Mi famba kahle Tata Madiba

What is a hero?  

This is the question I have asked my students to condsider and reflect on over the past few weeks.  Courageous, brave, selfless, helpful, and strong were just a few of the responses I received as we began reading literature across time, looking at different heroes throughout our readings.  Beowulf, a knight in shining armor,  Sir Gawain and the green knight, and King Arthur are a few of the characters we have been and will be reviewing to determine whether or not they fit the definition of a hero.  Are these men glorified?  Are they on some type of a quest or a journey?  Are they ethical?  Are they strong? 

When we started our unit, I asked my students to write a journal on their own hero.  They could write about someone in their lives or choose to write about a current superhero.  What makes him or her a hero?  What qualities does this person embody that fits the definition of a hero?  If the person is real, how has he or she impacted you?  Some chose to write about Martin Luther King.  Others chose to write about Superman.  Still, others wrote about their parents, their aunts and uncles, or their grandparents.  

It struck me as coincidental that as we began our new unit on heroes one of the greatest men of all time passed away.  On December 5th, 2013, the world lost a wonderful person, an incredible inspiration, the father to a nation, Nelson Mandela.  Tata Madiba, Father to South Africa, had been sick for some time.  I am surprised he lasted as long as he did, and we are all blessed to have had him around for 95 years.          

Here, I write my own journal.  Nelson Mandela is a hero.  There is no doubt in my mind on that.  I won't go into too many details on Mandela's past.  If you have read his "A Long Walk to Freedom," you know that Nelson Mandela served 27 years in prison on Robben Island for trying to fight against the Apartheid.  The Apartheid, the system of racial segregation in South Africa, led to racism, poverty, and racial inequality across the country.  Due to Mandela's opposition to the Apartheid and his attempts to sabotage the Apartheid government, he was arrested.  He spent much of his life in a single cell, adorned only with the bare minimum: a place to sleep.

In 1990, Mandela was freed and in 1994, became South Africa's first black president.  His efforts focused on reconciliation of the nation.  Through sports and collaboration with other powerful individuals, Nelson Mandela was able to succeed in many of his efforts, such as gaining back land for those who had lost theirs during the Apartheid.  He was able to bring the country closer together after such an onerous time.  He gave hope to a country and to people after such a dark time in South Africa's history.

Does South Africa still have a long way to go?  Yes.  During my time in South Africa, I was often shocked by the racism I witnessed.  I was constantly singled out because of the color of my skin, assumed to have money because I was a "mulungu," a "lekgoa."  I was sometimes sickened by the courtesies I received and others didn't because of my white color.  I was often saddened by the extreme poverty, the extreme hunger I saw.  Young children with distended stomachs because of malnutrition. Pap eaten day after day, meal after meal because of necessity.  Families forced to sleep on blankets because there was not enough money for beds.  I was often discouraged by the racial inequality in the country.  Mansions and RDP houses within mere kilometers of each other.  

Despite all of this, it could be much, much worse.  Without men like Mandela, South Africa could be years behind where it is today.  South Africa has hope because of Mandela.  Places like Cape Town, Pretoria, and Durban make it apparent that South Africa is headed in the right direction.  There is first world in South Africa.  Sure, South Africa has a way to go.  There is still great economic disparity.  But, if it weren't for what Nelson Mandela started in 1994, South Africa would be in a much different, and much worse place than it is today.  Thanks to Mandela, South Africa is en route to a place without racism, without poverty, without racial inequality.  

This will not happen without hard work.  The country owes it to Tata Madiba to continue to work towards his vision of a better and reconciled country.  The country needs to embrace differences and embrace the beauty that exists in the truly rainbow nation it is.  The country needs to embrace the 11 national languages and cultures rather than let such differences continue to be a divider.  The country owes it to Nelson Mandela to let him rest in peace with the knowledge that his children will continue to make South Africa the beautiful country it is.

Is Mandela glorified?  Yes.  Not only do the people of South Africa love and worship Mandela, but people all around the world recognize his greatness and all he has done.  Every year, on his birthday, on July 18th, South Africa celebrates "Mandela Day."  My schools always celebrated Mandela Day by doing good deeds for others and teaching what Mandela did for the country.  Songs were sung, dances were performed, and plays were created all in honor of Tata Madiba.  Mandela was honored for all he did with recognition up to and including the Nobel Peace Prize.  Is Mandela or was Mandela on a quest, a journey?  Yes.  Mandela wanted reconciliation and an end to the Apartheid Regime.  He accomplished this and his dream still continues today.  Is Mandela ethical?  Without a doubt.  Mandela could have come out of his time on Robben Island angry and with revenge.  He didn't.  He was moral and kind.  He did all he could for the good of the country.  Not just for a certain group of people, but for everyone.  For ALL of his children.  Is Mandela strong?  Mandela proved his strength through a long life full of good deeds and mental strength throughout his 27 years on Robben Island.

Thanks for all you did Tata Madiba.  Now, go well.  Rest well.  Mi famba kahle Tata Madiba.

Le rata,
Meg 

Back on your Feet

6:30 am.  Freezing cold.  Coffees in hand.  About to open the door.  Then the phone rings.  "Mom, I'll call you right back."  "Honey, everything is okay."  How that phrase still exists, I'll never understand. It only causes us alarm, immediate worry.  If everything was truly okay, why would someone say that?  "What is it?"  "Erin...she's been hit by a car."  Tears fall.  Throat closes.  Stomach clenches.  Panic.  My sister, my best friend.  But...everything is okay.  It had to be.  It was.  Thank God.

Runners seem to have this idea that they are unstoppable.  I know I do.  Ask one of my best friends, my running buddy, Katie.  I used to dodge cars in Boston like it was my job.  Nothing can be wrong on a crisp morning.  Just you, your sneakers, and maybe a running companion.  Nothing can ruin that.  Or, so I used to think.  Following Erin's accident, I've been more aware.  More aware that there are other things out there.  Cars to watch out for.  Deer to share the path with.  Bikers to dodge.  Enjoy the sound of your breath, enjoy the pounding of your heart, enjoy the crunch of the leaves as your feet make contact.  At the same time, be aware of your surroundings.  Be aware that, unfortunately, you aren't invincible.  

Life could have changed in an instant.  Luckily, it didn't.  I still have my red-headed, stubborn right hand lady.  My sister, my best friend from childhood.  The girl who I sang lullabies to, poor kid.  No wonder she was always crying.  The girl I shared clothes with through high school whether she knew it or not.  The young woman I share all of my secrets and hopes with.  One of my favorite people to share runs with.  My person.  I thank God everyday she's okay.  That we're okay.  

I've always been somewhat stubborn.  I don't think I'm terribly stubborn, but I know I can be sometimes.  I'd like to think this isn't a terrible trait, and that I passed this characteristic onto my sister.  When she told me she had the goal of running by December 1st, I stifled my disbelief.  No way! I thought.  When I saw her in mid-October she could barely walk from one store to the next.  Nick and I had to laugh when she hobbled into Panera for lunch.  Then, one day she calls and tells me she walked for 45 minutes.  Great progress.  Nothing in comparison to the 3 miles she ran two days later.  Incredible.  No one would stop her.  No one would take her off of her feet, or take away from her, our, greatest passion.  Running.  

Erin's accident occurred when she was training for the Philadelphia Marathon.  As our training progressed and times, miles, and mile splits were compared, I was sure she'd cream me when the day came.  While it was unfortunate we didn't have that chance, she blew everyone's minds as well as the half marathon field finishing in an impressive time.  I have no doubt she would have kicked my butt had she run the full.  Who has a terrible accident and can still do a half faster than most people who have trained without interruption for 8+ weeks?  In addition to doing her half, Erin found me at mile 25 and ran into the finish with me.  I'm pretty certain I resembled her hobble into Panera just a month earlier towards the end.  While my grumpiness and fatigue may have come across otherwise, I couldn't have been happier having her run in with me.  As the crowd cheered, "Go, Erin!" towards the finish line, I realized she was the true winner, the true champion.  I can't wait to run a full with her, giving her the chance to beat me.  I'm hopeful my own stubbornness and competitive nature won't allow her to beat me, but we'll see.  We'll see come April as we run Boston, side by side, step by step, stride by stride.

When life knocks you down, you can't stay down.  You've got to get back on your feet.  You've got to prove to yourself that you can do it, if you truly set your mind to it.  No one can tell you no except for yourself.  Never say never.  Stay stubborn.  Get back on your feet, no matter how bad it may seem.  

Meg :)

--

Meghan K. Downey
B.S. English Education, Boston University

Northern Guilford High School:

English Teacher

Assistant Cross Country Coach

Was it all just a Dream?

As I sip on my steaming pumpkin spice latte, taking in the smell of the crisp fall weather on an October morning, I think to myself, “Was it all just a dream?”  As I drive to school in my beloved Babs, a short commute of just 15 minutes away, stopping for busses and stoplights, I think to myself, “Was it all just a dream?”  As I key into my own classroom filled with bright color, decorations and technology, and prepare for the day ahead, I think to myself, “Was it all just a dream?”  Then, it all comes back.  The longing for a South African sunset at the end of a long day.  The dread of dusting my rondavel yet again.  The sweaty, cramped, and seemingly endless taxi rides to see Nick.  It was not all a dream.  I am so thankful that it was not just a dream.  

After being stopped by airport security to inspect my grass broom and my mat, both gifts from Maggie, my host mother in South Africa, the man at Agriculture asked if I had been in contact with any cattle during my time in South Africa.  I stifled my laughter as well as my tears, thinking of all of the cows I passed on my way to school on a daily basis, and told the man I had never been in “direct” contact with any cattle.  Sure there were a few close calls, but my neighbors always saved me.  I never stopped and pet the cows, that's for sure.  My family was just a few minutes away, right through the doors after customs, and I couldn’t wait much longer to see them.  I really did not want to discuss cattle.  After all, it had been over two years and then about 20 hours.  It had been a long trip home, and I was ready to see everyone who made home home.  

The milkshakes at Nifty’s were sweet; the hello’s even sweeter.  It was like I never left, like I had just been there.  I’ll never forget passing through the doors at the airport, being welcomed by my loved ones.  Tears were shed, pictures were taken, grass brooms and mats questioned.  As I chowed down on my first American meal, sipping the extra-thick chocolate shake and savoring the spicy cheese chicken nuggets, I couldn’t help but reflect on how lucky I was.  My family as well as Chibby, my best friend, had all come to welcome me home.  This may have been the best day ever.  All of these people were so happy I was home.  I was so happy to be home.  

Since arriving back to the states, I’ve been asked a few times about how the transition back has been.  “Has it been difficult?”  I always respond that clean water from a tap, a Dunks AND a Starbucks down the street, and hot showers aren’t hard commodities to return to.  Add family, friends, and running trails, and I’m on Cloud 9.  However, there are days that are difficult, that I really miss my life in South Africa.  While I can’t say I miss the constant stares, the blazing temperatures, or the cramped kombi rides, the aspects of life as a PCV in South Africa that I do miss are numerous.  I miss the people: my host family, my friends, and my colleagues.  I miss the craziness that eventually became normalcy: the dancing Gogo’s, the roosters on my roof, and the kids petting Nick’s arm hair.  I miss the simplicity: taking the time to talk to people and really getting to know them, enjoying the small celebrations in life, and eating with your hands.  I miss all of the small stuff that I never really appreciated while I was there.  I miss my stoven.  I miss my bucket bath.  I miss my broken wardrobe.  Most of all, I miss the sound of my kids’ laughter as they played games with rocks in the street.  I miss the shouts of “sesi Naledi!!” as I would run past them.

Don’t get me wrong, I am extremely happy to be back in the states.  I love being able to pick up the phone and call my family and friends whenever the mood strikes.  My parents and siblings might get annoyed with my 2+ phone calls a day, but deep down, I think they really enjoy it.  I love being able to spend more time with Nick and not having to see him after a 6+ hour sweaty taxi ride.  I love the conveniences we are blessed to have.  All of these things I appreciate so much more.

Sometimes I worry that my time in South Africa will become a dream, a distant memory.  I’m hopeful that this will not happen.  Nick and I have each other to talk about our time in South Africa.  We also have our other fellow RPCV’s.  With the wonders of whatsapp, Facebook, and Skype, I’m able to speak to my family and friends back in South Africa.  More than anything, South Africa will not become a dream because I came back a different person than when I left for South Africa.  While I may have left South Africa, South Africa will never leave me.

As far as how I’m doing, I’m loving life.  I love my teaching job as well as my coaching job.  Both my students and my colleagues make my 12+ hour days go quickly.  I'm running and shopping at JCrew - life is good.  I feel blessed to be where I am and to have the opportunities I have.  I feel so lucky to have had the chance to go to South Africa, and I can’t wait to return again.

For the meantime, don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten about the blog.  I’ll keep writing, I promise.  I’ll leave you with a short story that made me realize South Africa will never just be a dream.  I asked a colleague of mine how she was doing.  Her response took me aback when she said, “I’m here.”  In South Africa, you never say, “I’m great” or “I’m okay.”  The literal translation of “re hona” is “I’m here.”  

Readers, I’m here.

Lots of love,
Still and Always Naledi

It's Not Goodbye...It's I'll See You Later

“Tears are the noble language of eyes, and when true love of words is destitute. The eye by tears speak, while the tongue is mute.”
― Robert Herrick

A little over two years ago, I wrote my first blog post.  It was right before I left for staging in D.C. and right after I had said the majority of my goodbyes.  In it, I wrote that “saying goodbye is never an easy thing.”  I still stand by this statement, maybe even more so now than before.  A little over two years ago, the train conductor, a total stranger, performed the first of many acts of Ubuntu that I would experience over the next two years.  Seeing our tears and prolonged hugs, he allowed my parents to take me down to my train where we would need to part as I started my journey to South Africa...

 

Two years later…My Peace Corps Service has been one of the most incredible, life changing experiences.  I’ve met people who will stay with me forever.  I’ve learned more about teaching and more about myself than I ever thought possible.  I’ve been given the opportunity to travel to some of the most beautiful places in South Africa.  I can’t believe that it is over.  There were tough times and days that I never thought it was going to end, sure, but the good times definitely outweighed them.  I never imagined that this part of my service would be the hardest…saying my goodbyes.  Saying goodbye to my village and my schools was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever had to do.  Two years ago, we were strangers.  Now we are sisters, neighbors, friends, colleagues, family.  Everyone I’ve grown to come to know and love I’ve had to say my farewells to.   These are the people who took me into their community, and made me a part of them.  They are, and always will be a part of me.  I am forever grateful.  

You know, it’s interesting how things always seem to come full circle.  Over the school holiday in July, Nick and I traveled to our PST training site to say farewell to our host families from our first two months in country.  We both wanted to see the people who took us in from the very beginning once more before setting off for America.  During my weekend with my host family I realized how far I have come in just two years.  Silly things like not having toilet paper didn’t bother me anymore – use newspaper.  Situations I used to find awkward weren’t.  I didn’t mind writing to my host family’s church thanking them for all they had done for me, because I knew it meant a lot to my host mother.  I even found it humorous as the kids gawked over Nick’s arm hair.  I couldn’t have asked for a better weekend.  I spent the first day with my host niece and nephew trying to keep them occupied with playing cards and drawing (back to the days of babysitting), the first evening eating dinner and watching “Teen Mom” with my host sisters telling them I hope I don’t ever see them on the show, the next day with the entire family watching my host brother’s wedding video (albeit for an entire 24 hours), and the rest of the time just reminiscing on my first days and weeks in South Africa.  Tears sprang to my eyes as I noticed the enlarged picture of the Charles River framed on their wall – “Boston University, U.S.A.” they had typed.  More tears came when looking at my host brother’s wedding album and wedding video where I saw Nick and I highlighted in both more than once.  These people have become my family and being with them was so nice.  I’ve realized that I’ll always be a part of their family as they will be mine no matter the time or the distance.

The last week in my village, I tried to soak up everything I could.  I seemed to cry at the slightest thing as I realized I only had days left in what had become my home, my community during my time here.  I tried to memorize the sunset as I washed my dishes.  I tried to really feel the ground beneath my feet as I did my final runs in the village.  I tried to listen to the roosters and donkeys just once more…they made sure they were heard at every hour between 10pm and 6am.  

As I packed up my rondavel and said goodbye to a lot of my things (I can’t get over how much stuff I accumulated during my time here!), I also said goodbye to my 8-legged roommates.  I said goodbye to my faithful pee bucket and my bucket bath.  I’m hopeful that I’ll have a toilet and a shower in America.  I said goodbye to the dust in my room and my handmade book shelf.  I said goodbye to my lifesaving fan and my fridge that was held together by Band-Aids.  Daddy long-legs and company, I’m sorry to say, I won’t miss you too much.  Thank you for staying on my walls and never climbing into my bed…at least not that I know of. 

The toughest goodbyes came on the day that I left my village.  Just yesterday, I said goodbye to my village and my two schools, Lekgwareng Primary and Ndzhovela Primary.  Tears flowed like a faucet as I hugged my colleagues, my host family, my neighbors, my best friends, and my students.  Tears flowed as I gave Rhulani one last kiss and hug, as she looked on confused by the scene of departure around her.  Tears even flowed as I pet Jack, my faithful running companion one last time.  It was the first time in my stay here that I saw tears flow from the people in my village which made me cry all the more.  I was lucky to have Sue and Eddie (two more people I do not want to say goodbye to), two of the kindest human beings I know, who were incredibly thoughtful to travel to my village, see where my home was, and take me to Pretoria for all of my closing appointments.  Things would have been much more emotional, and much, much more uncomfortable, had I had to cram into a taxi for 6+ hours following my farewells.

As I’ve said my goodbyes, I’ve reflected quite a lot on my time here.  In our Peace Corps “life-cycle charts,” it explains that feelings of uncertainty will arise during this time.  This and many other emotions have come up over the past few weeks.  I’m on the emotional roller coaster – excitement, sadness, uncertainty, nervousness, stress, worry.  You name it; I’m sure I’ve felt it or will.  I wonder, have I done enough during my time here?  Could I have done more?  When I signed up for the Peace Corps and when I first met my community and schools, I had grandiose visions, as do many incoming volunteers.  I was going to change the school system here and turn everything around completely.  I was going to move mountains if it killed me.  Everyone was going to like me and become motivated.  If only I had magical powers and a wand…These expectations soon changed and I, as well as my goals, became more realistic.  I’d do what I could and I’d help who wanted help.  A few people helped me as I came to terms with my readjusted vision.  I am only one person, after all.  I’d like to think I’ve done some good in my time here.  Among my proudest accomplishments include the relationships I’ve formed with my host family and other members of the village, the teachers and students I’ve helped, the Library I helped to create, the Scouts Troop I established, the camps I held for my kids, and the other volunteers I’ve helped to train.  Can I go home happy with this?  Yes.  Is there still work to do?  Yes.  But, it’s time to pass the baton.

More than anything and something I never really expected when I signed up to do Peace Corps, I think I have gained the most from my time here.   I’ve grown a lot since I first stepped off of the airplane in Joburg.  I’ve met amazing people who will stay with me forever: other PCV’s, people I’ve worked with, people in my community.  I’ve learned two different languages and I’ve become conversational in both.  I’ve learned about different cultures, and I’ve had the opportunity to become a part of a culture and a new community.  I’ve eaten with my hands and I’ve gone termite picking (those things bite!).  I’ve eaten bugs and worms and I’ve become a rather good cook so I don’t need to eat them on a regular basis.  I’ve learned kindness like no other, when someone without floors or beds gives you your favorite fruit just because they know you like it.  I’ve learned what it means to be humble.  I’ve found that it’s much better to give than to receive.  I’ve learned so much about myself and the world around me.  I’ve had the chance to run into a South African sunrise and to read a book while watching a South African sunset.  I’ve had kids run up to me shouting my name just because they’re excited to see me; I’ll never forget “Meghanee!!”.  If that doesn’t bring a smile to your face, I don’t know what will.  I’ve learned to appreciate the small things in life and the beauty of simplicity.  I’ve realized just how wonderful hot showers are and how I can’t wait to take one every day.   I’ve realized just how much I love my family and friends, and how I can’t wait to be with them again and only a drive away (7 hours isn’t too bad).  I’ve realized that people are more alike than different, and that if we look to the similarities rather than the differences, we’d be much better off.  I’ve learned how blessed I am with the family and country I was born into.  Being a female in America is more than I could have ever asked for.  Top that off with a great education system and a really good government (go Obama!); I’d say I couldn’t be any luckier.  I’ve gained lifelong friends both through the Peace Corps and my community.  Heck, I’ve met the love of my life.  I made out pretty well.

 

Earlier this week, I was told terrible news.  My best friend Sylvia informed me that one of the grade 6 learners at my school, one of my Scouts, passed away in a car accident along with her Mother and her younger brother.  Shock, disbelief, anger, and sadness overcame me.  During my last few days in the village, this got me thinking quite a lot about “goodbyes.”  While some goodbyes are final and don’t even allow for a farewell, such as Mahlatse’s, others are not absolute.  My goodbyes, I hope, are not forever.  I’ve promised myself and those I love that I will come back in a few years once I’ve saved enough.  Sure I will miss my family and friends here, but I’ll be back.  It isn’t goodbye, really.  It’s just, I’ll see you later. 

If it’s okay with you, dear readers, I’d prefer not to end on a sad note.  This will not be a “goodbye” post.  During my time here, I’ve realized how much I enjoy writing.  It’s therapeutic and I’ve been told that some people enjoy reading what I write.  So, be excited, the blog will continue.  I hope the reading will continue too.  I’ll continue writing as I continue on with my adventures and as I re-integrate into American life.  I fly out of South Africa on July 20^th and land in Philadelphia on July 21^st.  I’ll be home for 2 weeks before packing the bug, my faithful Babs, and moving to North Carolina on August 5^th.  I will be teaching Grade 12 English and I couldn’t be more excited.  I’m hopeful that I won’t need to write anymore stories about pit latrines or bugs bigger than my hand, but I’m sure I’ll find some things to write about. 

Turn your radios up everyone, because it’s going to be a Party in the USA when I’m home and I can’t wait to give you all hugs and kisses, and say HELLO!

See you soon America.

Love,

Meg :)

                                                              

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             

 

The Ultimate Human Race

87 kilometers.  54 miles.  Durban to Pietermaritzburg.  The “Up” run.  A start of 5:30 am.  A journey with 18,000 other runners from all walks of life.

14,414.90 kilometers.  8,957 miles.  Collegeville to Lekgwareng Village.  The PCV life.  A start of July 8, 2011.  A journey with 54 other Americans from the 50 nifty states.

On Sunday, June 2^nd, I participated in the Comrades Marathon.  Comrades, an ultra marathon that is famous in South Africa, had called my name from my very first day in South Africa.  I am a runner and this is the ultimate running challenge.  I had to give it a go.  What made me bite the proverbial bullet after all this time?  Last year I was lucky enough to go and watch the race.  As much as I enjoyed cheering on my family friends Eddie, Cliff, and Tim, I wanted to be the one running.  I wanted to be the one with pre-race jitters and post-race soreness.  I was green with envy as they hobbled around the next day (strange, maybe, but runners will understand)!  Even after seeing the crowded medical tent and zombie-like beings who came out at the finish, I decided this crazy race was for me.

It’s interesting that Comrades fell right towards the end of my service.  With less than 100 days in country, time is ticking.  Being two back to back marathons and then 2 more miles (still thinking like an American rather than two 42’s and then 3 kilometers), Comrades resembled my Peace Corps Service quite nicely – two years and two months.  While the first marathon/year went by rather slowly, sometimes feeling like snail’s pace, the second marathon/year flew!  Thanks to this convenient parallel, I’ve done a lot of thinking on the two, and now a blog post.

Comrades, by far, was the most physically challenging event I’ve ever put my body through.  Some of my friends thought I was nuts; one even said “Good luck.  You’re a moron.”  Fair enough.  This year was an uphill run, meaning I had the luxury of cresting Cowies Hill, Field’s Hill, Botha’s Hill, Inchanga, and Polly Shorts (“The Big Five”).  Let me tell you, there was nothing “short” about those hills.  Now, how does one prepare for such a race?  Even more so, how does one prepare for such a race in a village?  Lucky for me, my village knows I run, so there wasn’t anything new there.  Before starting, I first wanted to get some of the history on the race.  I needed to be invested for this.  After all, I’d be spending half of my day on the road.  My #1 supporter and South African Coach, Eddie Beddy, an accomplished Comrades runner himself, gave me a book on Bruce Fordyce, who has won this race 9 consecutive times and continues to run to this day.  I was hoping to catch a glimpse of him on the route, but he’s still super fast.  From reading his book, I learned that Comrades played a big part in helping to end the Apartheid.  I learned about the camaraderie on the course.  I learned about training.  I learned about the course itself.  I learned about “smart” racing.  Most importantly, I learned the recipe for a chocolate cake that Fordyce eats prior to every Comrades race (one his Mom makes).  As all of you know, if chocolate AND running are involved, I’m in.  Once I was hooked, I began the training, physically and mentally.  In preparation for Comrades, I ran countless miles in my village (to the point that the taxi drivers using that route now know me), I ran a few marathons and half marathons, and I did The Two Oceans Marathon (another famous ultra of 56km or 35 miles…by far the most beautiful run I’ve ever done).  I even practiced relaxation and visualization with yoga.  I was as ready as I’d ever be.

On the actual day of Comrades, I started off with my own comrades – Cliff, Tim, Brad, and Hubble (and about 18,000 other odd runners).  There were all shapes and sizes of runners.  A guy before us even wore a rhino costume to raise awareness for rhino poaching (to his credit, he also finished in the costume, sweltering I’m sure!).  Cliff, Tim, and Brad had dressed as Pirates, getting us some extra support.  I decided not to dress up, although I did think of some Pirate jokes along the way, keeping myself occupied and trying to contribute to the theme.  (What is a Pirate’s favorite type of movie?  Rrrrrrr Rated!  What is a Pirate’s favorite letter in the alphabet?  Rrrrrrr!)  You’re probably rolling your eyes right about now, thinking Rrrrrr you serious?

My legs were not happy with me as I urged them to move before the sun rose.  Nevertheless, I ran with a sea of other runners, setting off for Pietermaritzburg.  By mile 13, when I first spotted my NASCAR Pit Crew (thanks Nick, Eddie, Sue, Kevin, and Briana), I had to back off of the pace a bit.  I still had some ground to cover…I wanted to be smart.  When Nick offered me a Snickers Bar (my FAVE – peanut butter AND chocolate), my stomach refused it.  I was a bit nervous about this, thinking that I needed to keep my energy levels up, but I charged forward.  Along the way I downed some gummies, water, boiled potatoes with salt, Energade, bananas, and Pepsi to keep me going.  When I couldn’t finish something I had taken, I gave it to the kids who had come out to watch.  Waste not, want not.  I even spotted some Americans sporting the patriotic Red, White and Blue.  I chatted and made some new comrades, making the time go by.  By the half way point, I was feeling good.  I was on pace for under 11 hours, and I was doing my thing.  Unfortunately, my IPod didn’t enjoy the distance and decided to drop out of the race early, and I had to go without for the rest of the way.  A little bit after half way, I spotted Eddie.  Tim and Brad were with him, so we continued on together.  I was glad to have some company again.  When we got to Nick, Kevin, and Briana they made sure to apply ample sunscreen.  (Thanks guys, I’m sure I smelled really good!)  Nick was even so kind as to call me beautiful (and the award to best boyfriend goes to)!  After our brief hello, Brad, Tim, and I continued on.  I was feeling good, and I was still keeping pace until about 10 miles to go.  All of the sudden, I felt nauseous and my stomach was cramping.  I could only manage to drink water.  Every step that I took, especially on the downhills, felt like my feet were breaking.  My pace had slipped.  I knew I could make it under the 12 hour cutoff, but unfortunately I would fall short of my goal of sub-11 hours.  I was still thrilled knowing I would finish.  With less than a mile to go, the crowd support was unlike anything I had ever seen.  The pain subsided (temporarily) and I ran through a tunnel of people.  Hearing Eddie and Kevin shout my name, I ran to the finish, finishing in a time of 11 hours and 24 minutes. 

Like I said previously, this is the most physically challenging thing I’ve ever done.  Am I glad that I did it?  Yes!  Would I do it again?  Ask me in a few weeks.  It was such a special experience for me.  I was able to take part in something that is so monumental in South Africa and so important to this country.  I was able to take part in a race where all South Africans come together and for one day, everyone is a runner.  No differentiation is made between black and white, or male and female, or old and young.  Everyone is running Comrades and helping one another get to the finish line.  This is how it should be.

When I think about it, I’m not sure if I would have been able to do this race two years ago.  Comrades took a lot of physical strength, sure.  But it also took a lot of mental strength.  I owe this mental strength to my Peace Corps Service.  While Comrades was the most physically challenging event I’ve ever partaken in, Peace Corps would have to be the most mentally challenging experience I’ve gone through.  This is not to say it’s a bad thing.  Not at all.  Just as I loved running Comrades, I’ve loved my time in South Africa and I love Peace Corps.  It just hasn’t always been easy.  Again, am I glad that I did it?  Yes AND yes!  Would I do it again?  Maybe…once I retire.  Being away from family, friends and familiarity has not been easy.  While I know they are only a phone call or whatsapp away, I miss them dearly.  Going from 1^st World to 3^rd World rather often is very difficult; it can be somewhat exhausting.  One hour I’m using a shower and a flush toilet, the next hour I’m peeing into a hole in the ground…literally.  One day I’m surrounded by beautiful schools with all of the resources you could dream of and the next I’m working in a dilapidated building, using leftover yogurt containers to paint my map.  One week I’m a face in the crowd, and the next I’m mulungu or legkoa.  I’ve had my Cowies Hills and Polly Shorts that I’ve had to climb during the Peace Corps.  I’ve felt like I couldn’t go another step.  I’ve had terrible stomach cramps (both literally and figuratively).  Just like in Comrades, I kept moving forward.  That’s all you can do.  With that forward motion and determination, I’ve made it and I’ve accomplished a lot.  Even more, I’ve grown so much.  I’ve learned a ton and I’ve met incredible people who will stay with me forever.  Just like in Comrades, I’ve had great support.  Without it I couldn’t have accomplished what I have.

My older sister and brother-in-law gave me a magnet as part of my going away gift.  The magnet reads “Life begins at the end of your comfort zone.” ~Neale Donald Walsch   This magnet is on my mini-fridge and I look at it every day to give me strength.  What it says is so true.  In life, you’ll have challenges.  Don’t shy away from them.  Go after those challenges, head on.  It’s the challenges, the big hills in life, which will make us stronger and better people once we’ve reached the top.  And guess what, what goes up must go down.  With challenges come rewards and good times.  Enjoy the downhills, but don’t be afraid of the up.

**History on Comrades – The first Comrades Marathon took place on May 24^th, 1921, “Empire Day.”  The race was proposed by Vic Clapham, a veteran of World War I.  He thought of the idea in order to pay homage to all of his own comrades that were lost during the Great War.  Bruce Fordyce, the runner I spoke of earlier, ran the race for years and years, winning a total of 9 consecutive runs, both up and down.  Each year the race switches course.  The up run is a total of 87 km, from Durban to Pietermaritzburg while the down run is a total of 89 km, from Pietermaritzburg to Durban.  1981 is notable since Fordyce wore a Black Armband that year, protesting the Apartheid Government’s involvement in the race (changing the date now to June 1^st), which had at this time secluded South Africa from athletic competition with any other country.  While this was a somewhat risky move for Fordyce, it brought much attention to the corruption that was taking place, leading South Africa just that much closer to a Democracy.**

Le Rata,

Meg :)

"You've Got Mail"

You’ve Got Mail.  Pammycakes, I’m sorry to say, but unlike the title of this blog post, you don’t have mail, at least not from me.  And, unfortunately, unlike the classic with Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks, a favorite of mine, you won’t hear the cool AOL sound when you get it (although that would be nifty if that started happening for actual mailboxes). 

Anyway, that is why I’m writing this blog post.  Think of it as my Mother’s Day Card to you, just with lots of other people reading over your shoulder.  I could list a dozen reasons why I didn’t send you a card (cards and then postage add up quickly, the people at the post office kind of scare me, I forgot, I don’t trust the South African mail system, blah, blah, blah).  In the end, excuses, excuses.  You know what they say about excuses?  “There is no such thing as a list of reasons.  There is either one sufficient reason or a list of excuses.” –Robert Brault.  In the end, there isn’t a reasonable explanation for me not sending you a card.  I should have, and I’m sorry.  It’s really the least I could have done after all that you’ve done and continue to do for me. 

This blog post is for you, Mom, and also to all of the other amazing mothers I know and cherish in my life: my oldest sister, Jeannine, Happy First Mother’s Day…Ben Burrito is extremely lucky to have you; my host mother, Maggie, who has helped me to feel more at home in South Africa and has taught me many tricks of the trade about living in a rural village; Sue Beddy, who constantly amazes me with the amount of love she has to share; my Aunt Barb who continues to support me in all of my endeavors; and the list goes on.

Pammycakes, think of this as my (less formal) ode to you.  For those of you who don’t like sappy readings, maybe this blog post isn’t for you.  Rating: extra-sappy, tissues may be needed. 

The Miley Cyrus song (yes, I’m a Miley fan), “Butterfly Fly Away” speaks volumes of my Mom when she sings:

You tuck me in,

Turn out the light

 kept me safe and sound at night

little girls depend on things like that

  Brushed my teeth and combed my hair

 had to drive me everywhere

you were always there when I looked back

You had to do it all alone

Make a living, make a home…

 

From the time that I was young, my Mom has taken on both roles: Mom and Dad.  It was always my Mom who did everything for my younger sister and me.  It was always my Mom who picked Erin and me up at Day Care.  I looked forward to the “clippity clop” of her high heels every day, ready to whisk us away in her Mommy mobile – the infamous green minivan.  I too wanted to be a business woman one day, so I could produce my own “clippity clop” noise.  Look at me now…no “clippity clop” going on in the dusty village roads.  The closest to “clippity clop” is the cows I pass on my way to school in the morning.  It was always my Mom who took us to soccer practice, and made cupcakes or brought orange slices for our teams after games.  It was always my Mom who made us soup when we didn’t feel well or bandaged our knee after a bad spill.  It was always my Mom who read us bedtime stories, being sure to skip the scary parts of Harry Potter, so we (cough, cough, Erny) could fall fast asleep.  And it was always my Mom who never complained when Erin or I would climb in during the middle of the night, frightened by a bad dream.  When my parents divorced, my Mom was our rock.  As she read us “Dinosaurs Divorce,” she assured us all would be okay, and she was right.

The wonder that is my Mom continued after childhood and into adolescence.  Obviously I was quite the angel…no, seriously, I was.  I still remember my Mom telling me the story of the birds and the bees.  She helped me through my awkward teenage stage of braces and pimples.  She helped me with my crazy hairstyles and she drove my friends and me from here to East Jabip.  With the unstoppable minivan, she took all of us to the movies and the mall, making sure that we stayed out of any real trouble.  She always encouraged Erin and me to have friends over, and our house was “the house.”  She would rather have us home, keeping her up until the wee hours of the morning watching movies, listening to terrible music, and giggling than being somewhere unsafe. 

Luckily, Pammycakes gained a sidekick.  Jack, now my Dad, whisked my Mom off her feet in, ironically?, a walking club.  No longer did she have to be both Mom and Dad.  She could focus all of her energy in being Super Mom, which she was already mastering quite well in my opinion, and hopefully save a bit of that energy for herself.  My Mom deserves the best, and she got it, finally.

Throughout high school, my Mom and Jack continued to be the most supportive parents any kid could ask for.  Cross Country Meets, Track Meets, day-long Winter Track meets, Award Ceremonies.  You name it, they were there.  Late nights of homework, school projects, proms (Erin had a million+ of these), summer jobs, fights with friends.  My Mom was always there, no matter what.  Heck, my parents even bought us cars!  Now that I think of it, this was probably more for them than for us so they didn’t have to keep driving us all over creation ;).  No matter the reason, I am still very appreciative of Babs and always will be.  Heck, my Mom listened to me rehearse my graduation speech more times than she’d like to remember.  Even when I flubbed on the actual speech, saying “sex-cessful” rather than “successful,” (I was presenting to my entire class and a football stadium full of people…) I was a star in her eyes.  When it came time to choose a university, a bit of a stressful time, both my Mom and Jack were there for me, encouraging me to choose the school I wanted, the school that would give me the best education.  

Fast-forward to Boston University, my university of choice.  Boston is about 6, 7 hours from my home.  That’s a door-to-door drive estimate.  (I did push the pedal to the metal on my way home senior year, clocking an impressive 5.5 hours.  I’m pretty sure I would’ve turned back and tried to stay if I didn’t drive that fast).  While this might not seem like a long distance, especially now that I’m a 16+ hour FLIGHT from home, back then it was pretty much unthinkable.  My Mom is my best friend.  We are very close, and I feel very lucky to have our relationship.  I tell her pretty much, okay, everything.  But then, I digress.  Being so far from home was not easy at first, mainly because I was so far from Pammycakes.  When I phoned my Mom and told her I was having trouble being far from home, she looked up transfer options and said whatever I needed to do, she’d be there for me.  Luckily, in the end, and as evidenced by my last blog post, I fell in love with my school and the city of Boston.  Still, despite the distance, Pammycakes was always there.  We spoke usually twice, sometimes three times a day (hey, there’s a lot to chat about!).  She and Jack came for my Freshman Parents’ Weekend, in which they both watched, terrified I’m sure, as I played in a Women’s Rugby Game (yes, I played Rugby for a little while).  For my 21^st birthday she drove the 6+ hour trip with my Aunt Barb just for the night to take me out for dinner and my first official drink.  For my 22^nd birthday she came for the weekend, and cooked a delicious ziti meal for my closest friends and me.  When I ran the Boston Marathon during my junior year, she organized it so my entire family could come and support Katie and me as we ran.  For the Scarlet Key Award Ceremony and graduation she and Jack went all out to give me an unforgettable weekend.  This doesn’t even count the odd weekends she would come to spend some quality time in Bean town.  This doesn’t even cover all of the train, bus and plane tickets she purchased for me to come home for holidays. 

The first time I mentioned the possibility of me doing the Peace Corps to my Mom was when I had my interview scheduled.  I didn’t want to fight or get anyone upset unless it was a real possibility.  Penciled into my day planner, I called my Mom.  I shouldn’t have been so apprehensive.  Like every other time in my life, Pammycakes was on my side (maybe a little less so than before knowing the distance and time commitment, and also concerned that maybe I had hit my head on something).  Nevertheless, my Mom and Jack have been my biggest supporters.  Whenever I have a bad day I know I can talk to my Mom and she’ll make me feel better.  Maybe I can’t crawl into bed with her like when I was younger, but I can speak with her on the phone right before bed, and sleep well having talked things over with her.  Whenever I have a great day I know I can share my joy with her, and know that she’ll genuinely share in that excitement.  Heck, she even flew the 16+ hour flight with my younger sister to see me!  I think we both realized we couldn’t go much longer with only letters, whatsapp, phone calls, and Skype.  My Mom treated Erin and me to an amazing vacation, a vacation that I will never forget.  She’s helped me get through my ups and downs during the Peace Corps.  She’s done this halfway around the world…

I know that as I look to the future, my Mom will be there for me.  That is the best, most heartwarming feeling in the world.  As excited as I am to be coming home soon, I’m also rather nervous.  I haven’t been home in over 2 years.  It will be a big change and quite the adjustment.  Knowing that I have family and friends, and Pammycakes to support me makes those fears diminish a bit.

Mom, thank you.  You are not only the best Mom a kid could ask for, but the best friend a girl could ask for.  You’ve helped me to grow into the person I am today.  You’ve taught me right from wrong.  You’ve taught me what really matters in life.  You’ve taught me how to be a lady.  You’ve taught me how to accessorize.  You’ve taught me to be proud of who I am and not to want to be someone different.  You’ve taught me to go after my dreams.  You’ve taught me the meaning of love and care.  I hope one day to be half the women that you are, Pammycakes.  I hope that one day I can do all for you that you’ve done for me.  If I could, I’d give you the moon and the stars.

Readers, tell the women in your life how much they mean to you.  Tell your Mom that you love her.  Thank her for all of the wonderful things she has done and continues to do for you.  Make everyday Mother’s Day.  Realize that not everyone is so lucky to have loving and supportive parents.

P.S. Pammycakes, a card is going in the mail.  I know it will be a tad late, but it’s really the least I can do.  I can’t wait to plant flowers with you next Mother’s Day!

Until then, Le Rata,

Meg :)