Watching the butterflies dance

Disclaimer: the content of this website is mine alone and does not necessarily reflect the views of the U.S. government, the Peace Corps, or the South African Government.

It has been a very busy couple of months.  I was able to go home for Christmas to see the most important new addition to our family, sweet baby Holland James.  I could not get enough of her.  It was also very nice to catch up with family and friends in the two short weeks that I was home, but of course there is never quite enough time to see everyone and to do everything one wants on such a trip.  If Facetime and Whatsapp had caused me to forget that I am on the other side of the world, the 20+ hour flight brought that reality screeching to the forefront of my brain.  Being so far away is a major challenge, but I have only 14 more months until I can be close to everyone again.

One of the most amazing things I returned to was a land that has been completely transformed.  When I first arrived in my village it was dry and brown, the cows were dying and the people were worried and frustrated.  In November we began to see rain here and there and things began to turn a bit green, but people kept telling me that it was not yet raining.  I thought they were crazy, but what did I know?  I lived in a dessert for years, so any rain seemed like a lot to me.

Apparently the rains came while I was gone.  The village is now green and lush, the cows are getting fatter, and people here have told me that while I was gone it rained almost every day.  My walk to work now requires a different path, as the dirt path I used to walk is now covered with grass and purple flowers.  As I walked throughout the village this morning I was struck by how many butterflies there are, dancing from flower to flower.   

A friend told me that now that the rains have come both the land and the people seem happier.  I thought about how wrapped up I can get in the problems that are directly in front of me, and how stressed and angry I can get when there is no end in sight, but the rains seem come at just the right time.  Hope springs eternal, and there is nothing better than watching the butterflies dance.

This Thanksgiving I am thankful for gogos!

Disclaimer: the content of this website is mine alone and does not necessarily reflect the views of the U.S. government, the Peace Corps, or the South African Government.

The backbone of society in South Africa seems to be one group of women: the gogos.  The gogos will make sure that you are eating enough, and will bring you food if they decide you are not (and watch you eat to make sure you finish it).  The gogos will protect you on taxis and in stores from men who make unwelcomed advances and from people who try to steal your groceries.  People in the villages in which I have lived have been on their best behavior around the gogos.  In fact the craziest I have seen a village get was over Easter weekend last year when the gogos all went away for a weekend long church service and the village let loose. When the gogos witness someone step out of line a quick “wena, umshaya” seems to restore order and good behavior.  Their position of respect is well deserved, these women are the hardest working, most industrious women I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.

When I was in training I lived with a Zulu gogo and her Xhosa husband.  They had three sons who were away working in Pretoria and Johannesburg so they cared for three teenage grandsons and one baby grandson.  Gogo was up at the crack of dawn each morning to sweep the yard.  You might think “no big deal, sweeping a yard,” but the brooms the gogos use to sweep the yards make my back hurt just looking at them.  Gogo was bent over at the waste using a stiff, handheld broom each morning to slowly sweep debris from the yard.  After sweeping, gogo would feed the baby and make certain that everyone else had been taken care of for breakfast and bathing before leaving for school.  Once everyone had gone gogo would head to a small room on the side of the house where she would spend the day sewing and mending items brought to her from people around the village, for a small fee.  In the afternoon, when the sun was at its most unbearable, gogo would rest in the shade for a bit before spending several hours preparing dinner for nine people.  Did I mention that she did all of this with a baby strapped to her back?  Once dinner was prepared we would sit down together and watch the soapies while we ate.  Gogo would end her day later than most of us, only to begin before us again the next morning.

Currently I live with my Tsonga gogo, or kokwana.  Kokwana is like the energizer bunny.  She is up at four each morning, spending about an hour doing housework and yard work and talking to friends who are up as early as her.  Shortly after five kokwana will leave for the day to head out to the bush to chop wood.  I usually see her coming back to the house between five and six in the evening, an enormous pile of wood on top of her head (she sells her wood to the neighbors for a small fee).  She then goes about tending to her trees and garden until about nine in the evening. 

The gogos amaze me.  Women half their age hardly come close to having a comparable energy level.  I speak very little Zulu or XiTsonga, so communication has been a challenge with my gogos, but their kindness and generosity have been evident without words.  My absolute favorite thing that both of them have done is chanting “number one” and high fiving me when I manage to sputter out something slightly coherent about where I am going or where I have been.  I am not sure where they picked up “number one,” but I love it!  I am continually impressed that these women have worked so hard their entire lives and show no signs of slowing.  They definitely deserve the respect they receive in South Africa, and I am so glad to have had the opportunity to know such amazing women.

I choose to be the rain...

Disclaimer: the content of this website is mine alone and does not necessarily reflect the views of the U.S. government, the Peace Corps, or the South African Government.

This afternoon I watched as a thunderstorm rolled in.  The wind rustling through the bushes, the lightning crashing far off, the low rumble of thunder, and the anticipation of and hope for rain to come with it to quench the insatiable thirst of this drought-ravaged land.  As I watched the storm come closer I thought about how this wonder of nature has the power both to destroy and to give life.  The high winds and crashes of lightning on a dry land could easily spark and create a catastrophic fire which could consume everything in its wake.  On the other hand, the rain could fall and fill the dry riverbeds, bringing back the grass that has too long been gone to feed the animals that have too long gone hungry.  I am like the storm.  I can allow hate to spark a fire in my heart, eventually consuming all that was once good within me and destroying everything I come in contact with.  Or I can choose to love, and be the rain that the world needs so badly. 

Darkness can’t drive out darkness; only light can do that.  Hate can’t drive out hate; only love can do that. (Martin Luther King Jr.)

Hate is the easy choice.  Love requires a daily choice to relinquish my pride, to suffer fools, to repay cruelty with kindness, to look for the best in others, to count to 10 before reacting, to take the high road when insults are being hurled my way, and to keep hope alive when all seems lost.  This requires a conscious decision every moment of every day to find the positive points in a negative world, to fight every instinct I have when I feel that I have been wronged in some way (and let me tell you, that redhead temper is no easy thing to control!).  To choose to love in a world filled with hate means that I will be ridiculed, I will be hurt, I will be lonely, and that my heart will be broken over and over again. 

I alone cannot change the world, but I can cast a stone across the waters to create many ripples. (Mother Teresa)

Right now many things in the world look bleak.  So many people are in despair; and with good reason.  My heart breaks for all of the hurt and anguish I see in front of me, both at home and abroad.  I wish there were a secret answer or a magic formula to cure all of the issues in the world, but unfortunately I can only control the small part I play.  I choose to be the rain; I choose to love, because I can’t be more kindling for the fire that hate has ignited.

The evolution of language...and some cool cats

Disclaimer: the content of this website is mine alone and does not necessarily reflect the views of the U.S. government, the Peace Corps, or the South African Government.

I find the evolution of language and culture quite fascinating.  Perhaps it is my love for history the need to categorize things in my OCD mind that make me look for patterns in the world, but I just love to see how different factors fit together like a puzzle.  I had observed recently to my supervisor at the organization with which I am working with that I thought I heard the influence of the Portuguese language in xiTsonga.  He informed me that I am not incorrect, and told me a most fascinating story about his people.  According to my supervisor the Tsonga lived among the Zulu under the reign of Shaka.  After Shaka was killed by his half-brother, Dingane, the Tsonga decided to high-tail it out of what is now South Africa, taking their cattle with them.  A village was even named for the cloud of dust made as the Tsonga and their cattle ran toward Mozambique.  Mozambique was a Portuguese colony, which is where the Portuguese influence on xiTsonga likely came in, most notably in the pronunciation of the letter X.  The Nguni influence can definitely be seen in the language as well, with many words having just one letter difference between siSwati and xiTsonga.  For example, the word for “go” in siSwati is “hamba” and in xiTsonga is “famba.”  I am excited to see how the cultures have influenced one another over the next year.  The music alone could make for a great study!

I am still finding my niche in the village.  Some days are fabulous, and some are not.  The children are definitely enjoying having me around. Who knew that teaching red rover and duck, duck, goose would be such a hit?!  I am having a blast playing games with the children, but am definitely forced to establish boundaries.  The children come over every day and want to play, and sometimes I am just exhausted after working all day and living in heat and humidity.  We have received a few teaser rain drops, but we are still waiting for the rains to come.  Hopefully we will get a good rainfall soon.

While there are many challenges during service, there is occasionally the amazing experience that one would never dream of having.  One such experience took place recently when I was at a workshop with other volunteers.  The leader of our workshop surprised us with a trip to a predator park where we were able to enter the enclosures of lions.  It was amazing.  I was able to see a misogynist capuchin monkey freak out at the idea that his male caretaker would even put his hand near a woman, which was so entertaining I secretly wanted to taunt him more.  I was able to play with baby lions and bigger lions, which was incredibly fun and terrifying at the same time.  Never in my life did I dream that I would be able to say that I pet a lion! 

This experience is quite often emotional roller coaster.  There are times when being so far from home can be difficult, but I think for now I will fasten my seatbelt and stay on the ride.

Making moves

Disclaimer: the content of this website is mine alone and does not necessarily reflect the views of the U.S. government, the Peace Corps, or the South African Government.

So much has happened over the last couple of months that I hardly know where to begin!

I spent the last two weeks of July in Polokwane for my cohort’s in-service training (IST) to better prepare me to introduce evidence-based interventions, and to properly monitor and evaluate these interventions, at my site.  I received training for Grassroots Soccer, an intervention that uses soccer to teach youth about HIV, and Zazi, which means “know your strength” and is designed to empower young women to make positive choices for their future.  We did enjoy one free day, which we used to walk the Polokwane Game Reserve. It is amazing how well the animals are able to hide from view!  We were almost next to several animals before we even noticed them, and we never were able to see a rhino.

After IST I headed to Cape Town for my first vacation since arriving in South Africa.  Cape Town is absolutely beautiful!  I stayed about a block from the beach (but did not swim since August is a winter month here), and had the opportunity to see penguins, visit wineries and a brewery, and visit Table Mountain.  After an ill-fated attempt at hiking Table Mountain I took the cable car to the top to see the view, which was breath-taking.

I followed Cape Town with a month in Pretoria while I waited for my new site.  When staying in the village access to first world amenities may sound enticing, but once in the city I felt that I was spinning my wheels, as though I was not serving my purpose.  Luckily, I only had to wait four weeks for my new site.

My new site is in the Limpopo province, and I am living with the Tsonga people.  I speak very little XiTsonga, but I am fortunate that many of those around me speak English.  The Tsonga are such an exuberant people, with brightly colored clothing and such upbeat music and dancing.  I had the opportunity to attend the Heritage Day celebration for the primary and secondary schools, which was quite entertaining.  It only became slightly awkward when they wanted to see me dance and paused the show until I acquiesced.

Currently I am working on settling in to my new home, adjusting to my new village, and working with my new organization toward their desired goals.  The organization operates as a home based care, a victim empowerment project, and a drop-in center for orphans and vulnerable children.  The big vision my supervisors have is that they will be able to build an accommodation for victims of domestic violence, which should keep us very busy over the next year.

A view from the top

Disclaimer: the content of this website is mine alone and does not necessarily reflect the views of the U.S. government, the Peace Corps, or the South African Government.

One of the perks of Peace Corps service is the occasional weekend away from site, which allows the volunteer to visit neighboring volunteers and/or towns in the country of service.  Over the final weekend of June my weekend away was spent in Graskop, a small town in the Mpumalanga Province that is in close proximity to natural wonders such as God’s Window and Lisbon Falls.  This trip did not disappoint.

I began my journey with a series of taxi rides on those public taxis about which I have written. This particular journey required three taxis to reach my destination.  I travelled without incident on the first two taxis, but on the final taxi the men sitting next to me decided it was time to put down a 6-pack of beer…it was 9am.  The bottles from their beer were rolling around on the floor when I reached my destination, and I kept stepping on them and falling over while trying to disembark.  I have no doubt that my fellow passengers assumed I had joined in the party when I was unable to stand up straight or dislodge my bag from under the seat.  It is best that one learns not to embarrass easily when taking part in a new culture…still working on that one.

My stay was in an old train car that had been converted to a backpackers (hostel) which was awesome, but rather chilly when the temperature dropped to about 39 degrees at night.  Luckily the lodge provided plenty of blankets for us to bury ourselves under.  At one point some of our fellow travellers locked themselves in their room and the decision to leave the warmth of the blankets to assist them became a tough one.

An arrangement was made with a driver so that we would be able to see as many sights as possible in one day.  The driver was so knowledgeable about the area, and made sure we had plenty of time to see everything and to take plenty of pictures.  I definitely got a workout hiking to the best vantage points, but was it ever worth it!  The views were breath-taking, and the stillness was soothing to the soul.  At the entrance to each of the wonders there were vendors selling curios such as woodcarvings and scarves.  Amazingly enough none of the sights were very crowded, so there was ample time and space to really enjoy the views.  The day ended with a stop in Pilgrims Rest for beef stew with samp, followed by a stop for pancakes (which is the hot item in this area).

After a weekend packed with activities I made the taxi trip home, this time requiring four taxis.  Sunday is not the day to travel by taxi, and about 4.5 hours of my travel time were spent waiting for taxis to fill before they would leave.  I had a fairly uneventful journey until I reached my shopping town, where I purchased groceries before boarding a taxi to take me back to my village.  While I was waiting in a half full taxi a man approached and began asking the other waiting passengers for 7 Rand, to which everyone said no.  He then asked me for 20 Rand, to which I said no, and then 50 Rand, again I said no.  He then proceeded to reach into the taxi to take one of my grocery bags from my lap, at which point the gogos (grandmothers) waiting on the taxi with me went nuts.  They threatened to beat the man within an inch of his life, and chased him away from the taxi.  A word to the wise, don’t pull shenanigans in front of a gogo, they do not tolerate bad behavior!

Taxicab Confessions

Disclaimer: the content of this website is mine alone and does not necessarily reflect the views of the U.S. government, the Peace Corps, or the South African Government.

The mode of transportation that I most commonly use here is the public taxi, also called a kombi. These taxis can hold 12-15 passengers, and are the often the most convenient and cost-effective way to travel to shopping towns and other villages in the area.  In the village one can signal for the taxi to stop by pointing the direction he or she wishes to go, if there is room on the taxi and it is going the direction indicated it will stop to allow the passenger to board.  In the shopping towns there is a taxi rank in which the passenger will look for the taxi that is going to his or her desired village.  The public taxis have become one of my teachers during my time in South Africa.  Following are a few of the lessons I have learned so far. 

The most important lesson taught by this transportation mode is patience.  The taxi will not leave the rank until it is completely full, which can take some time.  During training several volunteers and I waited for a taxi to fill for two-and-a-half hours in the taxi rank. We didn’t dare leave the taxi during this wait, as once the taxi is full it quickly leaves.  Luckily we were waiting in a bigger city, so vendors were selling small luxury items such as grapes and plums.  Not only is there a wait for the taxi to fill, but often there are frequent stops to let passengers on and off.  Basically, being in a hurry and having any type of control over the situation go out the window when travelling this way.

Another important lesson is not to carry too much baggage.  Passengers on the taxi are forced to sit very closely with limited leg room.  Whatever you bring with you must fit under the seat in front of you, under your legs, or on your lap.  Carrying items on laps can be extremely uncomfortable during the summer, when the heat and humidity make the taxi feel like a mobile sauna.  This makes grocery shopping super fun, taking into consideration how heavy your items are and how much you can fit in one reusable bag while filling your shopping cart.

A third lesson is to know how to politely refuse marriage proposals.  For some reason there is almost always at least one man at the taxi rank who suggests that he and I should get married.  I have a fairly low tolerance for such behavior, but I dare not risk upsetting someone who holds the power to throw me off of the taxi (no way I am walking home!).  I find that pretending I don’t understand what is being said is a pretty effective way to discourage, while not offending, the would-be paramours. 

A really big fourth lesson is if there is a seat near a window, grab it!  Even in the summer many passengers do not like to have the windows of the taxi open.  I have heard some say that it is because many believe that they can catch tuberculosis or the flu through open windows.  During the winter months closed windows aren’t so bad, but in the summer it is unbearable!  Imagine being squished between two people with a lap full of groceries and absolutely no air coming in for forty five minutes…you exit the taxi soaked in sweat!

A fifth lesson that I learned just last week is to not sit in the front seat.  That extra leg room is certainly enticing, but sometimes it is better not to know what is happening on the road.  I had the misfortune of a front row seat when a bakkie (pick-up truck) in front of the taxi I was riding hit a dog.  I was a little traumatized, and possibly made a sympathetic sound.  The death of animals does not seem to have the same effect on people here that it does on people in the United States, and I definitely received some strange looks in response to my reaction.  Since you have no control anyway, better to ride toward the back of the taxi and stay blissfully ignorant to what is happening on the road in front of you. 

These lessons are just a few of the lessons that I have learned while using the public taxis.  I found them overwhelming and confusing at first, but am becoming increasingly more comfortable using this system for my transportation needs.  It can almost be a fun way to travel…as long as you aren’t going too far!