Xandla Famba, Xandla Vuya

How is it that everything said in a foreign language sounds so much nicer than it does in English?  If you’ve ever seen the show “Modern Family,” I’m sure you know what I’m talking about.  Gloria’s Spanish always makes any phrase in English sound so beautiful!  Well, at least for the most part.  “Xandla Famba, Xandla Vuya” (the “x” is pronounced as a “shhhh”) loosely translated means “You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.”  Much prettier, wouldn’t you agree?  My good friend, Sylvia, had taught me this phrase about a month ago.  I asked her for Xitsonga lessons, telling her upfront I would pay her (Peace Corps reimburses us for tutors).  She told me, “No, no Meghan.  Xandla famba, xandla vuya.”  When I inquired as to  what she meant by this, she reminded me that I often help her with English and with computer questions that she has.  “We help each other.  We are friends,” she told me.  (I was grateful to play off the tears falling from my eyes as sweat when she told me this.)

            I am extremely blessed to have become good friends with Sindri, a CHOP (Community and Health) Volunteer who lives fairly close to me.  Not only did Sindri help me as a newbie when getting to country (she arrived in the group before mine), but Sindri and I have done a few projects/workshops together in my time here thus far.  Last year Sindri came and taught my grade 6 & 7 learners about HIV/AIDS right before World AIDS Day (December the 1^st every year).  About a month ago, I went to Sindri’s home-base care org to give the caretakers she works with a workshop on SOUNS (the literacy program).  Just this week, on Tuesday evening, Sindri and one of the caretakers she works with, Winnie, came to my village to give a 2-day Nutrition workshop.

            Now, why would I want to hold a Nutrition workshop if I am a Community and Education Volunteer?  I have multiple reasons for holding a Nutrition workshop in my village.  The first is clearly for the wellbeing of those in my village, in particular the children in my village.  I have seen mothers give cold drink (soda) to their young children.  Every day when I walk to school I see learners eating ma-zimba (basically Cheeto’s) for breakfast.  Many people believe that pap is sufficient enough of a diet, eating it for breakfast, lunch and dinner.  There are some children in my village with the pot belly, a sign of malnutrition.  I can’t seem to quote Sir Francis Bacon enough, agreeing to the utmost that “Knowledge is power.”  In order to solve any problem we first need to know the correct information.  When you have mangos falling off of your trees, take advantage of that.  The second reason I chose to hold the Nutrition workshop is because of the time of the year.  Term 4, particularly the end of Term 4, is rather chaotic, to say the least.  Luckily I have plenty of projects at the schools to keep me busy, but with testing things are thrown out of whack.  Teachers are busy marking, learners are running wild, and I’m busy sweating due to the +100 degree weather.  Hot.  Mess.  I didn’t feel bad missing two days of school to hold this workshop when not a whole lot is going on.  Lastly, I held this workshop because I love working with other volunteers.  We all come with our own skill sets when we come into the Peace Corps.  Why not help one another out, complimenting each other while helping our communities?  Xandla famba, xandla vuya.

            In order to prepare for the workshop, I spoke with Violet, a woman who has been helping me with Scouts and who works at the home base care in the neighboring village; Sylvia, the administrative assistant and my good friend in the village; and Maggie, my host mother and quite the social butterfly in order to dot all of my i’s and cross all of my t’s.  When we discussed holding the workshop, their first concern was food.  Would the workshop be catered?  I hadn’t thought of this.  Wasn’t it enough that we were feeding them with knowledge?  This, for me, is the best food out there.  Not in South Africa.  If you want attendance, you need to provide food.  I caved, settling on providing bread and juice.  There was no way I was going to cook up pap and chicken in the South African summer heat.  How difficult could bread and juice be?  Next was securing the location.  In my village, we have a small brick building that is pretty central to everything else. It’s close to the school, to the tuck shop, and to my home. I attend Church here and there are often meetings held here.  I talked to one of the men in the village who wields a lot of power, who gave me the green light for using the building to hold the workshop.  The final step was advertising.  I printed out fliers with all of the information.  When I showed it to my HOD, she fixed a few things, pointing out that it was fine to put the start time, but not the end time as no one would be up for a workshop that lasted from 8am-3pm.  I printed new fliers, leaving out the end time.  Violet and Sylvia helped me to spread the word, and pasted the fliers (the adverts as they call them) around the village and in the tuck shops.  I stumbled over my Xitsonga and my Sepedi, trying to communicate the message to women and neighbors I’m friends with.  I’m sure it was something like “Workshop.  Teach.  Food.  Bread.  Juice.  Please come!”  Clearly I’m not fluent yet.

            The big day finally arrived – Day 1 of the workshop.  Sindri and Winnie had done all of their preparations and had all of their posters ready to go.  We had stayed up way past our normal bedtimes getting ready the night before, finally hitting the sack at a little after 10.  Have I mentioned I’ve become even more of a Grandmom here than I was in the states?  Trying to adhere to American time, we arrived at the AFM Church (the site of the workshop) at 7:45, 15 minutes before the workshop was scheduled to start at 8:00.  Quite accustomed to “African time,” we all assumed people wouldn’t arrive until closer to 9.  8:30 rolled around, and I went on a stroll in the village.  I felt like the annoying taxi rank men who try to lure people to their taxis.  Unfortunately I didn’t have the megaphone.  “Come to the workshop!” I told anyone and everyone I saw.  “I’m coming just now,” each person would respond.  (“Just now” is different from “now now” in that you don’t know when they will be there.  People here do not like saying “no,” as they don’t want to hurt your feelings.)  I even sticky-tacked a sign to the outside of the tuck shop.  I sauntered back to the church, a little bit down and gloomy that no one was coming.  As I was walking back, I ran into a woman I am fairly close with.  “The Chief called a meeting for this morning in the middle of the night,” she informed me.  Of course!  I go through weeks of planning, and all I had to do was pull a Paul Revere.  I suppose the Chief does pull rank on little old me.  When I finally got back to the Church it was about 9:30.  Two people had showed.  I was feeling more hopeful at the site of some people and starting to understand the frustrations of a CHOP Volunteer (being an Education Volunteer, the learners and the teachers sort of have to show up to school so I never experienced the low attendance thing).  This hopeful feeling diminished when my two attendees left at 9:45.  This was not a good sign.

            At about 10:00 I started daydreaming about “Glee.”  At least I had tried.  I could use the day to catch up on chores, watch some “Glee” episodes, and maybe bake some banana bread.  I refused to ask more people to come when I had already advertised plenty.  Then, at about 10:15, 2 Gogo’s came in.  They sat down, thanks to Sindri’s encouragement, and started chatting with Winnie about simple nutrition.  By 10:45 we had FIVE women.  This was good.  We began our workshop.  More people started coming in around 11 (please notice, now THREE hours after the original start time): 9 people, 12 people, 13 people, 16 people, 18 people.  My sweater started making me a bit uncomfortable.  I was ready to jump in front of the door to stop people from coming in.  How much bread would I need to buy!?  My host brother, Tumelo, can eat an entire loaf by himself in just one sitting.  The numbers continued to increase…28, 34 people!  Thank goodness it was an overcast and cool day or we would’ve been miserable with heat and even worse, body odor.  Note to self – spray deodorant does not cut it. 

            The workshop on Day 1 was going swimmingly!  Winnie had wanted to teach the majority of the workshop, which was great since the English level for the adults in my village is fairly low.  The focus was on food groups:  What are carbohydrates?  What do carbohydrates do for you?  Which carbohydrates should you eat more of?  Which carbohydrates should you eat some of?  Which carbohydrates should you eat less of?  What are proteins?  What do proteins do for you?  Where can you get proteins?  What are fats?  What do fats do for you?  There was also a discussion of malnutrition, examples/pictures of children with malnutrition and how you can tell if a child is malnourished.

            At around 11:45 I walked over to the tuck shop.  There were 34 people in attendance at the workshop.  Figuring that half of a loaf was plenty for one person, I bought 17 loaves of bread.  I also bought juice mix.  Side note – This tuck shop must think I’m crazy!!  I constantly go there to buy 45+ lollipops when my classes have gotten all of their stickers for their sticker charts.  Now I was spending R100+ on bread and juice??  Maybe they’re just grateful for the business.  Or for the laugh that I provide.  The tuck shop worker was kind enough to drive me back to the church since I haven’t mastered carrying things on my head and well, 17 loaves of bread is a lot of bread.  Juice and bread was enjoyed by all.  In order to make sure not everyone left, Sindri and Winnie resumed the workshop after “tea time,” and held down the fort.  I ran home to make us sandwiches.

            Following the break, a whopping 27 people remained which was more than expected (I had assumed everyone would cut and run after food and drinks were given).  I am happy to say I was mistaken.  The second half of the day focused on reviewing what we had already learned, protective foods (fruits and vegetables), and vitamins.  A few women arrived around this time, expecting bread and juice.  This (aside from the late start) was the only frustrating part of the day for me.  There are often instances where people expect handouts, and this is not something that I am okay with nor will I do.  Just because I am white does not mean I have money trees in my backyard.  Wouldn’t that be swell?  Nevertheless, I was very pleased with how Day 1 went.  When we got back to my rondovel, Winnie, Sindri and I looked at the sign-in book.  Throughout the day 46 people had come!  Obviously not all of them stayed, but I was very impressed by the turnout.  For a non-compulsory workshop, this was great!

            Day 2 started a bit later.  Everyone in attendance on Day 1 had voted to start at 9 rather than at 8.  This makes sense since chores (fetching water, washing clothes, sweeping, taking the cows to the bush, etc.) tend to take place in the early morning hours.  I didn’t mind.  We slept in until 6:30 (I can’t believe I consider this sleeping in), had a leisurely breakfast, and headed over to the church.  I was even able to run to the school quickly and respond to a few journal entries from my grade 7 learners.  Attendance was, to say the least, a bit lower than Day 1.  5 community members showed up for Day 2.  Maybe the others didn’t prefer the flavor drink I had bought?  Maybe it was the heat of Day 2?  Either way, the 5 who attended were very enthusiastic and eager to learn which made me happy.  We started the day with a review.  I was thrilled to see how much information they had retained.  Next we moved to making our own food group posters.  Now the attendees could have something to take home with them, a souvenir from their Nutrition Workshop.  As Winnie and Sindri moved onto junk food, listing alternatives to cold drink and ma-zimba, I ran to the tuck shop and bought 2 loaves of bread, a bit more manageable to carry than 17 (and a bit easier on the wallet!). 

            Our “tea time” was very nice, and friendlier than the day before because of the change in numbers.  We were able to chat a bit and enjoy one another’s company.  Following the break, Sindri informed us of how much fruits and vegetables children should eat in a day, using her fists to show measurements.  Even I was learning!  Each of the women made a day’s menu for her child, according to age, and then shared it with the group.  I was really impressed with how well they had done.  I am hopeful they will adhere to what they wrote out.

            I truly believe that knowledge is always a step in the right direction, no matter how small.  I’d consider this workshop a success even if it did start late on both days and even if numbers fluctuated.  It allowed me to work with members of the community which I really enjoyed.  This isn’t something I’m able to do too often.  It also revealed to me just how much these women care about their children and the health of their families.  Towards the end of day 2, when Sindri was talking to the women, she mentioned how a child should have 2 tablespoons of protein a day (i.e. peanut butter).  One of the women was genuinely concerned.  Did she have to spoon feed the peanut butter or could she spread it on bread or mix it with porridge?  Sindri assured her that either way was fine, so long as the child was getting the necessary amount of peanut butter.  The people in my village want to do right by themselves and by their family.  They just need a little bit of help getting there.

            Maybe it’s naïve of me, but I believe that kindness makes this world go round.  If you do something nice, don’t necessarily ask that it be returned.  Just have faith that somehow it will come back to you, eventually.  What we put out there usually has much great returns which are often multiplied.  I was more than happy to help Sindri with the SOUNS workshop, and I’m raring to go to help again next year.  However, what she and Winnie did for the people in my village, bringing so much knowledge to grow strong and healthy children which will impact how they do in school and in their futures is far more than I could have ever asked for. Remember, xandla famba, xandla vuya.  You scratch my back, and I’ll scratch yours.

Le Rata,

Meg :)

Ke a Leboga (I am Thankful)

As you mash your potatoes, baste your Turkey, and slice the cranberry sauce, I will most likely be sleeping with my fan directly on me due to the 7 hour time difference and the +100° temperatures.  Not to worry, though.  This weekend, a bunch of PCV’s will be traveling to Polokwane where we will celebrate the great American holiday of Thanksgiving, my personal favorite holiday.  While it pains me to be away for yet another holiday and to miss our local Gobble Wobble for the 2^nd year in a row, I am happy to say I have much to be thankful for this year.  I’ve taken the liberty to list just some of the things I am thankful for.  I’ve chosen to be symbolic, listing something I am grateful for, for every month of my Peace Corps service, totaling 26 items.  I thought of doing days, but it’s been brought to my attention that I’ve been here for 502 days.  That would take a really long time and I doubt you’d want to read that much while the football game or the parade is on.

I am thankful for…

1.      My family who supports me no matter what.  I am so grateful for my Mom and Dad, all of my brothers and sisters, my nephews, my Aunts and Uncles, my cousins, and my Grandmom.

2.      My friends back home who I love just as dearly as if they were my family.  This includes my friends from high school, from university, from the Crew, from running, etc.

3.      My boyfriend, Nick, who is also my best friend, treats me like gold and makes me feel like a princess every time that I’m with him.

4.      My family here who gives me a place to call home and loving faces to come home to everyday.  I am so lucky to have my host mom who taught me how to hand wash my clothing and introduced me to the community, and my host brothers who won’t let me help fetch the water from the borehole and constantly make me laugh.

5.      The PCVs in my group and from other groups.  The support we give each other is incredible and the PCVs I work with have become like family to me.

6.      The Peace Corps Staff in South Africa who work hard to keep us safe.

7.      My learners who make even the toughest days worth it.

8.      My counterparts who teach me as I try to teach them, and show constant improvement.

9.      My principals who truly care about my wellbeing and help me to accomplish my projects and my goals.

10. My village which has taught me the beauty of simplicity and to slow down a bit.

11.  The people in my village who make me feel like I am on “Cheers,” where everybody knows your name, especially the Gogo’s and the kids.

12.  Wonderful people like Sue & Eddie, and Andreis & Fleur who insist on taking care of me and the other volunteers whenever they can.

13.  My education that I have learned not everyone is fortunate enough to receive.

14.  My health which has continued to stay in good standing despite what many of the sessions the PCMO’s (Peace Corps Medical Officers) led during training had me thinking.

15.  The opportunity to be a Peace Corps Volunteer – to learn a new language (or 2), learn a new culture, and have your life changed, while hopefully making an impact where you can.

16.  My two legs and my sneakers that allow me to run wherever I go.

17.  Getting to spend Christmas with my American family and my South African family, bringing my two worlds together.

18.  Realizing that I’ll never want to be a celebrity.

19.  Having my needs in life met – always having food on the table, having a roof over my head, shoes on my feet, clothes in my closet, etc.

20. Having projects that are going in a successful direction, and that I can see lasting once I am gone.

21.  Organizations like Mother Bear and Darien Book Aid that make our job as PCVs much easier.

22. My blackberry that keeps me in contact with family and friends back home, and helps me to do a lot of my work here.

23. My fan, my fridge, and my blender that make summer months here bearable.

24. Sunscreen.

25. The ability to cook for myself.  While pap is good occasionally, I could not eat it every day.

26. Knowing that I’ll be home for Thanksgiving next year.

Remember that Thanksgiving is a time to count your blessings, not your calories.  Dig in and enjoy everyone.

Le rata,

Meg :)

"I Hope That You Grow to the Size of an Elephant"

A few weeks back I celebrated my second South African Birthday, my 24^th Birthday in general.  Now, I could go on and tell you that the reason I am posting now now is that I have taken my time to write this blog post, reflecting on yet another year of my life, agonizing over every last comma and semicolon but I won’t do that, because, well, that would be lying.  These past weeks have been unexpectedly hectic and I am just now getting around to posting.  (Please notice my use of South African time here – “now now” and “just now.”)  Thanks for your patience everyone; I’m really just trying to get all of you accustomed to “African time.” 

 

I have, to be truthful, been spending a lot of time considering what it means to grow – on runs, while bucket bathing, during hours on taxis squished between Gogo’s.  By definition, to grow means “to increase in size; develop; become; cultivate.”  When we talk about growth, are we considering the external implications of growth or the internal ones?  Are we thinking about both concurrently?  While growth certainly occurs on the outside or is apparent to others – I used to get so excited with each extra inch when I was a kid – I think the more important growth is the one that we cannot see, at least not immediately.  It is one that occurs over time, without too much notice on the daily scale.

 

My second birthday here was interesting, to say the least.  It was a good birthday overall.  It landed on a Monday this year (and I always have a case of the Mondays).  The weekend prior I visited my good friend Jill’s site and we did a 20 mile run, resulting in a purple toenail…yum.  It came as quite the surprise to me that you can actually run for that long without food or water.  (Comfortable?  No.)  Following our run, we hobbled to Giyani to meet Mardy and Kelsey at Barceló’s for lunch.  Since Kelsey has banned us going to Wimpy’s except for milkshakes and coffee, this is our new “go-to” spot.  I guess the powdered eggs just didn’t do it for her.  Can’t say I blame her.  Kelsey gifted me with the movie “Sex and the City.”  I loved it because we had just finished all 6 seasons of the show and I was sad it was over.  Even more, though, I loved it because it was IRC property.  We’re such rebels.  Our great friends/caretakers in Giyani – Andreis and Fleur (owners of the Spar in town) – took me through the food store, strolling through every isle, filling my cart with a chocolate cake, all sorts of coffee, breakfast granola, and of course, a huge slab of chocolate.  The weekend ended with a small celebration at my home – Maggie (my host mom), Sylvia (my best friend in the village), Lebo (Sylvia’s daughter), Selena (my host aunt), Maggie (the woman across the street), and Tumelo (one of my host brothers) joined me as we enjoyed the cake from Spar and two cold drinks from our village’s Tuck Shop.  Throughout the celebration we watched a Nigerian film, of which I understood very little save for the fact that there were tsotsis somehow involved.  My family and friends sang for me, said prayers and gave speeches to me.  Sadly most of this was lost on me as I am not fluent in either Xitsonga or Sepedi.  Nevertheless, I smiled and nodded as I enjoyed my cake, thankful that my mouth was full of icing so I would not have to say anything.

 

The next morning (now my actual date of birth) I went for a nice run, and came back realizing that I had sweated my blackberry to death.  No matter what button I pressed the ensuing result was “aaaaaaa.”  Note – Blackberry’s do NOT cope with any type of bodily fluid.  I’ve learned this the hard way.  I went to school, taught my Grade 6 and 7 English classes (my Grade 6 learners even sung to me) and headed off to town to buy myself a birthday present – what I hoped would be an indestructible Blackberry.  So far, so good.  I haven’t taken the chance of sweating this one to death, and now learn to listen to my breathing as I run.  It’s no Beyonce, let me tell you.

 

My birthday flowed into the next day when I went to my other primary school.  I was sitting at the table that I share with Joyce, one of my counterparts.  Soon I was overwhelmed by Grade 6 learners.  “Ma’am, can we have some paper and crayons?  We want to make you birthday cards.”  I almost said no because of “Ma’am,” (being called Ma’am was my first external notice that I was now older) but I felt so loved that I handed over the stationary gladly.  Before I knew it, my half of the desk was inundated with cards filled with Mother’s Day stickers, Get Well Stickers, and heartfelt notes (the stickers all come from their work books).  In addition, one of the girls gave me what will always remain my most memorable gift: a roll of toilet paper, a pack of laundry pegs, and 2 glasses that I’m sure her guardian found missing soon after she left home.  All very practical and useful gifts.  Here are some snippets from my cards:

 

• “I love you more than the world.”
• “You must grow up like an elephant.”
• “I love you, like my mother as you, you are my mother at school mam you teach us a lesson.”
• “May God bless you.”
• “I am write this letter because I am happy for you.”
• “Be my favorite mem forever.  You are a great teacher to me, I don’t know to others.”
• “But next year, I will buy a cake for you.”
• “If you are not Nyeleti Don’t touch this paper because this paper is for Nyeleti it’s not yours.”
• “I think you are happy to enjoy your birthday with us, you are blessed to enjoy with us.”
• “How old are you?”

 

I hope these made you smile, as they did me.

 

The birthday festivities continued the following weekend as I headed to Nick’s site where I celebrated with Nick, Abby, and Kelsey.  Nick and Kelsey baked my favorite – carrot cake (well, cupcakes)!  Aside from chocolate, carrot cake is my dessert of choice.  Great job guys.  I enjoyed.  Nick surprised me with the largest mug ever created, Starbucks coffee, and chocolate (Twix AND Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups).  Abby treated us all to some frosty beverages which were much needed, and we cooked up chicken stir-fry.  I even had the pleasure of a shower and washing my clothes using the rinse cycle (Nick lives in the Posh Corps).  While we were here, I asked Abby to French-braid my hair following our morning run.  Now this might seem like a trivial point, but I assure you, it is not. She found, to my greatest of horrors, a GREY hair!!  Here it was: the greatest external implication of my birthday, of my growth that could happen.  My first grey hair.  I had her pull out that hair quicker than you can say Jack Robinson, and have been trying to forget about it ever since.  Obviously, that is not working well for me.

 

Despite the fact that my birthday is in the middle of October, it continued up through the 2^nd of November (Yay for Postal Strikes in South Africa)!  Many, many thanks to all of my friends and family back home for thinking of me and sending your love and warm wishes my way.  I don’t think I will need to buy coffee again while I am here, or at least not for a very long while.  Not that I’m complaining.

 

Now, back to my mulling over what it means to grow.  I know you’ve all been waiting anxiously.  On more than one occasion in the past month different people have told me “Africa is a very tough country.”  I am realizing this with each day that I am here.  I find myself butting heads with new challenges, amazed that I can find more after 16 months into service.  Yes Africa is a tough place.  I should know; I live here too.  I don’t think, however, that means that things can’t improve.  I don’t think that means we should give up on Africa.  That doesn’t mean that things can’t grow.  Heck, I attended a gardening workshop in the Kalahari!!  Things will grow, if you just give them time to.  Patience is a virtue; my parents always told me (cue the rolling eyes).

 

I look back to my 16 months here, and I often see instances of growth; these instances keep me going, remind me as to why I am here.  Just last week one of the teachers who I work with closely came up and gave me a catalogue on alternatives to corporal punishment to look at and add to my next workshop.  Maybe, just maybe my workshops are kicking in.  At our Scouts meeting last Wednesday, my counterparts were engaged, going around as the kids worked in their patrols.  One of the learners even said he was in Scouts “to be trusted and to be honest.”  My learners have now mastered (well, close to it) passing papers to the front of their row.  In a country that just recently came out of the Apartheid, joy filled my lungs (as well as heavy breathing) as I ran the hills of the Soweto Marathon surrounded by people of all races – whites, blacks, Indians.  These people, who years ago were separated by the Apartheid Government, cheered each other on mile after mile (kilometer after kilometer), chanted together – “Easy, Easy Wena” – in order to hit a certain time, and crossed the same finish line, hand in hand. With the toughness of this country, with the toughness of this continent, I too have become tougher.  I too find that I have grown.  I find myself instilled with a greater sense of self-confidence, I find myself having patience (something I lacked dearly back home), I find myself becoming a better teacher, and if something upsets me, you will hear about it unlike before where I was a bit of a Welcome mat. 

           

Maybe my vegetables aren’t growing (damn chickens, I really should have used fencing!), but other things are.  Maybe things like birthdays help us to realize how far we have come and help us to “check-in” with ourselves and with what we are doing in life.  Are we really growing, or are the numbers just increasing?  Maybe we need to set aside time to see that things are happening.  If we try to see change every day, frustration ensues (at least for me).  Things don’t happen overnight.  It takes time for growth and development. There is always room for improvement.  No one or thing is perfect.

 

Just as my learners told me to grow to the size of an elephant, which in my opinion is one of the gentlest, most magnificent animals out there, my hope is that one day we – myself, my family, my friends, my colleagues, my acquaintances, my country, my village, my schools, my learners, South Africa – will all grow to be as big as elephants.  I hope that we all grow to be the best that we can be.  Because, really, we can.

 

Le Rata,

Meg :)

Turning the Page - Chapter 2

I have recently returned from our group’s MST (Mid-Service Training).  Peace Corps scheduled our training over our school’s holiday during the first week of October so that we would not need to miss any school; this is nice since I often get aggravated with the DOE for pulling teachers out of school for trainings…wouldn’t want to be a hypocrite.  Once again, the training was a smashing success, and I say this with all sincerity.  I’ve really enjoyed our Pre-Service Training (PST), In-Service Training (IST), and Permaculture training (no acronym although I am sure Peace Corps is working on one), all of which have been held by Peace Corps.  Over the course of the week in Pretoria I had my physical check-up (glad to say I don’t have any parasites living inside of me), got my teeth cleaned (and simultaneously got yelled at for not flossing – come on, floss is pricey), received a new pair of glasses (I accidentally lost a pair some months back), and had some really motivating sessions with my SA24 group members.  I returned to site feeling refreshed, rejuvenated, and ready to get down to work.
Peace Corps has what they call as “PCV lifecycle chart” that charts the ups and downs of a volunteer’s service; we were introduced to this towards the beginning of our service.  I guess they wanted to brace us for our “highest highs and lowest lows.”  Now, I am not going to lie; heck, I only lie when I’m sleeping.  There are ups AND there are downs during the 26 months of service.  It’s like living on a roller coaster.  As they say, “it’s the toughest job you’ll ever love.”  This is true.  I wouldn’t say that I completely conform to this chart – I’ve had my ups where I “should” have downs, and I’ve had my downs where I “should” have ups, always wishing for the ups, always wishing to get out of the downs.  Sometimes, though, the chart does prove correct.  One of the downs on this chart comes right around 12-14 months in service, and I can affirm that the week prior to MST was a low point…break came right in the nick of time for me, just as it always seems to do.
Just to catch you up…I’ve always been a true believer in the saying that “a dog is a (wo)man’s best friend.”  Whoever said this first did not raise his/her dog in Africa.  As most of you know, a while back I got my own dog – Butch.  Now, as my close friends and family know (and chided me for, rightfully so) I was not the best at training Butch.  Not that this is an excuse, but I was really busy.  I let him jump, I let him follow me to school, I let him follow me to church, I baked him bread.  I was a sucker.  One thing I will say though is that I never trained him to be a mean dog.  He was always very friendly.  He was wonderful company.  Fast-forward a few months and I went to help with SA26’s training for a week.  Upon returning to site, Butch was attacking people – learners who would visit me, Gogos carrying bread on their heads passing by my house, relatives.  I couldn’t believe it.  I was constantly worried he would attack a small child or really hurt someone.  This was NOT okay.  Yes, I loved having Butch, but I love my village and the people in my village more.  I was distraught.  I knew something had brought on this behavior (dogs are not treated the same way here as they are in the states), but it was past that point.  It didn’t matter what had brought on this behavior since that was out of my control.  It didn’t help to harp on the fact that something had happened while I was gone.  I didn’t have time to be Miss Meghan the Detective.  It only mattered that this was affecting my standing in the village, my relationship with my host family, and to be totally frank, my level of stress.  I asked one of the teachers who I work with in the neighboring village if he knew anyone who would want a dog, and immediately he offered to take Butch for me, as he was looking for a “guard” dog for his business.  He was pleased to hear that Butch was biting.  The stress was finally being relieved.  However, I was still so ready for a break. 
While most volunteers don’t have their dipping points because of dogs (or at least not that I know of), they do have low points at this point in service nonetheless.  Why, might you ask?  It’s kind of like our mid-life crisis.  Now, we aren’t going to go out and buy a motorcycle (sadly we can’t afford it and we aren’t allowed to drive as volunteers).  We aren’t going to go and quit our job (remember, we’re volunteers).  We certainly aren’t going to go and buy a crazy hairpiece (many of us choose to shave our heads due to the annoyance of bucket bathing…don’t worry Mom I haven’t yet although I do consider it when it’s topping 100 degrees).  It’s not this type of mid-life crisis.  It’s mid-service crisis.  Reflection ensues.  What have I accomplished?  What do I still want to accomplish?  How can I accomplish these things in less than a year?  As Peace Corps Volunteers, most of us, by nature, are go-getters.  Some might call us over-achievers.  Some might say obsessive compulsive.  Name calling will get you nowhere in life.  The simple fact is that this crisis occurs.
MST seems to be the cure for this.  Maybe Peace Corps should change the acronym from Mid-Service Training to Mid-Service Treatment.  Just a suggestion.  The medical part of MST was nice, and made me feel confident that I’m quite healthy despite new and, at times, difficult living circumstances.  It made me happy to learn that I’ve lost a few pounds despite my carb-heavy diet.  The dental part took care of any damage all of the coffee, cold drink, and cool times have done on my teeth.  Going out with friends made me feel less like a grandmother (despite popular opinion) and more like a 20 something.  Catching up with my fellow PCVs made me realize we really are all in this together (cue “High School Musical”).  The week of showers reached any spots the bucket bath may not get to (just kidding…like I’ve said before, I’ve gotten quite good at bucket bathing).  The good food (how I love bad Chinese food and pizza) kept me satisfied until my next holiday.  More than anything, though, the sessions held by Peace Corps staff made me feel good about my service thus far and what I have to look forward to in the upcoming year. 
As a recap, here are a few of my proudest accomplishments in the past year…
• Surviving a South African summer with temperatures that sometimes exceed 42 degrees Celsius.
• Teaching the kids in my village “I am wonderful” or “I am awesome” rather than the generic “I am fine.”
• Learning to be okay when called “fresh” or “fat.”  It’s a compliment…really…
• Holding a girls camp with my fellow PCV and good friend, Jill on HIV/AIDS.
• Being accepted to receive 750 books for the high school in my village as well as one of the primary schools I am working with (thanks Kelsey for organizing the Books for Peace Project!)
• Starting the World Map Project and not falling off of the two tables I need to stand on to do so…so far.
• Teaching Rhulani, the girl across the street, how to blow kisses.
• Learning how to dance AND not caring if everyone is watching.
• Cooking for myself on a daily basis without relying on microwave dinners.
• Becoming an older sister to three brothers.
• Working with the Mother Bear Organization to provide bears to about 130 kids.
• Helping the school gardener to plant vegetables at the school.
• Beginning a Scout’s Troop at one of the primary schools.
• Working to train the newest PC group of Education volunteers – SA26.
• Writing pen-pal letters with a school in the states.  (Carrie, more are coming soon!)
• Finding a true friend in the village, someone I can speak with openly and visit if I have a problem.
• Establishing myself as “Sesi Naledi” or “Sesi Nyeleti” rather than “legkoa” or “mulungu” in my village.
So far, so good I’d like to think. 
BUT, there is still more that I want to do.  During the sessions, we had time to think about what we’d like to accomplish over the next year.  My OCD side went off and I thought EVERYTHING!!  Then I realized, slow down!  Make a list.  Side note – If you don’t know me, I really like making lists.  Here are some of the things I’d love to do in the next year…
• Strengthen existing relationships I have formed thus far.  (relationships with my host family, community, teachers)
• Finish the World Map (I really don’t want to write an extension for this project as it would be the saddest extension request ever!)
• Focus on the school libraries and organizing them once our books arrive.
• Increase teacher training and teacher workshops so as to focus on sustainability.
• Continue to build up Scouts.
• Hold a second camp.
• Instill the idea that a 35% is not acceptable, nor is it passing, and that all of the learners are capable of much, much more.
• Establish a book bag drive for my learners to receive secondhand book bags.
• Run the Soweto Marathon, the 2 Oceans Marathon, and possibly Comrades!?
• Succeed in doing a headstand (now that I can touch my toes, I need to up the ante). 
• Attempt to fund a community playground prior to COS.
One of our last sessions at MST had us discuss early COS (close of service) and extension possibilities.  With Peace Corps, if you are offered a job or have been accepted to grad school, you can COS 0-30 days early.  This is not something that I’ll be doing.  The grad school program I am interested in does not start until January, and I’d like to stay until my official COS date. 
Also with Peace Corps, you can choose to extend.  You can extend anywhere from the end of the school term to the end of the school year to another full year.  At this point in the conversation, wheels got to turning in my head.  The idea of extending was suddenly very attractive to me.  Imagine what I could do with more time here…These wheels became very slow after I Skyped with my adorable 4-month old nephew, Benjamin, 2 of my sisters, and my Mom.  Sure I’d love to consider extending here in South Africa.  I could accomplish so much more in that time.  However, my family means everything to me.  It kills me that I have yet to meet Jeannine and Elliot’s Ben Burrito.  It kills me that I’ll miss Erin’s first marathon and my Mom’s first half-marathon.  It kills me that I’m not there planning every detail of Kim’s wedding.  I’ve always been close to and I’ve always valued my family.  During my time here I have realized just how lucky I am to be in the family I am and to have the friends that I have.  The thought of being away from them for another year is just too much to bear.  (My parents are probably thinking, Meghan, student loans are calling your name!!)  I know, I know.  Hence another reason I most likely will not extend.  Do I have responsibilities here?  Sure.  I work every day to meet these responsibilities.  I can find so much work to do here, work that could keep me going for far more than a year.  Once my 26 months of service is complete, I feel that I need to get back home and return to what calls me there – my family, my friends, and the need to make a real income. 
I guess the wheels still have some time to turn…
For now, though, I’m looking forward to year 2 of my Peace Corps service.  I’m excited to write this next chapter, with the optimism that it will be just as good/fruitful as the first.  I hope you have enjoyed chapter 1, and I hope you keep reading as I write chapter 2.

Le Rata,
Meg 

A Slice of the Cake

In life, no matter who we are, we are born into a set of circumstances.  Rich.  Poor.  Middle class.  Haves.  Have-nots.  The list goes on.  Regardless of who you are, you are born into a certain situation.  While some of us get the so called big slice of the cake that is life, with the delicious and beautiful icing flowers on top, others seem to get a smaller slice, with a bit less of the confectionary sugary goodness, sometimes, sadly, with none at all.  Now, when we are young, we don’t get much say in the matter in terms of our circumstances.  What can we do at such a young age?  Impress the adults around us by uttering our first word.  Amaze our parents when we finally take our very first, somewhat wobbly steps.  Animate everyone that we are finally potty trained.  Try not to digest too many buggers.  Pick fights with our siblings just because we’re bored.  There is not too much we can do in terms of taking control of the surroundings we are born into.  Until we are older, we really can’t decide whether or not we will let these circumstances dictate who we are in life.

There has always been the idea of nature versus nurture.  Is it our environment that determines who we will be in our lives?  Or is it our upbringing, the care we receive at a young age that decides our future selves?  I’d have to believe that it’s a little bit of both.  I can’t stand to think that someone who is born into a life of virtually nothing (in terms of wealth) cannot rise to the top and make something of him or herself.  It happens every day.  People rise from the very bottom to the very top in life, making themselves something great, something immensely successful.  (If you haven’t read or seen The Pursuit of Happiness please stop reading my blog and pick this treasure up.  You will be glad that you did.  Don’t worry, my blog isn’t going anywhere).  I hope the learners I teach understand that just because wealth (as in material and monetary wealth) is not surrounding them, it does not mean that they cannot become something great.  Something incredible.  They can.  I see it in them every day.  I see it in their journal entries responding on what they would do as the president of South Africa.  I see it in their vocabulary tests, the scores slowly but surely going up.  I see it in their faces as that light bulb finally goes off, as that “aha!” moment finally happens for them.  All of them have the opportunity to be triumphant in this world.

For me, I was handed a pretty big slice of cake in life.  I was born into a loving, above middle-class family, with parents who were ready, and willing, to give my siblings and me the world on a silver platter.  They did just that.  I was blessed with a nice house, plenty of healthy food (although I refused to eat my green beans until the age of 20), warm clothes, a top notch education, and more.  I was missing some much needed icing in the father department, but even that changed when Jack came into our lives.  I guess you could say that I hit the “Jack”pot.  There was never an “I need” in my household.  Heck, there weren’t even many “I wants” in my household.  When there were “I wants” I am embarrassed to reflect on the childish way I acted, miff with my parents that they weren’t ready to buy me that $75 t-shirt that was the hottest item around.  I mean the 10 that were already in my closet and collecting dust obviously were not enough…

I always realized that I was lucky.  However, it never occurred to me just how lucky I was until the other day when my best friend in the village, Sylvia, told me that it was her daughter’s birthday in a few days.  Just to describe Sylvia a little bit, this woman is one of the most incredible women I have ever met.  She is kind, trusting, and giving.  Working for one of the primary schools where I have been placed, Silvia has raised her daughter, who is now in grade 1, single-handedly.  She fell pregnant in grade 11 during high school, and without any help, had to drop out of school.  The father offered no assistance, and continues to withhold support of any kind.  Now, 7 years later, Silvia is enrolled in ABET (Adult Based Education Training) trying to make up for the education she missed years ago.  She is the hardest worker in my village.  She is enthusiastically helping me to get Scouts off the ground and running at my one primary school, and we are doing this successfully so far I might add, thanks to her undying dedication.  Long story short, when I expressed my excitement about her daughter’s upcoming birthday, she seemed a bit down.  Sylvia explained to me that recently, due to government expenses and cuts in the school budget, her salary (she is paid by the school, the SGB – the School Governing Body – working as the Administrative Assistant at the school) has been cut back from R1, 000 to R700 per month.  If you do the math this is under $100 a month.  Her excitement had been dampened by the knowledge that she would not be able to afford a birthday cake for her daughter until the end of the month…I was shocked to say the least.

This got me to thinking back to my birthday parties and other celebrations from the time of my childhood to just before coming to South Africa.  When I was a kid, I had birthday parties that featured magic jumping castles and birthday parties thrown at Chucky Cheese (even though the giant rats scared the hell out of me!).  As I got older, I had birthday parties with Mary Kay makeup demonstrations, birthday parties with white chocolate martinis (obviously at a legal age), birthdays where my Mom and my Aunt drove from Philadelphia all the way to Boston for the night, birthdays again where my Mom made the 6 hour journey just to make baked ziti in my apartment for my closest friends and me, birthday celebrations at Sunset Cantina with tins of cookies, birthday parties where delicious cakes were carried for hours on khombis, and birthday parties at game reserves in South Africa.  The celebrations were great, but oh, the cakes.  The cakes were my favorite part!  From an Ariel to a Princess Cake (that I believe caused a microwave fire…) to an African inspired cake, they were all wonderful.  And delicious.  That doesn’t even begin to describe the festivities.  The presents were just as plentiful as the variety of birthday parties and cake flavors I had over my years.  I literally had it all.  And more.  And I always made sure that I had a big slice of the cake.  Sometimes two.  I never fully appreciated something seemingly as simple as a birthday party until recently.  Not everyone has the luxury of a birthday party.  Not everyone has the luxury of gifts.  Heck, some don’t even have the luxury of a birthday cake. 

I’ve started to open my eyes to the world around me.  I mean, really open up my eyes and take a good hard look at my life, my surroundings in the village.  I am in a rather rural, remote site.  Even when comparing my situation to the other PCV’s in my group, my village is pretty basic.  Pretty simplistic.  Not that I’m complaining.  I love it.   To give you a better idea… In order to get to and from my closest shopping town on Sundays I need to hike (take a bakkie/truck) from my village in order to get to the main tar road that is about 10k from me in the hopes of getting a taxi.  This happens on other days of the week as well since transport is pretty far and few between here.  Part of my village lives without any electricity at all.  This means cooking over the fire, and when it is cold, heating water over the fire for bathing.  Most of the families I know do not have a car.  Everyone relies on public transportation (the khombis), which as I noted above isn’t that reliable for us.  There are families of 4 or more in my village who live in a house comparable to the size of my rondavel that is made for one.  There are learners who have told me they hardly ever eat chicken or meat because their family cannot afford it.  Pap is the staple food here simply because it is inexpensive to buy.  The schools are mandated by the Department of Education to feed the learners at 10 in case they came to school hungry.  The kids push around old tires for fun, and make the niftiest wire cars for toys.

Even with the circumstances mentioned about, especially in reference to my close friend Sylvia, the people here do not seem bothered by the fact that they do not have a lot.  They are happy with their “slice of the cake,” no matter how small it may be.  They don’t seem to be missing any icing in life.  They continue to be some of the warmest, giving, and loving people I have ever met.  Even with the little that they have, they share.  They always give their best to you in order to make sure you are content.  Maybe it’s because they don’t know anything else.  Maybe it’s because they realize you only need the basics to get by.  I’m not really sure.  I reflect on the fact that I’m here for a little over 2 years.  They are here for a lifetime. 

Despite all of this, I continue to find myself using the phrase “I want.”  (I have gotten better since getting here, learning to live more with what I need rather than what I want, but still, I have a long way to go.)  I want a shower.  I want Starbucks.  I want to go to JCrew.  What I need is to get rid of “I want.”  I can get clean just fine with a bucket bath (I do, don’t worry).  I can get by on instant coffee.  And, despite the holes in my clothes that seem to say otherwise, my closet is plenty full.  Heck, when I do laundry, the clothes on the line take up more space than most family’s clothes do.  Is it bad to want sometimes?  If we can, is it okay to want?  Is it okay to want when there are others who need?

I really don’t know the answers to these questions.  I’m still trying to find out.  I’m still trying to cope with the fact that as I get by on a nutritionally balanced diet, and even get supplemented with gifts of Reeses and Dunkin Donuts coffee, there are kids right next door who go to bed with empty stomachs.  I really don’t think it’s a sin to want.  I don’t think that it’s terrible to spoil yourself and those that you love if you can.  If you work for what you have, and if you have earned your share of the cake, you should certainly have your cake and eat it too.  Here’s my thing.  My take on the cake.  For those of us who are lucky enough to have that big slice of cake, we need to be sure to share with those who got the thinner slice.  After hearing about Lebo’s birthday and Sylvia’s dilemma, I baked banana bread.  I made a card.  I bought a dot to dot coloring book and a box of crayons.  It was really the least that I could do after all Sylvia has done for me.  She has made me feel welcome beyond belief, and has made me feel at home.  She was my first true friend in the village when everything was so foreign and new to me.  I know that she is always there for me.  All I can say is that box of crayons and the coloring book are the best purchases that I have made in years.  Seeing Lebo’s smile was priceless.  I say enjoy the cake you have been given.  However, let’s be sure to share our slice of the cake.  After all, there’s certainly enough to go around.

Le rata,

Meg :)