Barack Ba-Rocks South Africa!

OK, sorry about the lame pun, but we were full of them last night, from “Barackin’ Hot President” to “Baracking Absentee Ballots.” I can’t even describe how giddy I am, which is primarily shown by the fact that I am updating my blog twice in one week. I can’t contain myself! My cup bloggeth over!

Last night has to be once of the best nights of my service here. A bunch of PCVs with Obama pictures taped to various body parts, dancing to music selected by DJ Robb, which included the Neil Diamond classic, “Beautiful Noise” (that dance was for you, mom!), popcorn and Smarties (brought back memories of popcorn and M&M’s, introduced to me by the lovely Sonja Dahlin in, what, 6th grade?), and CNN. Wow! What a night. Obama meandered through my dreams after I subtly and successfully kicked Joel off the couch (well, maybe not so subtle), and when CNN announced Obama’s win, my eyes popped open and that was all the sleep I got.

But watching this is South Africa was incredible and surreal. There have been times when I was disappointed that I was in Peace Corps during this election. I would have campaigned for Obama until I got fired from my job for missing too many days. This man had my vote since I listened to him read “Dreams From My Father” in 2001 (books on tape, of course. But I wouldn’t have said no to a personal reading, either). But, other times, I was happy to be missing all the ugliness of campaigns. I could pick and choose what I read, and wasn’t bombarded with nastiness. I walked into last night confident he would win, without fearing assassination attempts or the Bradley affect. Distance gives perspective, and I’m glad I have it.

And being in Africa! They are of course claiming Obama as family, and after years of living in, working for, and losing my heart to Africa, here was a presidential candidate who could not only identify Africa on the map, but has family in my first-visited African country. Africa isn’t an afterthought of Obama, but part of his identity. His travels to Kenya showed him a world that few Americans have seen and fewer would want to. But this is where I live, and this is how so many people of the world live: few options, less power, dying from diseases that should have been eradicated, crime, violence, corruption, and the fear to hope for a better life because those dreams have been crushed so many times. And not only that, but the quiet, incredible strength that shows itself in unexpected places. My experiences in Africa have been some of my most painful but absolutely the most life-altering. The lessons I have learned here have influenced my love of community, my appreciation for diversity, my spiritual journey, and my nascent ability to look reality in the eye and say “Thank you.” And to see something similar in the man who will be my president… Well, now.

But enough about me (boy do I ramble). I’m in SOUTH AFRICA! A country with arguably the most tense racial relations in the world. South Africa, in many ways, is America’s little brother, with similar history, similar parents, and similar struggles. There are shopping malls with putt-putt golf and drive-in theaters. (Just like America!) There is resentment towards affirmative action, yet the HUGE need to address past injustices. (Just like America!) There are no easy answers, but there is the steady, if uneven, march towards equality. One thing Peace Corps brings to places like South Africa is hope. We tend to be an optimistic bunch and we see potential where others see despair. This is a huge generalization, I know, but the point I’m trying to make is that Obama is saying “Yes we can” to the whole world. Yes, we can have a better life than our parents. Yes, we can triumph over racism. Yes, we can create a better world.

Mandela to Obama: “Your victory has demonstrated that no person anywhere in the world should not dare to dream of wanting to change the world for a better place."

Desmond Tutu said Obama's victory tells "people of color that for them, the sky is the limit."

How lucky and blessed am I to be seeing this victory with the dual lens of the US and Africa. How lucky and blessed is the world to see that Americans can step away from white, patriarchal entitlement and move in a direction that acknowledges that we are all family, we are all in this together, and we are all connected.

All though this euphoria will pass away, as all things do, there is no doubt that this moment has profound and global significance. THIS is the America I’m proud of. This is the America that so many of us have fought to bring into existence. It’s not often we see a dream come true.

Dream Deferred by Langston Hughes

“What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?”

Or does it get buried in a mound of shit, only to flower, fertilized and breath-takingly beautiful, when the world is ready? I think now we know.

Today I saved a goat from almost certain death...

Going home today, I looked in my yard (well, yard does not conjure up the right image. Think of a mini-farm with nothing growing on it) a saw the usual herd of goats. I don’t know why they like my barren mini-farm, but there they were. Then I saw the funniest thing. My neighbor, Pa Mello as I call him, put water in a can for the goats. Unfortunately, the can is deep, and is about the circumference of an adult goat’s head. So, while reaching for the dregs at the bottom of the can, the head got stuck, and I came home to a goat running around with a bright yellow Nesprey can on its head. And you know when you’re blind-folded and in unfamiliar territory, you walk a little cautiously, slow and with your hands out in case you fall or bump into something? Well that is not the style of goats, especially since they don’t have hands. This goat was running, running! right towards my house, which is not a soft and cushy thing to run into. I was about to have a goat mishap on my hands. But there I go to save the day and I pull the can right off the goat’s head. Just like that. And then, I fill up the can with water to see if it will happen again.

And now for something completely different...

I wish I could somehow capture the sounds of my village at dusk, but I don’t think that any recording device could really do it justice. Tonight, I heard the serenades of two amorous birds, chirps and whistles and delicate little trills. Well, it was more like one bird serenading the other bird, who seemed to be playing hard-to-get. Then, the cows. Oh the cows. They seem to have an opinion about everything. “This kraal is too small. I’m not finished eating yet. No, YOU hurry up. What do you think about the possible split in the ANC? Is that a kick in the pants, or what?” Then, if you look up, you’ll see the bats fluttering around. For some reason, you have to see the bats in order to hear their high-pitched whistles. I don’t know why, but you do. Then, kids off in the distance. Someone’s whistling. Loud gossip in the next yard. The sub-sonic boom of the bass of some song in some shabeen.

Back home, the most common sounds are traffic, lawnmowers, and, if you’re lucky enough to live where I live, bird song. Oh, yes, and the dogs. I think dogs barking late at night is universal. But so much of life is lived indoors. Behind the wheel. Not herding cows or whistling at your donkeys to drive the cart a little faster. I am lucky to live in a place where the sound of a car is a big deal. Not that I haven’t thought about getting a car and camouflaging it as something common here. Like a group of giggling girls. But still. With every loss, there is a gain, and without a car, I can slow down to appreciate what I have.

I’m sorry I’ve been so lax in the blogging department. I don’t know who I’m apologizing to, but I’m sure I have a secret fan base who is sorely disappointed that I haven’t been sharing my life on-line with them, so, to you, I apologize. It’s not that I haven’t had something to write about. Too much, actually. It’s a little overwhelming now, to be honest. In fact, I started writing up my latest adventures over a month and a half ago, and the story got too long and I got too busy and my internet connection was too frustrating, so nothing. (I think that my frustrating internet connection is my most consistent them here. Maybe I need to rename this blog to “Difficulties with Technology. Oh, and I Live in South Africa.”) But, my procrastination is about to stop! At least for now. I have decided to give a little continuity to my life here and blog about the trials and triumphs of making improvements in our vegetable garden. It’s one of the most positive and inspiring things about my time here so far, and I don’t have to pull any weeds! Unless I want to, of course. So, this puppy will be spread out in installments so that I don’t have to write so much at any one time. Maybe that will keep me going! So, stay tuned. The best is yet to come (man, am I a cheesy self-promoter! This is what South Africa has done to me.)

Northern Sotho Lesson #2

Now, I know that many people have expressed extreme gratitude to know the Northern Sotho word “hlamukela,” to besmear one’s mouth and hands with fat. So, here’s my follow-up lesson, which I’m turning into a contest, because I have no idea what the English translation means. So, are you ready?

OK, here it goes:

Mašiagodiša (ma-shi-a-ho-di-sha)

Meaning: “herd-funk”

So, the contest is, what the hell is “herd-funk?” Depressed cattle? The strong odor of herds? Give me your guess in the comments section of the blog, and whoever comes closest to the actual meaning gets their name mentioned in this very blog! So, get guessing! And stay tuned. Results will be announced whenever I get around to it.

Anniversaries

A lot of significant marking points over the past few weeks, Mandela’s 90th birthday, my year anniversary in South Africa, my 36th birthday… Lots of moments to assess what’s going on around me and what I want to do with the remaining time I have here.

Mandela’s birthday came with lots of articles about the man and the current situation in South Africa. Has South Africa betrayed his vision? Is he really the man everyone thinks he is? And why is he so star-struck? Sometimes it’s a challenge when the legend lives to old age, instead of martyred like Biko, King, and Kennedy. He has more time to reveal his flaws. Yet, most African heroes who lived and went on to lead their countries ended up being corrupted, megalomaniacs, like Robert Mogabe in Zimbabwe, or Joseph Kenyatta in Kenya (among many, many others), and Mandela avoided that fate. He is truly a remarkable man. He fought against the oppression of apartheid, and when that was dismantled, he fought against the tyranny of AIDS, when others in the ANC were dismissing it as another tool of the whites, a myth to panic everyone and make money off of ARVs, or as a plot to kill all the blacks. He is one of the rare ones who has seen what needs to be done, and then gone on to do it.

I’ve realized how much I have romanticized many things in the past (those who have known me over the last 15 years can attest to that!), but the thing that stands out the most today is how I’ve romanticized oppression. All my heroes have been born in oppressive situations, and their ability to strive for love and hope and forgiveness in spite of everything that has happened to them has inspired me to go down the path I’ve chosen. Yet, living in South Africa has shown me the other side of oppression like nothing else. Most people living in poverty, cruelty, and injustice do not become heroes. They become like most everyone would in these situations, wounded, bitter, frightened and angry, surviving the best they can, trying to take what they feel is owed to them if they have the opportunity to do so.

When I was in Kenya and Tanzania, I could overlook much of the aftermath of colonialism and brutal governance, either because I was there for only a short amount of time, or because I was with people who were working hard to make things better. I chose to be with people who were a lot like me, at least philosophically. In Peace Corps, however, choices are a luxury that few of us have. I’ve seen friends cheated out of money by the organizations they were there to help, or, even more common, watching communities get cheated out of money by other South Africans who said they were there to “help.” Directors trading sex for food parcels, health workers not getting paid while leaders buy new cars or put additions on their houses. The corruption is overwhelming, not only the amount, but the pettiness of some of it. Health workers earn less than $100 month, yet that means a lot to them. If they don’t get it, their families might not get fed.

However, I also see, and am surrounded by, people who are making a difference, and who aren’t doing it just for themselves. My definition of hero has changed since I’ve been here. It’s the people who live their lives, and with the strength, energy and money left over, dedicate that to those around them. Oppression doesn’t make heroes. It just makes people more human. Parts that can stay hidden if you grow up in easier circumstances don’t stay hidden here. And at the same time, those parts aren’t really hidden in the US either, but we can avoid them easier. When I didn’t like where I was living, I moved, When I didn’t like my job, I found a new one. And even though I have plenty of issues about the lack of control that Peace Corps volunteers have (sorry, Gene!), I’m realizing that this is the way most people live their lives, no choices about where they will live, where they will go to school, or if they even have a job. And let me tell you, it’s no picnic.

So, what will I do with my final year here? How will I spend my 36th year on this planet? I guess I’ll continue doing what I’ve been doing and building on what I’ve learned. My major lesson is that people who are making a difference are everywhere and that it’s crucial for me to find them, to search out hope while walking hand-in-hand with reality. My organization isn’t perfect--the management style tends to vacillate between yelling at each other and laughing with (and at) each other--but they are definitely doing a lot of good here and I will do what I can to see them better off than when I first got here. Fortunately, they make that easy. They are a good group. We’re working on starting a poultry project to sell fresh eggs to the village, and I’m working on starting computer classes which should help people in their search for jobs. We’re also working on an entrepreneurial/job training program, and we’re also working on getting the existing bakery to become more profitable. By the time I leave, I think Makotse Women’s Club will have a strong financial foundation that they can continue to build on.

I also want to visit other strong organizations in the country. South Africa has a lot of them. They’re just not where Peace Corps volunteers are placed. I’ll keep learning what works and what doesn’t as far as development is concerned. I’ve seen a lot of different theories put into action, and then your basic good intentions meeting reality head-on (reality tends to win in these situations). My friends and I spend a lot of time discussing if outsiders can really make a difference, because there is so much misunderstanding, and so much development creates dependency, instead of empowerment. Not too different from social work, actually. But, I still believe there is a role outsiders can play here. It’s just that grand theories and good intentions are not enough. As much as I am not a cynic, a little cynicism and disillusionment can actually be a good thing here, if it means that you look for what works, not what you want to work.

So, stay tuned for my next installment. I’ll be giving another language lesson, and maybe even a contest! Should be fun and much more lite and fluffy than this here soul-searching, re-evaluating session has been. But, after all, that’s what anniversaries are for!

Till next time!

Besmear One's Mouth

So, I've been busy. I've been writing business plans and grant proposals, and plotting and scheming on how to turn youth into plotting and scheming entrepreneurs, and, of course, computer solitaire. This is all good, and I feel productive (except for the computer solitaire, but it does promote problem-solving skills), but I haven't had much time or will to study the language.

Oh, it's so easy not to study. Most people know English. Although Northern Sotho is spoken by 4 million people, all of them live in one general region in South Africa, it doesn't count for another language when applying to Johns Hopkins PhD program in international development, I'm not good at learning languages, etc., etc. However, what I learned in Japan, and again learning kiSwahili in Kenya and Tanzania, is that nothing gives you more insight into another culture than by learning the language. Plus, everyone at the office is bugging me to learn it. So, I'm learning. Or, as they say, "Ke a ithuta."

I found this great website that has an online Northern Sotho dictionary, with some audio files attached to some words (http://africanlanguages.com/sdp/ for those of you who are interested), so I was going through the "hl" words trying to find a good audio example. It's a tricky, lispy sound that I often confuse with the tricky, lispy sound of "tl" and I wanted to tell the difference. As I was going through my dictionary, I found the word "hlamukela" meaning to besmear one's mouth. Now, my English has gone to hell, but I can't ever remember using the word "besmear" even though I vaguely know what it means. But to besmear one's mouth? What does that mean? So, I enter the word in the handy-dandy online dictionary and find this: "besmear one's mouth and hands with fat when eating."

This is now my new favorite word.

And, you know what, it does say something about a culture that has a word that means to besmear one's mouth and hands with fat when eating. I don't know how much the word is used, but that word exists. And what it means about the culture is that people eat with their hands and eat a lot of meat, meat with fat that can be besmeared. And yes, I have experienced that result. I live here after all. I just didn't know there was a word for it.

What Was That?

I glanced over at my friend's house the other day and though to myself "Wait. Is that a HORSE in her backyard?" Then I thought, "No, silly! It's a cow." And so it was.