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 :)

You'll Wish It Hadn't Gone So Fast....

A few days back I was on the phone with my Dad, and I mentioned how I only had 1 year left in my Peace Corps Service.  1 year is equivalent to 12 months, 52 weeks, 365 days, about 8,760 hours, you get the point.  1 year may seem like a long time to some, especially if you start to measure it in hours, minutes, and seconds, but it really is not that long.  It’s a drop in the proverbial bucket.  Heck, the past 14 months have gone by in a blur.  When I pointed out the time I have left in South Africa, my Dad reminded me of something very important, advising me not to wish the time by, something I did not even realize that I might subconsciously be doing.  Again, I was taken aback.  Parents always prove to be so wise, beyond their years (or maybe not so beyond their years), something that you really struggle to come to terms with in your adolescent years.  This piece of advice got me to thinking.  It got me to thinking about time.

 

It seems that as a society, and when I speak of this society I am referring to Americans in general, the American culture that is so obsessed with time.  We are always wishing time by, willing it to go faster.  Time runs our lives.  I am not just pointing fingers.  I myself am guilty of this on a daily basis.   Since getting to South Africa, I have realized that this is not something that all people do.  In South Africa, time is much, much slower.  Time comes last.  Relationships come first.  Food comes first.  Ironing comes first.  Time is not on the agenda.  Maybe that’s why meetings never start on time.  They start when everyone is ready, not when the clock dictates.  In the states, we are always rushing, trying to meet times, deadlines, appointments.  We are obsessed with being on time, and it seems that the clock has us wound up more than anything else.

 

I try to speed up the clock in many aspects of my daily life.  Again, I remind you that I am still an American trying to learn to be in a culture where time is not much of an issue.  I can’t change completely, but I am still trying to adapt.  As a runner, every run I go on, every race I compete in, I am up against the clock, quite literally.  It is the clock and me.  These are my only competitors.  I try not to worry about the other runners in the race as we toe the line.  To be honest, that gets me too nervous.  Even if it is a mere 5 seconds, I push myself to my body’s limits, in the hopes that I will finish this race faster than I completed the last one.  It is a sense of accomplishment, a bettering of myself as an athlete in the one sport that I love with every ounce of who I am.  But, why must I do this on every run?  Why is it that I need to remind myself to take some easy days, to slow down and enjoy the scenery?  Why is it so hard for me to actually relish the run, to enjoy being outside, and to take pleasure in the run itself?  On the days that I succeed in doing so, I am reminded of why I love running…the simple sound of my feet hitting the ground, the feel of my sweat dripping down my back, the sound of my breathing as I crest a hill.

 

In every stage of my life, no matter how much I enjoyed it, I looked to the future.  I am very lucky – a few of my best friends and family members have invested in communicating with me while I am here, in a little calling system known as Skype.  (For those of you who don’t have it, the calls are cheap and there aren’t too many dropped calls.)  The other week I got to talk to my best friend, Lauren (Chibby as we call each other).  Whenever I talk to Chibs, I feel like I am teleported back to high school, back into our grade 11 Chemistry classroom where we were constantly reminded to be quiet and no matter how hard we tried could not light our Bunsen burner, back to our lunch period where we swapped stories over which teachers we loved and which ones drove us crazy, back to our weekends of pizza and movie marathons (my favorite still being Team America with Mrs. Talone).  High school was great.  My biggest stress in high school was making sure I never wore the same outfit in a 2 week period.  I mean that would be terrible!  Despite my stress-free days of high school, my weekly trips to the mall, and my even more frequent trips to Dunks (they had my car’s order memorized), my mind was always moving forward, thinking to the future.  I had to do well in school so that I could get into a good university and eventually get a good job.  I couldn’t wait to spread my wings, and be on my own, a real college student. 

 

Fast-forward to college – Boston University, School of Education graduate, May 2011.  Last week, as we were in our crowded, sweaty, and bumpy taxi on our way to my village, Nick and I reminisced about life in college.  We talked about everything in college – from our freshman roommates, to living in a dorm, to the circles of friends we made, to the activities we partook in, to crazy parties, to our graduation caps and gowns.  Again, college was an instance in which 4 years of my life, some of the very best years of my life, went by in the blink of an eye.  I can still remember strolling Bay State Road with my Mom upon first visiting Boston University, and the embrace that we shared when we realized this was the right fit for me.  (I’m not sure whether the college search was more stressful for me or for my parents.  Guess we’d have to ask them…) We reenacted one of our favorite movie scenes of all time (when Whoopi Goldberg in Ghost struggles to let go of the hefty check to the nuns) as we made the first deposit for my University Education.  I can still remember signing up for BU’s Rugby Team since, at the time, there was still no running club.  Conversely, I can still remember jumping for joy when I could leave the scariness (and the 5:30 am practices) of the Rugby field since BU finally formed a running club.  I can still remember going on my first run with Katie, who would become my best friend and running partner.  I can still remember my first margarita at Sunset, the first of many I would enjoy.  I can still remember starting my job at JCrew, and expanding my circle of friends from only those at university to those in Boston.  The list of wonderful times I had at BU is truly endless.  Being in university was amazing.  I made memories and friends that will last a lifetime.  It was the one time in my life where I was not yet an adult, but no longer a child.  I could do what I wanted on my own watch.  Time was truly mine for the taking.  Yet, for some reason, I always found myself looking to the future.  What would I do after university?  Where would I go?  Who would I work for?  As my best friends began accepting job offers and going on interviews, I stressed that my seemingly never-ending Peace Corps Application/status continued to elude me.  What did the future hold?  I couldn’t help but ask myself this question, over and over again. 

 

Here I find myself, yet again.  I am in the Peace Corps, a 26 month voluntary commitment (oxymoron?  Big shrimp?).  Looking at this time comparatively to other milestones in my life, it is very short; it is basically half of my time in high school, half of my time in university, and less than 10% of my life thus far.  The time I have here is brief, and it is going quickly.  I have less than one year left, a very scary thought.  I am very happy.  I have a village full of wonderful people, 2 schools where I feel rather effective and useful, and a Peace Corps family who I have grown to love more than I ever thought possible.  I work with teachers and learners everyday who are eager to learn and who somehow teach me something new every day, whether it be about life, South Africa, or myself.  Despite all I have going on in my present, once again, I look to the future.  I stress about how much I want to accomplish prior to COSing (Close of Service).  I worry that I won’t have done quite enough during my time here.  I try to think about all of the places that I still want to see during my holidays.  I have started thinking about what life after the Peace Corps holds for me.  While it is about a year away, my Type A personality does not like leaving questions unanswered.  Do I want to go back to school while teaching?  (Peace Corps has a great fellows program, a partnership with many graduate programs that I am looking into.)  Do I want to substitute teach and then find a teaching job the following year, putting grad school on hold for a little while?  Do I want to find a writing job?  I worry about what they call reverse culture shock, and finding myself back in the states. 

 

Someone very wise, and thinking along the same lines as my Dad once wrote that “Yesterday is History, Tomorrow a Mystery, Today is a Gift, That’s why it’s called the Present.” We have lived our past.  We are living our present.  We look forward to our futures.  I think many people’s problem, at least mine, is that I’m often not living in my present as I should.  Instead, I’m worrying about a silly mistake I made last week, or, as the above paragraphs can attest to, I’ve got my head all wrapped around what will happen next.  This is not to say that the past and the future aren’t important.  They are.  You learn from your past.  You grow from mistakes you have made.  Your past shapes who you are in your present.  And without goals and vision for your future, you are lost.  You need to know where you are going to have a sense of direction for where you are now.  While we need to recognize the importance of all three – past, present, and future – in our lives, we need to do a better job of focusing our energy on the present.  Rather than being so wrapped up in the past or future, enjoy where you are currently.  Enjoy the “gift” of the present.  It is only for so long that the present lasts.  You need to slow down and smell the roses, or in my case, slow down and smell the cow dung.  Slow down and enjoy the present, because in the end, when reflecting back on whatever the experience might be, you’ll wish it hadn’t gone so damn fast.

 

Le Rata,

Meg :)