Cuteness abides on Inkanyiso's Interhouse Sports Day!

Nkosi and friend worked it at the bean bag toss!!!

I recently have found myself wanting to write all of the time but having absolutely no idea what to say or where to begin. Things are changing in Vryheid. The weather is really cooling down and now it requires a sweatshirt, pants, thermal sleeping bag, heater, and an occasional hat for comfortable sleeping. While that might sound absurd, please remember there is no central heating or insulation in my little room at all. In fact, I put a towel on the floor in the crack of the door at night to keep the drafts and snakes from coming in. Snakes, you say? What? Yes, snakes. Yesterday Buyisiwe, the housekeeper for the kids here at Inkululeko, was walking to the garden around the back of the house and she saw a big old snake that was fat and not too long but was brown with diamonds. At first I did not believe her, so I put on my boots and went around back to check it out myself and sure enough in the sand pit there were lines of snake movement. Humans make footprints in sand and snakes obviously do not, so their tracks look a bit different. Unlike the first snake that I encountered in South Africa and consequently killed in the kitchen after throwing holy water on it, I do not think I am going to try to get anywhere close to this snake based on its description. No snakes for me, thanks. However, I am carrying a rock around the yard just in case the snake decides it is time to tango because he/she probably does not know about my legendary reputation as a snake killer. I think its best that way though. Speaking of killing animals, we might have to slaughter a goat my school. Are we out of food and are now eating the innocent local animals? No. Do we hate goats here in Vryheid? Nope. Are people getting goats mixed up with pigs during this raging swine flu pandemic? (Please catch the sarcasm there) No. Why would we need to slaughter a goat at school then? Let me tell you. Recently three of our teachers have injured one of their feet during separate instances and in different ways. The first teacher broke her foot when she fell in a bucket of washing powder. The second teacher sprained it while sleeping. And the third teacher was hit by a car in town. “There is only one way that this could all happen in such a short period of time” says Mrs. Zulu (translated by me). “Yini? (What?), I exclaim! “ The ancestors are angry with us here at school”, Mrs. Zulu shouts! “But I don’t have any ancestors here”, I respond. “Not yours Nqobile (my Zulu name), the ancestors of the school”, she tells me. Yes folks, there are ancestors of the school. I was not aware of this fact until yesterday. Apparently, the four teachers that have died since 2002 at our school are the ancestors of the school. The staff believes that we have done something to upset them and now we must make it right by slaughtering a goat on the premises. When and how this is going to happen, I do not know, but I have a feeling it will be soon, so look out for pictures folks…this will be upload worthy. It is so odd to think that slaughtering a goat at school and living in a yard with a possibly poisonous snake seems ordinary. There have been so many times when I have been so frustrated and just pushed to the limit of absolutely all that I know and felt like I could ever do. I told myself if I ever came in contact with a snake indoors I would leave. That happened and I am still here. I said that if my computer died I would leave because it makes working so much more difficult without it. That happened. I am still here. I told myself that I would definitely leave if any of the babies at the home died. That happened. I am here. I told myself that if more than one kid that I work with dies at school I will leave. That happened yesterday. I am still here with no plans to leave. Somewhere along the line I let go the notion that any little thing could be too much and that it would be time to go back to a life that had challenges but was not overwhelming back in the States. But then I realized something. Even if I left South Africa today, life would never be the same back in America. Though most things and people that I am used to back in the States may have remained relatively the same, I am not. Previously believing that if hardships happened I could escape back to my more comfortable life and forget about the issues 9,000 miles away was an absolute farce. I am not sure what made me think that by leaving the overwhelming pain that sometimes comes with living and working with kids in a third world environment it would just go away. So I am staying. I am finishing my 27 months here because I have experienced absolute tragedy and immense pain in the loss of children that I work with and care about, but I have experienced far more joy and light than could ever be overshadowed by such loss. Working here has so many challenges and so many more rewards. The wholeness of being in the good times is indescribable and the numbness in the bad times is unspeakable. I am going to be forever changed by this experience in more ways than I even realize. I am going to be stronger and more confident. I feel that if I can live through this, I can live through and prosper in almost any situation. I also will be connected with the world around me and daily remind myself that I have a responsibility to give back a little bit of what amazing things have been given to me. I was looking at pictures that I brought from the States yesterday and I was so very thankful. I have experienced such richness and happiness in friendships and relationships with my family. I am so blessed to have so many pictures to fill up and overflow that album of amazing times with even more amazing people in my life. Not everyone gets so many opportunities to become close to so many fantastic high-quality people. I am blessed. I know it and I am thankful for it. Obviously I wish that everyone had the family and friends that I do and I hope that family feuds and broken friendships do not stop me or anyone I know from experiencing the real wholeness that comes with being able to be connected. Today I have a heavy heart because of the loss of yet another beautiful child at our school to AIDS but I know that this too shall pass and that tomorrow I will remember to be thankful. If any potential Peace Corps applicants are reading this like I used to read blogs about the Peace Corps before I came here, please know that this is no walk in the park. If you end up working in South Africa, small African children with dirty hands and beautiful smiles will run up to you on the streets and want to talk to you and touch you and you will learn to love this. You might live in a mud house in a rural area with no running water or electricity or you might have a situation like mine where you live with both of those amenities only minutes away from town center. You might think that you will be changing the world in a foreseeable way. I cannot tell you that those things won’t happen or that they will. What I can say is that you will be challenged in so many ways that you could never imagine before moving here. Not having running water or electricity are not the major challenges you will face. They are also not something you should develop a fetish over. Please do not come here believing any one group of people is bad and oppressive and that all of the others are innocent victims of a society plagued by its history. If you deem people bad or good before you even meet them, then you have limited yourself greatly and I am sorry for you. Please, just keep an open mind about the whole experience and be ready to being very fulfilled or completely disappointed or both simultaneously. This is no attempt to rant about South Africa or the Peace Corps because I love this place and my job, however, the heartwarming stories you may read about having no electricity and watching the stars every night after sitting around a bowl of food with your host family are not the only stories that volunteers have, they are just the ones that they think others want to hear. I am attempting to change the way that I write any correspondence about my experience here. If this sounds negative or aggressive, that is not the intention. I am just really attempting to be more honest because life here is such a paradox. P.S. Ma, tell Roger that the Flaming Lips CD is on the way. Also, tell him that it changed my life (without exaggeration). Dad, go ahead and laugh, but yes, that CD is LIFE CHANGING even more so than when Ikea changed my life. Wait until you come to South Africa…you and Sue will experience the life changingness of the Flaming Lips for hours and hours on the road. Aren’t you excited? Love you family! Also, check out the pics I uploaded. Sorry it has taken literally a year. Just a few. “If you could take all the love without giving any back, would you do it? And so we cannot know ourselves or what we’d really do With all your power, with all your power, with all your power, what would you do?” - Flaming Lips (thanks to Kim and Jared)

Yes folks that’s right, get ready folks for yet another installment of “crazy white girl joined the Peace Corps and went to Africa” here on your friendly world wide web sponsored by the lovely folks at Google. Apologies are in order once again for my empty promises of writing “soon”. If you understood Africa time and my current life situation then you would know that I am writing “soon”. However, I recognize that the people who are probably reading this are in a place that values timeliness and where yes means “yes” rather than yes, which actually means “most likely not”. I recently used one of my “weekends away” as the Peace Corps called them when we first arrived and spent a few days out in the bush with monkeys. That’s right folks…monkeys. Two of my fabulous friends, Sandy and Bruce, created a monkey rehab center (don’t think Amy Winehouse here) for monkeys that have been abandoned or kept as pets by humans. First of all, I would like to make the public service announcement that monkeys are not pets and should not be kept as such. If you want a furry, cuddly pet that wears diapers as an infant, drinks milk, slowly moves onto solids, and that you can love then I suggest having a baby. Babies, though a handful, are far less wild that monkeys and, in general, do not have razor sharp teeth to bite you. Moral of the story folks, don’t get a monkey because it can end up in rehab.

Monkeys come from all over the KwaZulu Natal region to the rehab center where they received a healthy diet of fruits, veggies, insects, and nuts to chow on at least twice a day, other monkeys who are also dealing with the same issues, a family environment, and the opportunity to become reintroduced into the wild. The 31 monkeys that were recently introduced back into the wild had been at the center for over two years. Finally, they seemed to have grasped the skills that will allow them so survive without human intervention. Tracking collars were put on seven of the monkeys before they were set free. We tracked the monkeys with the honing device and we recorded their behavior. It was amazing. The monkeys went nuts when we drove the 8.2 kilometers on rough dirt roads were snaky throughout the mountains to their indigenous forest area. The monkeys knew food was coming with us so they weren’t afraid. In fact three of the monkeys jumped on to the back of the truck and one tried to steal things from Bruce’s open backpack. After yelling at the monkey to get back into the tree and to stop stealing the bag, the monkey finally retreated. I calmly took the bag of the back of the truck and proceeded to walk away when the monkey decided it was time for a showdown. As my back was turned to the monkey (because I was walking away), the monkey leaped off the tree and onto the ground and began to chase me. Sandy yelled “Christi!” and I spun around to find the monkey galloping in my direction. So naturally being 4 feet taller than the monkey and weight over 100 pounds more than that primate, I screamed like a little girl and ran like hell. The monkey must have been scared by my girlish shriek because she stopped dead in her tracks. I ran behind my camping chair as Sandy tried to use hers as some sort of sword to ward off the vicious (okay well maybe not so vicious) attack. The monkey must have found all of this quite amusing and decided taking back the backpack wasn’t worth a camping chair to the head, so she scurried back up the tree and made lurching movements that I can only imagine meant “What now you stupid American. Try to take that backpack again. Go ahead. Do it”. Only in Africa would I get chased down by a 15 pound monkey with an attitude. Moral of the story folks, if a monkey wants your backpack, give it to him or be ready for an epic battle.

Besides being intimidated by small primates, I have been keeping very well and am very busy here. I must be honest; I am not practicing my Zulu much because my friend who I always speak with had a baby recently and is not back to work yet. I tell myself everyday that I will wake up and practice for an hour just like I tell myself everyday I will write in my journal. The last time I wrote in my journal was January 25 and I don’t want to admit when I last sat down to really practice Zulu. Ugh. I am expecting too much from myself and I am too busy to do all that I want. “Busy in a small town in Africa, how can this be?” you ask. Well, I work at school for 28 hours a week and also with the kids at the children’s home for another 10-20 hours a week so I am keeping very busy. Since I go to bed at 9 or 9:30 unless someone calls me, I do not have time for sleep-time-wasting activities like writing and learning a very necessary language. Nope, no time for that. In America, I could easily deal with working 24-30 hours a week at the Low Rises (including midnight to six am shifts) and then going to school full time. But here, oh no. I need my eight hours or else the kids say things to me like “you hair looks hlebe hlebe (wild and untamed) and “your face is falling” which I am taking to mean that either I look tired or gravity is taking its toll far too early on my young skin. Who knows? So be thankful folks when I risk premature aging to write you one of oh so enduring letters and take the time to address it especially for you from deepest, darkest Africa. Also be thankful because I do not have a mailbox at my house so in order to send letters, I must conveniently walk 20 minutes to the post office and 20 minutes back in the less than desirable heat. I risk heat rash and constant harassment about my accent just to make it to the South African Post Office in adoration for those who write me and I feel it necessary to finally respond to. Be patient, your letter is coming (Mom, Dad, Nida, Aunt Shelda, Mema, and Holly…I am a little backed up, right?). Until next time folks...

Saturday, January 31, 2009 was the one year anniversary of my Peace Corps South Africa 17’s arrival in Africa. I had lunch with some friends and spent the afternoon checking out bed and breakfasts for my Dad and Sue’s visit that is scheduled for September. It was a rather relaxed and monotonous day which was not really marked by any major event or excitement. However, the significance of the date has left me thinking a lot about this last year.

How do I put into words the major shifts in living situations, language, social atmosphere, and most importantly; thinking that I have experienced since I left the States in January 2008? I am astounded by what I have been through in the past year. To be honest, I have lived and loved far more freely than I have ever before. Is it because this is supposedly where mankind began? Is there some inherent wholeness to living in Africa? Maybe. Maybe not. All I know is that I have experienced tremendous change since I have arrived here. Some changes resulting in growth and others leaving me completely lost.

As I have said before, I live at the Inkululeko Toddler’s Home. It is a place of safety for orphaned and abandoned children. Some of the children have known their parents and watched them pass away. Others were very badly abused and are seeking protection here. The rest have been abandoned, some in public places, others out in locations where their parents’ never hoped the child would be found. All of these children somehow made it here though. All eleven of the children at my house have completely different stories with at least one common thread that has bound them together. I was never abandoned, orphaned, or abused and somehow I also found my way to this place as well, this place of safety. Peace Corps did not place me here. I was living in a township about 45 minutes away from my current residence. I would have never heard about this place if it was not for a chance meeting with my principal and the founder of this organization. I would have never ended up living here if the taxi fare to and from work was not as expensive as it was and the lady I was staying with passed away a few months after I moved, both of which are unfortunate but real matters. I could have very easily ended up somewhere else; things could have been very different. Yet, somehow so many small things fell into place that would pave the way for me to end up here. And here I am. I am exactly where I am meant to be.

I have been living at this home for almost ten months and I could not possibly begin to do justice to the profound work that these children have done in my life. I came to Africa looking for direction while also intending to lose it entirely. I have done both. I came here knowing what I wanted to do when I returned to America. Now, I am unsure. I came here having no idea of what to do here in Africa, yet I know exactly what I want to do now and I am doing it. So I have direction. In fact, I have many directions and perhaps this is why I am on my way and totally lost. Yet, it could not possibly feel better. I think that when you let go of the notions of what you think you should be and how important it is that certain things remain a specific way because they are right and going in any different direction would be wrong, you suddenly become just a little bit freer. Things that seemed so important and were the origin of so much stress in the past now seem inconsequential. And things that you never imagined you would be able to experience or believe now confront you head on and more surprisingly you are able to deal with them and slowly you learn to embrace the journey with all of its surprises and challenges.

I am aware that this rambling does not contain any real details of what I have been up to recently and maybe that would be more entertaining to read. I am sorry if it is a disappointment and I promise to write more anecdotes about my last couple of months, but this is just what I felt like sharing today. I hope you can relate to this unfinished madness of a blog. Until next time…

Our story begins, Friends, at four fifty-five on Sunday, November 16, 2008. Tucked away snuggly under a duvet in my obnoxious unmatching pj shorts and white tank top I am sleeping soundly until a series of unfamiliar and piercing squeaking sounds drags my from my dreams and into reality. I try to ignore the sound, believing that is a demented bird on my tin roof or just another roof rat. However, the squeaking is becoming more shrill and I realize that if I am to enjoy this glorious day of sleeping in until the late hour of half past seven, I am going to have to take care of this monster. Reluctantly, I put my bare feet (I have recently learned to sleep without socks…go me!), on the concrete floor and chills run up my legs as I feel the coldness of the floor on my way to the light switch. I flick the lights on and my eyes fight to adjust. The shrills are now becoming more frequent and I realize that whatever is making that sound is not on the roof, but in my room because the noise is coming from the same place where the roof rat first came from. I begin to search for my flashlight under my bed, on my bed, around my bed, and in any other direction where the flashlight could have possibly gone. Unable to locate the flashlight, I sit on the bed and remove the covers when my eyes are bombarded by…get ready for this….a BAT!!! The bat is now widly flying around the room as I trembled beneath the pillow I am holding over my head and screaming loud enough to wake up all five of the neighbor’s dogs. Though bats are nearly blind, they are far from deaf, so the bat had a massive fright and flew right back into the hole in the wall where it came from in the first place. Now thoroughly alarmed and very awake, I open the door and the windows hoping that my nocturnal friend will leave. No such luck. Now there is only two options I see here. Either the bat leaves or I do; so I grab my towel and toiletries, and I head out the door. Time to shower and start the day at FIVE IN THE MORNING!!!! To make a long story short, the bat left the same day without my knowledge of exactly when or how.

Today is November 25, 2008, nine days since the bat incident and so much has happened in these past 216 hours. I have finished all of my project wrap-ups at school and I have secured and closed up my classroom. The learners left and are now home enjoying the holidays with their families. Our learners left mid-November and won’t come back until mid-January…which only means one thing for us “teachers”…VACATION!! I am going to St. Lucia for Thanksgiving with other Peace Corps people, which should be a great time. Good friends, cold drinks, great food, sun, and the beach…what more can a PCV ask for? I would like to add though that swimming at the beach is nearly impossible because in St. Lucia, it is the only place in the world where crocodiles, sharks, and hippos (all very dangerous to humans in the water) coexist . Needless to say, I am going to stay on land. I am also cleaning up my room, doing loads of laundry, and other menial tasks in order to get ready go to America for Christmas!! Hooray for Christmas in a climate that is not 88 degrees Farenheit indoors and even hotter outside!!! Shortly after coming back to SA, I am going to Cape Town as well with some friends so it should be a blast because we are taking the wine route and my pregnant friend is our DD, much to her dislike, so bring on the incredibly cheap but incredibly delicious South African wine! After my return to the oh-so-happening town of Vryheid, a brand new school year will start and my project will be in full force. Did I mention that the town slogan of Vryheid, which is actually published on all of the tourist information, is “Vryheid, where it’s happening”! Now I am not quite sure what “it” is because I have not yet seen “it” happen here, maybe I am not looking though.

Since school has been out, I have busied myself with other things, mostly the children here at the Inkululeko Babies Home. I have learned an incredible amount about health care and VCT (voluntary counseling and testing for HIV) within the past five days. Last Tuesday, one of the babies at our home was found to be very ill. Without getting into too much detail about this baby, whom we shall call Baby A for privacy reasons, I would like to share a little bit about health care in my town, most of which is probably true for much of South Africa. How I got involved in Baby A’s hospital visit or the ensuing madness is unimportant here, the fact is I volunteer and live at this the Home so sometimes volunteers are called to do things that are more difficult than they expected. Children, by law, are supposed to get treatment first in health care situations before adults in hospitals and clinics. From the time that I arrived and the hospital with deathly ill Baby A, to the time that Baby A was finally given any treatment whatsoever besides an x-ray and being diagnosed with a condition that I cannot name here for privacy reasons, was two hours. When I went to admit Baby A to the children’s ward, I was asked by the nurse who made me wait 25 minutes while she finished her coffee, whether or not I am breastfeeding. The look of bewilderment on my face must have answered her question because for the first time in thirty minutes she actually looked at the baby and saw that we have no where near the same skin color and that clearly I have not given birth in the last six weeks. She said “Hawu, phephisa” (“Oh, sorry”) and then asked me “Where is the mother” to which I explain Baby A is an orphan. Not satisified with the answer, she asks me questions about Baby A’s birth history. I reply that because I not Baby A’s mother, and because Baby A is abandoned, there is no way for me to have a birth history and that I am sorry but I only know the history since the home recently received Baby A. She angrily clicks her tongue and her pen and continues to write for ten more minutes. Meanwhile Baby A was not responding to any touch, pinch, words, or to the bottle. Obviously, I was very concerned, but managed to keep calm because if I were to shout or demand anything from the staff at the hospital about how this critically ill baby has been waiting two hours for treatment, they would definitely play a power game with me and make me wait longer as they have done so many more times before. Regardless, Baby A was admitted to the ICU here at Vryheid District Hospital on Tuesday with a serious condition, but one that is treatable and can be completely cured. Baby A died Saturday morning.

Can accurately put into words how I felt about the whole situation that went down at the hospital admittance and after? Probably not. Can I write about how ridiculous and sad the situation was/ is? No, because it is probably not fair and this is not an appropriate space to do so. However, I can say this. There were many mistakes made that day; many on the part of the hospital staff, maybe some on the part of our staff, probably even on the part of my involvement. I could point fingers at the nurses and say that they don’t care about their jobs or the children of that ward because coffee and nap time were deemed more important that dying babies. Yet, there were four nurses that day for forty-nine seriously ill children. If that was me, would I have been running around trying to serve as many children as possible in the best way I can? Yes. But I also have not been working for a system where there are over ten children per nurse to care for with a lack of equipment and effective medicines for years. Can I say that I think that they could have done better? Yes, they could have, but they did not and there are many reasons for that; some completely ridiculous and others incredibly valid. The point is, I cannot judge even though I find myself desperately wanting to place blame somewhere because I just really believe that people, especially children, deserve better. And because they deserve better, I am reserving judgment because being angry or wishing that things were different isn’t going to keep this from happening again. I have had nine days to think about this and I am now in a different place in my mind then where I was on Saturday. I also realize that even if Baby A had been given the best treatment that the world has to offer, we will never know if that would have changed the outcome. Barak Obama said “We are the change we have been waiting for” and he doesn’t know it, but those words resound in so many American’s minds and are a verbal expression of the silent resolve that numerous people are using to improve our world. While I cannot change what happened last week, I can try to prevent it from happening again. I can create relationships with the hospital staff that will help ensure better treatment for our kids here at the home. I can be vigilant in identifying illnesses or problems in our children early and making sure that their problems are not shrugged off but instead given the treatment and attention that is warranted. I can help the local staff in recognizing problems in our children and also help them in giving better service delivery while still being able to fulfill their other responsibilities. I can create a better system for drug delivery and record keeping for our kids that is user-friendly and effective for the caretakers and the administration. These are things I can do. These are things I want to do. These are things I am working on because I know that there might be someone coming behind me to do the same things I am trying to do or their might be someone who can do it better, but I do not know if and when they will come so I must do it now. Now is not the time to think about what I am lacking but instead about what I have to give. I know I cannot save the world and I do not intend to. Jesus saves; not me. But I know I can give what little skills and knowledge I have along with my time and effort and that will just have to be enough. I know what I am doing…the question is what do you plan to do?

In the one week since school has ended, I have spent over thirty hours at the hospital with our kids learning about them and about the system. I am trying to create healthy working relationships of mutual respect between the hospital staff and our staff so that our kids will get the treatment they need when they need it. I know this is an uphill battle, but I think it is worth it and after spending the night with Toddler N in the hospital when Toddler N came down quickly with something serious, I know that to get good service, you have to be willing to help. FYI...Toddler N is doing much better and hopefully should come home soon. I have also learned that if you want to get CD4 counts done, get a chest x-ray for TB, get viral load counts, or see a doctor in the HIV/TB clinic run by the CDC, you have to get up pretty early in the morning because the doctors basically stop seeing people after their lunch break, which starts at one. I also now am on a first name basis with the records clerks, the pharmacy staff, and one doctor in the CDC clinic. Hopefully these relationships will grow and together we can find ways to fix the problems that we are facing in this ARV rollout and clinical service delivery. Will this make a difference? I don’t know, but it doesn’t hurt to try.

So folks, this has been how I have spent my last nine days. It is now a cool 89.9F in my room and I am sweating like a pig and feel as if I am going to pass out from heat stroke in my little oven of a room. If only heat could make you tan then I would be a bronze goddess. Time for a shower. Hopefully there will be water. The municipal water pipe broke again for the third time in two weeks, but at least there are no red worms swimming in the water this time. I am sorry for the somewhat heavy subject matter of this blog. I promise that I did my best to censor this and that I am trying to keep this as positive as possible. I think that it is also very important that I do not paint the reality of life here as something that is it not though and everything is not made of lollipops and gumdrops. However, it is all in how you see it and from where I am standing life is pretty good.

“Help me break down the walls of separation within our community. Help me build bridges of love and understanding. Help me sweep away the debris of isms, phobias, broken connections, and shattered hopes. Prepare my heart to prepare the way. Encourage me to think the first thought, to make the first sound, to speak the first word. Help me break the silence”.

-A prayer in the midst of a church living with AIDS

November 5th was probably, without exaggeration, one of the greatest days of my entire life. I am writing this at school since nearly all of the kids have left. The main water pipe for Vryheid burst last Thursday and the water has been off since then in most places in town. My house recently got water back, but unfortunately it is undrinkable because of the tiny red worms that were enjoying a nice swim in our water supply. However, the water at school is still off and obviously this is a problem. My school is fairly modern in that we have 10 flush toilets for 342 children, many with bowel control problems even on a good day. However, when the water is not working, this means the toilets won’t either. So, I will leave it up to your imagination as to what happens when you have 342 mentally disabled children who have to use the toilets and are told that they cannot because the toilets are already full to the brim…I’ll let you meditate on that one for a minute. Okay…done now? Good. Well, you can envision the sights and smells that this school is now going through due to the lack of any water whatsoever. Therefore, the children do not have to come to school tomorrow and Friday, thought the staff will. I believe my kidneys may shut down soon because I think they cannot take this lack of ablutions availability even though I am greatly restricting liquid intake. Yet, even the incredible inconveniences of going thirsty in bloody hot Africa and not being able to use the restroom for 7 hours a day, could not possibly bring me off of this incredible natural high.

OBAMA WON!!!!! And somehow this makes the world suddenly and profoundly a different place. No matter how many little red worms come out of my tap and no matter how ungodly hot it will get today, this day cannot be a bad day. My faith in humanity has been almost entirely restored and I can honestly say that for the first time in a long time, I am proud to be an American and not afraid to show it. The fact that so many Americans saw the obvious need for change in decided to vote in favor of giving this world another shot seems pretty phenomenal and incredibly invigorating after these past eight years have been less than fabulous for America. So thank you Jesus…you let my people go!

Now after that brief tribute to the day of great happiness, we pan back to life here in Africa. Things are going well with my project and I am fairly happy with what I am doing. The school term is ending next week for the learners and two weeks after that for us educators. I brought my classroom for eik to chic in less by painting all of the walls and also am in the midst of finishing painting the world map mural on the back wall of the room. With just a few furniture additions and a bit of paint, the room transformed and my students are constantly talking about it. Healthwise, I am doing fairly well, but I am 98% sure that I have an intestional worm. How I came to believe this, I am not going to share with the world wide web community, but I will say it has been less than pleasant. No worries though, I am deworming myself today with just two simple pills, loads of Powerade, and prayers that I will not choose to quit the Peace Corps if I actually see the worm(s). Oh the joys of living and eating in a developing country.

On a less incredibly disgusting note, I helped with registration at the Itala Challenge this weekend and received my awesome t-shirt. The Itala Challenge is the highest rated kayak race in Africa and people from all over the world come to battle the river and each other in a race to the finish. I went down the same river six months ago, but it was not nearly as far or even in the same rapids as these guys and gals attempted on Saturday. It was an intense race and 20 of the 250 paddlers had to be pulled out of the river and were not allowed to finish due to the complete and utter destruction of their boats on the rocks of the good ole Pongola River. We stayed in chalets in the game reserve and also on the river after the race, so we were able to shower and sleep indoors which was much better than the other option of sharing two showers with all 500 people involved in the race at the camping site.

Today I am going to sew more pencil bags for my students. My learners should be coming to class tomorrow, at least some of them, and they will learn fabric painting which will be translated into final products of uniquely painted pencil bags. We will sell these bags at the end of November at a local craft fair. I am fairly sure that the bags will sell well because the shopping bags that my last class painted sold out in the first three hours at the last craft fair. However, we bought those bags and just sewed on the extra painted pockets. This time I want to use some of the tons of donated fabric that I was given to make the bags rather than buy them because I would rather use the donations than drain my VAST grant money so soon. Therefore, I have had to teach myself how to sew on a machine. It was not going so well for a while there, but now things are better and I am on a roll….five bags made…fifteen more to go. My learners also made over 25 wine glass marker sets, many of which I am going to bring to the States over Christmas to see if there are any potential buyers…they cost two dollars people, I think you should consider digging deep and buying a set. Thanks! I am also going to put together a website for my school next week since we do not have one and this obviously does not help donors and other interested people in obtaining info about the school. Also…I would like to toot my own horn for a second here…I made pizza entirely from scratch last night. I handmade the dough, made my own sauce mixture of chakalaka and tomatoe sauce, shredded my own cheese, cut the pinapples and green peppers, and put baked that bad boy to perfection in the somewhat defective oven. This is the second time I have made this delicious delicacy and I must say that both pizzas were absolutely scrumptious. If you know me at all, then you must know that I am by no means an excellent chef; so while this feat might seem small to you, it was quite an accomplishment to me with my meager means and insufficient cooking skills. So toot toot…go me!

Well folks, I do have sewing to do…as incredibly and regrettably domesticated as that may sound…I need to get back to work. I have uploaded some pics with more to come soon..check em' out. Until next time…

How on God’s green earth do I begin to describe these last two weeks. What a time of growth. Not only have I grown, so has my project, the relationships with my students, and the inventory of my classroom. Currently I am at school taking a much needed break from painting. I was supposed to paint my classroom with my students in an effort to teach them the technical skills of painting and also the work skills of being on time, quality of work, etc. However, this was not to be because most of my students are not back to school yet. The students just came back this week and it usually takes about two full weeks for the school to get all of the learners back as many come from far away and their parents can only bring them when they can afford transport. There are other reasons for the kids coming late as well, but those are things not worth getting into because I will become unreasonable and venture off into multiple tangents about little respect is given to children here in South Africa. Call it the maternal instinct; I just don’t care for excuses. Regardless, my learners are not here and the painting has to be finished before next week when we are to start the five times a week life skills, work skills, and technical skills training. So that leaves me painting, taping, and cleaning up for the next two days. But, I am happy; no complaints.

Peace Corps has this World Map Project where PC volunteers paint…you guessed it…WORLD MAPS on walls at schools, community centers, etc. This is supposed to provide a semi-accurate depiction of where countries are located and their size relative to other countries. It is supposed to broaden some horizons and provide for learning activities that are bases in both geography and sociology. However, my kids cannot read so well and teaching them about geography and country capitals will not be beneficial or perhaps even possible for them to learn. So, the reason why I decided to paint the world map is primarily because I want my learners to stop asking me if they could buy a boat could they row to America and where my state is located. Once I finish the map, I will post a picture of my face on Virginia and pictures of their faces in South Africa and I will once again kindly explain that Virginia is no where near California and therefore, the distance alone makes in nearly impossible for me to have meet Mel Gibson, though we share the surname. Our uses for the map here at Inkanyiso Special School are probably not exactly what Peace Corps had in mind, but they are useful to us nevertheless. I am guessing that throwing suction cup darts at the map as a learning activity is probably not conventional but hey, who needs normal?

I am painfully aware that I work at a special school because as I am writing this I am looking out of my window of my class and there is Themba with a plastic bag on his head again singing “Avukile Amasango (The Gates Are Open)”. Wait, I have to go take care of this….okay back now. Sorry for the momentary delay in service delivery, but I think that if Themba had suffocated for almost the forth time today, that would have been less than pleasant. I am also very conscious of the fact that perhaps my Peace Corps experience is not at all how I envisioned it would be before I got here, because it is so different and so much better. I never thought I would work at a school, never mind, a special school that is very special in almost every way possible. For instance I was painting cutting elastic pieces for one of the sewing projects my girls are going to work on when I realized that two of the pieces I had cut and set out on the chairs to organize everything outside are missing. Then I hear this hacking sound mixed with some clucking and I turn around to face the biggest baddest rooster I have seen in my life. This rooster must be at least a foot and a half tall if not two and with the most brightly colored feathers I have seen on a domestic fowl. And hanging out of this rooster’s mouth is one of my elastic pieces. I immediately became angry because it was already taking me forever to prepare all of the materials for my girls and then this cock (yes, that is what they call them here) took my materials. I really believe that either you get mad, get even, or get it all and of course I chose to get it all. So I commence chasing this rooster as he squawked and yelled into a corner and as I almost had my hand on him to get my elastic back, he jumps at me and scares me enough that I take a few steps back. Then he runs and oh how he ran. So I chased him. As I am chasing this domestic fowl across the school grounds I eventually become acutely aware that I am being watched and I stop. I look up and I realize that over half of the student and teacher population has just seen this American chase this Africa hell-raising rooster across the yard and they are amused. I smile, wave, and say in Zulu “Just playin’” before I amble my way back to my class to hide my head in my silly American shame. I realize that this rooster probably mistook the elastic for a worm but at the time I was just fed up with having stuff stolen because the same day someone stole the soap I just bought for my class. Not to worry though, the rooster is still on school grounds and I am sure we will meet again; next time I will be ready.

I recently had a conversation with one of my students as well which would not seem to be anything special back in America but it meant a lot to me here. It was also in English so I was actually able to understand the majority of what he was saying. Phumlani came to my class on Tuesday as I was painting and talked to me frankly about South Africa and was really interested in what I am doing here. He ended our thirty minute dialogue with “Miss, you have too much to learn. We, black people, are dying and there is nothing that you can do to help us. We have to fix ourselves, but we like that you are here and you are nice to us.” In some strange way, he stole every last little bit of hope for me actually making a difference, yet at the same time he made me realize that I may have already done enough by just being here and that was gratifying in itself. Knowing that one of my students actually believes that lecture that I am constantly doling out about how we are responsible for our own wellness and inversely our own demise; the choice is entirely up to the individual regardless of circumstance. Many of my learners try to pass of their choices as completely contingent upon one circumstance or another while attempting to believe that they actually have to take no responsibility for their choices. This is something we are working to change because even when your back is against the wall, you always have choices; not that things will work always out the way you wish regardless of your decisions, but you have choices. One of my students understands this and has internalized it. Maybe this happened before I came, maybe after. Regardless, it is fairly astounding.

“Even if I knew that tomorrow the world would go to pieces, I would still plant my apple tree.”-Martin Luther

I get up. It is 6:05. “Ugh, cha!” (Ugh, no in English for all your non Zulus =), I say to myself. I turn the alarm off, ten more minutes won't really matter. I know this lie I tell myself is false and that in fact I could really use those ten extra minutes, but as a creature of habit, I push snooze on my trust and excpetionally cute alarm clock egg that does almost everything except for make my breakfast ...yeah its from Brookstone. “Beep, beep” says the 6:15 alarm; “Ugh” says me. Today is like every other day; it is new. I get dressed in my dark blue Mr. Price on clearance skinny jeans (the name doesn't exactly fit me right now..well I guess the jeans don't either) and my Old Navy beige tunic top with the black undershirt. I look in the mirror; “Not bad”, I say. Then I look at my hair and, well, to say the least, my hair does not really present me as someone that anyone would want to wake up to in the morning. Yes, it is that bad. No amount of laughably expensive hair product could contain this mighty mane. Thanks for the curly/straight/weather prediciting hair mom and dad. Love it. I do the morning yo-yo where I run in and out of my room to see if my ride has arrived as I am jam everything that even minorly looks school related into my fabulous Timbuk2 bag that I affectionately refer to as the monster. My ride arrives, I hit the gate button and I am off!

My feet hit that pavement but are cushioned by my stylish yet “artsy” Kangaroo shoes. I get in the car with the usual “How are you”s and the “Oh I slept well as well”s. My prinicipal, who is also my unpaid but incredibly generous ride giver, talks with me about the world news and about all things American until we arrive at the “Location”, yes that is right, people call this area the “Location”. My school is located in a township which is called BhekuZulu or “Location”, funny, in fact there are many “Locations” in this provience and so asking the questions “Where is your location?” when trying to find out where a particular store is via phone is not always the proper question to ask. Moving on... I get out of the car and grab my larger than life size bag from the back seat. As I am walking to retrieve the keys to my glass I meet Student A. Student A is mentally retarded, as are all of our kids at school, and she hugs me. She give me one of those big huge hugs that in America seems to be reserved for close friends and family, but no, not here. After a minute or so, I pry her off of my chest and tell her “Ngizokubona e clasini” (I will see you in class). She smiles and agrees to let me go. I look down to zip up my bag again and I notice the drool on my shirt place ever so nicely in a not so inconspicous place on my chest. I think to myself “Great, now people will think I am nursing”. Then I remember that is just drool and am thankful that the girl did not drink Kool-Aid this morning. Tide To-Go pens should come in the Peace Corps medical kits. Maybe I should lobby for those when I get some free time. Oh well, not today.

I get the keys for my class and I am open up the door to my ply-wood and iron-roofed classroom. I am thankful that is still standing everytime that I see it. There are terrible fires happening now in KZN and the soot is carried for miles and miles now. I wipe off the chairs and tables in my classroom because they now have this elegant black matter all over them. I think to myself that arsonists should get much more time in jail than they do as I scrub the soot off of my coffee mug. I waltz into the daily staff meeting at 7:45 ready to get down to business. Of course, almost everything that is talked about does not apply to me because I am not getting paid and because I am not affected by certification issues.The meeting ends and it assembly time. I stroll, not walk, but stroll on over to the hundreds of children lined up in a little skewed patters facing the assembly leader. When I say I stroll, I mean it. Because times seems to not exist sometimes here, I can take as much of it or as little as I choose to do almost any task. I am on time for everything, if not early, here. Time is completely irrelevant here but still absolutely essential. Dualism..it's crazy, I know. The children sing two songs and they pray. Off to classes.

My first class trickles in and we chat for a few minutes about Tupac, the wrestler John Cena, and how it is mysterious that Americans do not eat pap. I am trying to up my cool factor with my kids so that they trust me and are more receptive to the programs that we are about to begin. Today we are focusing on hygiene. The learners get a picture of a body and are each asked to circle on their picture which places on their body that could use a bit more vigilant cleaning. Most circle their armpits. Some circle their feet, and others circle more private areas. We talk about what they are doing to keep themselves clean and healthy and then we talk about how we can improve. We do a few lifeskills activities like the “Who got sprayed with perfume” game and the classy “Who's shoes smell the worst” game, the latter of which was not my idea. I give my class sweets, yes, it is a bribe, but the cool factor is not easy to achieve with teenagers.

My class leaves and I stroll, not walk, outside to get some water for the kettle for tea time. Yup, tea time. Happens at least twice a day without fail. I get make the tea in my trusty kettle and I sit back and enjoy my ten minutes of uninterrupted bliss. Back to work. I then sit at my desk for the next four hours making lesson plans by going through the traditional lifeskills manual and the more risque one as well. I drink tea, write lesson plans, drink tea, check my e-mail on my phone, drink tea, organize binder, drink coffee, use the restroom, and stare blankly at the wall because I just cannot think about any more lesson plans or prevoctional skills manuals until tomorrow. The school bell rings as I am having a conversation with my other teacher friends and we are off. I bum a ride, literally, by walking around asking people to take me into town because my normal ride is out. And now I am here...it is 2:46pm at the internet cafe and I am about to talk home to 14 beautiful little faces that will stare up at me with their perfectly white little teeth and scream “Aunti Christi is here!” This is my day. This is how it normally goes. This is completely fulfilling.

I get up. It is 6:05. “Ugh, cha!” (Ugh, no in English for all your non Zulus =), I say to myself. I turn the alarm off, ten more minutes won't really matter. I know this lie I tell myself is false and that in fact I could really use those ten extra minutes, but as a creature of habit, I push snooze on my trust and excpetionally cute alarm clock egg that does almost everything except for make my breakfast ...yeah its from Brookstone. “Beep, beep” says the 6:15 alarm; “Ugh” says me. Today is like every other day; it is new. I get dressed in my dark blue Mr. Price on clearance skinny jeans (the name doesn't exactly fit me right now..well I guess the jeans don't either) and my Old Navy beige tunic top with the black undershirt. I look in the mirror; “Not bad”, I say. Then I look at my hair and, well, to say the least, my hair does not really present me as someone that anyone would want to wake up to in the morning. Yes, it is that bad. No amount of laughably expensive hair product could contain this mighty mane. Thanks for the curly/straight/weather prediciting hair mom and dad. Love it. I do the morning yo-yo where I run in and out of my room to see if my ride has arrived as I am jam everything that even minorly looks school related into my fabulous Timbuk2 bag that I affectionately refer to as the monster. My ride arrives, I hit the gate button and I am off!

My feet hit that pavement but are cushioned by my stylish yet “artsy” Kangaroo shoes. I get in the car with the usual “How are you”s and the “Oh I slept well as well”s. My prinicipal, who is also my unpaid but incredibly generous ride giver, talks with me about the world news and about all things American until we arrive at the “Location”, yes that is right, people call this area the “Location”. My school is located in a township which is called BhekuZulu or “Location”, funny, in fact there are many “Locations” in this provience and so asking the questions “Where is your location?” when trying to find out where a particular store is via phone is not always the proper question to ask. Moving on... I get out of the car and grab my larger than life size bag from the back seat. As I am walking to retrieve the keys to my glass I meet Student A. Student A is mentally retarded, as are all of our kids at school, and she hugs me. She give me one of those big huge hugs that in America seems to be reserved for close friends and family, but no, not here. After a minute or so, I pry her off of my chest and tell her “Ngizokubona e clasini” (I will see you in class). She smiles and agrees to let me go. I look down to zip up my bag again and I notice the drool on my shirt place ever so nicely in a not so inconspicous place on my chest. I think to myself “Great, now people will think I am nursing”. Then I remember that is just drool and am thankful that the girl did not drink Kool-Aid this morning. Tide To-Go pens should come in the Peace Corps medical kits. Maybe I should lobby for those when I get some free time. Oh well, not today.

I get the keys for my class and I am open up the door to my ply-wood and iron-roofed classroom. I am thankful that is still standing everytime that I see it. There are terrible fires happening now in KZN and the soot is carried for miles and miles now. I wipe off the chairs and tables in my classroom because they now have this elegant black matter all over them. I think to myself that arsonists should get much more time in jail than they do as I scrub the soot off of my coffee mug. I waltz into the daily staff meeting at 7:45 ready to get down to business. Of course, almost everything that is talked about does not apply to me because I am not getting paid and because I am not affected by certification issues.The meeting ends and it assembly time. I stroll, not walk, but stroll on over to the hundreds of children lined up in a little skewed patters facing the assembly leader. When I say I stroll, I mean it. Because times seems to not exist sometimes here, I can take as much of it or as little as I choose to do almost any task. I am on time for everything, if not early, here. Time is completely irrelevant here but still absolutely essential. Dualism..it's crazy, I know. The children sing two songs and they pray. Off to classes.

My first class trickles in and we chat for a few minutes about Tupac, the wrestler John Cena, and how it is mysterious that Americans do not eat pap. I am trying to up my cool factor with my kids so that they trust me and are more receptive to the programs that we are about to begin. Today we are focusing on hygiene. The learners get a picture of a body and are each asked to circle on their picture which places on their body that could use a bit more vigilant cleaning. Most circle their armpits. Some circle their feet, and others circle more private areas. We talk about what they are doing to keep themselves clean and healthy and then we talk about how we can improve. We do a few lifeskills activities like the “Who got sprayed with perfume” game and the classy “Who's shoes smell the worst” game, the latter of which was not my idea. I give my class sweets, yes, it is a bribe, but the cool factor is not easy to achieve with teenagers.

My class leaves and I stroll, not walk, outside to get some water for the kettle for tea time. Yup, tea time. Happens at least twice a day without fail. I get make the tea in my trusty kettle and I sit back and enjoy my ten minutes of uninterrupted bliss. Back to work. I then sit at my desk for the next four hours making lesson plans by going through the traditional lifeskills manual and the more risque one as well. I drink tea, write lesson plans, drink tea, check my e-mail on my phone, drink tea, organize binder, drink coffee, use the restroom, and stare blankly at the wall because I just cannot think about any more lesson plans or prevoctional skills manuals until tomorrow. The school bell rings as I am having a conversation with my other teacher friends and we are off. I bum a ride, literally, by walking around asking people to take me into town because my normal ride is out. And now I am here...it is 2:46pm at the internet cafe and I am about to talk home to 14 beautiful little faces that will stare up at me with their perfectly white little teeth and scream “Aunti Christi is here!” This is my day. This is how it normally goes. This is completely fulfilling.

Hmm..how to describe today? Where do I begin? Should I start with the hospital visit or how about the death of one of the students in my program? Maybe I should talk about the spider that crawled down my body as I was writing this. Hmmm..what a day and it is only 1:00. Where to begin?

First, apologies for not posting anything really of value in the last two months. Nida, my best friend and partner in crime, came to visit me in South Africa and we have been very busy getting up to no good. She left this week and there is an odd sadness now that I am attempting to deal with. I guess you just don’t realize how much you miss having people that understand you and your culture around until they come bless you with their presence and then have to return to where they came from. Nevertheless, I am incredible grateful that she was able to come and I truly welcome anyone from back home who wants to come and share even a day of this experience with me.

Today I went to the hospital with one of my students who should remain nameless. It was supposed to be a routine appointment that had been made for months. We arrive 15 minutes early and she and I go to the therapist that we need to see and ask her if she can start with the appointment while I go and get the file. The therapist denies our request and sends us over to admissions. We go to admissions and explain that we just need them to create a file for my student. They say that we can talk once we get in line in the waiting room. We go into the waiting room, which by this point is meagerly accommodating the 100 people that are already present in this 15 by 40 feet room. We buy some sodas first so that we do not dehydrate sitting the in sauna known as the “out patient department waiting center”…what kind of center this it is supposed to be is beyond me..maybe it is the center of hell…who knows. Twenty minutes go by of staring at the floor and me being stared at by almost everyone in the room because I am, as always, the only white person in that waiting room. I start asking myself stupid questions like, “Why does this room smell like eggs and vanilla yogurt?” and the classic “I wonder if I would get medical attention any sooner if I stuck this straw into my eye?” Unfortunately, I am afraid the answer to that last one is probably no because almost no one would notice. So we sit and we sit and we sit. Finally, after an hour and a half, an office worker comes out to collect these small blue cards from people. Of course my student does not have one because she is a new patient. The lady tells me in am in the wrong line, this from the exact same lady that told me that I was supposed to be in this line in the first place. So after a two hour battle, my student and I give up. We have missed her appointment and still have no blue card or file to show for it. All I have to show to the whole thing is a bit of chicken grease on my pants from the gogo that was sitting next to me. She must have split a little on me as she pulled the chicken drumstick from the deep recesses of her purse and proceeded to gnaw the entire thing, including the bone, with her two teeth. Oh how I love chicken.

As our school khumbi driver drove me home, I realized that despite the ridiculous slowness, administration is almost always slow and that this really isn’t that different from home. Yes, had we stayed we would have waited for at least three hours before we saw our intended therapist. Nevertheless, the bureaucracy is the same and I felt like this place was similar to home. Then I found out that one of the students who was supposed to be in my lifeskills program, which is starting in two weeks, died this weekend. Was this student sick? Was it an accident? I don’t know yet. But I do know that our school loses on average 3-4 students a year and I am bitterly reminded that I am not home. Three to four students a year is absolutely unacceptable to me. In my entire school career, there might have been a total of 10 students who died, this including my time in college as well. Yet this number will be easily reached by the time I leave this place in less than two years now. Morose experiences like this are all too common here and remind me to be cognizant of the reasons why I am here in the first place. My gogo (grandmother) here in South Africa died two weeks ago, a student in my program died today, and I work with people everyday with both feet in the grave almost up to their knees and I yet I do not cry. Why? Am I not sad? Am I not affected by this? Or am I adapting to the way to being here in this First World- Third World country? Am I similar to so many South Africans who just have to accept the deaths of the friends in family members almost immediately because they are sure to attend the funeral of a difference friend or family member the very next week? How do people cope with this? Perhaps they cope exactly the way that I am. Maybe the accept death too readily or perhaps not at all. Who knows…I don’t.

So this is a part of life here in South Africa. Frustrating administrative experiences in almost all government departments, the ever present loom of the death, and spiders the size of oranges that crawl on you as you type. But things are good here as well. I walk outside and I feel the sun on my face and the wind in my hair as Kwa-Zulu prepares for summer. And a nice lady sees me and remembers me asking for donations for my school for the lifeskills and crafts project I am starting, and she gives me eight completely full bags of material for sewing and beading projects because she has a daughter who is mentally disabled and she wants to help me help my students. I have 6 rand (less and one USD) in my Peace Corps bank account until Wednesday when we get paid and I am okay with that because I have some food in my room and if I did not I know that there are multiple people in this town who just want to support me and would feed me in a heartbeat if I mentioned my lack of funds. In fact, I only eat dinner four nights a week at the most at home because others like to feed me so often. I am in awe of the generosity and how far “ubuntu” (“I am because you are”) really carries people here. South Africa is hard, cruel, and so dark sometimes that you cannot see if you are coming or going, but it is so much more alive and striking than I could have ever imagined it. I really am blessed to be here and I can only hope to continue to have this opportunity for as long as the season permits.

Oh and PS, the grant that I spent forever and a day writing was fully approved…just waiting for the check! Booya!...yeah that’s right…I am bringing it back.

Well folks, its been a while. I know this. In my defense though, I have been very busy and internet access has been rather limited these past few weeks. I am in a internet cafe right now in Pretoria waiting for the time to pass so I can take the taxi to the airport and fly to Durban to meet Nida! Hooray for vacation! I have been up in the Limpopo region for about two weeks with HIV training and grant writing seminars and other Peace Corps stuff. It was really nice to be able to see some familar faces and hear the uncomfortably nasally accent that is so deemed the "American" accent. Us SA-17ers spent the last two weeks working hard and then playing a little bit harder. Needless to say...this is tiring.

Life is been pretty rockin still in the ole Kwa-Zulu Natal region. Not gonna lie...it feels like I moved to the Artic..it is FREEZING here! I know all of you USAers are sittin pretty and complaining about the "heat wave" that struck the East Coast...well be thankful. At least you can feel your toes when you sleep. Frost producing cold + no insulation in buildings = lack of feeling to minor extremities. Oh well though, summer will come back soon and the sweat will start pouring and my hair will fluff up into the all too sexy afro that I fondly refer to as "my summer do' ". Oh the joys of having wavy hair..love it. In the infamous words of my PCV friend Therese Claxton..."get used to it".

I really don't have much to say and I know I say that a lot. It is just that all of the poignant and possibly interesting things that I might have to say come to me either in the overstuffed khumbi or while in the shower; obviously neither of these enviroments is very conducive to this odd way of sharing feeling and experiences known as blogging. Going on vacation starting an hour ago so I am sure this week will be more exciting than the last and I will have something to say. No promises though. Oh and I am doing something surprising this week..I'll upload some pics...for now..its a secret.

Much love...

First of all, ngiyaxoliza kakhulu (I am very sorry)(and also, there is a click on the “x” in case you wanted to know). I am terribly sorry about not writing for over twenty days now. There are many reasons for this; ranging from the intense schedule that I have been keeping to the fact that I was just in a place where I did not have any desire to share my thoughts. Now, I am feeling a bit more optimistic and am back to writing. In fact, I am writing a lot this week because I am working on my VAST Grant proposal for my school and also working on seeing how I can get the Dell Foundation involved. I would also like to create a website for Inkanyiso and the projects that we are doing. I am currently editing/ re-creating the Inkululeko Babies Home website, which was difficult in the beginning but is promising now. When I left the states I had no idea how to create or edit websites. It is amazing what you can teach yourself with two free hours and the internet at your finger tips. Thank God for Google!

The past twenty days have been incredibly challenging in so many ways. The novelty of being in a new place is starting to wear off. The newness of South Africa never wears off for me, but the novelty of discovering Vryheid for myself has. Everyday I wake up at six in the morning. I get ready for school and am out the door by seven. I work from 7:30-2:00 and then try to get a ride into town from one of my co-workers. I walk from town to my home which takes about 15 minutes and I start working with the orphans at my home at 3:00. On most days I stay until about 5:30, but sometimes we are just having too much fun or someone is sick and I stay until 7:30 when they go to bed. I work one 11 hour day on the weekends and I usually have half of Fridays and Sundays off. At first, being this busy was what I needed. I needed to stay busy to avoid being lonely or homesick. This has worked so far, but now I am exhausted. So I am working on creating a new schedule so that I get some more time for myself while still getting the work completed that I want to do.

Working so much has made a drastic difference in how I feel about the working world and has helped me to narrow down some of the options of careers that I might want to try in the future. Working with the Inkanyiso special students is rewarding but it just takes so much longer to see what difference my work is making. This is because we are working on skill transfer with these students and behavior modification in order to give them more of a chance out in the real world and to help them make positive choices that will prevent them from becoming infected with HIV. The developmental work that I am doing with the children at Inkululeko is probably a bit more gratifying because I can see the results almost immediately. The babies who didn’t talk before are now shouting and mumbling in tongues that only they can understand. However, they have started to put together sentences that we can understand. Yesterday, one of our babies said “Asihambeni” (let’s go) in Zulu and then “Aunti Christi, come to bathroom” within the same minute. My mouth dropped open and I asked him what he said and he said it again. I now understand why new parents want to tell you all about what their kids just said or did without realizing how boring it is to hear story after story about how little Johnny or Suzie went to the toilet for the first time or said a coherent sentence. I have become that person. I brag about “my” kids all of the time and people give me that “will-she-please-shut-up” look. I am just so amazed by them and how quickly these children are growing. One of the four year old boys who lives at the house where I live pointed to his cheek and said “Aunti Christi, put one right here”. Obviously there was immense cuteness and I had to plant a big old kiss on his dimply little cheek. Look, I did it again. I am that proud parent. Oh well, it can’t be helped.

In other news, I saw seven elephants on the way home from Pongola the other day. I was just riding in the khumbi when all of a sudden someone yelled “stop” and we pulled over. There stood seven elephants standing behind this measly excuse for an elephant fence. It seems that only in Africa do you stop to check out elephants near the freeway and then resume driving about five minutes later as if it was no big deal. I also went to Hluhluwe Game Reserve last week and saw rhinos about three feet from the truck. No joke. Rhino + only three feet = wet your pants scary. I saw vultures everywhere so I know that there had been a few kills recently but I was not fortunate enough so see any lions or cheetahs. Speaking of cheetahs, I went to use the restroom and on foot had to pass by four warthogs (also dangerous) and three zebras to get there. What I did not know at the time was that a man had been mauled by a cheetah in the same area where the restroom is only 16 hours before I was there. Next time, I will read the newspaper before I go to the park and assume that there is fence as there should be. Silly me, I thought there would be fences to keep dangerous man-eating animals like lions and cheetahs out of the camps where humans sleep and walk around…then again, what do I know? Nevertheless, it was still an awesome day.

I also went on a township tour with my friend Xolile and some people from the Netherlands. In case you don’t know what a township is, a township is large ghetto, but much scarier than any ghetto in America. Not that ghettos in America aren’t scary, because they can be scary as well, but trust me, the Bhekuzulu township has got the meanest ghettos of New York beat by miles. The people are very friendly in the township and look bewildered to see a white person in their community but are still very hospitable. However, I would not recommend visiting said township at night because there is a whole different atmosphere. Xolile was our tour guide and took us all around. She took us to a sheebian (local tavern) at ten in the morning in which she and I had to kneel on the floor (customary thing to do when asking for something from an elder) and beg the owner to let us show the Netherlands people what a sheebian looks like before it opens. The owner, his wife, and their baby live in the one room house/hut that is attached to the sheebian and only separated by a small wall with an open window. The smoke from the cigarettes/joints fills the room in which their baby shares with them and undoubtedly causes havoc on the developing infants respiratory and nervous system. It is sad to see, but they are working to support themselves and probably many other family members and it is difficult to fault people for that when so many other people aren’t trying to work. But this is life here for so many and what can you do to make it better? If you know, please tell me, because I am greatly lacking plausible ideas.

Well folks, I must get going because school is almost over and I have to get home in order to run in circles around the kitchen table with my ten favorite South African children while singing gospel children’s songs and jumping up down to innumerable belly giggles from some of the cutest kids on Earth. Don’t you wish your job was as amusing as mine?

Falling in love. We’ve all done it. Life just isn’t nearly as fulfilling without having fallen in love at least once. Some people take the plunge and jump headfirst off a very large cliff straight into what they believe will be a pool deep and wide enough in which to bathe in love forever. Others have taken that fall and have found that the pool isn’t nearly deep or wide enough and they are badly hurt. Many just poke a toe or two in to test the waters, ever cautious in case the water should be too hot or too cold. We call those that take the leap without hesitation fools because love is something that should be carefully considered with thoughtful insight as to the possible consequences of what pain may lay in the aftermath if things just don’t go our way. We berate those who have been hurt before saying that the past is the past and it is time to move on. And we applaud the water pokers who stick only a toe in before deciding whether or not this is a no-go. We think that these people are responsible because they get close enough to enjoy the rewards of loving and being loved, but they are also far away enough to not be devastated when there is love lost. Me, I am one of the reckless ones. I am learning to love with abandon. Seemingly I am disparaging all reason and moving into uncharted waters. This is in more ways than one and I have never been this way before.

I am hopelessly in love with the work I am doing here. I am unabashedly in love with the children who are touching my life here and are allowing me a peek into theirs. When I see little Thembi, who was not walking when I arrived, take 62, yes 62, steps across the yard at the babies home without falling; my heart swells with pride and I am in awe of her. How can such a little creature learn a skill that she will develop the rest of her life in such a short amount of time? I arrive at school and I look into the windows of the classrooms to see blind children coloring inside the lines and autistic children singing songs with the correct words. I am absolutely fascinated by the human spirit and the drive to want to create and be recreated. Most of these children are orphans, live in homes with five or more people to a room, sleep in flea infested beds, starve on the weekends, freeze in the winters, and burn with fever in the summers. They have every reason to sit in the dirt and idly let the days slip away. But they don’t. We say the kids here are disabled, but we are not entirely right. They are not disabled as much as they are differently-abled. These children laugh, swing, jump, scream, and play as much as “normal” kids do. The world is so stacked against them and their chances of escaping some of their circumstances are grim. Yet, they smile and they are happy. Every giggle and every new step taken by these children is another reminder that circumstances do not determine happiness; only you have the power to decide that. This is a hard lesson I have had to learn here. In the absence of so much, there is still so much to be thankful for.

So I am in love once again. This time not with a new hobby or with a new partner; rather, with the children here and the work I am doing. A few people have brought up the point that I should try to remain somewhat emotionally detached from those that I work with because in truth there will be a terrible amount of sadness that will come with loving these children and this job. Maybe remaining detached would shield me a bit from the pain of seeing others suffer and die, but I am sorry, I just cannot do that. They say you cannot choose the person you love, only how you will love them. It is my decision to love these kids in spite of the hurt that I know will come. It is my decision to give myself entirely to this job and to take that plunge. I know I do not have to, but I want to. I would rather love and lose then to remain on the sidelines wondering what this would be like if I could just step in. This is the most rewarding thing I have ever done because at the end of the day I realize that I given so much but I have gained far more. A ton of children have taught me this and a special someone continuously helps me be aware of and grateful for the small miracles everyday. So folks, today decide to do one thing that scare the pants right off of you and make it happen. Do something courageous and if it was the right decision, you will know and if it was wrong, you will know as well; but at least you can say you found out. And if this is difficult, and it probably will be, ask yourself what are you gaining by standing outside the fire? Just try it…I’m glad I did.

Being a Peace Corps volunteer is at some times exciting, other times mundane, and always exhausting. I cannot say that this is true for every one in the Peace Corps or even for my group as a whole, but for me, I have never worked harder in my life. While I am not building homes like I did with Habitat for Humanity or ripping small trees out of the earth like I did for ASB Florida, I am so challenged with the work I am doing because it is so much harder to constantly bend your mind than it is to break your back. I am at work right now during tea break/recess, and taking a moment to drink my cold instant coffee and write a little. This is one of the few times of the day when life is relatively quiet. When I say relatively quiet, I mean exactly that. There are fifty students with different disabilities ranging from autism, mental retardation, Downs syndrome, and cerebral palsy to disassociated language disorders, hearing impairment and limited sight disorders; and the majority of them are running around the school screaming, crying, squeaking, yelping, clapping, laughing, and/or jumping up and down. Screaming kids + recess = a very much needed tea break. At two o’clock today I will leave school, go the library to return my books/ get some quiet, pick up some groceries, visit the post office, and then return home to eight more excited children. While this is exhausting at times, it is not overwhelming.

I signed my contract for the Peace Corps having a few ideas of what I might be doing in Africa and this was not at all what I expected. This is FAR better than I could have ever imagined. I have never laughed and learned so much in my entire life as I have done here. Today marks the 100th day since I left home, as a very special somebody pointed out to me today. Today marks the day of 100 days unforgettable memories and unbelievable experiences. When people ask me what life is like for me here, I say “It’s great. I am having the time of my life and it is challenging” and all of those things are true. However, I realize that answer is fairly lame and unimaginative. It is just that it is so difficult to put into words how and what I do daily. Things that might seems insignificant in the States are a huge deal to me here and I try to explain my day or what I am up to and it just falls so short of helping people to understand this. For instance, the other day in the grocery store I asked for some bread in Zulu and also where to find better avocados and I got and understood the reply that was in Zulu. This might not be a big deal to many people who go to the grocery store and understand what is being said to them, but for me it was a great big deal when someone replied to me in Zulu even when they speak English. It made me feel more accepted and now every time that I go to Pick n’ Pay I talk to that lady in the bread aisle about her day and her family in my very lacking Zulu. Also, when I walk out of the store sometimes, people shout “Nqobile” and I wave to the teachers from my school or from my friends in eMondlo. This wouldn’t mean as much in the States where you see people you know everyday, but here, where I am a virtual stranger to almost everyone I see daily, it means the world for someone to notice me and take the time to say hello. It also makes my heart swell when I get home and have little Mpatho running up to me with his arms open wide screaming “Aunti Christi, you are here” and then he allows me to pick him up and swing him around while wrapped in a big bear hug. While I can’t be around my siblings to read them stories at bedtime or play with them outside, I had 21 other little ones that are a wonderful addition to my life and are entirely unique in their own ways. I really wish I could say something more substantial now but I must get back to work. Until then…

Zebras, giraffes, rhinos…oh my! Today I went to Ithala Game Reserve. Ithala is only 45 minutes from my home here and is even closer than our big shopping town so my principal decided to take me there today. Ithala Game Reserve is a KwaZulu Natal game park that has many of the Big Five animals that tourists and game lovers alike love to catch a glimpse of. For seven hours, I rode around in a VW Polo sighting giraffes, zebras, impalas, springbok, rhinos, kudu, rock rabbit, partridges, and warthogs. It was absolutely amazing! This might have been the best day yet I have had in South Africa.

Before we even got into the park, we passed a giraffe standing on the side of the road and we had to reverse the car because we almost missed it. As odd as it might sound that you could miss sighting a giant animal, such as a giraffe, just chilling on the side of the road, it is so common. The animals are very well camouflaged into the landscape so it is easy to just drive right pass them without noticing them there at all. We did this two times that we were aware of with giraffes. There are elephants at the park as well but we were unable to sight any. The park is a really relaxed area because there are no dangerous big cats, such as lions, to worry about. The scenery is absolutely astounding and I really am at a loss for words to describe what it felt like to stand on the side of the cliff of one of the tallest mountains in the park looking down on the Pongola River. The wind gently swept through the bush as lizards scurried around my feet and the sun beat down on my face. I stood there and I thought to myself “I am in Africa and this feels like home”. Though I might not live here for the rest of my life, or even for more than two more years, I am entirely sure that I will come and visit this place whenever possible. There is just something incredibly humbling standing on the top of a mountain in the bush with just the sun on your skin, the wind in your hair, and nothing but nature all around you. I felt so small compared to the vast expanse of untouched beauty. I really don’t know the words in English, Spanish, or Zulu that would do a shred of justice to what I saw today. I am the luckiest Peace Corps Volunteer ever!

Besides the amazing day today though, life is carrying on as normal; that is if there is such a thing as normal for me here. I volunteered for 52 hours this week and am volunteering for another 11 tomorrow. I have to keep busy here or else I know it will be very easy to fall into patterns of loneliness and routine. I know Peace Corps stresses establishing a routine as a way to cope with all of the changes that living and working in an unfamiliar culture presents; however, I have almost no routine here. I know that I will establish one, but right now I am content not having one at all. It really brings a bit of variety to life not knowing what I will be doing in two days time. Oh yes, I have plenty of plans, but this is Africa and the best of plans sometimes go awry. Oh well, such is life. Until next time…

I am posting this from Inkanyiso Special School. I have been working on grant proposal research since I arrived this morning at 7:30 and it is now almost 11:00 and I have yet to leave this desk. Whoever said that being in the Peace Corps would be easy relaxed work was wrong. Though I am relaxed, the work that I am doing certainly is not. It is much easier to do research in America where you just type information in Google and/or other search programs and thousands of answers pop up for you to take the your pickings of. It is not as easy here. I am constrained by my data bundle and am entirely sure that I am just going to spend the extra seventy Rand and get the big bundle so that I can curb this problem a bit. Regardless, I still have it made here though.

I am not entirely sure what I last updated my blog with and going back to check would be a waste of data. So, here is the scoop and I am sorry for the probable repeats. I am still staying at my principals house for this week because we have not had the time to finish putting the shelves up in my place yet. However, I did buy a very 70s retro disco looking green carpet, which is my opinion is absolutely awesome, and we put it down a few days ago. Then, I liberated a few shelves from my principal’s daughter’s flat behind her home and put those up as well. My principal’s husband, who is the most jolly English South African I have ever met, made me a shelf unit with a bar hang so that I can hang clothes as well as store them. I am revamping a lamp that I recently borrowed from my principal as well. It is pink and very 80esque. We are moving the bed and a table in tonight or tomorrow after we put up the burglar bars and burglar door. So as you can tell, much is happening in the way of making the “servant’s quarters” less of an oppressive space and more of a home. Listening to the rain on the tin roof in my new room will be pretty amazing. Once we get it all finished pictures of the place will be uploaded. I am excited to move in but I am also having a wonderful time with the Logans. They are fabulous and very excited about the work that I am going to be doing here and they really want me to be able to go back to America in two years saying that I had the time of my life.

The weather here is changing. Whoever said that Africa is always warm obviously had never been to South Africa. It is our fall now and we are quickly slipping into winter weather. It is not necessarily that cold during the day, it is just that there is no insulation in most of the buildings so at night when the temperature drops so suddenly you really can feel it. Ngiqhoke amavesti ababili nejacketi ne ngiyagodola manje! (Zulu for: I am wearing two sweaters now and a jacket and I am still cold now). The awesome thing is that it only took me ten seconds to think of how to say and spell that in Zulu…I am making progress! Regarding my Zulu, I have not yet found a proper Zulu tutor but this is because I am learning Zulu from the staff here at my school and at the babies home. I really want to work to become fluent or nearly fluent within the next two years. I think this is possible but it will take a lot of work because Zulu is not a romance language and it also has clicks thus making it exponentially more difficult than learning Spanish was. My Zulu name is Nqobile and the click is on the “q”. I promise it is easier than it may look.

My work is being cut out for me here and there is so much to do. I volunteered for 21 hours this weekend at the Inkululeko Babies Home. It was me, Cindy, and thirteen abandoned babies all under the age of three. Needless to say, it was hectic but it was awesome. There really is no way to describe the sheer cuteness of those babies. They would scream and cry during bath time and at meals and this would obviously be frustrating. But then they would smile with their little no teeth grins and dimples and all of the frustration just melted away. This weekend I have discovered that I am a master of multitasking. Standing up, I can feed two babies porridge from two separate bowls with both hands and rock the four month old to sleep in his carriage with my knee while also holding a crying two year old on my hid. I know you raised four of us but beat that Ma! Obviously, working at Inkanyiso so far has been a lot less stressful but this is simply because all of the children do not return to school until May 5th. So right now, we are just preparing for their return by cleaning everything, working on proposals and plans, and making cosmetic changes to the classrooms.

I must apologize to my family and friends for not answering the phone when they call sometimes. It is just that after nine my time (three in VA) I am absolutely exhausted and have a hard time having a good quality conversation and I am afraid that answering the phone with a tired voice and nothing to say will make it seem like I am unhappy here, which I am not. Moral of the story folks, call between 2:30-3:00 pm SA time or 8-9 SA time here or on the weekends at any time. If I don’t answer the phone or e-mails I am sorry, I am just really busy. However family, please know that I am working on sending a package home. I have about half of the stuff I want to send now but am looking for a few other things still. Also, I still love receiving mail and packages so feel free to send something this way whenever. My address is up in the air now so please do not send any mail to the Pretoria address until I can get a permanent address or PO Box to receive my mail. Salani kahle (stay well)!

I am sitting here in the lounge in my principal’s home thinking that I am one lucky son of a gun. After long conversations and moving things around a bit, I have finally found a place to live that is suitable for me and for the work I am going to be doing. Most volunteers would hate this set-up because it involves living at the location where you work. However, after being an RA for two years and living in a room about the size of a cracker-jack box, I am sure that this living situation will work out just fine. I cannot give the location of where I am living for security reasons for myself and the children, however, I can say that if you want my address, you can get it from Nida or my family. I will be working at Inkanyiso Special School Monday through Thursday and also at Inkululeko Babies Home every afternoon and on Fridays. I am starting my first two days at the babies home this weekend because they are short staffed. I visited the babies home yesterday and I must say that I have never seen cuter babies in my entire life. I am already so attached to a beautiful four month old baby boy. He is absolutely gorgeous despite the fact that he is missing half of his right arm and is a bit scarred on his face. His cuteness is only surpassed by his funniness. He will mimic any facial expression I make with such precision that I cannot believe he is only four months old. There are some twins at the babies home who are also absolutely adorable and one of them will just throw his head back so fast that it nearly scares you to death the first time he does it when he is held just so that he can crane his neck around to see anything and everything that is going on. Already I can tell that this experience is shaping up to be the time of my life.

Anyone who knows me is aware that I simply cannot be content being inactive. I must have something to do at all times even if that means that I am just reading, writing, or shooting the breeze with a friend. Even though this attitude is changing as I am here in South Africa, my pace has not. I am always doing something. In the past four days, I have been to two braiis (cook-outs for you Americans =), played with numerous HIV positive orphans, visited a school, attended two war re-enactments, made five new friends, found a place to live, seen my first rugby match, eaten pickled fish (sounds gross but is absolutely delicious), enjoyed South African wine with the neighbor, been made fun of numerous time because of my accent, joined the library, and signed myself up for a nearly full time secondary project. I used to write in a journal before I went to college and have begun writing again and I am absolutely amazed everyday at the person I was yesterday. Please do not get me wrong, I am not amazed by me because frankly I am not all that amazing. What I am amazed by is how I am changing everyday. My body is pretty much the same, maybe a few pounds lighter, but my mind is a great deal heavier. There are just so many more windows and doors open in my mind then there ever were before. In America, I felt like the world was open to me, however, after moving abroad I realized that this actually was true. I have realized that I was not born to live inside any one border for the entirety of my life. I am not saying that I will always live overseas, because I have no intention on doing so at this point. What I am saying is that the possibilities seem endless now and I simply could not see standing on American soil.

If it wasn’t so expensive, I would upload more pictures to the internet because I feel like my words are lacking and that pictures just explain this experience so much better. I cannot take pictures of the babies now or disclose much about their status because I am bound by confidentiality, however, I will update this again soon and hopefully I will have lots of interesting anecdotes to share. Until then…salani kahle (stay well).

Well folks, I am happy to say that this might be one of the more poignant entries seeing as I have as much time as I choose to write it. Well not exactly as much time as I choose, because the power is out again and will probably not be back on until 7pm if it comes back on at all…good ole’ load shedding. If you do not know what load shedding is, as I did not before I came to SA, then you should google it. Basically, the need for electricity in SA exceeds the actual amount of electricity that can be provided. To meet the demand, Eskom (the electricity company) cuts of electricity in certain areas for a specific period of time everyday. Today we were at the internet café and the electricity went out at 4 and probably will not return for 2-4 hours. Obviously, this is bad for business. However, some restaurants offer “load shedding meals” which are meals that can be prepared without electricity since most businesses close during load shedding times. Okay…well that was far too long of an explanation and was probably incredibly boring to read..sorry.

Yesterday was my last day with first host family. It was an incredibly emotional day and for good reason. I came to South Africa with excitement, reservations, expectations, and dreams. I came believing that the twenty or so books I read about South Africa before I left has prepared me somewhat for this experience. However, from the moment I arrived, I realized how much I did not know and how much I needed to learn. My host family has been the catalyst for my learning and for the tremendous changes I have undergone in the past two months. I was first greeted by my family at Bakenburg Hall on February 9th with singing, dancing, hugs, and huge grins. They literally took me into their arms and made me a part of their family. Within 8 hours of being with them, they gave me an African name, Manakedi, which apparently means “one who made her mother cry with happiness when she was born”. They have called me Manakedi Kekana for the past two months. They took me, a white-foreign-non-Sepedi-speaking-recent-college-graduate-wet-behind-the-ears-young-woman, into their home and shared food, a roof, stories, laughs, and tears with no questions asked. They expected nothing from me in return for my stay and were so eager to teach me and learn from me. I have experienced many great acts of love from my family and friends back in the States before I came here because I have so many wonderful people in my life. However, the generosity and spirit the South African Kekana family is simply unmatched.

I packed my things yesterday and was ready to leave my family when my gogo (granny) came into my room and said to me “Manakedi, I never forget you. I remember you always. You are mine daughter.” I looked at gogo and tears filled both her eyes and mine. Then I hugged my brother Surprise and he would not make eye contact with me because he was on the verge of tears. Then Komojcho hugged me and said “Manakedi, I will miss you. We all will miss you”. I was still holding it together at this time, but then, Maishibe, my host sister and best friend here, held me hands and just looked at me and smiled with tears running down her face. I could not speak so I just held her and prayed that she would know how grateful I am for her and for all that she has taught me. She has one of the most kind and gentle spirits of anyone I know. Then it came time to say goodbye to Mama Francina. I hugged her and she touched my hair and said “I will miss you Manakedi.” Then she said nothing and a tear fell from her eye. This single tear from a woman who I have not seen cry or ever show any really loving emotion meant more to me than I could ever try explain in English, Spanish, or Zulu. Then my host sister Elizabeth, who rarely speaks to me, and my host sister Mailuci walked me to the bus stop. We walked in near silence because we understood how we felt and words were unnecessary. At the bus stop, Elizabeth, a girl who has maybe said 100 total words to me in two months, hugged me and cried. I was overwhelmed with emotion and it made me realize exactly how blessed I was to have become a Kekana. My name will change tomorrow to Nqobile Mdadlose but I will forever remain a Kekana in Limpopo.

Today I sworn in as a Peace Corps volunteer. I took an oath which was administered by the Ambassador and I realized exactly how much responsibility I have taken on. I am responsible for not only working towards creating sustainable, intentional, and transformational community HIV/AIDS outreach programs, but I am also an ambassador for my nation. I am representing America, some 300 million people. I hope to become a good representation of who I really want to be but more importantly, I want to make sure that I represent the best of my country. I understand that there are many things wrong with my nation right now, but we are growing and we are changing and I am doing the same. This experience has been incredibly challenging so far and there have been times where I have seriously considered giving up and coming home because that would be so simple. However, I know I need to be here. I need to know what I am made of. I want to be stripped bare, broken down, and rebuilt into the person that I really want to become. Life simply is not a dress rehearsal. I have only this one chance to have this experience so I must take it and get absolutely every thing I can out of it. This is Africa.

I MADE IT! After two months of blood, sweat, tears, frustration, laughs, new friends, amazing sunsets, and a new family; I have finally sworn in as an official Peace Corps Volunteer!!! I am moving tomorrow to KZN for two years and am both anxious and excited about beginning this part of the journey. I will be writing much more poignant entries than I have been as soon as I settle into my permanent site. I have a cell phone now. I love getting mail, e-mail, and phone calls, so if you want my number, please let Nida know or my parents and they can hook you up. Thanks for the support. I promise to write a entry that isn't so lame next time.

Sanibonani! I am writing this from the home of my school principal, Mrs. Logan. She has a fabulous house and a fabulous family, and obviously internet. As training is winding down and I am prepare to swear in as an official Peace Corps Volunteer (whoot whoot) I am reflecting a lot more on this experience than I normally do. I cannot really do justice in explaining how much I have learned, especially about myself, since I have been here. I have learned that as an American it is entirely impossible to bathe in a less than two liters of water, including washing one’s hair, and not be dirty. I have learned that chicken feet and chicken face really taste just a disgusting as they look. It has occurred to me that Americans work entirely too hard and for entirely too long. Time is of almost no consequence here and there is something terribly frustrating and yet freeing about it. Before this experience, I had never: killed a snake, been forced to speak a language with clicks to be understood, ate pap with every meal, chased and captured an escaping chicken, seen myself as a white person and having that mean something significant, carried an umbrella when it is not raining to protect my skin from the sun, had skirts comprise over 60% of my bottom attire, used a pre-paid cell phone, worried about being mugged, had to explain why I dislike President Bush, and spent six hours at church for one service among so many other things.

I have learned that life in a developed country is something to be appreciated and question. As Americans, we should stop complaining when the bus is late or when the doctor only sees us for ten minutes when we are sick with a cold. Here, the bus might never come and sometimes people being tested and/or treated for HIV/AIDS see no doctor at all because there is not one available. At the same time, we must question what living in a developed country means. Take your sweater off for a minute and look at the label. Where was it made? Cambodia, China, United Arab Emirates, Honduras? Do you ever wonder how much those people are being paid and in what conditions are the working? Did they have to walk 5 miles to get to the factory and leave their young children to fend for themselves while they go off to make the only money that is to be made in their area? Do they face dangerous road conditions or crime on their way to work? These are issues that we simply do not really deal with in America. Yes, millions of people have it incredibly rough and are really struggling to make ends meet and to provide for their families in America. But take a look at developing countries like South Africa. The unemployment rate is 41% now and in the area in which I am living, over 38% of the population is infected with HIV/AIDS. Kwa-Zulu Natal is the area with more people living with HIV/AIDS than any other place on Earth. As Americans we cannot imagine what these statistics look like, but let me tell you how I see it.

In Limpopo, I hang out regularly with 8 teenage girls who come to practice English with me and learn about America. Not one of them has both parents still living. Most of them have neither living. One of my close family members here in SA is has to use crutches to walk to my house which is only four houses from his because he is simply too weak from TB which he has contracted after being diagnosed with AIDS. This weekend in Mondlo (my township) in KZN, my sister says there were between 12 and 15 funerals. One of the boys who comes to my new family’s house every night to hang out with us comes over at night because he is lonely at home since his parents both died last year. He is 18. He lives alone in their home. The numbers are startling and it seems that there is no natural limit to the virus. However, the numbers are not a profound as the personal stories and the lives that have been infected and affected by this virus. So please, feel not guilty when you lay you head down to sleep in your comfy bed in your nice home with heat, AC, electricity, running water, and other standard amenities because you have worked to have these things and you deserve to have them if you want them. However, please remember that life is not as easy in other parts of the world and millions with be going to sleep cold, hungry, and sick tonight. So, if you can do something to help, then do it. People are waiting.

I am not trying to sound bitter because I am happy to be here and I do miss my life in the States. However, I am dealing with so many different things here, both significant and not so, that it is difficult trying to manage them all at once. Sir Oliver Wendell Holmes put it best, “A mind that is stretched by a new experience can never go back to its old dimensions”. My mind is changing constantly and I am learning how to reconcile that daily. And I firmly believe that ALL Americans should have this experience. It really changes the way you see the world and see yourself. I am a far more grateful individual than I ever could have been before. Peace Corps has taught me not to see the glass as half empty, rather it has taught me to wonder “hey, I could bathe in that”.

Sanibonani! I am writing this from the home of my school principal, Mrs. Logan. She has a fabulous house and a fabulous family, and obviously internet. As training is winding down and I am prepare to swear in as an official Peace Corps Volunteer (whoot whoot) I am reflecting a lot more on this experience than I normally do. I cannot really do justice in explaining how much I have learned, especially about myself, since I have been here. I have learned that as an American it is entirely impossible to bathe in a less than two liters of water, including washing one’s hair, and not be dirty. I have learned that chicken feet and chicken face really taste just a disgusting as they look. It has occurred to me that Americans work entirely too hard and for entirely too long. Time is of almost no consequence here and there is something terribly frustrating and yet freeing about it. Before this experience, I had never: killed a snake, been forced to speak a language with clicks to be understood, ate pap with every meal, chased and captured an escaping chicken, seen myself as a white person and having that mean something significant, carried an umbrella when it is not raining to protect my skin from the sun, had skirts comprise over 60% of my bottom attire, used a pre-paid cell phone, worried about being mugged, had to explain why I dislike President Bush, and spent six hours at church for one service among so many other things.

I have learned that life in a developed country is something to be appreciated and question. As Americans, we should stop complaining when the bus is late or when the doctor only sees us for ten minutes when we are sick with a cold. Here, the bus might never come and sometimes people being tested and/or treated for HIV/AIDS see no doctor at all because there is not one available. At the same time, we must question what living in a developed country means. Take your sweater off for a minute and look at the label. Where was it made? Cambodia, China, United Arab Emirates, Honduras? Do you ever wonder how much those people are being paid and in what conditions are the working? Did they have to walk 5 miles to get to the factory and leave their young children to fend for themselves while they go off to make the only money that is to be made in their area? Do they face dangerous road conditions or crime on their way to work? These are issues that we simply do not really deal with in America. Yes, millions of people have it incredibly rough and are really struggling to make ends meet and to provide for their families in America. But take a look at developing countries like South Africa. The unemployment rate is 41% now and in the area in which I am living, over 38% of the population is infected with HIV/AIDS. Kwa-Zulu Natal is the area with more people living with HIV/AIDS than any other place on Earth. As Americans we cannot imagine what these statistics look like, but let me tell you how I see it.

In Limpopo, I hang out regularly with 8 teenage girls who come to practice English with me and learn about America. Not one of them has both parents still living. Most of them have neither living. One of my close family members here in SA is has to use crutches to walk to my house which is only four houses from his because he is simply too weak from TB which he has contracted after being diagnosed with AIDS. This weekend in Mondlo (my township) in KZN, my sister says there were between 12 and 15 funerals. One of the boys who comes to my new family’s house every night to hang out with us comes over at night because he is lonely at home since his parents both died last year. He is 18. He lives alone in their home. The numbers are startling and it seems that there is no natural limit to the virus. However, the numbers are not a profound as the personal stories and the lives that have been infected and affected by this virus. So please, feel not guilty when you lay you head down to sleep in your comfy bed in your nice home with heat, AC, electricity, running water, and other standard amenities because you have worked to have these things and you deserve to have them if you want them. However, please remember that life is not as easy in other parts of the world and millions with be going to sleep cold, hungry, and sick tonight. So, if you can do something to help, then do it. People are waiting.

I am not trying to sound bitter because I am happy to be here and I do miss my life in the States. However, I am dealing with so many different things here, both significant and not so, that it is difficult trying to manage them all at once. Sir Oliver Wendell Holmes put it best, “A mind that is stretched by a new experience can never go back to its old dimensions”. My mind is changing constantly and I am learning how to reconcile that daily. And I firmly believe that ALL Americans should have this experience. It really changes the way you see the world and see yourself. I am a far more grateful individual than I ever could have been before. Peace Corps has taught me not to see the glass as half empty, rather it has taught me to wonder “hey, I could bathe in that”.

Yes folks, the kids is back. This is part three of the uploads from Africa. this week has been incredibly exciting and I have some interesting stories to share but very little time. No, I have not killed any snakes since the first time. However, the war against the insects is still raging and I am still victorious. Don't have much time to write now but am working on uploading some pics to check them out. Will write more next week probably once I am at my permanent site. I will be working with the Inkanyiso Special School with 318 severly mentally disabled learners. I am really looking forward to my site visit on Monday. Wish me luck! I am sure I will have a ton to write next week. Until then...

Wow. How do I begin to describe this experience? First of all, I would like to apologize for the less than fabulous previous blog entry. I was just at a loss for words as to how to even begin to describe what I have been experiencing here. The Peace Corps’ slogan is “the toughest job you’ll ever love”. This couldn’t be more true. I love my job and it presents me with challenges each day; some small and some enormous, but all significant. I am writing this in the back of a khumbi on my way to town so that when I arrive I have save internet time and just type. For those who don’t know, a khumbi is a van that is supposed to hold 15-16 people but we usually fit 19. I am watching the green mountains and expansive grasslands from a window seat and thinking, “Man, am I lucky to be alive and be here”. It is incredibly difficult to describe this place in a way that can actually paint a picture worthy of this experience. This is the reason I am attempting to upload pictures to my website, see the link on the right hand side titled “Christi’s Photos”. The pictures can help you see Afrika through my eyes but not in a way that really does this place justice and thus is the reason why I am not in many pictures. I am also attempting to find a way to upload videos quickly here so that this will also aid in sharing this experience with those back in the States.

Okay enough of this intro business. This is how my experience has been. I arrive in South Afrika on Jan 31 and stayed at a college in Mokopane in the Limpopo province for ten days. There my group began forming friendships that I am sure are going to last for a very long time. We learned about safety and security measures, received countless injections, studied Afrikaans and Sepedi, and gained a tremendous amount of knowledge on apartheid.

Then, we moved to Bakenburg and the surrounding villages with our new families. My family is fantastic! As mentioned in the previous blog, I have two brothers (one who lives at school), three sisters, one mom, and a gogo (grandmother) living in one house. Actually my gogo lives down the street with my uncle and other gogo who are both very ill. My mom is certifiably insane and I love her for it. She is as crazy as me and it is fantastic! From the very first day I moved in she has treated me like a daughter. She yells at me when my hair looks crazy or when my clothes need to be ironed. She tells me she loves me and calls me fat in the same sentence. Then she tries to feed me because “you too little”. She hands me a broom while telling me to wash the dishes. She doesn’t let me call her Momma Francina, only Momma and won’t talk to me unless I call her Momma. She is awesome and I love her! I also love my gogo who laughs at nearly everything I do, especially when I do laundry, attempt to cook, or try miserably to speak Sepedi. My host sister is a blessing from God. She is my culture and language translator and makes me so happy! She is one of my best friends here and I will be sad to move away from her in less than a month. She is teaching me to dance and trust me, that is hilarious. White people just should not try to mimic African dancing. It just doesn’t work. I would know..I see me.

Ngifunda IsiZulu kodwa ngihlala eLimpopo. I said I am learning Zulu but living in Limpopo, which is a Sepedi speaking area which presents daily communication issues. But if you saw me on the street you would think I am deaf because I gesture so many things in order to communicate now. I spend about 9 hours a day in class learning Zulu and Peace Corps info. I love my group because we are so diverse in our personalities. It is fabulous. Here is how a typical day of mine goes….

6:00 AM Wake up and take put away mosquito net and get ready for school.

7:45 Leave house and walked ten minutes to language

8-10:30 Learn Zulu

11:00 Train at center

1:00 Lunch

2:00-5:00 Train and Zulu

5:00 Get driven to tar road and then walk 25 minutes home

6:00- 7:00 Help make dinner, kill snakes, chase rooster for fun, play with neighborhood kids, and make my family laugh

7-8: Dinner

8:00 Generations…soap opera..yes I know

8:30-9:15 Heat water, pour in bucket, take bath, go outside and dump water

10:00 Get net out and kill all cockroaches in room and go to bed

I killed a snake this week. I was in the kitchen cutting cucumbers in the kitchen when I thought I saw something out of the side of my eye. I looked down and though “Wow that is a big worm”. Then I thought “Wow that worm slithers”. This is when I realized it was not a big worm, but was in fact small snake… not cool. So I yelled for my sister..she bug sprayed is and I flashlighted it and then we killed it with a shoe. Then my host brother runs in and throw water all over the floor. I say “Surprise (brother), why did you do that?” My sister says “It is the water of the church”. Then my mom runs in butt naked from her bath and yells “Tell me Manakedi!” So I tell her what happened and she says “Where is the mother?” So now I am constantly aware that a big mother snake is probably missing her baby. Hopefully she will stay away. Snakes are no good here and so South Afrikans kill them always.

It is nearly impossible to me to get to my house without ten little children following me home and insisting that I play with them for at least an hour no matter how exhausted I may be. So, I tried to sneak into the house through the corn field and I was almost home free yesterday, but one of them was waiting behind the toilet and caught me…I give up. So now my fan club has grown from five kids, to seven, and yesterday there were twelve. They touch my skin, play with my hair, and teach me songs, dances, and clapping games…they are awesome and they do not care that I don’t speak their language...they get me and in an odd way I am glad that they constantly harass me and walk me home everyday.

There is so much more I would like to say but I really must get off the computer before I run up to high of a bill…I only make $15 USD here a week. I am in love with South Afrika and I am terribly missing my family and friends. I wish we could all be experiencing this together, but I am learning so much on my own and I am becoming a better person everyday because of this experience. Thank you so much for you continuously support and love. Keep those letters and e-mails coming! I will answer e-mails and such when I get more time.

Uthando (love)…Christi Manakedi Nqobile (there is a click in there) Kekana Gibson

So obviously I am in South Africa now and I have one word...amazing!! This is by far the most beautiful place I have ever been to. The people are the best part of this experience. I love my PCT friends and I love my community. I have a host mom, Francina (38), three host sisters, Miashibe (20), Lizbeth (15), Mailous (8), and two host brothers, Komotcho (15), and Surprise (8)...yes folks...that is his name. They are wonderful. They do not speak much English, well Miashibe speaks a good amount, so verbal communication is not easy.. but we find other ways. I am uploading photos to my picture page so just click on the "Christi's Photos" link on the right hand side of my blog and you will be able to see what I have been up to. I do not have too much time left here at the internet cafe so I am really rushing to write this. I do not even know where to begin because these past thirty days have dramatically changed the way I view life and myself.

In the past 30 days, I have milked a cow, chased a rooster, took 150 photos, talked to kids in a language that I do not understand, took various walks around my community and greeted just about everyone I came into contact with. I am living a Sepedi speaking area but I am learning Zulu so I communicate mostly in greetings and other small phrases with my community. However, next month I will be moving to KZN and will be speaking Zulu and English. I live in a rural village/town called Motong, which is a part of Bakenburg. My fellow PCTs and I are the only white people in the village so we get a ton of stares, excited waves, greetings, and a million kids that follow us home just because they want to play with us. I am having a blast. I am sorry if I can only get a few pics up because this picture uploading is taking ten million years.

I am trying to read all of the e-mails I am receiving and I wish I could respond to them, but this blogging thing is making more sense now because this is only my first internet cafe trip. I promise I will try to write more next week. I just wanted all of you to know that I am alive and well and that is you have any questions please call Nida or my family because they are receiving letters from me that explain my experiences more in depth. I miss and love you all!!!

Until later..

After a largely successful and humorous PC two-day staging extravaganza we are about to get on our way to South Africa. I have found that the stomach is not a relatively stable organ of the body and that it seems to feel the need to change location whenever possible. I do not yet feel nervous, but know that I am, because my stomach has moved from the very bottom of my abdomen to staying in my throat for ten minutes at a time almost every hour. Or maybe it is just the absolutely delicious Indian food my roommate and I ate tonight…amazing! PC provides the volunteers with a relatively large spending allowance during staging. Maybe this is because they love us…or maybe because we might be eating some unfamiliar and perhaps less than delicious delicacies in SA. Who knows? Not me. However, I am feeling more anxious than anything else because I just want to get there and start with training and really begin the SA experience. Being at staging is surreal. It is a sentiment that has been passed around a lot these few days. We have been waiting so long to finally get going and now the moment is finally here. It is a triumphant beginning. We waited months, some of us years, in the application process to finally step foot here…triumph. We passed the very intrusive and exhausting barrage of medical, dental, and eye tests…triumph. We wrestled with our luggage and packed and re-packed until we simply could not do it anymore….triumph. We said our tearful see-ya-laters to the friends and family that supported us enough to get us here and still managed to tear ourselves away to get on the plane…triumph. We navigated the murky waters of breaking the ice and getting to know other PC Trainees while undergoing almost 15 hours of training sessions…..triumph. We have accomplished so much in such a short amount of time and will soon conquer many more feats as the days progress. This is it. I have waited for this and I am ready. Yesterday was tough and today was better….no, make that wonderful. I am by far the luckiest person I know to have this opportunity to serve but I am also going to miss my friends and family more than I can express. So any letters or packages would be greatly appreciated. You could be my best friend for life…well until the next letter comes from the next person and then they are my new best friend, but you can regain the BFF status by sending more packages or writing Nida and requesting such a status…you see the pattern…let’s make it happen folks. Don’t be offended when I do not respond or write back for the first few weeks. Communication back to the States is going to be difficult…at best…so I can only do so much. But I promise to keep in contact as much as I can. On a heavier note though, if you are reading this please pray for my friend Elena and her family. They have suffered a great loss this week with the sudden death of her mother. Any and all prays will help. Until next time…

Uhambo means "journey" in Zulu, and that is exactly what I am about to embark on in 3 days, 21 hours, and 48 minutes. I leave for Philly on Sunday at 9:25 a.m. and arrive around 10:30. Hopefully, I will be able to get a quick shuttle to the hotel so that I can have a few hours to myself to see the city before PC registration starts at two. After that it will be a day and a half of training before we get our vaccinations and are off to SA from NYC. We get to stop over in Frankfurt for twelve hours so hopefully I will get the chance to see some of Germany with my soon-to-be Peace Corps friends. 

Many of my friends and family members have been asking me how I have been feeling since the date is so close. My honest answer is that I really have no one word or sentence to describe exactly how it feels to be leaving everything that feels safe and everyone that I know and love to pursue a dream for two years and some change. I feel excited, anxious, happy, sad, impatient, calm, at peace, tormented, but mostly just hopeful. I have been waiting for almost a year now to actually be able to step foot on a plane and step out of my present life and into other circumstances. I am thankful for this opportunity because I know I am so blessed to be able to do this. However, that does not make it much easier to leave those that I love the most.  I have been saying a lot of "see you laters" to people these past few weeks and will continue that for a few more days before actually leaving. As hard as it will be to be away from my family and close friends, I am welcoming the challenges that I will face soon. There is much to do before I go, so I should cut this short.  

I better get back to wrestling with my suitcases. I am about to have to throw down WWF style on my bags to make all my junk fit. Hopefully I will come out on top, but I don't underestimate my suitcase...it is a worthy adversary.If you have the time, send a prayer up to the big man for me for a miracle to happen that my bags will magically expand to fit all of my stuff...no worries...que sera, sera. 

"Not all who wander are lost."J.R.R. Tolkien

So I was reading some Peace Corps blogs today, as I do everyday, when I realized this blog reading has become a dirty little secret. Whenever my roommate/best friend/soul mate/sister, Nida, leaves to go run errands or buy groceries, I stealthily tiptoe to my laptop and commence reading as many blogs as I can before she returns. As I hear her fumble for her keys in front of our apartment, I close the laptop and resume doing what I was doing before she left. She is fooled and once again I get to read to the blogs without her calling me obsessed or a dork, both of which I am. But all of that is besides the point…what I was trying to say was that I have more questions after reading the blogs than answers.

Many people I know suggest reading up on other’s experiences to prepare for mine in South Africa. And I, being a woman of a curious nature, take the advice and read up on how everyone is doing in PC SA. I am so grateful to be given this opportunity to do this, not only by the PC, but also by my circumstances. Let me elaborate. I was talking with a co-worker a few days ago who is one of my favorite co-workers and who I think is very insightful. She said that even if she wanted to do the PC, she could not. I replied that of course she could do it, she has so much of what the PC is looking for already. Then, she explained that even if she got accepted, who would pay her bills. Sure rent, food, insurance, and other expenses needed to live in Richmond would be taken care because she could not be living here and student loans can be deferred, but what about credit cards? She is not in debt because of her love for fancy appliances or because she has a fetish for expensive clothes or chocolates, because that is not the case. Instead, she has had to use the cards to pay for school, food, rent, and just daily living. She also works full time and is very frugal. However, entirely supporting oneself through school without a scholarship or help from parents has put her in a position where she cannot just up and leave like I can. Not to say that I have never had bills, I have bought a car, insurance, and the money from my parents helps a tremendous amount, but food and living expenses still cost more than I am willing to ask for. I guess I thought that everyone who was single and without an extravagant lifestyle could follow any dream as easily as I am able to leave my home in pursuit of another. I was ignorant and now I am even more grateful for what I have been given. I have not had everything handed to me on a silver platter; I work hard, very hard. However, I have been given so much opportunity to make decisions that make me happy and allow me to pursue living the life I choose to. My parents are the ones that I am the most grateful to for this and they have inspired me do work hard to be able to do the same for my kids, if I ever have them, in the future.

With that said, I would like to address one simple question that I am getting asked a lot. When people ask me about Africa, they generally ask me what I am going to do afterwards. The question is fairly clear, but the answer is much more ambiguous. The answer is, I have no idea. I have not idea what I am going to do when I come back. Sure, I can go back to school and get a masters or go to nursing school or go to law school or get a job in psychology or work in the pharmacy or join the foreign service or do Teach for American or become a bum or get married or win the lottery or do a million other things. However, I have a general feeling that my Peace Corps service is not just a stop on the road to getting where I want to be, because I do not even know where that is yet. PC South Africa is not just “two-years off” or a vacation. I am not running away and I am not going to find myself. I know where I am, so why would I need to go looking for me? I know who I am and I know that this is not exactly who I want to be, but I am a work in progress that will not be finished until I die. I am here for now and will be some where else soon, all the time consciously aware that I am not lost. J.R.R. Tolkien once wrote that “not all who wander are lost”. Maybe PC will be two years of my life that I will extend to make a career out of. Or maybe I will return home in 27 months and join Teach for America for another 24 months and then do something different for another two years. As you can see, there is a lot of “ORs” in there. There is no need to settle.

It seems rational enough to believe that I will “settle down” eventually. Maybe I will come back to the US in 27 months and get a job and go to school and get married and have kids. Maybe I will, or maybe I won’t. The PC South Africa experience is not just two years, it will propel me to the next phase in my life rather than means I am in one place for years at a time or just months. This “lack of stability” is exactly what I need to have the courage to take risks in order to make great things happen. When good people accept the stability of their lives, they become comfortable many times to just stay there. After a while, life gets boring and repetitive. People can become disillusioned with the stability and yet they remain too comfortable to make a move. I just don’t want that and so the answer to the question is that I have no clue what I am doing when/if I return in 27 months, but I know it will be great.

"I, even I, am He who blots out your transgressions for My own sake; and I will not remember your sins. Put Me in remembrance; let us contend together; state your case, that you may be acquitted." (Isaiah 43:25-26)

Something to think about...

Ahh! How in the world am I supposed to get any work done with this picture on my desktop!?! Apparently, this is Mokopane. For what I understand, this is where I will be in less than two months and the suspense is killing me. I am at the library and it is 5:59am. I have been here since 5 working on my Urban Sociology final paper. Graduation is on Saturday and a ton of family is coming down to celebrate the holidays and graduation. It should be fun. Well back to work...this paper is due in less than 12 hours. Could this exam week be any more stressful?