A Fish Fresh Out of Water

A Fish, Fresh Out of Water

When I was younger, I was obsessed with watching “The Little Mermaid.”  I would sit on the couch in our family room, holding my stuffed Flounder and Sebastian that I had received as Christmas presents (there is unfortunately a home video that provides full-blown proof that I had gone bonkers when I opened these gifts), and sing along to “Under the Sea” just about every day of the week.  I secretly wished for a fin, so that I could join Ariel and her friends in all of their undersea adventures.  Obviously this never came to fruition…

I may have never gotten my fin, but I sure as hell am on the adventure of a lifetime, as I enter into my 2^nd year as a Peace Corps Volunteer in South Africa.  As I look back on myself when I first arrived to South Africa, I think of the image of Ariel immediately after the ugly sea-witch, Ursula, granted the young mermaid princess a pair of human legs.  Not accustomed yet to walking or her land legs, she tripped on her feet, having to be rescued by the ever so handsome prince, Eric.  Similar to Ariel, I had trouble finding my feet when I arrived to country.  I didn’t know what to do, what to say (quite literally), how to eat (fork or no fork?), how to bucket bathe, and the list of mishaps and misunderstandings goes on… and on.  Needless to say, I myself was a fish fresh out of water.  And luckily, I too, was rescued.  I was rescued by my host family, my village, and countless other individuals I have met along the way.  I was rescued by their love, their patience, and their understanding.  I was rescued by the fact that I kind of stick out as an outsider, a foreigner.

A few weeks back I was lucky enough to host four wonderful women – Vanessa, Linda, Brianna, and Diana – all PCT’s (Peace Corps Trainees) in the newest PCSA class, SA26.  These four ladies, along with their LCF (Language and Cultural Facilitator) Nonjabulo or “Auntie” as I know her from my own training many days ago, came to my village for 4 days (Saturday to Wednesday) to live and observe what the life of a volunteer is like.  I was rather nervous before their arrival, thinking to myself “What the heck do I know??”  I didn’t know how I could be of help to these new arrivals, but I was willing to try.  Now, not to pat myself on the back, but I really surprised myself, I think more than anyone else.  They loved their time in my village.  My village loved having them, my schools welcomed them with open arms, and my host family continues to ask when they will be back again.

 The following week I traveled to Mpumalanga to help with PST (Pre-Service Training) for SA26.  I assisted Peace Corps in training the PCT’s on topics such as Teacher Training, Reading Comprehension, and Listening Skills for L2 Speakers, and Student-Centered Classrooms.  Again, I was a bit intimidated.  I was going from the safe and familiar confines of teaching my grade r, grade 6, and grade 7 learners to the so-called shark pool of highly qualified PCT’s.  Some of the faces I had to teach had been teaching as I was fresh out of diapers.  Jeeze, one of the women was starting her 7^th, yes SEVENTH Peace Corps Service.  However, again, my nervousness was for nothing.  The PCT’s appreciated my advice.  They appreciated my anecdotes from site and from school.  And more than anything, they appreciated that I was still learning and willing to admit so.  It was fabulous meeting more Americans, and even better getting to reconnect with the four women who had in such a short time become such good friends of mine. 

During both my hosting of the PCT’s and my week’s stay at the training site, I realized quite a few things.  I realized how much I have grown over the past almost 14 months (I have now been here longer than the time I have remaining, which is crazy to think).  I realized how patient I have become, not a strong suit of mine before.  I realized the little things I have picked up on, allowing me to integrate into my village.  I also realized how precious each day in my service is, advising the PCT’s to enjoy each day, no matter how long it may seem, which happens quite often.  Here are some of the things I have learned, and some of the ways I have grown in my time here:

• Since arriving to South Africa, I now only give and receive things with my right hand.  As a sign of respect in the South African culture, to do otherwise would be downright rude.  Even with Americans I feel very uncomfortable giving or receiving things with my left hand.  Heads up family and friends, no more left hand for me!
• I have gotten used to dust.  It’s kind of like my second layer.  Not saying I’ll miss dust when I’m done, but I don’t mind it anymore.
• When it comes to eating, I realize I have adapted very much to the bread-heavy diet that exists here.  Luckily I haven’t come as far to eat an entire loaf of bread in one sitting (as my host brother, the very slim Tumelo, enjoys to do), but don’t think I haven’t considered it.
• I’ve gotten used to the concept of South African time.  “Now now” means right away, “Just now” means sometime soon, and “Now” means sometime today.  This week I had two parents’ meetings for our upcoming girls’ camp.  The first one began an hour late, while the second one began 30 minutes late.  Not too shabby.  Talk about patience.  Before now I hardly had the patience to wait five minutes for a cup of Starbucks coffee.  I’ll be waiting 26 months until that cup of coffee…
• In conjunction with patience, I should bring up waiting.  Waiting has become a part of my everyday life here.  I wait at the post office.  I wait for learners to arrive so I can begin class.  I wait for roosters to stop crowing so I can get a wink of sleep.  I wait hours on end for a taxi to fill up and push off.  I wait.  And I wait some more.  Books, music, and my blackberry help me to fill this waiting time.
• I have grown to appreciate people and relationships more than ever.  If you don’t have friends and family, where are you in life?  No matter how many material possessions you have, without loved ones you are truly lost.
• I have realized just how lucky I was growing up.  I never needed, and even more than that, I never wanted.  I had an amazing education growing up, one which I probably took advantage of on more than one occasion.  I had teachers who were properly trained, and teachers who knew that I could be successful, pushing me to reach my full potential.
• Constantly confused as to what is going on, I have learned to go with the flow, and go with the punches that come your way.  Things will work themselves out, eventually.  You’ve just got to have faith in that.  No need stressing the small things.
• You cannot always make everyone happy.  No matter what you do, no matter how hard you try, you cannot please everyone.  This still bugs me, but I’m learning to deal with it.
• Did someone say sardines?  While claustrophobia became a huge concern of mine when first arriving to South Africa, I now enjoy the cushioning when squeezed between to Gogo’s and their 20 shopping bags on my khombi rides home from my shopping town.
• As a resident assistant in college, I learned to fall asleep to noise and loud music.  College has nothing on the shabeens during the weekend or the taxi’s that blare traditional Xitsonga or House music.  I am sure that my hearing has been somewhat impaired, but at least I have become used to it.
• Now 4 spoonfuls of Ricoffee will get me through the day.  I actually enjoy a good cup of Ricoffee (with sugar and milk) whereas when I first arrived I didn’t think I would survive. 
• I have grown as a teacher, an educator.  I know when my learners are picking up on a subject, and when I can move on.  On the flipside, I also know when my learners are struggling although in chorus when I ask “Do you understand?” they reply “Yes, Naledi.”
• Helping and giving to others is so much more rewarding than helping yourself.

On the flipside, there are a few things that I have not gotten used to, and that within the next year I still don’t think I will get used to…

• Being called “baby.”  I am not your baby.  My Mom’s name is Pamela Joyce Kroberger.  My Dad’s name is Jack West.  I’m pretty sure that name is only applicable to them, and at almost 24 years of age, not even they call me baby.
• Being the center of attention, in the fish bowl so to say.  I don’t like having all eyes on me.  At one point in life, I believe they refer to it as adolescence, I only wanted one thing in life: to be a celebrity.  That has since changed.

Being with the new PCT’s was almost like looking in a mirror over a year ago.  I fretted about the smallest things, I splashed water every which way as I bucket bathed, and I couldn’t get over how brown my water became after just one load of laundry.  All of those worries, those concerns, and those confusions have since faded.  Over time, I have adjusted.  I guess you really can’t see change on a daily basis.  But, over a long period of time it presents itself.  Don’t worry, I’m still me, still the same old goofy Meeg who drops Blackberry Phones into buckets, accidently puts plastic kettles on recently used hot plates (hello 4^th of July in the rondavel), and who drops freshly bought peanut butter.  Sorry to say, the clumsiness still remains.  Shame.

For the PCT’s who are about to swear in and join the PCSA family, and for anyone who is about to embark on a new adventure, hang in there.  Sure you’ll have your mishaps and lose your footing at first, but after a while it is so worth it.  You’ll be glad that you stuck in there.  A little over a year into my service and I’ve finally found my legs, my footing.  For now I am really enjoying walking.

Le Rata,

Meg J

The Law of Gravity

Sir Isaac Newton, after hanging out under an apple tree for a little while, came up with quite the brilliant idea.  Today, we know this idea as the Universal Law of Gravitation.  Specifically, Newton’s Law states that “every object in the Universe attracts every other object with a force directed along the line of centers for the two objects that is proportional to the product of their masses and inversely proportional to the square of the separation between the two objects.”  If you’re anything like me, you might be sitting there, scratching your head thinking “HUH??”  In laymen’s terms, and thanks to the example of the apple that supposedly hit young Newton on the head, Newton is telling us that the apple that fell down to the ground was because of a certain force, a force he later termed “gravity.”  Basically, things tend to fall downwards…

Now, the optimist in me likes to think that just as things that are up must come down (again, due to this thing called gravity); things that go down must also go up.  Bear with me here.  Remember, I’m no scientist. 

Coming back to site after a long holiday is always, well, interesting for lack of a better word.  Without question it is amazing to see everyone in the village: your host family, the countless number of kids, the toothless Gogo’s, the dedicated teachers, and even the plethora of wild life roaming around.  Everyone thinks that you have disappeared or worse, have packed your bags and gone back to America.  Needless to say, it was a relief to my village when I returned.  I had not gone too far.  Despite the warm hellos, it still takes a small period time, a time of readjustment, when you come back.  You’ve once again left the luxuries of the First World (a hot shower anytime you’d like, a coffee menu that takes you at least 5 minutes to read over and choose from, and a flush toilet).  You’ve returned to the not-so First World, hopping back into your bucket, making only your coffee that is available to you in your rondavel, and revisiting the fresh smells of the pit latrine.  Lucky for me, my readjustment time is rather short-lived.  Thanks to a loving host family, and a really great village, I’ve got my readjustment time down to one day, two days tops.

This go-around was a bit bumpier.  It’s not that I wasn’t happy to be back in the village (I was elated to see everyone again), but the first week back was rough.  I’d like to use a word that a good friend of mine from university coined to describe my first week back – “woof,” with a capital “w.”  (Pat, I’m doing my best to spread the word all across the world!).  I’m sharing the events of this week not to depress you my dear readers, or to seek your sympathy, but to simply show that it’s not always all roses here.  This week definitely was my hardest week in service… 

To begin my week, my school principal informed me that one of our Grade R learners (kindergarten) had passed away over the school holiday.  This immediately broke my heart.  Death is such a common occurrence where I am staying (South Africa has the highest % of people living with HIV).  You’d think I’d be desensitized to it by now, but it still upsets me every time, especially when there is never an explanation or a reason to the death (most of the time you hear “he was sick…”).  This time was no exception.  Not only was this boy far too young to go, but over the past 6 or 7 months he had become one of my favorite smiling faces as I practiced SOUNS with the kids.  He never failed to surprise me with his aptitude for matching symbol to sound, and he always seemed to encourage the other learners who were discovering literacy right by his side.   The school held a very nice memorial service at his home later that week.  Seeing all of the learners from the school in attendance, all of the teachers giving support to the learner’s family, and the family of the learner struggling with their recent loss was not only overwhelming to me, it was mind boggling.  I do not understand how people can go through this type of thing so often.  Day after day. It is simply not fair, no matter how you spin it.

That was only the beginning of the week…The week continued as I went to my other school.  As the ever chaotic “sports day” (aka kids run wild) commenced at noon, the teachers assembled to discuss a memorial service being held for the father of one of the teachers at the secondary school.  That’s right; there was another death in the span of one week.  Once I arrived to the meeting, one of the teachers called me by “Candice,” the old volunteer’s name.  Now, I get it. I myself am not great with names.  Heck, my Mom and I have to say a name 3 times immediately after meeting someone to have the slightest chance at remembering it.  But it still stung a bit after having worked with this man for almost a year.

The week was almost over (it was now Thursday).  As I prepared to make a cake for my friend across the street (it was his birthday the next day), I realized I was out of a few essential ingredients – butter and sugar.  What’s a cake without butter and sugar (“fat is flavor,” a good friend has taught me)?  Not a cake.  So, I grabbed some rand and headed out for the tuck shop.  My loving companion, Butch, happily joined Tumelo and I as we headed for the shop, wagging his tail the entire way.  It was simple enough – said my hellos to the shop owners, bought my ingredients, and we were on our way.  On our way back from the shop, Butch ran out in front of a car.  He has a habit of chasing cars when he runs with me (I no longer allow him to come on my runs for this very reason), but he has never done this in the village.  By the grace of God, Butch was not seriously injured.  His paw was hurt and he limped for a few days after this close call, but he is okay.  I will not be taking him anywhere without a leash from now on. 

To put the cherry on top of my week, Saturday morning called for an early wakeup – 6am to be precise – so I could be ready in time for my 5^th funeral in South Africa (in my 22 years in the states I don’t think I have gone to as many funerals as I have here and I have only been here for a little over a year).  Needless to say, it was not the sleep-in, go for a run, make pancakes kind of morning that I prefer on the weekends.

Thanks to the 3 C's (Cardio, Coffee, and Chocolate) I made it through the week.  I had survived what I hope is the worst of it.

I’d like to think that we can’t all be hit on the head with apples all of the time.  I mean, then we’d just all have really bad headaches and we’d have bruised apples.  That wouldn’t be any fun.  I would like to propose my own law, “The Law of Optimism” – the reverse Law of Gravity.  If Newton decided that all things that go up must go down, then all things that go down have to go up too, hey?   

So far, my new law has been verifying itself quite nicely.  In the week of “woof,” as I’ll now refer to my low point, I ended my week the usual way – at the secondary school on Friday.  I decided to work with the matric students on college applications as the closing date is quickly approaching.  Sure there were some “hm’s” and “haws” at the idea of actually doing some work, but overall the kids seemed to appreciate the help.  As I was working on the applications with the second class of matric students (they are split into 12A and 12B) the school siren sounded, an hour early, to indicate that school was out.  I expected chairs to fly, papers to scatter, and learners to flee into the freedom that is the weekend, but none of that happened.  To my great delight and my great surprise, I had 6 matric boys stay for an hour after school ended working on their applications.  While 6 might not seem like a huge number, those 6 showed me that there was a turn in the tides.  Things were looking up.

This second week at site has continued to validate my new law.  At one of my schools, the teachers are more enthusiastic than ever.  I am working with one of the Grade 7 teachers to begin our preparations for the Grade 7 Farewell Celebration in November (the learners will move to grade 8, i.e. secondary school, in January).  Our garden continues to flourish, and my counterpart attends to it as it was his own child.  We have just recently planted tomatoes, and our spinach is coming in quite nicely.  I have started the World Map, and am very excited about this project.  At the other school, my classes are going very well.  My counterpart teacher has started helping me in the classroom, and another one of the teachers expressed an interest in having the World Map drawn at our school after learning that I was doing it at the other.  Another PCV and I recently completed and submitted a grant to have a girls’ HIV/AIDS empowerment camp at the end of August.  We are holding thumbs that it gets approved!  Overall, a very good week.

All I can say is watch out Newton, because there’s a new scientist in town.

I would like to dedicate this blog post to Life Mabunda, the Grade R learner who recently passed away.  Tragic events such as the loss of Life make me realize just how incredibly lucky I am.  Yes, sometimes life is not always easy.  Sometimes there are rough days, such as the week I described above.  Sometimes I complain about the small stuff (missing Starbucks, having dust everywhere, and sharing my rondavel with bugs bigger than my hand).  But, I have a lot on my plate and I need to live life to the fullest.  I need to get over the small stuff, and look at the big picture.  I say we all go out and celebrate life for Life.

Le Rata,

Meg :)

The Sixth Sense

Recently (on July the 8^th) I celebrated my 1 year in country, a pretty noteworthy milestone if I do say so myself.  I, along with the other volunteers in my group, was able to celebrate this anniversary on holiday, gallivanting around South Africa, as we just finished our school’s winter vacation.  I had a lovely, jam-packed, fun holiday…

I started things off on the right foot by traveling with the one and only Nitcholas Dippner and his family.  We began our adventure by driving through Kruger National Park.  We were lucky enough to spot all of the big five (the lion, the elephant, the buffalo, the leopard, and the rhinoceros).  Mr. Dippel was brave enough to teach Nick, Evan, and myself the art of stick shift driving, which we all of course mastered in minutes, minus the one bush that I encountered...  We made friends with some lion cubs and of course, the hard to find impala.  Next we journeyed to Hazyview/Graskop where we enjoyed the scenery of the Three Rondavels, God’s Window, and the pot holes.  Last, but certainly not least, we found our way to Swaziland.  In Swaziland we went to a beautiful glass-blowing studio and some shops supporting local women’s crafts.  We were even able to watch a traditional Swazi dance after eating a traditional Swazi dinner.  Following my trip with the Dippel family (thank you for a magnificent time!), I headed off to another volunteer’s (Colin) site.  During my brief time at Colin’s, we worked on a puzzle with his host sisters, which I forgot how much fun puzzles could be; I caught up on some much needed laundry; and we watched Generations.  The vacation continued for a few days just outside of Johannesburg with my family away from home – the Beddy’s.  I was able to use Skype and catch up with the family, gossip with Chibby, and meet my favorite new nephew, Benjamin.  Before leaving, Sue and I enjoyed the wonder that is Sandton City, browsing in more shops than I thought humanly possible.  Next on the list was GTOT (yes, another Peace Corps acronym: general training for trainers).  The latest Peace Corps Education Class – SA26 – arrived on the 12^th (welcome to South Africa!!), and will hit the ground running with cultural, language, and technical training.  I have been selected to help with their training, so in order to prepare, all of those helping had a mini training for 3 days just outside of Pretoria.  It was nice to see old faces, and to catch up with volunteers who I usually don’t get the opportunity to see.  It was also nice to meet the new LCFs (the language and cultural facilitators) and to see some of the staff who had made my class’ training so great.  After training, it was back to Pretoria for the final stretch of vacation.  During the last week I went to Soweto with Nick and his family before they departed for America.  We went to the Hector Pieterson Memorial Museum, which was very moving.  The museum honors Hector Pieterson and recounts the 1976 student uprising against instruction in Afrikaans, specifically June 16, in Soweto.  This museum explained a lot of the background of the Apartheid and its relation to the school system, something that I found very interesting as I am working in the schools here.  For the rest of the week, and for our final days in Pretoria, much ice cream (thank goodness that Ellen has a sweet tooth just as big as mine), pizza, and general unhealthy food was eaten, but we did a lot of shopping, walking, and running to make up for it.  My last night in Pretoria was spent at the delicious News Café with Kelsey and her parents.  Traveling back to site was long – about 8 hours from the time the taxi pulled out of Bosman to the time I reached my ever so dusty rondavel – but I am very happy to be back.

Vacation was wonderful.  It made me realize just how much I am looking forward to seeing my own family in December.  It made me reflect on how many lifelong relationships I have made in my time here thus far.  It also brought me back to site feeling refreshed and reenergized, ready to work again.  It was so nice to come back to everyone in the village and of course my loving Butch, who was very excited to see me. 

Now, onto the real purpose of this blog post…In order to commemorate my 1 year in country, I have decided to do something very similar to an assignment I had back in high school.  One of my favorite teachers during high school was my grade 9 social studies teacher.  As he taught his unit on The First World War, he had us write from the perspective of a soldier experiencing trench warfare, using the five senses to fully explain what was happening.  This assignment was so much fun for me (yes, I’m a bookworm, but still); I was learning and I was able to be creative. I even went so far as to look up British lingo to include in my paper.  So, in order to celebrate my 1 year in country, I am going to do something comparable in hopes that you, my faithful readers, have a better understanding of life in the village and my life as a Peace Corps Volunteer in South Africa.  Enjoy!

1. Hearing:

·         I often hear “Naledi!” or “Meghan!” yelled at the top of the children’s lungs in my village.  Whether I am running by or simply walking to the tuck shop, the kids yell my name.  After a year I have not become boring to these kids, and their enthusiasm at seeing me has certainly not become old.  It continuously warms my heart, as well as my ears.

·         In my village I hear a lot of music, all of the time.  On the typical day, it is traditional music, such as Xitsonga music.  My host brothers enjoy house music, which they like blaring as they do their household chores.  On Friday nights and Saturday nights the shabeens play house music until midnight or so, lulling me to sleep.

·         I hear all sorts of animals.  Goats that I often cannot differentiate from crying children.  Roosters crowing at 4:30 in the morning, ready to start the day whether you like it or not.  Dogs barking and howling, fighting over leftover pap and meat.

·         Despite having been here for a considerable amount of time, I still hear entire Xitsonga and/or Sesotho conversations which I cannot decipher.  Sometimes the women speak so quickly, I feel like my head is spinning.

·         I hear taxis (khombis) honking their horns, calling out to the people in their homes in order to pick up more passengers.  These drivers like their khombis full, and I mean full.  It’s like we are sardines in those things.

·         In town, or in places where people don’t know me, I hear “mulungu” or “legkoa,” meaning “white person.”  While it may not seem bothersome or offensive the first five times, it gets a bit tiring after a year. 

·         I hear marriage proposals, and get this, sometimes baby proposals.  Men ask how much lobola they need to pay for me in order for me to accept their offers.  When I tell them that Americans don’t have lobola, they apologize profusely for me, saying “shame.”

·         Many people in my village tell me that I can never return to America, that I must remain in Lekgwareng forever.

2. Sight:

·         I have two favorite sights in my village, which is one of the things I will miss most about Africa – the sunrise and the sunset.  There is nothing quite like running into the sunrise or into the sunset.  Both are breathtakingly beautiful.

·         Another sight I wake up to and go to sleep to is that of hardworking women.  I usually wake up to my host mother sweeping our compound or making a fire or cooking that day’s pap.  I usually head off to bed with my host mother helping my host brothers with school work.  Women around here run the show.

·         I see my students crammed three to a desk, ready and eager to learn.

·         I see bugs of all shapes and sizes, often trying to share my rondavel with me.  No thanks. This town aint big enough for the two of us.

·         I see beautiful traditional dress – women and men dressed head to toe in their unique cultural wear. 

·         Along with the traditional dress, I see colorful beading made by Xitsonga and Sesotho women, some of which I have bought for myself.

·         I see women carrying massive amounts of items on their heads each day – bundles of wood, buckets full of water, laundry, pots, and the list continues.  They never cease to amaze me, never faltering or dropping what is on top of their head.  One time my host mother carried my suitcase, bursting at the brim, on her head to the bus stop.  I have tried, unsuccessfully, carrying many a item on top of my head.

·         Before bed each night, and as a general bonding time with my host family, I watch “Generations,” South Africa’s greatest soapie.  Things are heating up as Noluntu carries Senzo’s baby, and Khetiwe brews with jealousy over MaRuby and Xolani.

3. Touch:

·         As I work with my Grade R learners on SOUNS, the literacy program, I feel them grabbing at my feet or touching my arm.  Despite being here for so long, the kids are still convinced that I somehow feel different.

·         Along with people trying to feel my skin, people are often touching my hair.  They cannot believe that I do not get my hair relaxed.

·         I constantly feel dusty.  Dust is everywhere, and it is just a part of life here in South Africa.  When I do my washing, the water is usually brown once I am finished.

·         One of my favorite things since arriving to the village is walking around barefoot.  I like feeling the sand underneath my feet, and on summer days I like the warmth of the pavement just outside of my house.

·         My favorite feel in the summer is the refreshing cold water of my bucket bath.  In the winter, the bucket bath doesn’t feel quite as nice, usually requiring 2 kettles of hot water to make it bearable. 

·         I love the hugs I get when I get back from a vacation.  My host mother and host brothers are always so happy to see me, as I am them, when I return home.

4. Smell:

·         In the morning and at night I smell fires burning.  In one area of my village, there is no electricity, so fires are required for cooking food, providing heat, and warming up bath water.  Luckily for me, electricity is available in my household.  Still, my host mother makes a fire each day for cooking pap and preparing bath water.

·         Something that has not changed from America is one of my favorite smells – fresh laundry.  The smell is especially sweet here without the luxury of a washing machine.  On average, my laundry takes anywhere from 3-4 hours, something the people in my village find quite amusing.  They can wash quickly, and effectively, usually in half the time that it takes me.

·         When the floors are redone, there is the distinct smell of cow dung for a few days.  While the smell isn’t exactly enjoyable, the patterns the women make are quite beautiful.

·         During the summer months especially, the pit latrine can develop quite the pungent smell.  I think when I’m back in the states I’ll be able to swim many lengths at a time without coming up for breath thanks to the pit latrine.

5. Taste:

·         Pap.  Bagobe.  Vuswa.  Pap is the staple food here.  Sometimes pap is eaten 3 times a day – soft porridge for breakfast, pap and beans for lunch, and pap and chicken for dinner.  When I first arrived, I mistook pap for mashed potatoes, and requested a heaping full.  Needless to say I soon realized my mistake; these were some strange mashed potatoes.  I enjoy pap occasionally, maybe once or twice a week at the schools.  Pap goes well with gravy, and is rather filling.

·         Magwinya is my favorite discovery in South Africa so far.  Magwinya, also known as vetkoek or “fat cakes,” have absolutely no nutritional value, but are quite delicious.  Comprised of flour, a bit of sugar, a bit of salt, and yeast, fat cakes are deep fried in oil and served.  I limit myself to 2 a week for obvious reasons as the name implies, but oh do I savor those 2…

·         Limpopo is known as the Eden of South Africa.  I feel very fortunate to have been placed in Limpopo as a volunteer (sorry to my friends in the Northern Cape and Northwest).  My backyard has a guava and a pawpaw tree.  Other fruits I enjoy on a daily basis include bananas, avocados, grapefruits the size of your head, and oranges.  I have never tasted fruit so fresh at such a cheap price (I can get 7 bananas for about R10 or $1.25).

·         During the summer time, cold drink (aka soda) saves me.  Water is consumed, obviously, but nothing is quite as refreshing as cold drink during 112 degree weather.

·         Whenever I go to town and meet up with other Peace Corps Volunteers our usual hangout is Wimpy’s.  Wimpy’s is a fast food restaurant/chain all over South Africa.  I would compare Wimpy’s to the McDonalds or the Wendy’s of America.  My favorites at Wimpy’s are their milkshakes and coffee.  We have since moved on to bigger and better things, but Wimpy’s will always have a special place in my heart.  We also like going there since all of the wait staff knows us by name.

·         This section would be wanting if I did not touch on the traditional beer that is served at weddings and funerals (really at any type of large get together) in South Africa.  I am not a fan of the traditional beer as it almost tastes like, for a lack of a better description, bad bread yeast.  The people here go gaga over it for some reason or another, and it’s something you have to try if you visit.

·         Since coming to South Africa, I have been forced to learn how to cook and bake (I didn’t think I could survive off of peanut butter sandwiches for 2 years).  Most of what I eat I cook, and I have improved tremendously from my microwave dinners in college (shame for no microwave…).  My specialties include Mexican omelets, pasta with homemade pasta sauce, homemade pizza, chicken, and chips.  I have also gotten really good at making banana bread, a favorite of my host family.

6. Ubuntu:

·         I had to include a “sixth sense” in this blog.  Aside from it providing the title for this post, I really couldn’t fit this in any of the other senses.  It needs its own category.  Ubuntu, as I have written about before, is the idea that I exist because you exist; I am you because you are you.  Since I have arrived in South Africa and at my site, I have felt welcomed by mostly everyone I have met.  Whether I am in town, at site, or traveling, I feel ubuntu in the air.  This sense of belonging and being welcomed makes my time here so special.  I will be forever grateful for ubuntu.

This last year has been a great one.  It certainly has not been without its challenges, but then again what is?  I feel that I have grown tremendously and have done some real good thus far.  Peace Corps Volunteers always say that “the days are long, but the months are quick.”  I definitely agree with this statement.  Sometimes days feel like they are endless, but months go by in the blink of an eye.  I hope that this next year+ is equally, if not more successful, and that I can continue to strengthen the relationships I have made and meet more wonderful people.  I hope that as I continue in my Peace Corps service, you continue to follow my journey through my blog!

Le Rata,

Meg :)

Comrades

Comrade: (noun) – a friend, a colleague, or an ally

Last weekend I was fortunate enough to witness one of the greatest races ever: the Comrades Ultra Marathon, called “the ultimate human race.”  An ultra marathon, run at a distance of 89km, is quite the event to see.  Comrades is run between the cities of Durban and Pietermaritzburg (alternating start and finish each year), and stands as the largest AND as the oldest (began in 1921) ultra marathon.  As Sue (a family friend who I am blessed to have in South Africa) and I raced around ourselves to cheer on Sue’s husband Eddy, her son Cliff, and Cliff’s friend Tim. I was astounded at the amount of encouragement both in and out of the race.  Families and friends had hunkered down with meals and goodies for what could be a 12 hour race (or more, as we woke up at 2:30am to leave and arrived home around 7:30pm just in time to enjoy some Bunny Chow).  Fellow runners cheered each other on during the long journey, pushing each other to keep going, one foot in front of the other until the finish line.  Not usually a supporter myself, rather one running in the race, I realized how tolling it can be to be on the opposite end of the line; to be the enthusiast, the backer.  You worry about how “your person” is doing; you wonder when he/she will come around the next bend; you fret over whether he/she is prepared for this and if he/she is coping well.  This being said, I would like to dedicate this blog post to all of my comrades, to all of my loved ones both back in the states and in South Africa who have supported me for the last year (plus with my application process) and continue to do so as I carry on with my own journey.

First, I need to thank my Peace Corps family, my fellow volunteers.  56 of us, complete strangers at the time, met in Washington D.C. for our staging nearly 1 year ago, for our introduction to the next 26 months of our life.  It seems so long ago meeting, maybe because we have come so far since that point, that introduction, or maybe because it is actually quite some time ago.  We were being prepared to head off to South Africa, a new and foreign place for all of us.  I suppose that is what brought us all together so quickly.  Peace Corps is a rather intense endeavor, a rather big change.  As the cherry on top, you are going into this experience alone (unless you are married), or so I thought.  I was wrong.  The 55 people surrounding me at staging, sadly some of whom have gone back to America for varying reasons, have not only become some of my best friends, but they have become my family, my home away from home, my comfort on the not so easy days.  These are the people I spend Thanksgiving with (egg burritos rather than Turkey, but still quite the celebration).  These are the people I call when no one else understands how trying it is to be called “legkoa” for the 10^th time in one day.  These are the people I share my greatest victories (no matter how small) with.  I guess what brought us all together so close and so fast was the nature of Peace Corps.  Despite the newness of these people, they were all that was familiar to me once landing in South Africa.  I think our group bonded very strongly, fortunately.  I owe this to our successes as volunteers, pushing each other forward, reminding one another to take the journey one step at a time, one day at a time, and one foot in front of the other.  Thank you SA24 and the other SA classes I have met along the way.

Now, I would be remiss if I did not thank all of my wonderful friends back home.  Since coming to South Africa, I have heard from friends from all the way back to elementary school, friends from high school, and friends from college, friends met through running, and friends from my rather short/varied work experience.  I have been very fortunate in the friends that I have made throughout my life, and I truly treasure all of my friendships (Chibby, I hope you appreciate this reference to “Team America”).  My Mom always told me that it’s all about quality, not quantity in everything that I did, including the friendships I made.  Just as luck would have it for me, I have quite the number of quality friendships, friendships that I know will last a lifetime.  Friends, thank you so much for your letters.  My Adidas shoe box where I keep all of my letters is becoming quite heavy; I don’t think I can express how much even the shortest letter, the simplest words of encouragement mean to me.  Thank you so much for your care packages, containing some of my favorite goodies from home (Reeses have never tasted so good).  Thank you so much for your whatsapps, making it seem that we are not really so far away.  Thank you friends, so very much.  

Since arriving to South Africa, and since beginning my work in 2 primary schools and my village’s high school, I have been fortunate enough to meet and befriend many of the teachers in the schools.  These teachers are my colleagues, my counterparts, and I feel that our relationships are very mutually beneficial (or at least I hope so!).  Many of these teachers have been teaching longer than I have been alive, so it is fair to say they have taught me a few things.  They have really helped me to find my way in a rural, South African classroom.  In addition, I think that I have helped them thus far in expanding ideas on classroom instruction, classroom management, and classroom discipline.  I love working with these teachers, and I respect them immensely for how much they do for the learners in the schools.  Keep up the wonderful work.

While I have been in South Africa, one of the many things I have realized is how fortunate I was in the education I received, all the way from preschool to university.  The American Education System is pretty darn good, not only with the resources that are available, but with the educators placed in the classrooms.  So, I want to thank all of my teachers for providing me with a quality education.  Thank you for fostering my love of learning, especially my love of reading and my love of writing.  Thank you for always encouraging me to have my nose in a book rather than my eyes glued to the television.  Even more so, thank you for being such model teachers and making me want to become a teacher, so that I could impact students the way you impacted me.  Without you, I would not be where I am today, and for that, I am forever grateful. 

I need to thank all of my learners in South Africa, all the way from my Grade R learners to my Grade 7 learners to my high school learners (who are sometimes more difficult than the Grade R learners, who, by the way, don’t speak much English aside from “I am fine, and how are you?), to my ABET learners.  I feel very lucky to be able to work with such a range of learners, such a range of individuals.  Working with so many ages and so many people has really helped me to connect to everyone in the village.  Despite the different levels that I work with on a day to day basis, they all share one thing: the desire to learn.  This warms my heart as a teacher. It is my learners who make even the toughest days worthwhile.  It is my learners who always manage to bring a smile to my face.

Next, I want to thank my family in America – all of my aunts, my uncles, my cousins, my nephews (Johnny, Shane, and Benjamin – our newest family edition), and my Grandmom West.  Thank you for being so supportive of me.  I feel quite auspicious to have such a close and loving extended family.  Holidays are always so much fun, because literally everyone is there, something that I miss dearly.  Continue to stay close, and continue to grow. I look forward to the holidays after service.

To my families in South Africa, thank you for taking me in so willingly and showing me the real meaning of ubuntu from the very beginning.  First, thank you to my first host family during our 2 months of training.  Thank you for showing me all of the ropes in South Africa – from sticking with me as I learned the ins and outs of bucket bathing, to teaching me how to cook, to introducing me to the wonder that is magwinya, to familiarizing me with South African culture and language.  Thank you for not kicking me out on my behind when I lost my only key or when the dog I brought home ate your chickens.  When I first arrived to South Africa, I felt like a fish straight out of water.  Thank you for helping me to find my legs.  Second, thank you to my current family who I am lucky enough to spend 2 years with.  Thank you Maggie and Tumelo for teaching me how to hand wash my clothes when I finally found myself without the luxury of a washing machine.  Thank you for introducing me to the village as “Naledi,” and not as “legkoa.”  Thank you for getting me hooked on “Generations.”  More than anything though, thank you for making me a member of the family.  Last, but certainly not least, I want to thank my home away from home family - the Beddy family.  By the strangest of coincidences, Sue Beddy had been an exchange student in America when she was in high school, meeting my Aunt Renee.  Years later, Sue and her family continuously open their hearts and home to me and my fellow PCV’s, sharing the joys of a shower, 2 adorable dogs, amazing runs, and yet another look into the different, but wonderful cultures of South Africa.

Siblings – they can certainly drive you crazy, but they can also be your best friends.  They love you unconditionally.  They know you sometimes better than you know yourself which again, may drive you crazy.  For those of you who know my family, I have quite the family tree.  Functionally dysfunctional, we like to call ourselves.  In total there are 7 of us.  I have a younger full sister (Erin or “Erny”), an older half sister (Jeannine), an older half brother (Dave), an older step sister (Kim), and two older step brothers (John and Chris).  Despite the labels – “half,” “step,” “full” – they are all my siblings through thick and thin.  We have all been through good times, and not so good times.  It is because of my siblings that I am still standing after those not so good times.  We lean on one another as a unit.  My siblings are so supportive, and I really don’t know what I’d do without them.  Thank you Erin (& Andrew), Jeannine (& Elliot, Benjamin, and Lola), Dave (& Michelle), Kim (& Jim), John (& Maggie, Johnny, and Shane), and Chris.

When Peace Corps training began, I marked one important date in my moleskine – site announcements.  Finding out where I would be living and working for the next 2 years was both exciting and nerve wrecking.  Well, I’ve been in my village for about 10 months now, and I love it.  I love the roosters that wake me at 4am, I love the goats and their kids, I love the cows that I pass every morning on my way to school, I love the shops that sell cold drink and freshly baked bread, I love the sunrises and the sunsets, and I love hearing “Naledi!  Naledi!” as the kids spot me walking by.  Thank you to my entire village, thank you to the whole community in my village, for making my experience a positive one thus far.

I always think it is a good idea to save the best for last.  Heck, that’s why dessert is the last meal in the day, isn’t it (yes, I do count dessert as a meal)?  My biggest thanks would have to go to my parents – Pammycakes and Jack.  I can still remember bringing up the idea of joining the Peace Corps to my Mom as I stood in my studio apartment overlooking the Charles, and hearing only silence on the other end of the phone for what seemed like a century.  Nevertheless, here I am, typing away in my rondavel overlooking the pit latrine.  I never realized the definition of being selfless until a few years back, but it is from them, my parents, where I learned what it truly means to be selfless.  Selflessness is making sure that others are happy and doing everything in your power to ensure that happiness.  My parents do that day in and day out for all of us.  Thanks Mom and Dad for always putting us first.  One day I hope to give back at least a fraction of what you have given to me.

Comrades, I understand that it was my choice to go into the Peace Corps, and not yours. Even though you may have preferred that I not move to another continent, you were there to cheer me on and continue to be there for me.  Thanks for being my biggest supporters, my greatest fans.  Thanks for not telling me to come home on the days that I vent to you, but rather for telling me to hang in there.  One day I promise that I’ll be on the sideline for you in whatever endeavor you choose to tackle.  For now, though, all I can say is that I love the intensity of being in the race. 

Ke a leboga kudu!

Le rata,

Meg J