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.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
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!
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!
Saturday, June 21, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
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.
Monday, June 9, 2008
A Day in the Life Of…
Friday wasn’t exactly typical, but it wasn’t exactly atypical either. For those curious to what I do all day, this blog entry is intended to enlighten and explain. So sit back, crack open a cold one, and enjoy.
It’s autumn here, so getting chilly and extra hard to get out of bed. I eventually flipped back the covers, knowing that I couldn’t be late. We’re going to Polokwane, partially for doing our annual planning with the management team, partially for a candlelight memorial service for AIDS victims. Our peer support group came for the memorial service, a group of HIV + women who have been together, in some cases, for years. The service will be part support group and part candles. A busy day.
But, first things first. My toilet is a pit latrine, not bad as outhouses go, but it’s made out of corrugated aluminum, so it’s a little shaky. I use it as little as possible, about once a day. The rest of the time when nature calls, I use the outhouse at work (cement and sturdy, although not comfortable for someone with long legs, as Angela, my tall and leggy step-mom, can attest to) or my “chamber pot,” a cute little bucket that is now one of my favorite possessions. On my way to the outhouse, I was joined by the neighbor’s dog. She’s trying to get me to adopt her, so she spends a lot of time at my house. Unfortunately, it’s not a good idea to give dogs too much attention here (they get out of control, then put back in their place, something I don’t like to be a party to), so I don’t give her too much. Still, she knows there’s a dog-lover just beneath the surface, plus I scratch her head and occasionally give her my left-overs, so she follows me around. So, I go to the toilet, enjoy the view of the maize field, keep the dog from getting too frisky, then continue on my way.
As I leave my house, I catch up with Pheladi, my neighbor and co-worker. She (and everyone I meet after that) make a big deal of my new shoes and the fact I’m wearing a skirt. It’s not often that I look pretty! I catch a lift with the van hired to take us to Polokwane, a whole four blocks. Nnana, another manager, is already on the van. I get to the office at 8:30. We’re supposed to leave at 9:00. (Cue the foreboding music).
I printed out the draft I made of the annual plan (I promise, this will get interesting soon). Then I wait. Sometimes I sit in the van, sometimes the office. I’m especially shy today because there’s a lot of new people, and although I’m studying Sepedi, I’m not speaking or understanding much, so I get a little intimidated. It’s 9:30, and people are starting to pile in the van. I pick out a seat, but no one I know sits near me. The peer group mostly avoids me, although everyone says hello, and then, we’re off!
[Flashback] Once, in DC, I went to a club that set up their sound system so that you could FEEL the music if you stood in a certain place. The bass would throb under your sternum and your joints would pulse with the drums. Although this was supposed to be a good thing, it wasn’t an exactly pleasurable experience for me. But this is what I thought about as we traveled to Polokwane, although the music was gospel and we were in a van. Pretty soon, there was dancing in the aisles, and loud singing complementing the loud gospel on the MP3 player (of course they have MP3 players in the cars here! They just don’t work very well). I loved seeing how excited everyone was, and although I was stuck in a seat where I couldn’t dance, I started learning the songs and singing along. One was pretty easy, and with the help of my dictionary, I could actually translate it: “O ska ganana tu.” “O ska” basically means “Don’t” and “ganana,” according to the dictionary, means “reject each other.” “Tu” I have no idea, and still don’t. However, I thought this was an amazing message for an AIDS support group, especially since stigma is such a problem here and keeps people from getting the care they need. This song, along with about five others, was played over and over on the 40 min trip to Polokwane.
Oh and for those of you sad for me because I was sitting alone, we picked someone else up in Lebowakgomo, my shopping town, and she sat next to me. She had no choice. But she was very nice about it.
From there, we went to the hotel that I had been at before for management training (see previous post). We even used the same room with the mints on the table and bottles of water. So, the peer group did their thing, and we went and worked on our annual plan, which I am actually quite excited about. We’re going to start a job training program for our older orphans, and right now, I’m working on the computer training part. But that story’s for another day…
Then was a tea break, and what should be on TV, but wrestling! And not just any wrestling, but World Wrestling Entertainment (WWE), with their master villains and corny, obnoxious posturing and smack-talk. I have a lot of moments like this in South Africa, where I wonder, “Where am I? What is this doing here?” But wrestling, like KFC and Beyonce, is EVERYWHERE. I mean, I knew that “American” multi-nationals were taking over the world, but it’s still so strange to go from goats to WWE. And the funny thing is, I was downloading podcasts from NPR’s “Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me” and they had Jesse Ventura on as the special guest. So, I had a wrestler for governor and wrestlers in South Africa within two days of each other. Go figure.
After the break, we went and joined the peer group and had our candlelight ceremony. The speaker had just given a very inspiring talk on going out and working with other HIV+ people, and these women seemed ready to do it. There were 16 women, from early twenties to mid-fifties, all HIV+ and all there for each other. After the ceremony, more singing, more dancing, and then, best of all, lots of hugging. I was pulled into the middle of all these singing, clapping whirlwinds of inspiration, and I just felt so surrounded by peace and love. And that’s a rare feeling for me these days.
But these moments are here, lurking beneath the surface. It’s so easy to see the violence and feel scared, or sad, or angry. But I’m lucky enough to also see the people who are doing what they can, in spite of personal struggles, bad luck, children, death, lack of education, and lack of money, and those are the people I want to work with for the rest of my life.
On the journey home, I got a seat where I, too, could stand up and dance. So I did. And sang along with the best of them. And when I told Mokgadi, my supervisor, the translation of “O ska ganana tu,” she laughed and said “no, no, no.” You see, I had forgotten that “k” often sounds like “g” (which I should know, because my African name, Karabo, sounds like “Ga-ra-bo.”) “O ska kanana tu,” or whatever the actual words are, mean “We’re all going to Canaan.” Oh well. Not quite the message I though it was. But it’s still a catchy tune.
It’s autumn here, so getting chilly and extra hard to get out of bed. I eventually flipped back the covers, knowing that I couldn’t be late. We’re going to Polokwane, partially for doing our annual planning with the management team, partially for a candlelight memorial service for AIDS victims. Our peer support group came for the memorial service, a group of HIV + women who have been together, in some cases, for years. The service will be part support group and part candles. A busy day.
But, first things first. My toilet is a pit latrine, not bad as outhouses go, but it’s made out of corrugated aluminum, so it’s a little shaky. I use it as little as possible, about once a day. The rest of the time when nature calls, I use the outhouse at work (cement and sturdy, although not comfortable for someone with long legs, as Angela, my tall and leggy step-mom, can attest to) or my “chamber pot,” a cute little bucket that is now one of my favorite possessions. On my way to the outhouse, I was joined by the neighbor’s dog. She’s trying to get me to adopt her, so she spends a lot of time at my house. Unfortunately, it’s not a good idea to give dogs too much attention here (they get out of control, then put back in their place, something I don’t like to be a party to), so I don’t give her too much. Still, she knows there’s a dog-lover just beneath the surface, plus I scratch her head and occasionally give her my left-overs, so she follows me around. So, I go to the toilet, enjoy the view of the maize field, keep the dog from getting too frisky, then continue on my way.
As I leave my house, I catch up with Pheladi, my neighbor and co-worker. She (and everyone I meet after that) make a big deal of my new shoes and the fact I’m wearing a skirt. It’s not often that I look pretty! I catch a lift with the van hired to take us to Polokwane, a whole four blocks. Nnana, another manager, is already on the van. I get to the office at 8:30. We’re supposed to leave at 9:00. (Cue the foreboding music).
I printed out the draft I made of the annual plan (I promise, this will get interesting soon). Then I wait. Sometimes I sit in the van, sometimes the office. I’m especially shy today because there’s a lot of new people, and although I’m studying Sepedi, I’m not speaking or understanding much, so I get a little intimidated. It’s 9:30, and people are starting to pile in the van. I pick out a seat, but no one I know sits near me. The peer group mostly avoids me, although everyone says hello, and then, we’re off!
[Flashback] Once, in DC, I went to a club that set up their sound system so that you could FEEL the music if you stood in a certain place. The bass would throb under your sternum and your joints would pulse with the drums. Although this was supposed to be a good thing, it wasn’t an exactly pleasurable experience for me. But this is what I thought about as we traveled to Polokwane, although the music was gospel and we were in a van. Pretty soon, there was dancing in the aisles, and loud singing complementing the loud gospel on the MP3 player (of course they have MP3 players in the cars here! They just don’t work very well). I loved seeing how excited everyone was, and although I was stuck in a seat where I couldn’t dance, I started learning the songs and singing along. One was pretty easy, and with the help of my dictionary, I could actually translate it: “O ska ganana tu.” “O ska” basically means “Don’t” and “ganana,” according to the dictionary, means “reject each other.” “Tu” I have no idea, and still don’t. However, I thought this was an amazing message for an AIDS support group, especially since stigma is such a problem here and keeps people from getting the care they need. This song, along with about five others, was played over and over on the 40 min trip to Polokwane.
Oh and for those of you sad for me because I was sitting alone, we picked someone else up in Lebowakgomo, my shopping town, and she sat next to me. She had no choice. But she was very nice about it.
From there, we went to the hotel that I had been at before for management training (see previous post). We even used the same room with the mints on the table and bottles of water. So, the peer group did their thing, and we went and worked on our annual plan, which I am actually quite excited about. We’re going to start a job training program for our older orphans, and right now, I’m working on the computer training part. But that story’s for another day…
Then was a tea break, and what should be on TV, but wrestling! And not just any wrestling, but World Wrestling Entertainment (WWE), with their master villains and corny, obnoxious posturing and smack-talk. I have a lot of moments like this in South Africa, where I wonder, “Where am I? What is this doing here?” But wrestling, like KFC and Beyonce, is EVERYWHERE. I mean, I knew that “American” multi-nationals were taking over the world, but it’s still so strange to go from goats to WWE. And the funny thing is, I was downloading podcasts from NPR’s “Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me” and they had Jesse Ventura on as the special guest. So, I had a wrestler for governor and wrestlers in South Africa within two days of each other. Go figure.
After the break, we went and joined the peer group and had our candlelight ceremony. The speaker had just given a very inspiring talk on going out and working with other HIV+ people, and these women seemed ready to do it. There were 16 women, from early twenties to mid-fifties, all HIV+ and all there for each other. After the ceremony, more singing, more dancing, and then, best of all, lots of hugging. I was pulled into the middle of all these singing, clapping whirlwinds of inspiration, and I just felt so surrounded by peace and love. And that’s a rare feeling for me these days.
But these moments are here, lurking beneath the surface. It’s so easy to see the violence and feel scared, or sad, or angry. But I’m lucky enough to also see the people who are doing what they can, in spite of personal struggles, bad luck, children, death, lack of education, and lack of money, and those are the people I want to work with for the rest of my life.
On the journey home, I got a seat where I, too, could stand up and dance. So I did. And sang along with the best of them. And when I told Mokgadi, my supervisor, the translation of “O ska ganana tu,” she laughed and said “no, no, no.” You see, I had forgotten that “k” often sounds like “g” (which I should know, because my African name, Karabo, sounds like “Ga-ra-bo.”) “O ska kanana tu,” or whatever the actual words are, mean “We’re all going to Canaan.” Oh well. Not quite the message I though it was. But it’s still a catchy tune.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Management Training, South Africa-style
A very interesting cultural experience this week, although management training’s not generally known for its exotic nature. But still. Non-profit management training here is and is not the same as in the US. For instance, every day starts with a gospel song or two and a prayer. The topics are taught in English, but then will slip into Sepedi (which I know a little bit), and sometimes Shangaan or Ndebeli (which I really don’t know). The amazing number of languages I'm surrounded by never fails to awe and frustrate me.
In surprising ways, the training in very American, in that the sessions generally start on time (a big deal, here), the presenters are organized, and there are times for individual reflection, group work, and lectures. At the same time, these are community development organizations in the poorer parts of South Africa, so there are interesting discussions about development, culture, what blacks can learn from the whites, what whites did to the blacks, how Robert Mugabe (the Zimbabwean president who is largely responsible for 150,000% inflation rates) is admired because he stood up to George Bush. I love it and find it incredibly surreal at the same time. A lot of South Africa’s like that, in that you never quite know what country you’re in, but to be sitting in a training that I’ve sat in before in the States, listening to debates about post-colonial politics from the African perspective… Well, that’s just my idea of a great day.
Tonight is the training’s social event, so people are very excited to see me dance. I’m not much in the mood, since I’m just getting over a cold, but then again, when did I ever pass up a dance party? Never! And I will not start tonight… Tomorrow’s the last day, then it’s back to my chickens and maize field after a week of hot water and television. I’m looking forward to it.
In surprising ways, the training in very American, in that the sessions generally start on time (a big deal, here), the presenters are organized, and there are times for individual reflection, group work, and lectures. At the same time, these are community development organizations in the poorer parts of South Africa, so there are interesting discussions about development, culture, what blacks can learn from the whites, what whites did to the blacks, how Robert Mugabe (the Zimbabwean president who is largely responsible for 150,000% inflation rates) is admired because he stood up to George Bush. I love it and find it incredibly surreal at the same time. A lot of South Africa’s like that, in that you never quite know what country you’re in, but to be sitting in a training that I’ve sat in before in the States, listening to debates about post-colonial politics from the African perspective… Well, that’s just my idea of a great day.
Tonight is the training’s social event, so people are very excited to see me dance. I’m not much in the mood, since I’m just getting over a cold, but then again, when did I ever pass up a dance party? Never! And I will not start tonight… Tomorrow’s the last day, then it’s back to my chickens and maize field after a week of hot water and television. I’m looking forward to it.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
A Fearless Vacation
Hi everyone, and sorry it’s taken so long to update this thing. I just got back from a two-week vacation with Angela (my step-mom, for those of you not in the know) and in the midst of elephant herds, beautiful deserted beaches and long bus rides, my cell phone got stolen, which means no internet, no email, no blog updates. For those of you keeping track, I AM having lots of pickpocketing “incidents.” Frustrating, yes, but as long as I stay intact, I’m a happy camper. Well, maybe not happy… I mean, it is my cell phone and connection to the outside world after all.
So, I’m back at the Peace Corps office for an exciting meeting (all Peace Corps meetings are exciting!), and first on the list is a cell phone, and warm pants are a close second. It’s fall here, and the evenings are starting to get nippy, and the office and my house are no longer saunas. The sun is still warm; it just means that I have to get outdoors to warm up.
So, my vacation was fabulous. Angela played the adventurer role extremely well as we experienced almost all Southern Africa has to offer (i.e. elephants, giraffes, pick-pocketing, crowded backpackers, mosquitoes, palm trees, turquoise oceans, noisy buses, poverty, luxury, and the occasional cockroach). It also gave me a chance to think about my time here as well, to process why I’m here, and why I choose to stay on a daily basis. It’s such a mixed bag since I have such a wonderful community in the States, and I’m the permanent outsider here. South Africa is no piece of cake, but I love the work I’m doing here. But life is also extremely tough. There is no escaping the crime, the racism, the corruption, and all the legacies of apartheid. The loneliness is like carrying a heavy blanket all the time, and it clouds the beauty that’s all around me.
One thing Angela said to me has given me lots to think about. She called me fearless, and I laughed out loud when she told me that; I’m scared or anxious or neurotic every single day here, but I realized that being fearless doesn’t have to mean I don’t feel fear. It just means that I keep going, keep making tough choices regardless of the fear. That’s the way you learn who you are, what you can and can’t do. I feel stretched to my limits almost every day, and facing my limitations isn’t my cup of tea. I’d much rather feel competent. Here that means looking at the little things: I’m competent at not getting head-butted when I walk through a herd of cows on my way to work, at fixing the printer at my office, at writing grant proposals, drinking tea with my co-workers, and knowing when I need a long nap. There are so many things that can't be changed here, at least right now, and at least not by me, so I look for the things I can do. If all goes well, Makotse Women's Club will be funded to start a job training and business skills program for the orphans they care for. We'll start a organic food garden to bring fresh veggies right to the village, and strengthen the community in a lot of little ways. And that's what I'm helping with; sometimes it doesn't feel enough, but it is.
So, I’m back at the Peace Corps office for an exciting meeting (all Peace Corps meetings are exciting!), and first on the list is a cell phone, and warm pants are a close second. It’s fall here, and the evenings are starting to get nippy, and the office and my house are no longer saunas. The sun is still warm; it just means that I have to get outdoors to warm up.
So, my vacation was fabulous. Angela played the adventurer role extremely well as we experienced almost all Southern Africa has to offer (i.e. elephants, giraffes, pick-pocketing, crowded backpackers, mosquitoes, palm trees, turquoise oceans, noisy buses, poverty, luxury, and the occasional cockroach). It also gave me a chance to think about my time here as well, to process why I’m here, and why I choose to stay on a daily basis. It’s such a mixed bag since I have such a wonderful community in the States, and I’m the permanent outsider here. South Africa is no piece of cake, but I love the work I’m doing here. But life is also extremely tough. There is no escaping the crime, the racism, the corruption, and all the legacies of apartheid. The loneliness is like carrying a heavy blanket all the time, and it clouds the beauty that’s all around me.
One thing Angela said to me has given me lots to think about. She called me fearless, and I laughed out loud when she told me that; I’m scared or anxious or neurotic every single day here, but I realized that being fearless doesn’t have to mean I don’t feel fear. It just means that I keep going, keep making tough choices regardless of the fear. That’s the way you learn who you are, what you can and can’t do. I feel stretched to my limits almost every day, and facing my limitations isn’t my cup of tea. I’d much rather feel competent. Here that means looking at the little things: I’m competent at not getting head-butted when I walk through a herd of cows on my way to work, at fixing the printer at my office, at writing grant proposals, drinking tea with my co-workers, and knowing when I need a long nap. There are so many things that can't be changed here, at least right now, and at least not by me, so I look for the things I can do. If all goes well, Makotse Women's Club will be funded to start a job training and business skills program for the orphans they care for. We'll start a organic food garden to bring fresh veggies right to the village, and strengthen the community in a lot of little ways. And that's what I'm helping with; sometimes it doesn't feel enough, but it is.
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