Sweet Caroline

I would like to dedicate this post to anyone and everyone who was recently affected by the bombing at the Boston Marathon, a true tragedy.  To Boston Marathoners, runners, spectators, volunteers, Bostonians, this is for you.

Do you remember the first time you fell in love?  I can’t remember the exact moment.  I’m not sure whether it was when I ran on the esplanade for the first time, on a crisp fall day, feeling the crunch of the leaves beneath my feet while greeting the other happy runners as we passed one another.  Maybe it was the first time I saw the CITGO sign fully lit, the designated North Star.  Perhaps it was my first margarita and shared plate of nachos at Sunset Cantina with my college friends.  It could have been during my first game at the historic Fenway Park, listening to the melody of “Sweet Caroline.”  In the end, the moment doesn’t really matter.  I was in love.  And his name was Boston.  Boston was my first true love.  It captured my heart from the moment I arrived as a freshman at Boston University.

Now, I realize that most people’s first love is not a city.  However, I think this exception is made for anyone who has gone to Boston if only for a day.  I had the pleasure of attending Boston University, and living in Boston for 4 years of my life.  In that rather short period of time, I found myself considering Boston my home.  My family made sure I remembered my roots, especially to sport my Phillies cap, which I always did, but in the end I became a Bostonian.  Maybe it was because some of my closest friends were from the area.  Maybe it was the fact that I really liked the Boston accent (I always tried my hardest to master “Pahk the cah in Havahd yahd”).  Maybe it was because I could find a Starbucks or a Dunks on just about any street corner.  Or maybe it was just the charm of the city.  Boston became a huge part of me, and I was lucky enough to become a part of the amazing city. 

Boston was a first of many for me, and holds a special place in my heart.  I attended university in Boston, I worked in Boston right in Copley Square, and I had some of my best memories in Boston.  Some of my very best friends still live in Boston.  I even had the privilege to run in the great Boston Marathon.  Not once, but twice.  The Boston Marathon is always an incredible day in Boston, for everyone in the city.  Not only do dreams come true as thousands of runners come together to turn right on Hereford, left on Boylston, but the Sox play, and spectators keep the runners up to check on the score.  People from all over the great city come together to enjoy the marvel that is Marathon Monday and cheer on the runners.  Sure my legs hated me as I ran, especially when I reached the top of Heartbreak Hill, but crossing the finish line of what is probably the greatest marathon in America was one of my best moments not only in Boston, but in my life.  Marathon Monday is a magical day, and the fact that this tragedy occurred truly broke my heart.

Being so far from home can be difficult.  Days can be rough and without the comfort of family and friends it’s not always easy.  I’ve discovered, though, that the worst days aren’t when crappy things happen here.  No.  The worst days are when terrible things happen at home, and I can’t be there to help or offer comfort to my loved ones.  It makes me feel helpless. 

On Monday evening, Evelyn, a fellow PCV and very close friend who I attended university with, called me to tell me the news of the bombings at the marathon.  Horror, disbelief, shock, confusion, worry, sadness all overcame me in one moment.  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.  Who would do something so awful?  My thoughts immediately jumped to those I knew in Boston.  Five of my friends were running, who thank God all of whom are safe as are their families.  My friends who live and work in the city are also fine.  However, not everyone was as lucky.  People were killed, hundreds were injured, and the sacredness of the Boston Marathon, of Marathon Monday was taken away on that special day.  The joy of crossing the finish line became horror, something that should never happen.

I may not be able to do much from here for Boston, for the city that holds my heart, but I will keep running.  I will do the Comrades Marathon June 2^nd in honor of Boston and all of those affected by this tragedy.  I know the people of Boston are strong (they survive Boston winters, after all).  Boston will pull together and get through this.  I hope to be toeing the line of the Boston Marathon 2014 if I am able to qualify.  I will continue to work towards qualifying so that I can again take part in one of America’s finest pastimes.  Whoever committed this terrible act cannot take away the love or wonder of Marathon Monday.  It will live on, and we will always remember those lost during the Boston Marathon, 2013.

Boston, you’re my home.

Le rata,

Meg

Be Prepared

As I quiz my Scouts on different Scout facts, several hands fly up when I ask “What is the Scout Motto?”  “BE PREPARED!!”  the Scouts of the 1^st Lekgwareng Scouts Troop shout.  I try to work with my Scouts on different concepts like this, in order to make them more responsible citizens.  The Scout Promise, the Scout Motto, and the Scout Laws (A Scout is to be trusted, A Scout is a friend to animals, A Scout is a brother/sister to all other Scouts, etc.) help to make my kids more conscientious citizens of South Africa, more conscientious citizens of Lekgwareng Village.  I have seen a huge improvement in their behavior since they joined in September.  Never a Scout myself in America, it came as quite a shock to me when Scouts suddenly became a huge part of my Peace Corps service.  In fact, it has become a cornerstone of my service.  Before doing Scouts in South Africa, the most I knew about Scouts were thin mints and samoas.  Like many Americans, I couldn’t wait for Girl Scout Cookies to go on sale.  Now I can’t wait for our weekly Scout Troop meetings every Wednesday after school; I hold them with my counterpart, Sylvia (friends and family, I still appreciate and crave Girl Scout cookies...you all have my address).  In addition to teaching the kids about Scouts and Scouting history, we play games, sing songs, and just have fun.  It’s my favorite hour, hour and a half of the week.

In life, it is usually a good thing to “be prepared.”  After all, “before anything, preparation is the key to success.”  However, if I’ve learned anything in the Peace Corps, it’s that you really can’t be 100% prepared for anything.  Sorry Baden Powell, sorry Mr. Bell, but sometimes you can’t be prepared for some of the things that happen.  You’ve just got to be prepared for what life throws at you and hope you don’t miss.  Maybe that’s what they were getting at?  Be prepared for anything that comes your way?

For the first part of our school recession, I held a Scouts Camp, focused on the Scouts earning their Pathfinder Badge, with four other Peace Corps Volunteers.  (The Pathfinder Badge covers map reading and compasses, camping and cooking, First Aid, Pioneering, Hiking, and observation as a backwoodsman.)  Preparing for this camp was fairly straightforward, although a lot of hard work, tears, and sweat went into it.  I was to prepare my Scout Troop for camping and cooking (each troop, 6 in total, was responsible for teaching a set of skills to the other troops).  Luckily the Scouting Organization that we work with closely is not too far from my site, and came to show my Scouts how to properly set up a tent and go over the other essentials of camping.  I had a meeting with the parents, went over all of the in’s and out’s of the camp, and purchased the scarves so that my troop could be in Scout uniforms.  All of my bases were covered.  I was prepared.  Or so I thought.  The day prior to my camp proved rather emotional.  Without going into too much detail, the camp was almost pulled from my Scouts for no reason at all (I blame it on a power play and red tape).  I was not going to allow this to happen: the kids were so excited, had worked so hard, and they deserved this.  I was determined to make it work.  Following a tearful and embarrassing scene in the hair salon, my Peace Corps supervisor swooped in to save the day, and all was a go.  Can we say Clark Kent?

Again, be prepared.  I question this.  I was not prepared for such a last minute emergency situation.  I reacted quickly, and with the help of a good friend and my supervisor it worked out.  Moreover, I was not prepared for how incredible the camp turned out to be.  Sure, we had our mishaps such as being stranded in town for 3+ hours, but even that turned out to be fun as we played different Scouts games in the Game parking lot.  In the end this camp was, without a doubt, the highlight of my service thus far.  We all go to summer camp as kids, whether on a daily basis or for longer stretches of time.  Yet, I think we take such small, seemingly simple delights for granted.  I know I did.  This was the first opportunity my 12 Scouts had to experience anything like summer camp before, the first opportunity most of them had to leave the village for more than an afternoon.  Seeing the smiles on their faces was worth every tear and every minute of sleep I lost due to the stress beforehand.  I was prepared for a camp that taught my kids some Scouting skills and taught the kids some new songs and games.  I was not prepared for the overwhelming elation I felt when my host mother, one of my counterparts for Scouts, bit into her first S’more after our evening campfire.  Surely it has to be illegal not to have a S’more as a child!  I was not prepared for the pride I felt when four of my Scouts became official Scout members.  I was not prepared to see the reaction on my kids’ faces when they could go swimming (nor was I prepared for the heart palpitations I experienced while making sure they were all okay in the longest 15 minutes of my life as they swam in the nearby river).  The experience was incredibly heartwarming.  Thanks to everyone who made this camp possible, especially to my family who keeps me going. Thanks also to Zach, Kyle, Sean, Howell, Deon, and Colin for being great male role models to my kids, something I obviously cannot do as a female PCV.

As sad as I was to leave my Troop and to leave the camp, I was in desperate need of a break.  I was so ready for vacation.  Nick and I had signed up to run the Two Oceans Marathon, an ultra marathon of 56km.  The race took place in Cape Town, and I was going to road trip down with my second family in South Africa.  I was really excited!  I hadn’t seen Sue or Eddie since Christmas time, so I was looking forward to the time with them, Cliff, and Porsche.  We took our time getting down to Cape Town, and the relaxation, no-rush atmosphere was wonderful.  Just what the doctor ordered.  I was in bliss with tea time twice a day, long naps in the car, and mouth-watering hot croissants.  I even had the chance to go to a pretty unique church service and visit a donkey sanctuary (think retirement home for donkeys).  While I was enjoying the trip down, I couldn’t help but think about my training up to that point.  Had I put in enough miles?  Was I crazy for doing such a long distance (as I type this, I wonder if I am even crazier for my next race)?  Was I prepared for 56km, approximately 35 miles?

Fast-forward, and my alarm, rather unwelcome, buzzed in my ear at 4 o’clock in the morning (I am never prepared for my alarm clock).  Whelp, no matter if I was prepared or not, this was it: Race Day.  It was go time.  I pulled on my race outfit and downed a cup of coffee, hoping it would bolt me awake out of my unconscious state and filled up with some more carbs.   Strangely enough, I felt calm.  I wasn’t nervous, and I slept until we were dropped off with the thousands of other runners donning plastic bags in the early hours of the morning.  (Maybe there should be a rule that races can’t start until the sun has decided to wake up?)  During miles 0-10, I was still a bit worried about my preparation.  I made sure to watch my pace, worried that I was feeling too good and that would quickly go away.  I kept waiting for the pain to set in.  Eventually, maybe around mile 20, I realized I had prepared enough.  I could do this.  Sure my feet felt like they were breaking on the down hills, but I was prepared both physically and mentally.  Despite this, I was not prepared for how beautiful the race was – the view, or maybe the crazy wind, literally took my breath away.  I had heard the race quoted to be “the world’s most beautiful marathon.”  Certainly this had to be an exaggeration.  Nope.  First ultra marathon – check!

The rest of the vacation seemed to follow suit – it was a truly magical vacation.  Utter bliss.  During our time in Cape Town, a group of us decided to go shark diving!  This is something I would never have done five years ago, but I was pumped to try it.  We had a great group going, and the weather was ideal.  Although I was not nervous when the great whites were splashing around near the cage (that was cool!), I was NOT prepared when the tuna head, used as chum, came right in at me.  Woof.  The day before we left, Nick, his sister (also Erin) and I went to Charlie’s bakery.  While Nick had raved about this bakery, I again was unprepared for the deliciousness of the brownie and cookie (I had just done a 56km race so I felt these treats were well deserved) I purchased.  Probably the best brownie I’ve ever tasted.  Like most vacations, I was not prepared for it to be over.  I’m now settled back in the village, and busy with projects for the next term, but it’s never easy leaving paradise…

Before the Peace Corps, I did as much research as I could.  I even tried to learn the local language that we were supposed to speak.  The joke was on us as our group didn’t even learn the language we had been told we would (nor did we go to the provinces we were informed of).  No matter how much I did in preparation, I’m pretty sure I could not be prepared, at least not entirely, for what was to come, for what laid ahead of me in South Africa.  I was not prepared for many things: I was not prepared to fall in love on an airplane.  I was not prepared to get used to bathing in a bucket.  I was not prepared to learn more about myself in an entirely foreign country. I was not prepared to become more confident, finding the courage to stand up for myself and what I think is right, and learn how to be a professional in what can sometimes be a rather unstructured environment.  I was not prepared to make lifelong friends.  I was not prepared to experience some of the hardest and some of the happiest moments of my life.  A lot of things I’ve gone through in country I have not been prepared for (being asked to have a complete stranger’s child, being asked to have a grave site/viewing site in my room, being offered chicken feet and worms as a meal).  No, none of these things I could prepare for.  Can anyone, really?  But, I have learned that not much surprises me anymore, and to always be prepared for what could come.  

As I think about my future after the Peace Corps, it shouldn’t come as much as a shock that I don’t feel too prepared.  I’m doing as much preparation as I can: I’ve started applying to different jobs and I’ve even had two interviews so far.  No matter how much research I do, no matter how many cover letters I send, I don’t feel prepared.  But, it’s a huge transition back.  Many people say the transition home is more difficult than the initial transition to the country of service.  Maybe I shouldn’t feel 100% prepared.  Believe me; I’m ready to be home with family and friends (and Starbucks and JCrew).  I’m ready to have a salary and not to be in the “fish bowl” anymore.  I’m ready to be in a place that doesn’t reach 112 degrees and have humidity of 80%.  But, there are things I’m not prepared to leave and I don’t think I ever will be prepared to leave despite how much time I have: my host family, my co-teachers, my friends, my schools, the kids who yell “Meghanee!!” as I run past, and the simplicity of village life.  The list goes on.  As much as I him and haw about it now, I’m going to miss being crammed in the back of khombis with smiling toothless Gogo’s who carry your bags for you on their heads.  I’m going to miss the little things.  I guess we can never really and truly be prepared for huge changes in life.  We have just got to prepare as much as possible for what is to come, for what can come, and hold on tight, enjoying the ride all the while.

Le rata,

Meg :)

 

"If I Were A Boy"

If I were a boy even just for a day

I’d roll out of bed in the morning

And throw on what I wanted

And go drink beer with the guys

 

And chase after girls

I’d kick it with who I wanted

And I’d never get confronted for it

‘Cause they stick up for me

…

 

If I were a boy

I would turn off my phone

Tell everyone it’s broken

So they’d think that I was sleeping alone

 

I’d put myself first

And make the rules as I go

‘Cause I know that she’d be faithful

Waiting for me to come home, to come home

 

-Beyonce Knowles

 

It seems like Beyonce did her song writing at my site or at least did her research in South Africa…

 

Men.  Boys.  Call them what you will.  I feel that “men” is a term reserved for gentlemen, so I’ll use the term loosely here.  When I first came into the Peace Corps, I expected my hardest days to be caused by a myriad of reasons: homesickness, a rough day at school, no running water, spiders bigger than my hand, a lack of good coffee, a lack of chocolate, not being able to run, etc.  Although some of these have been the case, I did not expect what actually has proven to be, and continues to be, my biggest struggle in my Peace Corps service: sexual harassment.  I don’t enjoy writing serious blog posts, because the light-hearted and funny ones are easier to write and I’m sure a hell of a lot more fun to read.  However, I think this is an important issue and topic to discuss.  It’s time to get real kids.

 

When I first came to South Africa 20 months ago, I remember walking back to my host family’s house with my language group.  The walk from the school where we studied and observed a South African school in session to our host families was a short one, no more than 10 minutes.  I enjoyed the walk because we could finally relax after a long day of translating English to Xitsonga and we could just be ourselves, and learn about each other pre-Peace Corps life.  However, there was one part of the walk home that I always dreaded.  There was a “car wash” at our mid-way point (a concept that still confuses to me to no end when dust is unavoidable and water so scarce) where a group of 5-10 adolescents and men hung out and “worked.”  The girls in our group would always get cat calls and whistles; this seemed to be the majority of their daily work.  Even the one male in our group would be pestered, always asked by these guys if he could give up one of his wives, as if we were things to be given away rather than people.  One time, one of these “men” even dared to kiss my friend’s hand.  I was aghast.  I couldn’t believe that they had the audacity to behave in such a manner. Little did I realize at the time how minor this offense was.  I comforted myself knowing that our Pre-Service Training was a mere 8 weeks and that I’d be moving to a small, rural village where I’d spend the majority of my service.  After that, aside from a visit or two to see my host family during training, I wouldn’t have to worry about these hooligans. 

 

Fast-forward.  Ask my Mom about the reasons I call home, crying (don’t worry, it doesn’t happen every day!).  She can count the reasons for my unintelligible, teary-eyed phone calls on one hand.  One of them is homesickness (yes, I am a homebody).  The second reason is that every time I go to the pit latrine, it’s a war between the mosquitoes and me, and a race not to get bitten.  The third, and the majority of those phone calls, is caused by unwanted attention.  I am very lucky as I do not have to deal with this issue in my village.  Again, it is small and rural.  It’s kind of like “Cheers.”  Everyone knows my name, and I’m getting close to knowing everyone else’s.  Everyone knows me and takes care of me.  Since I have three younger host brothers, I’ve become like the older sister to the guys in the village.  The people in my village have become my family, my friends.  I am one of them.  (Integration – check.)

 

The unwanted attention I face is when I travel, even just to my shopping town that is less than 50km away.  I’ve had marriage proposals, pregnancy proposals, and creepy text messages.  I’ve had men grab my hand, I’ve had men try and kiss me, I’ve had men say vulgar things to me.  I’ve had men tell me that it’s okay to be unfaithful, I’ve had men ask me to take them back to America, I’ve had men stroke my hair.  The whole shebang.  (I’m one of the fortunate ones, too.  I’ve heard much worse.)  It is very unfortunate, but I can no longer let my guard down and trust men here to help me since I always assume they’ll want more.  Usually, they do.  And, if you give them a centimeter, they take five miles.  I’ve faced this issue with black men and Afrikaner men, old men and young men, fat men and skinny men.  They run the gamut.

 

In the South African culture, at least in the villages, men are on a pedestal and women are far, far beneath that pedestal, hardly able to even see or reach the pedestal.  The men are served their food, they are served their drinks, and their clothing is washed for them.  At funerals and weddings, the women cook until the wee hours of the morning and then serve the food come morning as the men sit around getting drunk off of the traditional beer.  (The drunkenness only amplifies the problem of unwanted attention, hence why I stay clear of big social gatherings.)  The list could go on and on, and it does.  One Gogo even suggested that I take my boyfriend home and bathe him!  I was very confused, as was he.  Very different culture, and certainly a culture shock for the both of us.  In this very same culture, there is also the belief that polygamy is the norm, even in 2013.  Men have multiple wives while it is not considered normal for women to have multiple husbands...double standard?  Nowadays adultery is kept on the hush, hush.  But everyone knows it is going on.  First wives befriend second and even third wives.  Sometimes they even help in the selection of the next wife.  The President, President Jacob Zuma, has four wives himself!  Talk about setting a standard.

 

As much as the unwanted attention by men and the treatment of women by men in this culture perturb me, I haven’t let it scare me off (obviously, as I continue to write these blog posts from my rondavel, hoping some of you will be willing to read on).  I’ve learned to stand up for myself since being here, and I hope the young girls I teach and work with will learn to do so for themselves.  When I started to feel more comfortable in the village and when I started to feel more at ease with the people I now call my family and good friends, I began speaking up.  When my hilarious, goofy, and brilliant 19-year old host brother, Tumelo, told me he’d be upfront with his two girlfriends prior to marriage, I told him that was not okay, just as I know he realizes deep down.  As I watched him help his mother with the family’s weekly washing, it was hard for me to believe that come 20 years he’ll be willing to sit back and let his wife do all of the work.  When my co-worker, my counterpart for Scouts, and my best friend in the village, Sylvia, told me about one of the teachers who has both a wife and a girlfriend of 10 years, I told her that was not acceptable.  This is a woman who failed the 10^th grade three times all because she would not sleep with her teacher.  She said “South African men are different.  It isn’t simple.”  But, they’re not and it is.  Just like it is not okay for women to be sleeping around or courting three or four boyfriends (who knows what would happen if that were the case), it is also definitely not okay for men to have a wife cooking, cleaning and taking care of the gaggle of kids at home while having a younger girlfriend on the side.  It is also not okay for us to continue accepting this behavior and to continue making excuses for the men.  This, my friends, is why the HIV/AIDS rate is so high in South Africa: multiple partners, unfaithfulness, and worst of all, a refusal to use condoms in the midst of it all.

 

Beyonce, if I were a boy, my Peace Corps service would have been much different.  Sure, the harassment wouldn’t be a huge issue, but I’m sure I’d still have my struggles.  The guys in our group try their best to teach the men and boys they work with how to “be a better man.”  This, I’m sure, cannot be easy.  I mean, my boyfriend is constantly told he needs to get a second girlfriend, that one is not enough.  As much as he tries to talk sense into these guys, it sometimes seems fruitless.  It upsets the both of us. In the end, despite the discomfort, the disgust, and the countless tears I’ve experienced on more than one occasion, I’m glad to be a female Peace Corps Volunteer.  As much as it sucks to be called racist when you stand up for yourself when you’re being sexually harassed, it feels good to be empowered and to instill empowerment in others.  Maybe I was meek and didn’t say anything when I first arrived, but now I put my foot down.  Sexual harassment is not acceptable, and I for one won’t stand for it.  I’m hoping that a few girls, a few women, and heck maybe even some guys have picked up on my actions or our conversations.  I’m hoping the tide in gender relations in rural South Africa begins to turn.  Not because of me, just because it needs to and because the generation now is becoming more educated and more aware of what is right and what is wrong.

 

Now, why am I telling you this?  I don’t want any of you to worry about me.  Maybe it is better that I’ve waited towards the latter part of my service to talk about this.  I just want to put it out there.  I’ve learned to appreciate the gender equality we have in the states.  I’ve learned to appreciate being appreciated as a strong female in the states.  I’ve learned to cope.  In addition to my one-sided weeping phone calls to my Mom (thanks Pammycakes), I muddle through the more difficult times by talking about the issue with other female PCV’s, by having the support of the Peace Corps staff, and by having the support of my very caring, very American thinking boyfriend. (My teachers’ jaws always drop when I tell them, no I’m not cooking.  Nick is.  I’m sure my village is confused as he helps to do the dishes and does his own washing on the weekends he visits.  And thank goodness for that!)

 

Here’s a fair warning to all American men.  In about 6 months’ time, my group, SA24, will COS and fly home.  Other groups before ours will already have returned.  When single female PCV’s return stateside, they’ll realize just how good we’ve got it back home.  Get ready to be pounced on, gentlemen of America!

 

**Side note – I want you to know that not all interactions I’ve had with men here have been negative.  There are great men here.  I work with many men in South Africa who are caring and hard working. Sure they expect me to make tea for them, but they know me well enough by now that that just isn’t my culture. **

 

I promise you a lighter blog post next time my readers.  For now, stay well and stay safe.

 

Le rata,

Meg :)

The Missing Puzzle Piece

This blog post acts as my “thank you” to my Mom, my Dad and my baby sister.  While words will never fully express the extent of my gratitude, a girl’s gotta try.  First of all, Dad thanks for sending the best Christmas presents ever!!  You gave up Christmas with them for me, and made me the happiest person in the world.  You’re truly the best and are truly selfless.  Secondly, Mom thanks for flying over to see me.  I know it wasn’t in the original plans, but to be honest I don’t know if either of us could have gone much longer, yet alone another day, without seeing each other.  Thanks for spoiling us while you were here.  Luckily I didn’t get too many “you look fat” comments upon returning to the village, but I felt well treated.  And last, but certainly not least, thank you Erny.  It blows me and everyone I tell away that you saved so much and worked so hard to come and see me.  That was an amazing gift in itself.  You’ve grown so much, and I’m so proud of all you do.

As I sit here, writing this blog post, it is hard to believe that this time last month I was out with my Mom and sister most likely sipping on our drink of choice – Amarula coffees – and trying not to pee our pants from laughter.  It seems like a really, really great dream I had, one of those dreams you wish you wouldn’t wake up from.  I know many of you have heard how the trip went from my Mom and Erin, but then there are some of you have not, so I’ll be sure to fill you in.  This blog post will be a special one (and a longer one).  I’ve had my Mom and sister write their own thoughts and impressions on the trip to spice things up a bit.  Thought it’d be something different, something fun.  Also, I can’t hog the entire spotlight.  When I say that their 3 weeks here was the perfect vacation, I am not exaggerating.

Puzzles have always been daunting to me.  Heck, some puzzles have 1000+ pieces.  They always take such a long time to put together.  First, you must find the corner and side pieces.  Then you must fill in the middle, being sure to group similar colors together and referring to the cover photo to help you.  I’ve never had much patience for puzzles.  That is, until coming into the Peace Corps, more specifically Peace Corps South Africa.  After 19 months, I now have enough patience to sit on a non-moving taxi hours on end, waiting for it to fill.  I now have enough patience for my learners to painstakingly draw a table into their notebooks, making sure every line is perfect, make shifting just about anything into a ruler.  Heck, I now even have enough patience to stand in line at the post office in 100+ degree weather just to see if I have a package, no guarantees (I guess the fact that the post office is air conditioned helps).  South Africa has instilled patience in me, and for that I am thankful.  Sometimes good things take time, for all of the pieces to come together.  I’ve come to realize that no matter how intricate the puzzle, no matter how much time and effort it may take, the end result is always something incredibly beautiful.  The pieces were meant to come together, meant to intertwine. 

I’d like to think of my Peace Corps service as one big puzzle (unfortunately, no cover photo to refer to included), comprised of many different puzzle pieces.  My puzzle pieces include that of my village; my two schools each making their own separate and unique piece; my host family, and my relationship with each member making its own piece; my friends in the village; my counterparts; my colleagues; my learners; my incredible boyfriend and best friend, Nick; my Peace Corps family (SA24 and the other SA classes); my Peace Corps friends, who I know to be lifelong friends; my work with the Peace Corps; my different projects, also all making a separate piece; Jack, the dog who runs with me.  The list goes on.  Despite all of these pieces, and with my time winding down, I still felt as though a few integral pieces to my “Peace Corps” puzzle were missing.  That is, until my Mom and sister visited. 

It may sound lame so forgive me, but when I met my Mom and sister at O.R. Tambo and hugged them for the first time after a long separation of over 17 months, I felt complete again.  I had my own puzzle pieces; my heart finally felt full again.  We have always fit together.  The 3 Musketeers were back together at last.  Prior to their arrival, I’ll be honest that I was a bit nervous.  Had I changed?  Had they changed?  Would our relationships have changed after so much time?  My fears were soon set to the side.  As we sat in Mugg & Bean all craving coffee and muffins, I realized it was as though not a day had passed since seeing them.  Sure Erin’s hair was longer and sure Pammycakes was looking like even more of a beast with all of her running, but what we were as a threesome hadn’t changed a bit.  There was so much to say, and our lips moved a million miles a minute.  I think I can speak for all of us when I say that we were relieved. 

Our first stop on our trip was Johannesburg/Pretoria, where my Mom and Erin were finally able to meet my second family (my family away from home) – Sue, Eddie, and Porsche.  We grabbed a quick bite to eat prior to every restaurant closing down (it was Christmas Eve).  Then, Sue was kind enough to give us a tour of the hospital where she works, introducing us to all of her babies.  Erin was in heaven, being a nursing student, and I was thankful that I had chosen teaching as a profession.  Afterwards, we headed to our backpackers.  I was able to show them Pretoria, where many of our trainings take place.  I loved being in the backpackers as it was fun to show them how PCV’s travel!

The next morning (now Christmas Day) Erin and I woke up early to run.  It was so nice to be back with one of my favorite running buddies.  Once we were showered and filled with coffee (obviously a must), we set off for my village.  Again, I was nervous about this day.  My two very different worlds were about to come together.  Sure I had integrated into my village and sure I had gotten used to the many stares, the pungent smells of my pit latrine, and my homey yet rather ghetto rondavel, but I wondered how would my Mom and sister react?  How would they cope with it all?  Upon pulling into my host family’s compound, and seeing my Mom hug Maggie, my host mom, I realized that I could, and needed to breath.  Everything would be a’ok.  In the end, I’m so glad they were able to see the village, my home for 2 years.  It was so amazing for them to meet everyone I love here, everyone who takes care of me here.  It was also wonderful for everyone here to meet two of the most important people in my life.  Although our Christmas dinner wasn’t anything special – peanut butter banana sandwiches, pasta, and wine – it was definitely one of the best Christmases I’ve ever had.  Their glimpse into my life here will help them to understand both the treasures and the challenges of my service, hopefully making my transition back home that much easier.

Following our stop in the village, it was off to Kruger National Park.  I had gone back in June with Nick’s family, so I knew this time around that it was NOT a good idea to get out of the car when lions were around…woops!  We drove around the park ourselves for a little while, but Pammycakes really wanted to take a safari, so we booked an evening safari, and boy am I glad we did!  We were all a bit anxious to see the Big 5…at first Mom thought that a termite mound was a lion and Erin mistook a bush for a lion cub.  Eventually though, we saw some real animals: water buffalo, hippos, rhinos, springbok, some pretty spectacular lizards, and giraffes.  The most exciting part of the safari had to be the lions.  We saw a male lion and about a dozen lionesses.  The lionesses came right over to our jeep!!  Erin and I were scared stiff as my Mom hung out of the window trying to get the best pictures.  We had to remind her that these things do not mess around!!  On our way back to the entrance we saw some beautiful owls, a cheetah, and even had some beetles hop onto our jeep.

While I loved spending time with my Mom and Erin in Joburg, Pretoria, my village, and Kruger, the next part of the trip was what I was really looking forward to for myself: Cape Town!  I had not been during my time in South Africa, and I had heard only great things about the city from anyone who had gone.  Apparently, it was the Europe of Africa, a must see.  I was ready to board the plane and check this place out for myself!  I was not disappointed.  Cape Town was amazing for so many reasons.  First of all, the running weather and scenery was ideal (yay for Two Oceans in March!!).  It was like a backdrop to a movie.  If I lived there, I’d probably run four times a day if at all possible.  Erin and I loved it.  I think more than anything, though, my favorite part of Cape Town was that Nick would be spending 5 days with us – my three favorite people all together.  I had to pinch myself!  It was incredible having my Mom and sister meet Nick and vice versa.  It wasn’t a surprise to me that they all got along so well, which made me unbelievably happy.  Among the other highlights in Cape Town included hiking up Table Mountain (it was Pammycakes’ first hike!!  Yay!!), New Year’s Eve on Long Street with my family, Nick, and my Peace Corps family (it was crazy – the streets were full of people and it was Mardi Gras theme), going to the Waterfront for dinner and drinks (such a nice atmosphere), going to Simon’s Town and seeing the penguins, visiting the gorgeous beaches, and of course going to Robben Island where my Mom and Erin met more of my Peace Corps family.  Note – do NOT take Dramamine if you are prone to sleepiness.  I’m pretty sure I fell asleep standing up, and sadly do not remember much of the tour.  I would have preferred to have felt sea sick. Chibby, if you’re reading this, think back to Assateague Island.  Struggle.  Still, I was glad to have gone where Nelson Mandela spent many of his years, fighting for what he believed in.

Next on the agenda: wine and cheese!  We first went to Stellenbosch, which is famous for its wineries and vineyards.  Pammycakes was in her glory, and Erin and I were pretty excited as well (I prefer beer, but I’ll never turn down a good glass of wine).  After the effects of the Dramamine had finally worn off, we were booked for our first wine tour with our knowledgeable tour guide, Neil.  If you haven’t been on a wine tour, I definitely recommend it.  Our tour included visits to four wineries (some old, some new), a full rundown of how wine is made and stored, as well as the aging process, a gourmet lunch with, and you guessed it, wine, and cheese tastings!  After four different wineries (this is the maximum for wine tours) we were all ready to get home.  I understand why you don’t visit more than four wineries – wine really knocks you off your feet.  Kind of like Dramamine…While we were in Stellenbosch, we also made a short trek to Franschhoek, not too far from where we were staying.  This was one of my favorite places that we went to on our trip.  We had a chocolate tour and a chocolate tasting in the morning (maybe this is why it was my favorite), shopped until our feet ached (literally as I was practicing wearing heels), and had a lovely late lunch.

At this point in time, the trip seemed like it was playing in fast forward.  I wanted to press pause and rewind.  We were on our way back to the beautiful Cape Town for just a few more days together.   We stayed in a lovely B&B (where Pammycakes decided we’d only ever do B&B’s in the future which I am totally on board with), went to the beaches again, shopped, ate, and soaked up our time together.  The farewell was definitely not as fun as the reunion.  Rather than tears of joy we had tears of sadness.  I’ve decided that hellos are always nicer than goodbyes.  However, I was so glad they had come.  Also, it helped knowing that rather than 17 months it would be a mere 8 before coming back together again, this time for good.  Warning for everyone I love – you’ll have me attached to your hip when I’m home.  Be excited!!

This trip was so special and necessary in many ways.  First of all, it helped me to reflect on how I’m doing here, seeing things through my Mom’s and sister’s eyes.  Both of them realized that this had been the right move for me, which I was happy to hear.  In addition, it made me excited to get home.  I had been starting to worry about how it would be to transition back home (I’ve always heard going home is the harder transition of the two), worrying that my time here had changed how I looked at things or my values.  Sure I have changed, and sure I appreciate what I have so much more, but I’ll have loved ones by my side helping me to transition back to my life in the US of A.  I finally understood the true meaning of “home is where the heart is.”  I felt more at home in South Africa with my Mom and sister here than I ever had before.   Their trip got me back to site, feeling re-energized and ready to make the best of my final stretch in the Peace Corps.

My Mom and sister’s visit added a very big and important piece to my Peace Corps puzzle (while accomplishing one of the 3 Peace Corps goals), and while my puzzle is not quite finished, it is looking really nice and more complete by the day.  I still have a few big projects I am working on (the Books for Africa library project, Scouts/a Scouts Camp, and Grassroot Soccer) that will add some pieces to the puzzle.  I also still have to run (and not die in the process!) the Two Oceans Marathon and the Comrades Marathon, some more personal pieces to my puzzle.  It’s not the final product just yet, and while at times I felt like throwing in the towel, I’m glad to have worked hard and kept with it because the final product and all that has been accomplished is so worth it.  Who knows, maybe I’ll take up puzzling (my verb for making puzzles) as a hobby when I get home with my new found patience and appreciation for puzzles…

Now for reflections from Erin and my Mom on our trip:

Erin –

Before leaving for South Africa, I had no idea what to expect aside from what Meg had told me.  When people tell you things, you try to picture in your head an image of the description, but it is always skewed from the reality.  Well, I was finally ready to be able to place the stories I’d been told for 17 months. 

Everyone says it’s easy because Meg and I talk every day, and trust me it is, but for one second think about how weird it would be not seeing your sister or your best friend for 2 years.  Now that you have, you know how excited I was to see her, and when I finally did, it was as if we had never been apart.  Most people who know us know that our relationship is rare as sisters for how close we are, and I never thought we’d get closer, but this trip proved the impossible in many ways.

I don’t know how to even describe how amazing this trip was when people ask, because it was truly “the trip of a lifetime.”  It doesn’t matter where you travel no matter how amazing; the biggest piece is who you are with.  Well, I was with the best people ever!  My favorite thing about the whole trip was knowing that Meg hadn’t changed a bit, and that she was really in love.  To answer everyone’s question, Nick is a great guy and he makes Meg happier than ever!  Meg has impacted so many lives and I could tell this from just one day in her village.  These next 8 months will be weird without you Meg, but they will fly by and you’re going to continue to make differences in people’s lives every day!

A few highlights of the trip: going to Meghan’s village and eating peanut butter and banana sandwiches on Christmas, the safari with Pammycakes wanting to get out with the lions while I was petrified, climbing Table Mountain, almost being mugged in Cape Town, and the long runs with my running buddy by my side!

Pammycakes –

Italy, England, and Napa Valley are on my bucket list.  I have been to England and Napa Valley, so Italy is at the top of my list.  South Africa, however, was never on my bucket list.  When Meghan first approached us about the Peace Corps and mentioned South Africa, I was worried.  We did not know a lot about the country, in fact very little, and it was so far away!  After her acceptance letter came most of my friends said, “When are you going to visit her?”  My reply was always the same: “I am not going to visit.”  The cost of the trip, the distance, and just the thought of traveling to South Africa was not in the plans.

The quote is “a picture is worth a thousand words.”  I realized after returning from South Africa that yes, a picture is worth a thousand words, but being there is worth a million!  Meghan text messages almost every day with some family member.  We heard, in the 17 months before seeing her again, about her rondavel (African-style hut), her host family, the schools where she teaches, fat cakes, how she bucket bathes, her pit latrine, and her 4 legged running companion, Jack.  I also never would have imagined that I would say, South Africa is a beautiful place and I would go back if I could!

The rondavel, where Meghan lives had more room than I had expected and was very close to the host family’s house.  The pit latrine was just as I expected and they added a door for her after she arrived instead of just the tattered curtain.  Unfortunately the school gates were locked while we were there, but we still had a beautiful view of the world map that we had heard reports of over the past few months.  It was gorgeous!  Soon after Meghan arrived in South Africa, she spoke about one of her favorite foods: fat cakes.  I imagined them like a funnel cake or a sugary glazed donut.  Meghan was so excited as she stopped and bought 4 of them for Erin and me to share.  Unfortunately they did not taste as I had expected.  I found them to be simply bland balls of dough.  Oh well, more for Meghan and Erin!

Meghan taught us the process of bucket bathing and washing her dishes outside and leaving them to dry on the stone wall.  I suggested that she at least rinse the soap bubbles off.  We met the dog across the road, Jack who runs with her for miles on end and for that I am happy as I see him as her faithful protector.  Meg’s host mother and father, Maggie and Daniel were so nice and I held back tears as I hugged Maggie good-bye.  If only she knew what we owe her for stepping in as Mom for all these months.

There are so many moments of the trip that stand out, but I came home with a few “ah-ha” thoughts.  For one thing, I was able to successfully drive on the left side of the road on the opposite side of the car.  Erin had to shout “left Mom, left!” a few times but we did it.  The people everywhere were extremely friendly.  The country is so diverse from Johannesburg, to Cape Town, to Stellenbosch and Franschhoek.  We listened to people speak Afrikaans in Stellenbosch and Sepedi in Limpopo.  Climbing Table Mountain was a bit tenuous at times but the view from the top was breathtaking!  Our trip to Robben Island was memorable where Nelson Mandela spent 18 of the 27 years he was behind bars as a political prisoner.

Of all the sites and places we saw, nothing could have topped what I witnessed while we were in Meg’s village on Christmas Day.  There was not a single thing in sight that would have told me it was Christmas Day.  I suppose I imagined there may have been a tree, or wreath, or angel.  We took a walk to the house next door where a group of women (Gogo’s) were gathered under a tree just enjoying the day.  Meghan wanted to introduce us to them and began to speak in Xitsonga and had been speaking Sepedi just a few moments before.  That moment alone was the best present I could have received.  It confirmed to me that her decision to join the Peace Corps and live in South Africa was a good one, and the memories and life lessons learned will go on forever. 

As always, thanks so much for taking the time to read about my adventures!

Le rata,
Meg :)