded by so many amazing people every day that I can't wait to read theirs. I also want to use it with some of my more willing teachers, or even some of the older learners (language proficiency will be a hurdle, but I'll sort that out later). Plus, I enjoyed the opportunity to really sit down and think about what I actually do believe in. Its harder than you think, especially when you consider that you have to cram it all into less than 500 words. Anyway, if any of you are at all curious, here's mine:

I believe in a lot of things. I believe in true love and high adventure. I believe that one of the most important human virtues is simple kindness. I believe that a good sense of humour is essential to pretty much every situation I will ever encounter, and that the ability to laugh at good things, bad things, crap situations, and above all myself is possibly the best coping mechanism I’ll ever have. I believe that life is kind of a funny thing, but that that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t work hard at it. I believe that there is something bigger than myself out there, and that has given me a sense of comfort and strength when I have been lonely, or scared, or hurt. I believe in rock and roll, and that music really can save your mortal soul. I believe that people are people and everything else – gender, race, age, background – is extra. I believe that it is your choices that make you who you are and that it is your choices and your actions by which people should judge you. I believe that there is always a choice.
I believe that the world is an amazing, beautiful, miraculous place, and that I am one of the luckiest people in the world to get a chance to see and enjoy so much of it. I believe that there is tragedy and sadness in the world, and that really, really bad things do happen all too often to good and innocent people, but that my answer to that can only be to enjoy the good things more and fight harder against the bad. I believe that the town I grew up in – the orchards and the hills and the ocean and the strawberry fields – will always be one of my favorite places in the world no matter where else I go, and will always be my home, no matter where else I live. I believe that childhood friends forge a connection that no relationship afterwards can match, and I believe that I am extremely lucky to still be close with so many of mine.
I believe in coincidences, and hard work, and passion, and persistence. I believe that there is literally nothing on this earth that cannot be made better if enough people are willing to work at it, and work hard. I believe that sacrifice is worthwhile.

To put it simply: I believe in joy.

I believe that to live life with joy doesn’t mean that you are ignoring bad things, it doesn’t mean you are in a state of blissful ignorance. Joy in the face of poverty, ignorance, global warming, death, and the million other things that haunt every minute of our lives is an act of strength. It is a declaration that you choose to fight, and struggle, and try to make things better, because things can and should be better. It is a choice to love not just one person or one thing, but everything. And above all, it is a confirmation of life. Joy is the open-eyed embrace of everything the world has, everything the world is, and everything the world can be. This I believe.

But You Don't Have to Take My Word For It

South Africa Strike Foreshadows Political Contest

By MICHAEL WINES NY Times
Published: June 13, 2007

JOHANNESBURG, June 12 — A nationwide strike by South Africa’s public-service unions lumbered into its 12th day on Tuesday, shuttering schools, crippling hospitals and hamstringing courts — but not moving President Thabo Mbeki’s government far toward a settlement.

The standoff mirrors South Africa’s political situation, which pits a stoic Mr. Mbeki against left-leaning unions that accuse him of betraying the nation’s vast lower class. The two forces will clash later this year when the dominant political party, the African National Congress, convenes to choose a new president, an act tantamount to selecting South Africa’s next ruler.

The strike so far has inconvenienced millions of South African adults and children girding for midyear exams, but has done little lasting damage. That could change on Wednesday, however, when hundreds of thousands of municipal workers may desert their jobs in sympathy with the strikers.

“They have the responsibility for picking up trash, for keeping the city power going,” said Duncan Innes, an independent labor analyst in Johannesburg. “If they go out, it could be quite disruptive.”

The strike was called by the Congress of South African Trade Unions, or Cosatu, an amalgam of 1.8 million workers, most employed by national, provincial or local governments. The group’s unions had demanded a 12 percent salary increase and other benefits, but lowered their wage demand to a 10 percent increase.

During the talks, the government raised its initial offer of a 6 percent increase to 6.5 percent, although it was expected to make a new offer when negotiations resumed late Wednesday.

The walkout, which the union says includes 700,000 of its members, has been confined largely to teachers, hospital workers and some government functionaries like court orderlies and stenographers. Public schools have been shut since the strike began, and some private schools began closing this week as strikers threatened to picket them. The government has fired thousands of striking nurses, arguing that they violated a constitutional ban on strikes by essential workers, and has deployed army medical workers in public hospitals.

Violence has been limited. But Mr. Mbeki was angered Monday when the general secretary of Cosatu, Zwelinzima Vavi, warned that very soon the strike would turn violent.

Patrick Craven, the spokesman for Cosatu, said in an interview that “the unions are absolutely committed to keeping this strike peaceful, legal and disciplined.” But Mr. Mbeki condemned what he called the unions’ “message of selfish own interest,” and some political and labor analysts said that more violence could erupt if the strike spread to municipal workers.

Nobody disputes that the teachers and nurses who have walked out deserve a raise. A beginning teacher earns about $700 a month, and nurses may earn as little as $500, at a time when food costs are rising 8.6 percent a year.

In some ways, the wage dispute has been overshadowed by the test of political wills between Mr. Mbeki and the unions — a prelude, some say, to the contest for leadership of the African National Congress.

Mr. Mbeki, president of both South Africa and the congress, is legally barred from running again for national president in 2009, but is widely expected to seek a new term as president of the party late this year. The president of the party effectively controls who becomes its nominee for president of South Africa.

Cosatu, which is formally allied with the African National Congress, has remained officially impartial in the leadership struggle. But unofficially, the group has vigorously backed Mr. Mbeki’s populist rival, Jacob Zuma.

Experts say the strike could become more serious if it spreads beyond public workers to private industries vital to the national economy. But, so far, that seems unlikely; the major union representing miners, for example, said this week that it would not join the walkout.

For now, at least, that leaves members of the public sector, whose ability to bring South Africa to a standstill appears limited.

Good Intentions

I have recently introduced Latoya to "America's Next Top Model" which, for some reason I don't understand, is on TV here on tuesday nights. We have both agreed that it is both a very stupid, and very awesome show, and now have a standing date for every tuesday at 9.

I can only imagine that this was *exactly* what JFK had in mind 45-odd years ago.

Downtime

Today I slept in until 8:30 and then spent 3 hours reading Harry Potter while listening to my sisters play outside with their friends. This is pretty typical for a weekend, but given that today is a Tuesday its just a bit off from my regular schedule. The reason, of course, is the massive teacher's strike happening all over South Africa. Nearly every school in the country has shut down. Kids are home, teachers are home, I am busy perfecting the ultimate grilled cheese recipe (hint: simplicity and vigilance are both key). My camp is still on (thank goodness!) The teachers who are working on it with me agreed early on -- when I first started hearing strike rumours and getting nervous -- that because we'd already spent so much time planning, and because the camp is really more of a community project than a school one, we would continue working on it no matter what. So that at least should be okay.

We're pretty much supposed to stay out of politics, Peace Corps "advised" us to stay away from the schools during the strike because we didn't want to appear to be undermining the teachers. I can understand this, and many of my teachers seem to agree to varying degrees. But really, I can only make so many grilled cheese sandwiches.

Also, the best part of my day yesterday was sitting around watching "Ever After" with my family (thanks emily!) In one scene a servant woman is hoeing in the family garden. My host mom started to laugh at her wimpy strokes (is that the right word? What exactly is the motion one does with a hoe called?) when clearly any gogo in the village could have done a much better job. There's some cross culture I never expected.

Cornflakes

The other day I was sitting on my family’s front porch, chatting with two of my sisters – Latoya and Jabu, who are 14 and 16 respectively. This is one of my favorite parts of the day. Both girls are beautiful, smart, and sweet, and I really enjoy getting to hear about their and their friend’s perspective on big things like the school system, HIV, poverty, alcoholism, immigration, and all the rest of it. But even better is just having two friends who I can sit around and be silly with after school. We talk about Generations and movie stars, and their favorite musicians. They show me the latest dance moves, and I demonstrate over and over how bad my dancing is. Is it strange that two of my closest South African friends are 14 and 16? Maybe, but as I get further and further out of the exceedingly homogenous (age, socio-economic, and, yes, racial to a large degree) experience that was college I’m learning that that matters less and less. They’re my friends because I love the time that I spend with them.

Which is why my blood ran cold when, after sitting together quietly for a few minutes, Latoya looked at me and asked in perfect seriousness: “Ses Nomvula…is it true that white people are better than black people?”

What can you say to a question like that? What could I say? I can’t think of anything more calculated to break my heart. I asked her if she thought it was true. She said, “Well, no, but Bonga [the 8 year old sister] does. She asked mom to buy her Cornflakes because she sees white people eating them on TV. She says white people’s food is better. That’s what I thought too when I was her age, but I don’t anymore.” So we talked for a bit about the differences she sees around her. Why the white people in Malelane all seem to be doing so well, why the black people around her in the village are so poor. About the schools, and Apartheid, and the systemic brainwashing that has taken place over hundreds of years. (“But most white people in South Africa are rich, aren’t they?” “Well yes, richer than most people here, but only because they stole everything.”) Most people in the village feel the same way. They know that, technically, they are now equal in the eyes of the government. They see that there is a black president, a black government, that doors that were closed are slowly opening, but that can’t replace 300 years of, well, being told that white people are better. I am consistently offered the best seat in the car, the best plate of food, the seat of honor at whatever function. Sure some of this is because I’m willing to come volunteer and help out for a couple of years, but when I think about how many 24 year old women from the village would be offered the same perks or choice offerings of whatever, the same deference, the same ease of access, well of course she wouldn't.

But mostly, it all comes down to this: An 8 year black girl old lives in a rural village, in a cinder-block house with a tin roof, no running water, and days when there is no electricity because the money has run out. Everybody she knows lives them same way – many of them much worse off (at least she has shoes). She watches a happy, wealthy, white family eat cornflakes for breakfast in their perfect home. What would you conclude?

Obit

"I listen to feminists and all these radical gals. ... These women just need a man in the house. That's all they need. Most of the feminists need a man to tell them what time of day it is and to lead them home. And they blew it and they're mad at all men. Feminists hate men. They're sexist. They hate men; that's their problem."

Jerry Falwell, this camps for you.

(and from now on I'll get back to talking about Africa, I promise)

Mother's Day

You know what the best advice I've ever gotten is? The tiny little phrase that manages to pack in more "hell yes, here's something to live your life by" and less trite cliche per syllable than nearly any other?:

"Honey, don't forget: It's easier to ask forgiveness than permission"

Thanks mom. Your words and actions inspire me every day, in Davis, Ventura, South Africa, and everywhere inbetween. I love you.

Party Hard

Last week was my birthday, and I am now 24 (which is just weird. I'll be 25 when I come home, which is even weirder). I had mentioned to one of my teachers in passing about a month ago that my birthday was coming up while we were driving somewhere. She said, "Oh but you must be at our school that day, we will sing to you!" I laughed, and so did she, and then we kept driving.

So, on my actual birthday, I found myself in a kombie full of grades 4-6 learners on our way to the nearest piano to practice "Funniculi Funnicula." As we pass my key school where that teacher works, I saw her out on the road waving her arms around and trying to flag down the taxi. It stopped for her, and we said hello, and then she talked to one of the other teachers a bit, said something to the kids, and then told me that the next day I had to be at her school to help out their choir (which, incidentally got first place at the competition and will be continuing next week. Awesome.) As we're talking I all of a sudden hear 20 learners burst into:

"Happy Birthday to you, Happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Nomvuuuuuuuula..."

She had apparently told all the kids to sing happy birthday to me, just like she promised. I cracked up. (Although, some of the fun of having all the kids sing just to me passed when they immediately followed up by singing along with the radio's remix of "f*** you you ho." Seriously, wtf Africa).

Anyway, I figured that that was my birthday sing along and that things were all taken care of again until next year. So, the next day I wandered into my key school, where all of the teachers were acting...a bit shadier than usual. I was constantly deflected from the office, told to go hang out in the grade 7 class (where, when the teacher dissapeared for the 3rd time in 15 minutes, I spent an hour or two playing Anagrams and Hangman with the kids). Despite the fact that I was specifically there for a choir practice, the choir didn't seem to be actually practicing.

Finally, at about 11, one of the teachers called me. "Nomvula, come here, we are having a staff meeting." I walk into the classroom, and there were all my teachers sitting in a row, my host parents up front, a giant pink sparkly cake (I immediately though of Emily) and the words "Happy Birthday Nomvula Sambo/Rebecca!!!" written on the blackboard with pictures and multicolored chalk. They had thrown me a surprise party!!! There were speeches, candles, singing, and even a gift. I'll be honest, when it was my turn to give a speech I started to cry a little.

It was so amazing, not only that they would take so much time and effort to do this for me when I don't even know what I've done for them yet (my favorite line from a speech: "Nomvula has done so much for us, I can not even list them all one by one" while I thought to myself, "funny, neither can I.") but because for the very first time I felt like I was being seen as a person. They weren't celebrating the white person's birthday, they weren't just happy that I was there because I'm different, they were throwing a party for my birthday, me as an individual person whom they like on a personal level. I know volunteers who have been at site for two years and still don't feel that way. Some people feel like they are just dolls, without dimension or feeling to the people around them. But now, with only 8 months on site under my belt, to at least a few people I'm just me. Still a white me, of course, that will never go away I think, but at least me.