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!

pack...move...adjust...repeat...

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 have almost completed my first month in my new village and am learning the challenge of being still.  I was warned during training that there would be much down time during my first three months at site, but I think that during the last several years of working two jobs and going to school I have forgotten how to relax.  I feel like there is something I should be doing, but then I realize that I am completing my tasks, there just aren’t as many of them here.  It is both refreshing and disconcerting to have so much free time available to me.  My host family, my organization, and many of the community members have been very welcoming to me.  When I first arrived they told me that they were going to make me fat before I leave (a sign that a guest has been well taken care of is weight gain).  Luckily my host mom has helped me to counteract this attempt by finding me awesome running partners.

Monday through Thursday mornings I accompany the caregivers from my organization as they visit members of the community.  During these visits the caregivers promote health by discussing the importance of diet and exercise, as well as the importance of visiting the clinic to test for HIV and hypertension.  The caregivers do an amazing job of building rapport with community members, as well as offering realistic diet and exercise options that can be easily incorporated in this community.  Even though I only understand part of the conversations, it is obvious that the caregivers are well received.  Each morning on my walk to work I pass a crèche (preschool), where the children run out to stare at me and wave as I walk by.  It is difficult to be in a bad mood when this is one of my first interactions each day. 

The local primary school has been very welcoming, even allowing me to attend a third grade class on Fridays to help my language learning.  The children stared and laughed at me quite a bit at first, but they seem to be getting used to me.  This past week I got everyone’s attention when I accidentally set off a keychain alarm on my purse and couldn’t turn it off.  I don’t know whether the children thought I did that on purpose, but they seemed to be quite amused at the incident and surrounded me immediately after to tell me all about themselves.

My host mother encouraged me to attend a funeral a couple of weeks ago with our neighbors.  She wanted me to be able to tell Americans what funerals are like in South Africa.  Funerals here take place over two days, Friday night and Saturday morning.  On Friday night attendees gather under a large tent and sing and share testimonies, this is comparable to the viewing we attend in America.  Instead of hiring catering to feed those in attendance on Saturday (as we would in the States), a cow is slaughtered on Friday and many of the women of the community stay up most of the night cooking the meal that will follow Saturday’s service.  The body of the deceased is brought to the home where the service is being held on Friday evening and remains there until the burial on Saturday morning, which reminded me of an Irish wake.  On Saturday morning we gathered again to follow the body to the cemetery, where a small service was conducted to show respect to the deceased and the family, after which those in attendance returned to the family home for a meal and to visit with one another.  When I returned home I was able to tell her about all of the similarities I saw between South African and American funerals.  It is so interesting that we can choose to see the differences between ourselves and others, or we can find things we have in common.

As part of my community needs assessment I had the privilege of hearing about the history of the community in which I serve from the son of the first induna (head man) of my village.  I could have listened to him all day!  The area in which I live was one of the homelands established during apartheid (around 1948).  My reading on the homelands reminded me a great deal of the establishment of the reservations in the United States for the Native Americans in the 1800’s.  My historian informed me that there was an amazing sense of community when the village was first established, but that maintaining that sense of community has become a challenge as the village has grown.  After he told me the story of the village I asked him who he would most like me to work with over the next two years, and what he would most like me to do.  His answer was simple: the youth are the future of this village.  

From bougie to basic

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 while, and so much has happened over the last ten weeks.  I was officially sworn in as a Peace Corps Volunteer on March 31, 2016, and was taken from swearing in to the village where I will work and live for the next two years.  Here are some of the highlights that took place in the weeks leading up to this moment.

On January 18, 2016, I left Ontario Airport in California for Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.  I met the other 32 members of my volunteer cohort at an event called staging.  We participated in icebreakers and role plays, which provided a glimpse of how our lives might look as volunteers.  We departed for JFK airport at 2am on January 20, 2016.  Miraculously, we all made it to the flight and departed on our 16 hour flight to Johannesburg.

Upon arrival to South Africa we gathered our luggage and boarded several vans, which took us to a conference center in Mpumalanga Province.  We spent ten days getting to know each other, attending sessions to learn about our upcoming service, and learning to which language group we would be assigned.  It was exciting and overwhelming, but we had not even scratched the surface.

On January 31 we were taken to a meeting room in a small village about half an hour from the conference center where we had been staying to meet the families that would host us for the next two months.  I have never been adopted so I cannot say with certainty that the emotions I felt were the same that a child feels when going to meet a new family, but I can only imagine that the emotions are similar.  I was so apprehensive!  I had no idea whether my family would speak English, whether there would be running water and an indoor bathroom at the home, what chores I would be expected to do, or even if they would like me.  I was matched with a very sweet Gogo (grandmother), and taken to her husband’s waiting bakkie (pick-up truck).  Mkhulu (grandfather) and Gogo drove me to their home.  Mkhulu spoke to me and pointed to things all the way home, but it was all in Zulu and I had no idea what he was saying.  Upon arrival I was shown to my room and given a host sister, who turned out to be an absolute Godsend during my stay! 

I spent two months in Gogo and Mkhulu’s home, learning about rural South African culture, figuring out bucket baths, and learning to wash clothes by hand.  The family discovered my lack of culinary prowess quite quickly, so I simply helped cut vegetables and dish up dinner plates.  It had been emphasized to us that we should become part of the family rather than behaving as a houseguest, so I jumped in and began washing dishes each night.  This was in part because I had been told that I was in a patriarchal society where women are expected to do much of the housework.  Apparently in Gogo’s house it was expected that my three teenage host brothers take turns washing the dishes, and the boys simply did not share that information because they were getting out of doing chores because I misunderstood the rules.  I can’t even get mad at that because I would have done the same thing to someone when I was a teenager!  Gogo figured out what was going on after a week or so and put a very quick stop to that behavior.  We took turns after that.

During the day I attended language classes and technical sessions each day.  I was assigned siSwati as my target language.  SiSwati is part of the Nguni family, along with isiNdebele, isiZulu, and Xhosa.  The village in which I stayed spoke isiNdebele, and the family with which I stayed spoke isiZulu, so I was afforded the opportunity to practice my language skills at home.  At first I would write out what I wanted to say and read the card to Mkhulu and Gogo (who both speak very little English).  They would look at me confused for a while, then would read the card themselves and acknowledge that they understood what I was trying to say.  Eventually I was able to tell them simple things, such as where I was going and when I would be back.  When I did this for the first time without writing it out first Gogo got a huge smile on her face, clapped her hands, and chanted “number one, number one” to me.  It was so encouraging!  Gogo also gave me my village name on Valentine’s Day: Thandi, which means “love.”

So much took place in the short two months that I stayed with this wonderful family.  I can now successfully bucket bathe.  I can semi-successfully hand wash my clothing.  I was able to handle food poisoning using an outdoor latrine (no simple feat), and I have learned to carry toilet paper with me wherever I go.  My host siblings and their friends taught me so much about the culture of the Ndebele and Zulu people, including customs surrounding weddings, funerals, and coming of age.  I am so grateful for the homestay I enjoyed, and my host sister and I plan to visit one another in the future.

I now embark on the next leg of this adventure.  I have moved to a region of the Mpumalanga Province known as “the pocket.”  I am 45 kilometers from the borders of Mozambique, Swaziland, and Kruger National Park.  This is arguably one of the most beautiful spots in the country (everything is so green and lush), and is also one of the hottest spots in the country.  I will work for a home based care organization in a small village that has gone to great trouble to ensure my comfort during my stay with them.  There will be hiccups along the way (cobras come out at night here), but I am hoping that after two months I will be as reluctant to leave my new family as I was to leave my homestay family on March 31.  The pastor of one of the churches in my new village arranged an interpreter for his message on the day I attended.  I was so glad he did!  He spoke from Jeremiah: for I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans to prosper and not to harm you.  It was exactly what I needed to hear that day to prepare me to look past the discomforts and find the positive points in my new home and new village.  The next three months will be spent in “lock-down” as I become acquainted with my new village and conduct my needs assessment.  If anyone feels so inclined, a letter of encouragement or a bag of skittles in the mail are most appreciated!  If you would like my new address, please private message me or my mom to get it.