Turning the Page - Chapter 2

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

Le Rata,
Meg 

A Slice of the Cake

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Le rata,

Meg :)

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 :)

Don't Forget the Coffee....

This past weekend, Jill (another PCV, my closest neighbor, and one of my best friends from my class) and I held a girls camp.  Many Peace Corps Volunteers hold Camp G.L.O.W.’s (Girls Leading Our World) in hopes of empowering the young girls in the villages, teaching them about HIV/AIDS and decision making, and working with them to strengthen their futures.  Ours was in conjunction with Scouts of South Africa; specifically we worked with Keep the Dream 196, a Scout group held in Tzaneen, my second shopping town. 

 

Jill and I started the process of planning this camp a few months back.  There was much to do in order to prepare properly.  First, I started holding a girls’ club for my grade 7 learners after school once a week.  Next, Jill and I invited all of our grade 7 girls to write an essay, answering the question “Why should I go to Camp G.L.O.W.?”  The girls had to write the essay in English, and had a few weeks to complete the assignment, ample time to ask for help from teachers, friends, and family.  Since money hasn’t started growing on trees yet (I beg the question when will that begin to happen??), we were limited to the number of girls that we could bring along.  Once all of the girls submitted their essays, I chose Jill’s strongest 15, and she chose mine, so as to not have favoritism rear its ugly head.  Our subsequent step was the grant writing.  Wow is all that I can say.  After much help from Peace Corps, and after many, many revisions, our grant was approved and we were ready to move forward. 

 

When it came time to tell the girls who would be going to the camp, I felt torn.  While part of me was so excited to tell the 15 who would be going, the other part of me was dreading telling them, knowing that some girls would be disappointed, to say the least, that they were not chosen to go to the camp.  Luckily Jill and I had done it fairly, and I had that on my side.  Before the camp, I had two meetings: one parents/guardians meeting at Lekgwareng and one parents/guardians meeting at Ndzhovela.  Again, there was the question as to why there was an unequal distribution of girls chosen for the two schools.  Fairness.  Fairness.  Fairness.  I do not play favorites.  The parents/guardians meetings started right on (South African) time, 1 hour late at the one school and 30 minutes late at the other school.  I can’t complain too much; the parents/guardians of all of the girls showed, and they seemed pleased with the camp that their daughters/sisters were about to attend.

 

After months of preparation and a week of nail biting that everything would go smoothly, the day of camp departure finally arrived.  First I was off to collect the 5 girls and Sylvia (my counterpart for the camp, the Admin Assistant at the school, and my best friend in the village) from Lekgwareng Primary.  As we were walking towards the location I had agreed upon with the taxi company (my biggest stressor leading up to the camp), there was an empty taxi floating around the village, seemingly lost.  This taxi was not on familiar ground (we have about 2 or 3 regular taxi drivers who come to our village, all of whom I know by now).  This one I did not recognize.  He hopped out, and after much confusion and a few phone calls to his boss, we were on our way to pick up the 10 girls and Joyce (my second counterpart for the camp, one of the teachers I work with closely at school, and also a good friend) from Ndzhovela Primary, in the next village over.  You would have thought these girls were leaving for a month, and not a weekend.  Not the lightest packer myself, I couldn’t criticize too much.  But shoo, it was like trying to fit an elephant in a mouse hole fitting everything, people included, into this khombi.  Luckily, after much thought and left with little space to breath, we were off to start our weekend.

 

Obviously things couldn’t be that simple, that easy.  For some reason or another, the taxi drivers didn’t have any clue as to where we were going.  Jill and I, believing that the taxi drivers would have been prepared, didn’t think to print our own directions…that is why we hired them…We stopped and asked for directions at a gas station.  Then, we met up with Jill’s taxi and were still without any idea as to where to go.  We called the director of the camp, who thankfully sent someone out to direct us.  We would have NEVER found this place without being rescued by the Keep the Dream taxi.

 

After about 2 hours of travel time, and one much needed pit stop on the side of the road, we arrived to the camp.  It was about quarter to one, aka FAR past lunch time (here we eat at about 10am).  My stomach has adjusted so I was hungry.  Fortunately, lunch was ready.  It was two sandwiches (one with cheese and butter, one with poloney and butter) and juice.  Not my top choice, but enough to fuel the fire until dinnertime.  We all ate our lunches rather quickly, as our sessions were about to begin.

 

While all of the girls and Jill went off in one direction, ready to start the weekend of HIV/AIDS training, my two counterparts and I were off to a separate training – training to become official Scout Troop Leaders.  (Now, this was just an introduction course, so we will need to have additional training down the line).  A bit bummed since I had assumed I’d get to spend time with my girls, I turned my frown upside down; I was ready to make the most of the situation.  For the next two days I would be with about 40 South African women, all from Drop-In Centers for Orphans and Vulnerable Children who wanted to make a difference in their communities.  My counterparts and I were split up, and assigned to our own patrols.  Sylvia was assigned to the green patrol, Joyce to the blue, and I was in the yellow patrol for the weekend.  I was also in for a weekend of training in primarily Xitsonga.  Great practice to brush up on my language skills.

 

Prior to tea time after a few sessions, we had to set up our tindlu, our “houses” for the next few days.  When I say houses, I mean tents. This was exciting – many of these women, and certainly Jill’s and my learners, have never been camping before, let alone have slept in a tent.  It was fun being there for such a first time experience, something I think can be quite enjoyable.  As excited as I was that our tent was up, I was even more excited for tea time.  I grabbed my thermos, and lined up.  While I waited in line, my eyes darted around for the Ricoffee can (the instant coffee of choice in South Africa).  To my great dismay, there was no Ricoffee to be found.  I kicked myself, thinking I should have brought my own coffee along, just in case.  I figured, what kind of place doesn’t have coffee??  Only tea??  This would be a long weekend indeed…

 

Grade 7 girls can be dramatic.  Grade 7 girls away from home for the first time, in an unfamiliar setting, can be even more dramatic.  Multiply that by 30 grade 7 girls, and you have a whole lot of drama.  There were complaints of sore throats.  There were complaints of cell phones being collected at the beginning of camp.  There were complaints of not enough juice.  My counterparts were amazing, my superheroes.  We found solutions for each “crisis” we encountered, calming any concerns and making sure the girls had a good time. 

 

Now, as all of you know, running is my solitude.  Running is my sanity.  Running is my get away.  On top of that, I am training for a marathon in November, and a day without running or yoga equals a cranky Meg.  In order to be ready on time, I woke up before the sun did.  The running scene was gorgeous.  The camp was situated in the woods, surrounded by lovely trails and trees taller than the Empire State Building.  I was able to get in some great hills and start my day the way I enjoy before a packed day of training and trying to check in on the girls whenever I could. 

 

Remember tea time without my Ricoffee can?  Despite wishful thinking, the next morning, at breakfast time, proved no different.  I surrendered to the fact that it would be a day without coffee.  It was rough.  You know how in class you get the nods, as Pammycakes says, where you’re like a bobble head doll and you just can’t stay awake?  Your head and your eyes seem heavier than imaginable.  That was me…all day…every session.  I truly felt embarrassed, but no matter how hard I tried to concentrate, I could not help myself from falling asleep.  Then, the director of camp, who was surely my guardian angel, informed me that she had just purchased some coffee, and that I could help myself.  Even better, it was the real stuff, not just Ricoffee.  HALLELUJAH!!

 

That night, food ran short.  (Did I forget to mention that the cooks who had been hired failed to show?  The staff of the camp, the women teaching the sessions, therefore, also doubled as the cooks).  I didn’t mind waiting.  The girls had all eaten and I had had my coffee.  The women quickly whipped up some more pap, and Louise (the camp director) went off to find food for those who waited.  About 45 minutes later, Louise, once again, came to the rescue, carrying bags of KFC.  It was worth the wait.  Coffee and KFC?  The day was looking up.

 

In order to finish the day (Saturday), we all enjoyed a campfire.  Everyone was included, the girls, the women in the training, the staff.  It was probably one of my favorite moments in South Africa so far.  Each of the patrols sang a song for the rest of the group.  My patrol sang “We are One, One Big Family,” a favorite of mine that the kids often sing at school assembly.  Next we watched a movie – a classic – “The Jungle Book.”  Apparently the idea of Cub Scouts comes from “The Jungle Book.”  Who knew?  Too tired to stay up for the entire movie, I went to sleep and slept much better thanks to an extra blanket that one of the staff had acquired for us.

 

My next morning was wonderful, knowing from the moment I woke up that there was the promise of coffee.  I had a nice run, and then I went to help my patrol with whatever they needed before our final day began.  Apparently, what they needed was pictures.  I swear, sometimes I feel like Santa Claus.  The only difference is that the Santas at the malls have it easy.  It’s one season a year AND they get paid.  For me it’s non-stop and there is no payment.  Oftentimes I’m not even asked; I just realize someone is shooting my photo, and surely enough, there is the cell phone, right in my face.  This time I was happy to do it.  Here were these women, all trying to learn in order to make their communities better places. 

 

Remember the confusion with the taxi’s at the beginning of the trip?  The way home was no different.  In fact, it was worse.  Our group was the last group to be picked up from the camp, waiting over an hour and a half past the time we were supposed to be fetched.  Was I upset?  Yes.  I had told the learners’ parents we’d be home at a certain time.  We all wanted to stop at a food store prior to reaching the village, and it being a Sunday, we knew we were cutting it close since food stores close as quickly as they open (luckily we made it with five minutes to spare, literally).  We had paid good money for reliable and timely transport.  At about half-past two, our taxi arrived.  He was lucky.  I had had my coffee that morning. 

 

I am surprised that I still have my hearing after the ride home.  I could literally feel the seat vibrating, that is how loud the volume was (I know, I know, I’m such a Grammy).  South Africans LOVE their music, and they like it LOUD.  The girls requested the same song, on repeat, for the 2 hour drive home.  I didn’t mind.  The girls were having fun.  We had successfully stopped at Checkers (a great food store, that is now selling Starbies!!) and done our shopping.  And I had had my coffee.

 

Overall, I’d say the weekend and the girls’ camp was a huge success.  Sure there were a few bumps along the way, but everything worked out.  When we stopped to drop the girls off at Ndzhovela, a few of the parents were waiting for their daughters.  The Moms were so excited.  One of the Moms gave me a huge smile, an even bigger hug, and said “Na khensa” (thank you).  I knew right there that all of Jill’s and my hard work was so worth it.  The next day at school (Lekgwareng), the 5 girls who attended the camp talked to the rest of the student body at morning assembly about what they had learned.  While we might have to brush up on public speaking skills, the girls seemed to have retained a lot of information they had gotten at the camp.  At the end of the school day, Sylvia and I held a debriefing with the girls: what they liked, what they didn’t like, what they learned, how they would use the information to help the village, etc.  The highlights included the food, the showers, and the sessions on HIV/AIDS.  At least they did include the learning in there.

 

            While the girls learned a lot about HIV and AIDS, and while my counterparts and I learned much about Scouting, there was one important lesson I took away from the weekend.  Never assume that there will be coffee.  Bring your own just in case there isn’t any.  It’s better to air on the safe side.  Don’t forget the coffee. 

 

Le rata,

 

Meg :)  

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 :)