Last week I wrote a long weblog post on my personal frustrations and random sad, discouraging stories that are part of the culture. This Tuesday my motherboard took her last drag off the power cord and called it quits. So along with many other valuable pieces of data- so went my blog.

In a fit of need I went to town that same day and purchased a notebook. As I walked to the computer store I wore my jeans, sunglasses, smile, and backpack. I was weaving in and out of pedestrian sidewalk traffic at a brisk pace, per usual. When suddenly I felt a tug on my backpack- I spun my head to the right and spotted a man dabbing his nose with a handkerchief. Alright, maybe I was just bumped, fine. Not 3 seconds later I felt a more distinguished tug again. I whipped my body around and grabbed the man’s wrist with fierceness. He started shouting “Vhat? Vhat?. . . ” and I caused a scene with words. I threw my backpack in front and found the zipper of the outer compartment fully opened but the items (Nalgene bottles and gum) untouched. As the man disappeared into the crowd I walked on with shaky legs, elevated pulse, and a series of conversations with the women who witnessed the incident.

Crime is happening everyday in every South African community. (Not to say that it’s not that way in America.) There’s the non-profit managers who take money that’s meant for the OVCs (orphans and vulnerable children), the various governmental departments who spent 60% of their allotted funds on salaries, the police who work primarily on bribes, the payoffs for elections, the list goes on and on. Corruption is prevalent from the ANC all the way down to the school teacher.

Ubuntu means “I am because you are;” it’s a way of life. In the various South African cultures emphasis is on the group instead of the individual. If you come to my home, anything in the fridge is yours, your children sweep my yard if they play here, and there is always enough room for one more person in the given room/coombi. But ubuntu is not so idealistic in its reality. It is also a way to keep people from leaving the group, from succeeding. It is a way to use mass force to pull the individual back down to the level of the norm.

Example one: A man who lived in Troya,Marapyane owned a shop. As his shop flourished his neighbors began to envy him. In January they came into his home and injured him slightly, they came back last month and killed him.

Example two: My headmaster, Patrick, has turned an average school into a highly effective one. English is the medium of instruction; the learners are actually learning and performing well on exams. Consequently, the enrollment is 760 learners from 12 communities. As you can imagine the principals of these other community schools are not happy to see their enrollment dropping. (Keep in mind other schools probably have one/all of the following: teachers who do not know or teach in English- which is the language of national exams starting grade 4, teachers who sleep during class, those who choose to not teach, those who sit outside, those who don’t come, schools without books, without computers, without organization, etc.)

His success and drive has caused him so many issues. Next week there are SGB elections and principals from schools in the area are supposed to partner for the process. No one wanted to work with him, so he is the only person working alone. (Keep in mind many of these principal’s children attend Patrick’s school.) Yesterday we had people from the Department of Education here going through paperwork because we are under investigation . . . why? The only reason those in charge can figure out is because of all that’s right, the department believes something must be wrong. Then just today Patrick showed me a text message he was sent, written in Sepedi that said, “If you want to live, you must leave Mannyetha(the school).”

But, as Patrick says: “But what can we do? We must go on; we must go on.”

To begin- some disappointing news. . . As I wrote previously, my village was going to be receiving a Perfector-E water purification system. I just found out after a great deal of stalking the sponsors that it’s not happening. The primary reason is the additional expense of having to build a kilometer long pipe and pump from the river to the village. While I can logically understand this I am totally saddened that this opportunity has passed. Let’s start the process again . . .

Last Tuesday I invited an intimate group of sixth grade girls over to my home for a pizza party. If you understand my life here then you know what I’m going to say next- it turned into a chaotic group of well over 30 boys and girls. I laid out a mat in the yard, far away from the home, so as to not make a mess of the front stoop that my host mother so diligently cleans twice a daily. The older girls sat on the mat to shred cheese and tomatoes while I made the dough. In the hour it took for the flour to rise kids of all ages showed up with hungry bellies. I brought out a dozen colors of polish, a couple of jump ropes, crayons, and coloring books. When the time to assemble the pizzas I had to stick to my initial plan and only let the grade six girls take part. Upon cooking 4 pizzas I brought out 2” square pieces on a tray and had the kids form a line. They maintained order somewhat well for the first serving, but when it was time for seconds and everyone did not get a piece there were a few incidents of theft. Knowing how pizza creates thirst I brought out a single 2 liter of crystal light juice. Again, the kids formed a line for a single sip. But somehow the tallest kids made it to the front of the cue again while the Toka’s of the group were left dry-mouthed. Shame. Knowing the value of water for my family, I was unable to make more than 2 containers of juice. But still I’m certain the afternoon was a success. Everyone- I mean everyone- left with colored toenails, a taste of American culture, and a somewhat more satisfied stomach. (Pictures on Picasa!)

Today I was hoping to get a jump start on an idea for the girls club. I gathered 7 girls, armed with 3 reed cutting blades (think u-shaped knives) to head to the river. We were on our way when a grandmother began shouting. With a little help translating I learned that we could not cut the reeds today. Why? If we were to cut the reeds now, instead of in two weeks, the mermaids would get angry. They would make our houses walk away by causing rain storms. In all seriousness the kids understood this reasoning. You just never know the obstacles you’re going to face in Peace Corps. . .

I have been communicating with my cousin Renee Bromer’s 4th grade teacher in Naperville, IL. Ms. Veach sent me this adorable list of questions from her class. I have also included my responses.

Nick wants to know: Do you eat pancakes in SouthAfrica? (Not normally, but you can find crepes here, which are called pancakes. And how do you say "Hello"? Thobela! (Toe-bell-ah)

Maegan wants to know: Do you celebrate birthdays? How do you celebrate? What kinds of birthday traditions do you have? (We do celebrate birthdays by having cake, but they are never celebrated at school and some people don’t know when their real birthday is, so they just celebrate around the time of their birthdays.)

Nick asks: What kind of wildlife do you have that you see on a regular basis? We see bunnies and robins and ducks, what kinds of things do you see? (We see goats, donkeys, cows, sheep, chickens, dogs, cats, snakes, rats, many types of birds and insects. Sometimes we see monkeys by the river! )

Nora has 2 questions: What kind of sports do you do? What do you eat for breakfast and dinner, normally? (Girls play netball which is somewhat similar to basketball but played on dirt usually. Boys play soccer. Normally people eat bread and butter or pap and chicken for most meals. Pap is a white thick corn-based food that really fills you up and people eat it for most meals.)

Nick would like to know how long your school days are. Our school day goes from 9:05 to 3:35. (Here school is from 7-3.)

Joey asks: Do you have the book, "Green Eggs and Ham" by Dr. Seuss? And have you read it? (Hehe, I love that book! No, we don't have that book here sadly.)

Renee asks: Do you have fast food places like McDonald's in your country? (We do have McDonald's here, but KFC is much more popular! Plus we have fast food places called: Chicken Licken and Something Fishy. Most people in my village do not leave so they can't eat there often.)

Tommy wants to know: Do your houses have basements? And do you have a lot of food to eat? (No houses here have basements. -What an interesting question!- People do not have very much food to eat here, just enough to get by. )

Aarij wants to know: How do you keep people safe from the pit latrine (they had a lot of questions about this)? (Haha! It's a regular toliet you sit on, but instead of flushing it when you're done everything just falls into a big pit. When children are being potty trained they just go outside on the ground until they are big enough for the toliet.)

Leen asks: If you do have McDonald's or fast food, do they serve the same foods that they serve here? (They serve many similar foods at fast food restaurants, people love to eat french fries, but here they are called chips and chips are called snacks.)

Wyli wants to know if your homes are far apart or close together? Can you walk to each other's houses easily? (Because of the history of apartheid in this country, prior to 1994 people of each different color had to live in their own areas. (blacks, colored (mixed race), indian, and white) So now this is slowly changing in urban areas but in the rural areas, where I live, only black people live here. The homes are close together because the apartheid government made black people live in one small area. We can easily walk to each others homes.)

Jacob wants to know if you go on field trips. (Once a year my school tries to organize a field trip to the city. )

Kayla asks: Is there such a thing as a white giraffe? (We read a book about one in class together) (Hehe, not that I know of. . but it’s very likely. . there are white lions!)

Lucas wants to know: Do you have any pets at home? What kinds of animals? (Some people have dogs or cats but people here do not treat animals like we do in the states. Animals usually just eat scraps or hunt for food. They are very skinny and have many diseases. Kids throw sticks at dogs or sometimes beat them. I recently was given a kitten and have been treating it really well to show others what a great friend a pet can be if you love them. )

Brendan wants to know if you know the Double Cheeseburger song from McDonald's. (Nope. Is this a popular song now?)

Robby asks: Has a villager ever been eaten by a lion? Has a stampede of elephants ever come through the village? (Haha, not here! But I know that one friend of mine had to take a car to school because lions roamed near her home. Sometimes a hippo or crocodile will be found in the river. In the past few months 3 dogs and 1 child were killed by a green mamba.)

Dorinda wants to know if anyone has ever seen or touched a white giraffe. (Not in my village!)

This past weekend I was a bridesmaid for the first time in my life. I had some “standard responsibilities” such as: assisting the bride with her gowns, dancing, and wearing the same dress as 9 other women. But that is really the only point where “standard responsibilities” for an American and South African bridesmaid overlap.

I was asked a couple of months ago to be a bridesmaid for a woman who lives in my community. We had not had a friendship that went beyond greeting each other up until that point. But I was flattered none the less that she thought of asking me.

Friday 4pm: I arrive at the home of Tumelo, the bride, to pick up and try on my dress. Upon crossing my small, dusty village I arrive at Tumelo’s home where I am greeted by the stares of a dozen drunken men on the left hand side of the yard. With no more than a smile I turn towards the house, on the right side. In the backyard I find a dark tent (to be used for cooking), a caldron of traditional beer, and many grandmothers cooking porridge over a fire. I soon find a few young women who speak English. After a couple of hours of mingling the young women of the community gather on the front stoop- each armed with a knife brought from their homes. As I thought I was coming only for a dress fitting I needed to run home to collect my knife and peeler- wow, the peeler was a hit! We then begin to chop and peel the following vegetables: butternut (stains hands orange), carrots, potatoes, onions (my hands smelled for 2 days), peppers, tomatoes, cabbage, etc. Three hours later the sun has set and the vegetables are finished. We take a tea and biscuit break (biscuits are special for the wedding). While the young women were preparing vegetables the grandmothers were slaughtering and de-feathering twenty-some chickens.

Next up on the list of bridesmaid responsibilities: butchering chicken. Women work in twos for this task. One holds and pulls the body and the other saws with a dull knife. Since nothing goes to waste here the liver and intestines are tossed into a metal pan. Another pair of young women has the esteemed responsibility of taking the intestines and pushing a knife through the center, so as to slice the tube open. As feces squirts out, the smell nauseates me. But the seventh and eighth grade boys who stand in the darkness just outside the stoop beg me to give them a piece of intestines. . Nope. No way. I do not partake in this task; instead I turn to cutting sweet potatoes.

But just as I think I have escaped a task, the next appears without my having time to hesitate. A woman who is one of the cooks/cleaners at the school grabs my hand and pulls me onto the dance floor. I seem to have forgotten to mention that all this time traditional synthesized African music has been blasting from mega speakers into my ear (the same 20 songs). She insists on teaching me to dance so that I am prepared for tomorrow. We go round and round the porch line dancing. Although I feel confident, the laughter of dozens of women makes me question myself.

By 9pm I’ve heard Tumelo report that the dresses will be arriving “now now” more than 3 times and I’m tired. Plus my walking partner, Athlida, is ready to leave. So we do.

Saturday 5:30am: I’m up before the sun- bundled to keep warm in the morning darkness- and arrive at Tumelo’s to again find a dozen men drinking on the left and even more old women cooking in the back. The rest of the bridesmaids are awake after a mere 3 hours of sleep and cooking over temporary gas stoves in the food tent.

For the next 4 hours I am again chopping vegetables and stirring pots. At 10:30 I walk with 2 other bridesmaids across the village to the seamstress’s (Nancy’s) home to try on my dress. Up until this point I have no idea what to expect. So I am pleasantly surprised when I find a modern looking 2 piece, with a tube top and jacket. All three women strip and gown up. My tops too large and it happens to conveniently fall down just as a man crosses the doorway. No biggie, breasts are seen all the time here. Nancy alters the top and I’m back to the bride’s home for another hour.

12pm: I am free to go home, nap, bathe and then return by 2 for the wedding. While at home Karabo tells me her grandmother (my host mother) said that I can’t dance. Haha

Let me set the scene: half acre lot, 2 small homes, 2 large tents (one for food prep, one for ceremony), 30-40 overly drunk men, 20 grandmothers cooking, 20 children playing, 50 people of all ages dressed in their finest sitting in plastic chairs in the front yard., music blasting, cows mooing, grandmother’s shrieking in happiness, people dancing. . . although the wedding hasn’t begun officially the crowd has already been fed. At a South African wedding, everyone is invited and there is always enough food for one more mouth.

While Tumelo is having her fake nails glued on the groom sits besides her talking. The bridesmaids are drawing on eyebrows and glossing their lips. Her first dress of the day is white. She wears a veil, gloves, and pearls. She holds artificial flowers. The groom leaves just before the procession begins, he his groomsmen line up behind him. Flower girls lead the line of women out the front door of the home where we are matched with random partners of the opposite sex. We walk together, two-by-two in a dancing step, swinging our arms to the beat. People are sitting and standing all around as we circle the stoop, then out into the yard, and finally out into the street. Throughout the procession I receive cheers from community members and smiles/giggles from the children. Our procession is lead by a man in a top hat who holds a stick with a white flag high in the air so that everyone knows a wedding is going on. His eyes are barely open due to the copious amounts of alcohol he’s already consumed and remarkably his eyes remain in this state for the next 30 hours.

Before the procession reenters the yard the women of the bride’s family kneel and sing a song of welcome. As we step/dance back into the yard the bridal party enters the fabulously decorated tent. The bride and groom sit on a couch that is covered with a white sheet and raised a foot in the air. In front of them are 6 cakes. The bridal party sits at round tables and is greeted by an appetizer plate of chips, sweets, and mints, all mixed together.

There is a strict agenda for the wedding that will be under the direction of the emcee. We begin with a prayer, followed by the introduction of the wedding party. When I’m introduced the emcee asks if I’m single. Unfortunately his inebriation has not yet affected his short term memory so throughout the ceremony says several times over the echoing microphone “Molly, you with us?” The cameraman also had quite an attraction to me and so I’m sure I will occupy easily 20% of the wedding tape doing random things (eating with my fingers, daydreaming, wiping sweat from my forehead, laughing at the drunk men, staring adoringly at the straight-faced bride).

As the vows are exchanged I am not sure a single person is paying attention, this includes the bride and groom. They are not looking at each other or the priest. So peculiar . . in any case they end up exchanging gold rings and watches and there is a small applause. But still no kiss. I take it upon myself to teach the women and men at my table an American tradition, we start tapping our water glasses with forks. The emcee catches way and the man next to me shouts “We demand a kiss!” Tumelo looks at me sternly and suddenly I feel like I’m four years old. No kiss.

The vows are followed by the wedding party feasting on traditional foods, many of which have been ruined by a smothering of mayo. My thirst is hardly satisfied by the salty tap water. I yearn for a cold drink. Looking at the program I see cold drink does not come until after 3 speeches. . eish. After zoning out for 30 minutes I rejoin the wedding as 3 bottles of champagne are placed near the wedding cakes. The emcee calls me up to take a bottle. Two other bridesmaids join me. Tumelo tells me to shake the bottle and spray it over the cakes. As I thumb off the cork, a majority of the foam sprays onto the table. . I pour a full glass of champagne for Tumelo and her husband and leave the bottle on the cake table. The rest of the wedding party guests have a bit of champagne for toasting purposes. It turns out that Tumelo doesn’t drink. I watch her pour an entire bottle of champagne into the dirt.

After sipping the champagne the bridal party again lines up in pairs and us women dance our way back into the house. Costume change! We button brown fabric onto our shirts, put on a matching jacket, and tie a scarf in our hair. The bride puts on a gorgeous brown and orange traditional dress. We dance back out and redo the entire ceremony. . . this time relatives bring the new couple gifts of cups, plates, bowls, pots, etc. We again dance to the house again and the bride changes into a leather skirt and jacket. We dance in a circle, go inside change and voila- the wedding is finished. (Sorry for my lack of enthusiasm, it was a daunting experience.)

When I just said the wedding is finished, I meant for the day. Just before the wedding party departs for the groom’s home (with all 6 uneaten wedding cakes) I am called in to Tumelo’s room. Although I arrived at her home with my overnight bag she says that it would be better if I just arrive at the grooms the next day. I was actually upset about being uninvited to the grooms. My mind swells with possibly explanations for the change of plans- is there a traditional event that I can’t partake in? Does she not want me to go to the groom’s home? I later find out she didn’t want me to have to sleep on the ground with the 12 women in one room. I promptly tell Tumelo that I want to be treated just as everyone else and I add in “I slept on the ground for the first three months here!”

Sunday was essentially the same as Saturday. A few differences: bride wore an additional traditional dress, we actually ate the cakes, more drunk men than I have ever seen, and we took a ride around the village in a car! Also, since no one knew me in this village I spotted dozens more camera phones creeping around to shoot photos of me.

I thoroughly enjoyed the experience of being a part of Tumelo’s wedding day. Since most of my three days were consumed by Sepedi voices I had ample opportunity to enjoy mental solidarity. A few thoughts and topics surfaced again and again.

1: Alcoholism in men- this cultures lack of recognizing the seriousness of it, the way females still hold conversations with them, the way people do not even flinch at people who are passed out in the middle of the dance floor.

2: Work Ethic of women- never do these women complain about bearing the majority of work, or about their lack of sleep

3: Lack of Affection- there is never holding of hands, kissing, hugging, between any members of the opposite sex, or even really between mothers and children

(if you read this far, thanks, I know this was a boring post:-)

Look at photos of the wedding on my Picasa page!

tThe nine month mark of living in South Africa will be here in a week. . .

So on the 28th of March I participated in the Longtom Marathon! Walking 21,1km is by far the longest officially measured distance I have travelled by foot thus far in my life. I had intended on running at least a few kilometers. But so early in the morning, with thousands of bodies side by side, I decided I was going to enjoy the view and participate in “21km talk” as Leah called it. With 3 other volunteers I kept a brisk pace along the route that was a constant series of hills through the mountains. For the most part we were heading downhill, you may think this is easier- talk to my shins and see what they have to say. Throughout the 3hours and 45minutes we were met by truly African buffet stops. In the states races have stops with water, maybe Gatorade, oranges, bananas. . not in South Africa. Here we were handed packets of water, which I found to be much more efficient- as much water isn’t wasted spilling over the top of the cup. But beyond bananas and oranges there were people holding plates of gummy bears, chocolates, hard candy, and my favorite- Coke!

I must thank all the people who were able to generously donate to the KLM foundation in my name! I raised just over 400 dollars, which will go a long way here for the learner who is chosen to attend Uplands College. Considering the state of the economy it’s amazing that as a group of about 60 volunteers were able to raise a considerable amount of money. . nearly 15,000 I think?

Two volunteers chose to train their bodies and ran the entire 56km ultra marathon that spanned the entirety of the Longtom Pass, from Sabie to Lydenburg. Both finished under 7 hours! Plus, many of volunteers chose to run the 21 km, so congratulations to all of them.

Now is the autumn/Easter school break and in a few days I’m going to be heading down the coast, taking in the garden route, wine country, and ultimately the Cape Town experience. I will be returning on South African election day. . so let’s all hope that the I’m not met by chaos.

Also, I have thought long and hard about my choice to teach. I created a list of why I should continue and why I should not continue to be an educator here. Why I should: I committed myself, the teachers may not respect me if I stop teaching, I may burden the teacher who will take over. Why I should not: it’s stressful and emotionally draining, I was never a teacher in the states and will not be a teacher upon returning home, I feel like I’m not teaching the learners enough, I could be using my time better if I could focus on one project instead of having teaching hanging over my head. So I talked with my principal and he agreed that next quarter I should not teach. For me and hopefully for my community this will be the best choice.

Yesterday I went to town and received quotes on the pricing of various materials (sewing machines, beads, fabrics) for the Wonderboom Women’s Club. Today I am beginning to write a VAST grant proposal that I must submit by May 1st. The VAST (Volunteer Activity Support and Training) Program gives up to $5,000 for small scale HIV/AIDS projects though PEPFAR (President’s Emergency Plan for HIV/AIDS Relief) grants. If I am able to receive this money then it is our hope to get the program started by June. I will certainly give updates about the details of the club as I develop them.

On another exciting note a nearby PCV from SA16, Nathan has generously supported my community. His community, Ga-Matabata, has a drop-in center that was funded by the Netherlands Nelson Mandela Foundation. The Foundation wanted to give his community a high-tech water filtration system, the Perfector-E. He insisted his community did not need such a product but after hearing about the water issues in my community (Remember: people fetch water from the river) he was able to convince the foundation to give the product to my community! So yesterday I went to town and picked up a water testing kit, tomorrow I will collect samples and bring them in. Once I find out the electricity connection costs and determine a way to build a secure shed we should receive the Water Purification System!! The women in the Netherlands are hoping to have the project completed by 10 May, so fingers crossed all will go as planned.

I will post photos from the Longtom and Cape Town when I return!

riding A couple of days ago I ventured to a nearby PCV’s home to help her and her community members sew shade netting onto a hydroponics project. On a normal day this would require 3 combis and nearly 30 Rand. Well I had a lucky day and caught a free ride out of my village, 5km to the main road.

From there I had another free ride from the main road to Lebowakgomo. My driver along this 20 km stretch was a well-dressed man in a BMW who works as a facilitator for a mining company. He was a wealth of information. In the area where I live there are approximately 5 platinum mines and 2 chrome mines. He described the issues involved in the business (companies promise to support the village where they mine but don’t give enough, tribal authorities require them to hire unskilled locals, those who work for the company are victims of crime and high-jacking on the way to work, etc.) and that come June a new mine will be opening very near to my home.

Upon reaching Lebo I waited in a coombi for 40 minutes- alone-. (Remember coombis do not leave the rank until they are full and I was short some 14 other passengers) So again I had to walk down the road and find another ride. My driver this time was adorable old man with a receding hairline and afro (resembling bozo, minus the blue and flip and well, you get it). So he asked me questions such as: “Where do you live?” “What do you do?” and after each response he said a sing-song “Alleluia!” hehe. Next he asked if I was a Christian. I told him I was raised Roman Catholic. With this he went into a rather confusing and serious 5 minute tangent on the sign of the cross. Apparently he thinks that when Catholics cross themselves they make the cross sideways because the longer span of the sign of the cross is between your shoulders as opposed to vertically. (Are you following? I had to have him repeat and demonstrate at least 3 times) He had a real issue with this and referred to Catholics as “upside down Christians”. Without any semblance of a smile he offered a solution to this problem. “A person should rather make the shoulder touches nearer to the neck as opposed to the shoulder.” OOOk. . .

. . . so I paid 0 Rand to get there. . .

* * * * * * * * *

Some words/issues that are essential:

- blue pens are for leaners, black pens are for educators only.

- All notebooks must be covered in plastic wrap

- The person who watches over testing learners is called an invigilator

- The answer key is called a memorandum

- White-out is called typex

- Restaurant bills are called slips

- At the end of a sentence you put a full stop, not a period

- Rulers are necessary for most notebook writing

- You cannot draw in pen

- You cannot take notes in pencil

* * * * * *

2 animal stories:

- My tiny kitten had a 10 minute face off with a preying mantis. The mantis spread it’s bottom wings, lifted its front limbs, and let out a few noises of intimidation- but it never backed down from the kitten once.

- I saw a kid (baby goat) eating grass with a pack/herd/bunch of sheep and it let out a few very distinct “baaa’s”!!

Much has happened. I’ll begin with my teaching experiences. So it’s been approximately 10 weeks since I started teaching grade four natural science. It turns out that the “fourth grade slump” is a term that is not exclusively American. The transition from the core 3 subjects (literacy, numeracy, and life skills) to an extensive plethora of learning areas is stressful and difficult for learners.

So I elected to teach this year because I thought I could bring the learner-centered approach that South Africa is stressing in OBE (Outcomes Based Education). I enter the classroom with my positive attitude and perfectly crafted 5E science lesson plans (Engage, Explore, Explain, Elaborate, Evaluate). Only to be met by chaos . . . you see in an attempt to be self-sustainable our school has the teachers responsible for the possession and distribution of materials (pencils, sharpeners, rubbers, pens, rulers). Since I do not have my own classroom each time I enter a room I have to take 5-10 minutes for learners to distribute materials. This seems like a situation where the Classroom Coach (a book that gives the steps required to have effective classroom routines) would work. Well in my classroom it’s never that easy. There are learners talking and pushing each other from chairs because there aren’t enough chairs for 40 learners.

Once the materials are ready for use I struggle with classroom management. With so many kids I can’t keep an eye on them all. Some incidents that have occurred include: breaking a chair, tying a learners shoes to a chair, sleeping, making cats noises. . . EISH! I want to pull my hair out most days. I always say that the learners don’t respect me because they know that I won’t beat them like the other teachers. Last week I had a PC friend, Haley, come and observe me. Her feedback was so meaningful. She brought to my attention that yes, the other teachers beat, but at least they have a discipline plan. I, on the other hand, randomly try different techniques. So far: placing a learner outside the room (which is illegal I found out), making the learner sit in the front, having them stay after class, etc. My plan is that next quarter I will implement a discipline plan with the support of the headmaster. It will include consistent punishment and praise and hopefully lessen the stress I experience in the classroom. Currently this stress makes me want to pull my hair, scream, cry, and generally quit teaching. It’s been very emotionally burdening.

* * * * * * * *

Next topic: Ancestors.

Last week all of SA18 travelled to Blyde River Canyon for our LST (life skills training. . PC likes acronyms). Each of us brought a counterpart from the community or school so we could learn the steps required to begin a secondary project and how to write grants. Secondary projects vary but include: girls/boys clubs, gardens, small business development, computer classes, library projects, etc. I chose to bring Reneilwe Maputha. She is a primary teacher at Mannyetha Primary, also a head of department, mother of 2, Eco-Schools Coordinator, and generally optimistic woman who I enjoy spending time with.

If you remember I wrote about her earlier: see blog “Traditional Medicine.” Based on this cleansing month that she had in December she is still left with a few final ceremonies to free herself of the ancestral curse. Seeing as we were at a beautiful resort with views of the 3 rondevals there was much nature to entice her spirit. One day after our sessions she asked me to join her and Jerrina (PC Kelly’s counterpart) on a walk to the waterfall where she needed to collect holy water. So we walk behind the conference center, over a small bridge, and see a mini waterfall on the other side of a fence. She has her 2 liter bottle ready for collection but clearly she and J were going to have difficulty hoping the fence.

So I offer. She gives me a look. “What?” I say. She says, “Well last night you and Andrew (my partner for 6 months). . .” I say “We what?” She says “You know, did the naughty thing.” Me: “We what?” Her: “You know the silly silly.” Me: “You mean we had sex, so you don’t want me to touch your holy water because you think I sinned?!” Her: “No.” Me: “You think I sinned. . . “

Wow. That was a judgment; one which left me speechless. So I said fine, ok. They weren’t going to be able to hop that fence so I took them around the waterfall and over a different bridge. They didn’t think the stairs were going to go anywhere. I decided to climb solo and wave my scarf when I reached the top. Pleased with my confidence and persistence they followed up and in their dresses climbed over massive mossy and slippery boulders all the way to the waterfall.

Once there Rene took off her shoes and began filling the water bottle in the trickle of the waterfall. She was shocked at the lack of water since after breakfast it was apparently gushing. (I found that hard to believe since there hasn’t been any rain. . ) In any case after five minutes she decided to stand on a boulder while filling up. To cap off the holy water ceremony she stood in the waterfall: completely clothed in the icy waterfall. It was a beautiful sight! You must check out the photos on Picasa.

Later I asked if there are any other ceremonies she must complete. She needs to slaughter a cow by herself and then take the hide to the “East” where she will dig up her ancestor’s bones, talk to them, and then rebury them wrapped in the hide.

Why the water? To drink when she is ill. Now the cruel corker for this story . . . the waterfall was gushing earlier because it is man made . . . of all the natural waterfalls surrounding the facility she chose an artificial one.

* * * * * * * *

Final Topic: Tsotsis

I returned home from LST on Monday afternoon. Upon arriving at Mannyetha the following morning I was told I couldn’t enter in my usual gate. Apparently the school had been robbed Monday night.

The story is as follows: apparently there was a car driving around the village beginning at about 11pm. Come 1 or 2am they cut a hole in the outer fence, then the inner fence. From this point they crept around the school block and used a lock cutter to break in the thick metal security fence. From here they lured, or somehow trapped the night watchman. They bound his arms and legs to a chair and for the next hour or so they vandalized the school. The 2 computer labs were broken into (the burglar doors locks cut and the wooden door locks broken too) and only the nice HP hard drives were stolen. From there they broke into the administrative block where they stole the TV, VCR, 9 computer projectors (valued at R90,000), 12 classroom heaters, all the teaspoons and knives?, the kettle?, and the new flat screen computer/hard drive. They also broke the jojo (massive water tower) for no good reason. By the time the old security man freed himself and ran screaming through the village the men had long left.

The criminals certainly knew where to find the goods. They did not break into the most logical room, the headmasters. Instead they only entered the assistant headmaster’s room where the items were located. Also they didn’t take any of the cords for the projectors or computers. Clearly they have no idea how to use such things. . . they will likely be traded for a single case of beer.

So on Tuesday the police came and took fingerprints and photos of muddy footprints (caused by the jojo spilling). The headmaster called a community meeting. This is how it was learned the people had been around since earlier in the night. Other than that there wasn’t/hasn’t been any new information learned. But upon the end of the school day I returned home and heard a loud ringing. It turns out that Wonderboom has an informal messaging system! Someone rings a large old metal circle by the water pump and people gather! Apparently there was a concern that maybe these people just stashed/disposed of the items in the bush?!! (come on, they go through all this work to leave the items?!) In any case the community felt like they should do their part, which I commend. So hundreds of people made their way out into the bush and travelled from the small mountain to the large one and back to the main road. After 2 hours of walking. . no luck. But I did notice people came back with heads full of sticks for fires. Plus along the entire route people held branches of trees that are full of semi-sweet berries. So it was highly enjoyable for me, even if it turned out to be. . fruitless. HA

I’m saddened by this theft. Unfortunately thieves rob schools everyday. They take computers usually the day they are delivered. One time the thieves broke in a night too early. It seems like it’s always inside jobs. Last night my friend Kelly’s school was broke into and her computers stolen. There isn’t a push to catch these tsotsis. So they continue stealing expensive products that they likely do not know how to operate and then trade them for measly beer. Plus the cops are corrupt here too. . How to we change this cycle? How can we improve the education system when every new tool is promptly stolen? How do we not get frustrated?

A couple of weeks ago I attended IST (In-Service Training) at Marapyane College; this is where our initial training took place from July to September last year. It was strange to revisit the place that held the initial emotions, memories, and impressions of this country. Not to mention the college looked like a jungle. When last there is was winter; summer has turned the brick walkways into fields of reeds. It looked ridiculously abandoned, which in a way it is. In short, the week was informative about HIV/AIDS, or as they like to say “healthy living” because HIV/AIDS is a phrase that makes people turn their listening ears off. We also met our new country director (who was a CD in Lesotho, and Ghana previously), had a session on mental health (which I loved and needed), a session on trees and gardens, and a few sessions run by PCV’s on successful programs they have created. The week also allowed catching up with the 33 volunteers who remain from the 44 that flew into Jo’burg in July. Each night was a drinking adventure- there was a bonfire, séance (well mostly a nice session of sharing while sitting cross-legged in candlelight), beer pong tournament, and a showing of The Dark Knight on a projector.

I have continued with my teaching of Natural Science and each day I enjoy it a bit more. The learners have begun to understand my expectation that they answer questions when called on and that they mustn’t fear me. Since critical thinking is severally lacking learners are not usd to coming up with their own ideas. They expect each question to have one correct (memorized) answer. Which reminds me that yesterday Karabo came into my room looked at my computer and in unison with her friend said a school-given definition of what a computer is and does. I have also begun working with Reneilwe, a foundation phase teacher, on the Eco-School Student Council. This is a group of 12 learners in grades 4-7 who will be the leaders in the coming year regarding the environmental initiatives and projects that the school takes on. We began today by addressing the issue of rubbish (and nutrition in a round about way). You see kids here eat cheese snaks/ zimbas (essentially cheetos in a variety of colors and flavors) for breakfast, snack, and dinner. When finished the wrappers are tossed onto the ground. They’re cheap and they’re sold on school grounds. So the ESSC made a box and collected all the wrappers of zimbas/snaks during their short break. They plan on using these wrappers as a shocking visual for an upcoming program and then using them in a to-be-determined art project. Please let me know if you have ideas. I say multiple times a day “The world is not your rubbish bin” and then insist the children pick up their garbage.

This past Friday my principal asked if I wanted to go to a workshop in Jo’burg. In a morning haze I agreed. Only after agreeing did he tell me he would pick me up from my home at 4:30am the next morning. So with the sun still sleeping I arrived at his home. 14 educators, 1 principal, and one sleepy volunteer climbed into a coombi at 5am. I took one for the team and sat in the far back seat, right hand side. Anyone who has ridden a coombi knows that this seat has an easily accessibly window (YAY!) and also a wheel indention that forces you to crunch up your legs (:BOO!). This particular coombi also had an unattached back seat which means that we leaned forward for the entirety of our 3.5 hour drive to Jo’burg. Luckily I slept for an hour or so. **SIDENOTE: I have never been to Jo’burg because we are not allowed there as PCV’s, it has over 100 murders a day. I had to receive special permission for this day trip. I figured I would get a small tour of the city maybe. . . ** I woke up only to find that the workshop was being held in a clearly affluent suburb of Jo’burg and a tour of the city was out of the question. St. Stithian’s College, a school for grades R-12, was the venue. The tuition for the school is R7000 a month!! That is far more than any teacher or average S. African could afford to pay! So the children of the rich attend this school and Africaaner teachers led the sessions. We began the day in true South African fashion with tea and biscuits followed by a prayer and gospel reading. From there we had a 1.5 talk on OBE (Outcomes Based Education) which is the current educational curriculum. Then a half hour tea and sandwich break. Finally we had an hour talk on how a classroom should be decorated to motivate students. Yes, that is it. 2.5 hours of lecture and back into the coombi we went. When I found out that this was the first of 10 Saturday workshops I knew I couldn’t justify attending another one. 8 hours of travel for less than 3 hours of lecture. Can you believe that not one other person complained about the travel time? And even more shocking- not one person brought a single reading material or activity along to occupy them during the hours of travel. They simply slept or looked out the window for 8 hours. I was in complete disbelief.

On an unrelated note: I received 3 FABULOUS care packages from my mom and sisters:-) In addition to many self-indulgent treats (jewelry, clothes, perfume, snacks, burst bees, etc) they gave me a soccer ball- which has already been worn in and punctured by barbed wire (about 15 boys play on a nearby football field each day after school now, thanks to this gift.) For the tiny boys I received 10 matchbox cars. I gave one to each boy and immediately they held races, built tracks in the sand, again after 2 days the cars looked as if they had been here for years. Then for the older girls I received earring hooks and beads. So we have made earrings out of beads, rocks wrapped in wire, and even from the feathers that the neighborhood boys bring me after slingshot birds. Also I received random toys (stuffed zebra, coloring books, fun hair ties, etc) and whenever I hand out these things I know I am really making the child feel special. So thanks a lot mom, Ab, Morg, these small things make the children ridiculously happy (and me too!).

Saturday I took a 3.5 hour coombi ride to and from Jo’burg so I decided to take the time to indulge in reading the “25 things” lists on facebook. I loved it! So if you have written one, chances are I read it while crammed between 3 women and a window (with my feet crunched up on the ledge of the tire indent). I thought it was interesting and decided to post it here as well.

1. My facial expressions speak far more words than I can.

2. I love road trips: organizing directions, seeing the countryside, hanging my toes out the window, singing terribly, and going into gas stations.

3. I have a serious roach problem in my bedroom- but it may be better than the roach problem at my last apartment in Chicago, gross.

4. I had my ear pierced 3 days ago and it is hurting like hell! That brings my body hole count to 6.

5. I miss toilets. I miss hearing the flush, I miss the confidence that flies and rats will not touch my body, but most of all I miss checking the fruits of my labor.

6. I love picking, popping, and tweezing- anything on anyone.

7. I love and miss my mom, Ab, Morg, Jer, dad, and animals everyday.

8. I have not attended church regularly since high school. I experience Catholic guilt every time that I sleep in when at my parent’s house on a Sunday, even though my mom has never gone to church. I hate it.

9. My perfect home would have a claw foot tub, a porch swing, a winding staircase, a firepole (i.e. Vandenbergs!), a loft, a room to mess up (throw spaghetti, paint, wax on the walls/floors, etc.) and acres of space for love to blossom.

10. I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up. But I am looking into Master’s programs all the time. Ideally I will become an artist of some sort.

11. I love (and miss) family dinners which are inevitably full of laughter, ridicule, and love. Plus there’s the food: cedar plank grilled salmon/pork tenderloin, bacon bacon dip with crackers, baked potatoes, asparagus, salad, red wine.

12. Anything that is made of recycled materials excites and inspires me, I hope to one day live on recycled pieces alone.

13. I dream I’m flying nearly every week (Last night included).

14. I am so happy. Ever since arriving in South Africa I have reclaimed myself- my dancing, sporadic, free spirited self.

15. I have not stepped on the middle step at my parent’s house since I was 10 or so (avoid it even with boxes/laundry piled high, even when washing the steps).

16. I really love hearing my mom tell me random stories that have happened when we talk on Sundays. (ex: Our obese dog Emma had to have a toe amputated; now she wears a bootie and needs to be lifted up the steps. One late night Emma sat at the bottom of the stairs and cried because she wanted to be in my parent’s room. Jerry woke from a sound sleep walked downstairs picked Emma up and dropped her at the top of the stairs and without a sound went back to bed.)

17. Out of boredom I spend too much time at my computer in this country, I need to change this.

18. I love Chicago- the El, the winter, the neighborhoods, the summer festivals, the free adventures, the museums, the lakefront, the people, parks, random encounters, the music venues, the art on every corner.

19. I love the connection, motion and emotion of live music.

20. I don’t like mayo-based salads or the hodge podge salads where you don’t know what you’re eating. I also don’t like cilantro, spicy foods, or ricotta cheese.

21. I love bloody mary’s- must have celery salt, Worchester, pepper, salt, celery stick, pickle, olive, small amount of Tabasco, pickle juice and served over ice. (I miss Edgewater Lounge!)

22. Cliché but true: I love that even though my best friends and I have lived in different states/countries for the past 5 years we manage to communicate frequently and never miss a beat when we reunite.

23. I like giving and receiving surprises. I suffer when trying to delay gratification.

24. I hate American consumerism (but buying a new outfit every once in a while does make me happy).

25. I use less than 10L of water a day- this includes drinking, washing self, washing dishes, cooking, etc.

On Tuesday I asked my learners if they knew what historical event was taking place that day. The first student I called on said one word, “Obama.” Thanks to television advertisements the inauguration was known throughout my community. Not until I arrived home did I learn that it was going to be broadcast live on one of the three channels my family gets. It turns out all three of the channels are owned by the South Africa Broadcasting Corporation (SABC1, SABC2, SABC3). Generally I grimace at these channels due to their power, manipulation, and mind games. But on Tuesday I took all my cruel words back- at 6:00 SABC2 broadcast live coverage of the greatest transition I have seen.

I sat down in my family’s family room and for the first time since the election I watched TV. As I sat alone on the velour couch I began sweating and sticking to the couch in the darkness of the evening. I saw Dick in his wheelchair and laughed, Aretha with her big bow and I laughed, Yo yo ma and company and I began getting goosebumps. By the time Obama’s nervous words were being spit out for his oath I was unsure whether I tasted the salt of my tears or sweat. Just as he took the podium to speak my host father took a seat. We were both shocked at the 2 million people gathered. How I wish I was one of them. I cannot think of words to describe the pride I have in my country, my president, and our nation’s future.

I remember being very young and thinking the Peace Corps sounded like a cool idea. When I finally applied over a year and a half ago I just thought it was a natural transition. Now, only now now do I feel ridiculous pride in my being an American abroad.

Wednesday morning I was greeted by my principal with an extended handshake and by the assistant principal saying “Congratulations Mr. President.” (This phrase has been repeated dozens of times already!) Today, Thursday at school I entered the boardroom (where the makes eat) and heard several comparisons between our inauguration and those that have occurred here. For one, nobody understands that Obama was reading a teleprompter. They were amazed at his ability to memorize (“. . . I mean did you see the woman after him, she couldn’t even memorize a short poem!”) Then they were amazed that he only spoke for 15 minutes or so; here the president would speak for hours. Then there was the comparison between Obama and Mandela (support from the people, black president, symbolism of freedom). Finally, how could the Americans not give applause to the orchestra musicians . . . not even sound. Again I had to explain that the microphones were probably to blame . . . I’m sure the crowd was deafening.

I am so looking forward to the next 4 years!

I have not stepped on the middle step of the staircase in my parent’s home since I was very young. It began as a superstition and now it’s just habit. Even if I am washing the steps or carrying a towering load of laundry I skip the step.

In South Africa I find people hold superstitions to be God-given truths. As I mentioned in a previous blog there are ideas that eating out of a pot means it will rain on your wedding day- if you sweep dust onto a man he will never get married.

Then there are great powers that people give to their ancestor’s spirits. My host father built a rondeval because his ancestors came to him in a dream. People wear bracelets and/or anklets because their ancestors will cure illness if they wear such things and then perform rituals. (I currently am sporting an anklet and it’s been the topic of many conversations. I just say it’s part of my culture.)

Well my favorite teacher, Renilwe, has been wearing large bracelets and anklets since I met her. She always dresses in long skirts and wears a head scarf. Last year she told me she wears such things because her ancestors make her. On Monday we were reunited and I noticed she looked exhausted. Upon discussion I come to find out she spent the entirety of her summer vacation at a “seminar.”

Heres the story: 2 years ago her ancestors came to her in a dream and put this illness upon her. It was to drain her of energy and make her tired until she finally “took care” of the problem. So this summer she decided she didn’t want to be bound to the ancestors anymore. She ventured to a nearby town and found a traditional doctor. He said there was enough space for her to study with him for the remainder of the vacation. She immediately dropped everything- went home- collected a few clothes- and called her mother “I’m leaving, find out who will care for my children.”

For a month she slept on the ground and did not leave a small room except at dusk to find certain herbs. The doctor taught her what herbs treat what symptoms and how to grind different plants together for treatments. She also prayed a lot and slept very little. Hence she was exhausted upon returning to school. Now that she has completed the course the coming months will allow her to blossom and return to the old, happy Renilwe. Her bracelets and anklets will be cut off and her spirit will be free of the burdens.

Here’s the corker. Guess how much she paid for this “seminar.” R10,000! Eish!

I enter the classroom. In unison and in a robotic tone 36 learners stand and say:

“Good morning Madam M-oh-lly”

“Good morning” I say

“How are you Madam M-oh-lly”

“I am great, thanks! How are you?” (By my saying “great” instead of “fine” I trip them up a bit.)

“We are fine Madam. Thank you Madam.”

It’s the beginning of a new school year and I have begun teaching grade 4 Natural Science. This year at Mannyetha School we have 770 learners and 24 teachers. Grade 4 has over a hundred learners and so I will be teaching 3 1-hour classes twice a week.

Yesterday was my first class. I began by having students write their name and village on a note card. Then I thought I would have them write a science-related question. I explained that I was looking for a question we may be able to study at some point during the year; for example: why is the weather hot? After two minutes of examples and explanation I asked for a volunteer to give their own example of a science-related question. The learner I called on said “chair.” Wow. The next learner I called said “Why is the weather hot?” So I informed the class that they had to think of their own question- no repeating of my examples.

Later I looked through the cards and the most frequent question was “Why is the weather cold?” Other responses included: random words “cold, water, hose,” “Why I wi lafing” (Why are we laughing?), “Why is the house dirty?”, “Pen is not heavy.” “Why the tree shakes?” “Why is my mom going?” and “Why don’t I have the red color?”

This is going to be a long year. Thankfully I have other projects that may prove to be more fruitful.

Happy New Year! I danced into 2009 at a club in Durban to a song that is currently popular in South Africa – “Where’s your head at?” Yea, I know- flashback- they may as well have played “Party like it’s1999.” But welcome to South Africa, where any song you thought had passed its prime still has a future as a remix.

This holiday season was far different from any other I’ve experienced in my 25 years. For one, it took place over summer vacation and summer in Africa is HOT! Needless to say I only dreamt of snowflakes on my nose and eyelashes. Then it was my first Christmas away from home. I missed out on mounds of wrapping paper and presents, Dad’s French toast, Mom’s homebrewed too-strong Starbuck’s and best of all the remains of Santa’s cookies and milk on the fireplace.

In place of a “traditional” holiday season I experienced a phenomenal three week vacation across Mozambique, Swaziland, and South Africa! I travelled over 6000km with 7 other Peace Corps volunteers in 2 air conditioned (!) VW’s. I saw the landscapes of Southern Africa that until now only existed in photo calendars. What did I actually do for three weeks? Well here is my attempt to bring you a taste of my unforgettable trip. (Minus the inside jokes, laughs, and well. . . the good stuff that can’t be conveyed- only experienced)

We began by meeting at LaTosha’s home which is in the Mpumalanga province. Day one- we drove into Kruger Park and saw zebras, impalas, other animals that looked like impalas, massive pink toed birds, and monkeys. . . then we walked onto a covered viewing platform/deck. We broke out the binoculars and saw yellow, purple, and brilliant blue birds building nests. After hearing a gargling noise underneath we crouched down and looked through the deck planks. Our eyes were met by the massive nostrils of a pregnant hippo. I felt and smelled the pungent noise spray as she exhaled!

The next day we planned on travelling to Blyde River Canyon. On our way we passed through Graskop and saw a canyon with people gliding across! We pulled over. Kristy, a fearless free spirit wanted to do the canyon swing and I agreed to go tandem with her ($22-why not?) - without much thought. As we were geared up for the dive I began laughing ridiculously (in a oh my, what am I doing? Way). The man told us to walk backwards to the edge and place our feet on the footprints. I was shrieking by this point and Kristy was pulling me towards the edge. He then said lean back- I didn’t but all it takes is one and in no time I was screaming- free falling backwards facing the sky. Looking up and falling down, down, down 68m! Until a waterfall came into view and then the swing took over! Instead of bouncing like a bungee cord we swung out across the canyon gorge. What a sight!

Next up we travelled to Blyde River Canyon (which I plan to hike in the near future), 3 Rondavels, God’s Window, and the Potholes. All of these are spectacular lookout points along the Drakensburg mountain range. Final stop for our busy day was to the Echo Caves.

Onto Sabie we went. . . misty, rainy Sabie. I soaked in the backpackers hot tub for too many hours, drank too much wine, and played a ridiculous amount of charades. The next day we planned on river rafting but due to the intense rains we couldn’t. So instead we went kloofing (canyoning) which is essentially rafting without the tube. Donning wetsuits and helmets, we traversed down numerous waterfalls, rocks, vines, and one long stream of cascading water. For those three hours I felt alive and powerful beyond recognition- I loved it. Crawling on all fours to maintain balance on the moss, shimming down a tree, floating in swift moving shallow waters, jumping over fallen trees . . . ahh. The trip ended with a dip in the water of the Mac Mac falls and a hike straight up and out of the canyon. Upon reaching the top we had to crawl through a fence that kept those who were viewing the Mac Mac Falls away from danger! So here we are with mud covered wetsuits and helmets crossing the path of hundreds of fully clothed, camera handy visitors. Someone asked if we were scuba diving! HA

Next came Mozambique. Just for the pure story of it we paid men at the border R50 per car to speed up the immigration process. 2 hours later we had our passports stamped and were on our way to Maputo. (Apparently on a busy day paying these men lets you jump the line.) We entered the coastal city after dark and read signs in Portuguese. We had two great drivers who avoided most of the potholes that we had been warned of. After many hours in the car we were looking forward to our air-conditioned backpackers. With great difficulty we eventually found our backpackers . . . which was without electricity.

As a general rule of thumb throughout the trip we found ourselves making U-turns, getting slightly off course, driving through taxi ranks, and best of all finding the sketchiest areas of town. So it was no surprise when the following day we found not only a delicious coffee shop, our next backpackers, the US embassy, the Peace Corps Mozambique headquarters- but also the shanties of Maputo.

Peace Corps Mozambique headquarters put ours to shame- a view of the ocean, a sundeck, and a personal mail room for volunteers with couches and computers. We met a 3 year PCV who was leaving the following day. He told us he was returning to the states for a month and then moving back to teach at a university! Plus he mentioned where to go out, where to eat, and about his favorite parts of the country.

That night we ate at an open air fish market (that the PCV suggested)- lobster, prawn, red snapper, calamari. . . mmm. We chose the food and then a few men prepared it for us right there. As we waited for our meal to be cooked we were bombarded by men selling crafts- bead work, purses (I bought one!), bracelets, hand-painted posters. Those with the posters held them so that only their eyes would peak over the top. Then they circled our table as we ate- I felt like I was in a rotating museum!

From Maputo we traveled some 8 hours up the coast of Mozambique to Tofo Beach. Beauty took over as we saw the rural villages. Unlike South Africans, the people of coastal Mozambique make homes of thatched palms and other organic material. The land was lush. We saw brick huts that appeared to be for baking bread and women hoeing the fields. Along the road we stopped intermittently for men selling fresh cashews. I loved it.

In Tofo we spent a few days being lazy on the beach, hiking sand dunes, spotting crabs, reading, dancing all night at a club, eating more fresh seafood, and swimming in the cool clear waters of Tofo. (You must see the photos on picasa!)

Swaziland was our next stop. We entered the country with just about a quarter of a tank in each car and glided along some 60 plus km with the gas light on and the gauge below zero. There was NO PETROL in Swaziland (3 gas stations in a row-empty). Later I found a map of this, the smallest country in Africa, and it included the locations of gas stations! HA!

In Swaziland we stayed at a game reserve that has an obnoxious amount of ostriches roaming freely. The first night there we decided to splurge ($22) and rent a thatched roof hut- was it ever worth it! Fresh clean white linens, a bath tub, shower, and best of all. . . AIR CONDITIONING! I slept divinely, needless to say. We braiied (BBQed)- Kelly grilled all sorts of meats, Jeff made pap, and I was in charge of vegetables. We went on a private game drive- by private I mean unauthorized game drive where we spotted warthogs, impala, kudu, and what Andrew thought was a lion. . . ok it was a cow with a lion’s tail? When camping the second night I awoke to a lion moaning. One day we drove literally across the country and went to a great little glass blowing factory. . .I came home with beautiful pieces

The final week and a half of the trip led us back to South Africa. Christmas was in St. Lucia where we camped near a sign that said “Beware of hippos at night.” We saw hippos in their natural environment, mongeese swarmed our campsite, as well as monkeys, we ate more fresh seafood, exchanged “white elephant” gifts, drank mimosas for breakfast, and danced the night away at Monkey Bar. (I’m getting tired of typing, can’t you tell? But mom, I’m doing it for you!)

Next Eshowe – a backpackers and brewery- where we met a strange Africaaner whose sole job was to make sure we had a good time (and we did!) I went for a great hike through the forest, saw massive trees and a short canopy walk. I briefly whipped out the Macarena that night with a random group of Zulu men and Africaaner women.

Onto Warner Beach- I vote this place to be the best backpacker in spite of one feisty manager. Blue Sky Mining was on top of a great hill and you could see the Indian Ocean from our campsite. There was a 3rd story rooftop deck from which you could view both the water and Durban. They had decent food, 2 crystal clear pools, and free boogie/surf board rental. While others went to see Twilight in the theatre (they’re obsessed!) Andrew and I rented a boogie board, strolled down the street, over the railroad, past the drunken men, onto a sand dune . . . straight to the Indian Ocean No one was there- amazing! We took out the boogie board to an area of the raging sea that appeared to be without rocks. . . wrong! I was dragged under and spit out time and again over the rocks and knocked over from waves. For the remainder of the overcast day I stood up to my knees. Later I had a delicious fresh mango smoothie and saw the more populated area of the beach where men were fishing with their poles placed in an extremely phallic place (they even had holsters right there)! Upon returning the boogie board we found out that we shouldn’t have been in the water since the shark nets broke earlier in the month. . .

About this time in the trip I began a head cold and cough- the cough remains. . . New Year’s was spent in Durban- we ate delicious Thai food, Cuban cuisine, drank espresso martinis, bargained for Fedoras, covered the length of Florida street. . . and rang in the New Year’s soaked in sweat on the dance floor! It couldn’t have been any better.

Oh and in regards to the vehicles: in addition to putting many kilometers on them we also lost a hubcap, put 2 holes in the windshield, and lost a cd in the player. . . I’m told it began smoking!

Woke diagonal, limbs flailed on my brand new, never used double bed. Phenomenal. . practically open the windows and scream to the goats “I am alive!”- Phenomenal. After 59 nights alternating between a yoga mat and hammock, the Department of Education literally delivered.

Walked to school in a dress that I knew my coworkers would love (bright green, cute shape that shows off all my new curves). The learners did not have to go to school. Therefore I heard cries of “M-oh-lly”, “Maam M-oh-lly”, and my favorite “M-oh-lly Murrrrphy” from most homes. I am not sure I have stressed the celebrity status that follows PC volunteers. Let me tell you, it’s intense. Kids call my name from the distance of a city block on a daily basis. This is met by my looking in the general direction of the sound and squinting to see if I can see a small waving outline. I am pretty honest and don’t wave back unless I can actually see the child. Then there are usually 2 kids who accompany me on the walk to school.

Came into school by 7 and attended assembly at 8 in the boardroom. Before the headmaster arrived at assembly Serepo, a boastful teacher, told me “Molly, lead the song today.” I looked at him and told him I do not like to sing in front of people. He again said “Molly, why don’t you lead.” Just then the headmaster entered and said “How can a man you has never led a song tell another to?” About half of the 23 teachers laughed and I gave Serepo the eye. The friendly “HA” eye and smirk.

After a song, Bible reading, and Our Father I met with Constance to discuss what content I should plan to cover next year. I will be teaching 4th grade Natural Science for 2 periods a day. I then met with Nora to discuss the “Junior Authors” project we will be beginning next year. Finally, I met with the Deputy-Headmaster to discuss creating a master timetable for next year. He was amazed at how quickly I whipped up an excel file. We knocked-off at about 1 after another song and prayer.

Walking home I heard my name- looked, saw no one. Again my name being called from the same place. I shaded my eyes with a hand and noticed two children in the tree. I called “I see a pink and blue mamba up in a tree!”

Opening the gate to my yard I saw nothing, no one. You see it’s summer vacation. My sisters and brothers went to the cities to stay with their mothers for the holiday. So I sprawled on my bed until I decided to make kipi-kipi (popcorn). Just as it started to burn Athlida called out “ko-ko” (knock-knock). For the next 4 hours we enjoyed each others company . . we drew with colored pencils, she combed my hair, I painted her nails, we were silent for the most part. How I love that Just interruptions for sporadic comments and laughter. Such as: how boys holding hands in America would not be normal, that there are flies in America, that although I wear a ring I am not engaged, that although I wear an anklet I am not ill, that Althida finds the chicken feet good, but chicken brains to be the best- but the eyes. . .no way they ::burst:: in your mouth!, that in Sepedi there is a different word for the boogers that drip (mamina) and those that stay there all day (konkodi).

Once Athlida’s mom called her home for the 3rd time I walked her to the gate and found my mama working. She was repaving? fixing? the courtyard. She was mixing fresh cow feces (as the children here call poop prior to poking it with a stick) with dirt and cementing the courtyard. I thought that feces was just a polish to make the cement have a nice green color. But who would have thought- mixed with dirt it’s a great cement!

My day ended with a trip to the field to burn my rubbish. No longer does it take half a box of matches. I have mastered the art of burning garbage- I use a lighter. As Leah said a few weeks ago “I wonder if we will ever again question what can be thrown in the campfire.” True. Once the fire started I took a victory leap over the fire and took a deep inhale of the trash. . . which surprisingly smells like cinnamon.

I just sat down to write this and put on some Sufjan Stevens. As the song “Illinois” played I opened my internet and laughed at the headlines concerning our comically ignorant soon to be imprisoned governor, Blago!

In a previous log I mentioned the man with hundreds of goats. Well last Thursday he was found dead near the river surrounded by his cattle. Mr. Mokoena was not only responsible for hundreds of goats, a dozen cattle, and 6 dogs. He was also the father of 8 children, the youngest being 9 years. He was a night watchman at Mannyetha School. He was a husband of over 40 years.

Since moving here I have experienced more death than I ever imagined possible. Nearly half of any given South African community is likely to be at a funeral any given Saturday from 5- 10am. Generally the cause of death is not disclosed. Therefore I am not sure how many people actually die of AIDS.

In the case of Mr. Mokoena, I gather that he had a seizure in the heat of day. Since he passed on a Thursday the family decided to have his funeral the following Saturday so that those who live far could make travel arrangements. The Mokoenas live just across the street from me and one of the daughters, Althida, 15, is a great friend of mine. So upon arriving home last Sunday I immediately wanted to walk over and give her a hug. Luckily I stopped home to drop off my bags. I say luckily because my host father spoke for 15 minutes in Sepedi to Pleasure regarding how I was supposed to act/dress. I only know this because of his vivid body language; he sat on the bench, placed his hands on his locked knees, and hunched over. He speaks English well so I was a bit unnerved that he didn’t address the issues directly with me. When they finished the talk I began speaking to him and asking questions about the proper manner for giving sympathy. He explained that I need to wear a skirt and nice top, upon arriving take a seat and wait for the family members to approach me, and finally I must not speak too much. (Clearly he thinks I often cause too much noise )

With his guidelines in mind I entered into Mokoena’s yard and sat on a bench in the compound, silently. Athlida sat on the stoop, eating. After five minutes Athlida waved me over so I walked up the steps, gave her a hug, and took a seat. We spoke briefly about her feelings but mostly she wanted to avoid the subject. So she took up a commentary on my American friends who visited the previous week. I don’t have any practice in speaking to a child who has lost a parent. I told her that I am all ears whenever she wants to talk. What else can I offer?

Throughout the week village women brought bowls, plates, firewood, water, and food. They cooked all day and stayed up late for many nights. The men sat under trees talking, they brought dirt from the fields to patch the road in front of the house, set up tents, and dug the grave. My host father put up a tin barrier around the corner of the yard so that the men could “pass urine” without having to walk far.

On Friday Mr. Mokoena’s body arrived at the home. They put his coffin in the bedroom he shared with his wife. She had been bound to the bedroom since his death (by tradition). That night a priest and female relatives slept in the room. Around 5:30 the next morning dozens of cars and hundreds of people arrived. There was a service in the family compound, but Pleasure insisted I not intrude. So instead of hearing prayers and memories I could only hear the sorrowful songs from the dirt street. The womens voices are powerful enough to make me cry.

Upon completion of the service there was a procession to the cemetery. The hearse was followed by a van carrying family members which was followed by a crowd of women with head and shoulders covered. The singing continued along the walk with each woman who felt the power choosing the next song. A slow gallop ensued as we made the way to the cemetery. Never have I seen African women walk so quickly. We arrived at the grave site and women stood behind the family. The men stood near the grave. The coffin was set and covered with a traditional blanket, pillow, and flower arrangements. Upon prayer and the lowering of his body his wife, children, and close friends threw dirt over the coffin. Men completed the burial, shoveling the dirt to a heaping mass. The sorrowful songs continued throughout the ceremony.

As we made our way out to the cemetery a drunk man caused a scene by grabbing me and telling me I was going to be his husband- yes husband. Many women came to my rescue and we swiftly walked back to the Mokoena’s home to wash our hands clean of the spirits.

Later that day all the children shaved their heads and Mrs. Mokoena donned the green garments that she will wear for the next six months or so of mourning.

December 3, 2008 was a great day.

My principal called at 7am to say that I was not needed at school because the teachers were nearly finished marking. I turned off the snooze that had been ringing for a half hour and embraced the morning heat in my makeshift bed (a thick traditional blanket). Around about noon my body roused and I threw on my favorite dirty outfit of boy shorts and t-shirt. Walked into the heat of day and immediately laid back down in the shade. This time on the benches that surround my courtyard. Pleasure and Karabo were also on the benches and my mama was sprawled belly down on a rug on the concrete. Kelly, a nearby PCV, and I share a mailbox so we were going to meet in the main village, Masemola, for mail and food. I called Mohomu, one of the 3 taxi drivers that come to my remote village. He said he would be over “just now.” Just now is the probably the all vaguest of African time frames. It can mean anywhere from 20 minutes to 2 hours. Whereas “now” means within the next 10-20 minutes and “now now” means right now.

So an hour and a half later Mohomu arrived in his baby blue truck. The back of his pick up is covered with a lid that has small windows and wooden benches around the edges. As we left my village the distant sky was spitting lightening. What a beautiful site-relief from the heat!

An hour late I arrived at the post office. Kelly has befriended a group of women who were having a society meeting. (Society is a group that pools together money each month for funeral expenses. So if a family member dies then the society pays for food, the women bring bowls and dishes, help cook, in general they support each other.) Together we opened the po box and thankfully we were greeted by an abundance of papers! One paper said packages were ready to be claimed so we had to go into the post office. Due to the wind gusts and approaching storm the electricity was out in the post which means the computers were out, which means we couldn’t go through the customs payment process to claim the boxes. The postal man was persistent that without power he could not give the packages. He said just come back tomorrow. I tried persuading him by explaining how much it costs to get to and from the post (R20 or $2) and that tomorrow I wouldn’t be able to return. No luck.

But I was able to claim a package from my friend Ryan because it was fee free. So I opened it and took out some of the contents on the post office desk. Swedish fish. Kelly and I popped a few in our mouths and I whined about the other packages. Meanwhile the postman stared at us and finally asked for a taste of American candy. Ah-ha! Well, I said, if you can just give me these packages then I can give you some delicious American candies AND I bet the other packages have even more. So it was settled. 6 Swedish Fish and R50 customs fee for 2 great boxes packed with American goodness! I practiced great patience and did not open the boxes.

Instead we announced we would go to the butchery next door and pick up some meat to braii (grill). Hearing our plans the postman insisted we have his friend, Phil, show us the way. So Kelly, Phil, and I walked 100ft to the butchery. Phil chose the finest pieces of beef for us ladies. To the braii across the dirt lot we went. Phil set our meat on the brick wall and turned to the braii. Thump! Our newspaper wrapped meat landed on the dusty ground. Mmm. Phil didn’t flinch. Meanwhile a man in a half-buttoned black collar shirt with sunglasses and a gold dolphin chain introduced himself. We humored him for a bit then requested he leave us so we could talk alone. After three requests he left. Quickly another man approached, he stuck out his pinky fingers and after staring at him for a minute of so we put up our pinky fingers. He locked them and cut off circulation with the grip. He then moved our hands to behind his neck, then to the front and kissed each hand. Weird. At that point we decided to abandon Phil with our meats and take a seat away from the commotion.

It turns out commotion is not dependant on where others are but rather where we are. It began raining. Men continued greeting us with “Lehowa” (derogatory name for a white person), can I have money, can I have meat, I love you, will you take me to America, will you be my second wife, etc. Plus there was one man who came over with 6 ¼ teeth and frail thinness. He spoke in and out of Sepedi, English, and Africaans. Plus he mentioned Chinese and other really random things . . Later Phil told us he was crazy. By the time our meats were ready and we collected the pap from the spaza, the crazy man sat across from us with his frail legs crossed and pulled out a wad of newspaper stuff with dagga (pot). By the time we finished our meal he had smoked a very large joint and began singing jibber jabber to himself. We decided to give our cardboard box of bones and scraps to him. So I pushed it not even a foot on the cement and he jumped up, lifted the box and started gnawing and moaning. Hehe

From there we caught a free ride to the taxi rank. Kelly caught her coombi home and a kilometer later it broke down! Meanwhile I sat under a tin roof at a “kitchen” and the rank and enjoyed a free cup of tea as I waited for Mohomu.

The rest of my evening consisted of enjoying the goodies mom sent and then travelling around sharing small talk with my neighbors. At one home a grandmother had 10 foot long contraption that began with a pot over a fire- moved into a hollowed piece of wood- and ended with a straw going into an empty cold drink glass bottle (1.5L pop bottle). There was a clear liquid. Turns out they were making “Smirnoff” by heating water, mabele, and sugar. I took one smell and knew it was ultra flammable and not suitable for consumption.

Hey all! This is just a quick post to let you know I updated my photos and think you may find they tell better stories than I do. . .

http://picasaweb.google.com/chermurph3

Enjoy:-)

So what has happened with me in the past month? I spotted 2 green mambas and ran. I witnessed my first South African rain on 10/18. I celebrated my golden birthday (10/25) on a mountaintop. Obama was elected! The rat accompanied me many times to the toilet. I danced and sang at a farewell function. I met the queen of Seletang. I went to a wedding for 2 Americans! . . . and more.

At Mannyetha School I finished “phase 1” of my library project last week. This means essentially I sorted through a room stuffed with hundreds of books, sports equipment, dead insects, broken computers, shelving, ancient encyclopedias, and magazines. After weeks of being covered in dust from head to toe I am proud to now walk through aisles of shelves with organized rows of books.

The Department of Education has changed their curriculum an obnoxious amount of times in recent years. For each curriculum they create new text books to meet the learning outcomes and assessment standards. This school has been fortunate to have the funds to purchase books for nearly each change of curriculum. Let’s see there are books for: Outcomes Based Education (OBE), Curriculum 2005, National Curriculum Standards (NCS) & Revised National Curriculum Standards (RNCS). Do we really need 4 texts books for the same subject and same grade? I tried to minimize the mass of books and now the entire back wall of the library is stacked from floor to ceiling with books organized by grade and subject (Arts & Culture, Life Orientation, Technology, English, Sepedi, Economic Management Science, Natural Science & Maths (not a typing error)).

I’m not sure if I wrote about the ridiculous amount of horror and explicit romance novels that are in the library. . . let me tell you it’s shocking! Of over 300 adult fiction books at least 60% will need to be packed away from these young ones. We have an impressive 7 sets of encyclopedias (Britannica, World Book, Funk & Wagnall’s, etc) dated from 1965 to 1990. Finally we have maybe 80 early chapter books and maybe 200 children’s books. The children’s books are in decent condition but I’m going to start looking for book donations. Some of the best leveled readers in this library came from the Department of Education’s “Stars of Africa,” Cambridge, and other book series’. The sets contain different reading levels and all books have bright pictures, relatable topics, and children of all colors. Kids need to see themselves represented in the books they read. Stories I particularly like are: Be Quiet! Sit Still! Don’t Wriggle! (a book about going to church), The Lost Headband (a bride loses her wedding headband and in Zulu tradition can’t get married without it), and Lizzie and the Water Spirit (spirits have great powers in this culture).

I’ve been thinking about starting a Junior Authors program at this school. I’m not sure yet what it will look like but I’m thinking each of the 720 learners will write a book and we will go through the entire publishing process. Since learners here have and know how to use computers we can really turn this into something beautiful! Plus I have seen amazing doodles on the notebooks and arms of learners . . . (Some children already have tattoos from drawing so deep and hard into their arms, it’s sad-)

What else am I thinking about starting at Mannyetha? At the end of October teachers submitted their Eco School report and are looking to earn their 2nd certificate of recognition as an International Eco School. But the teacher’s do all the work. . . so maybe we can have a Eco School Student Council? To promote the library maybe we can have a Great Books program where learners read and then discuss books. I would like to possibly make use of the unused science lab and teach some classes. Then I have some teacher workshop ideas: critical thinking, financial literacy, maybe Natural Science, English, and Maths.

Next week the learners will be out of school until January for their summer vacation. However the educators remain at school until December 9th grading and preparing for next year. During this time I am going to hold computer workshops on excel and power point. Although in the US I consider myself minimally computer literate here my skills are plentifulJ

For six days it has been raining! Yesterday it poured from 4pm until I woke up this morning. There are massive drums at each gutter spout to collect water and I don’t think we’re going to commute to the river for some time. In less than 5 minutes I filled my 20L jug. Last night the sheep circled a small tree and appeared to be on an island. Drenched, they shoved their faces into each other as usual. The goats took a different approach and leaned against the neighbor’s home. They were still getting wet, all expect for the half of their bodies touching the wall. The chalky ground is sprouting grass all over, giant centipedes and chachas roam the village.

Before the rain began maabane (Sepedi word for the day before yesterday!) afternoon I was playing “bread” in the street with maybe 20 kids. To play you draw a large rectangle in the dirt and put an end zone on each side. Then team 1 tries to go from end to end 30 times while the team 2 tries to hit them from just outside the rectangle with a small ball made of bread & orange bags. Those who are hit are out of the game. If when team 2 throws the ball it hits the ground it is fair gamed to be kicked far away from the Bread court by Team 1s players who have been knocked out. I hope this makes some sense. . .but I am not writing about Bread because it’s an exceptionally creative or stimulating game. I am writing because my sister Karabo tried to kick the ball away from the Bread Court yesterday when her barefoot landed in the barbed wire fence. By barbed wire I don’t mean the usual knots of wire with sharp tips- instead I am speaking of the razor blade-sized barbed wire that surrounds prisons (and my home). Anyhow my brain kicked into turbo-panic mode and I ran over, swept her sobbing body into my arms and quickly walked (she’s 10 and tall) to my porch. I broke out the PC medical kit and applied pressure for ten minutes. The cut was at least a ¼ of an inch deep, and gushed thick blood. It certainly required stitches but knowing that wouldn’t happen I mended her with gauze, tape, Tylenol, and a coloring book (thanks Morg!). Two days later its still oozing. . .

My greatest difficulties thus far are: the heat, sexism, and insects. The heat I guess I just have to deal with. . I’ve invested in a fan. The insects. . I keep my windows closed most of the timeL, I have a draft dodger for the giants that creep under my door at night (best investment!), and I use my headlamp with vigor.

The sexism. . grrr. This issue began with one of my principals before I even moved to my site. We were having tea at the supervisors workshop, he finished first and said “Do you know the role of a woman? You should take this tea cup.” To which I hastily responded “Ahh. . in my culture we each take care of ourselves. In fact if you take my empty cup I would call you a gentleman.” He said “Ahh. . if I took your cup I wouldn’t be a man.” This led to a 40 minute discussion between 4 male principals, Meg and I. We tried to speak calmly as the steam from our ears condensed on their spectacles.

The following week I made a visit to the school and sat in the board room for lunch. Him: “Do you notice something cultural here?” Me: “Yes, there are only men here- I will not be sitting here when I return permanently.” Him: “Yes, it’s fine you’re here; we just eat separate. No problem.” But upon further thought – there was a problem. You see the four male teachers eat in a board room with plush chairs and the cooks bring platters of food to the table. Meanwhile the 18 female teachers serve the learners and then eat alone in their classrooms while supervising the students.

One more brief convo: Him: “You must never walk alone to the tar road, a man could attack you.” Me: “I’m strong, I know self-defense.” Him: “You have strength, but not like a man, you could never be stronger than a man.”

As you may imagine each day holds at least a small spice of sexism. The trouble is the intersection/separation of cultural roles and equality.

Some more cultural notes:

My host father is amazing; each time we speak I come away with a better understanding of his faith-based mentality. I asked him some time ago about the rondaval in our yard. It has maybe a 10 foot diameter and is well built with cement blocks and has a thatched roof but I’ve never seen anyone enter it. He told me the ancestors came to him in a dream and told him to build this rondaval. He is the only one who enters and does so every 3 months or so. What’s inside? He couldn’t tell me.

Yesterday my father told me about a dilemma. Today there is a funeral for a relative- a baby passed away. Tomorrow there is a church event with the congregation in Jo’burg. He wants to attend both events but as a priest he cannot. If a priest attends a funeral he is not supposed to travel for 7 days otherwise “the God will be mad.” But if he doesn’t give sympathy to the family he will be disrespectful. Then he has the congregation in Jo’burg also counting on him.

If you sweep and the dust/debris lands on a man’s feet he will not get married. If you eat food from the pot it will rain on your wedding day. I only know about these 2 beliefs because I have done both. . .

Alright I’m really into animals . . . and reptiles I guess.

So during our training we somehow had a large group discussion on animals that we should be cautious of. For instance, Heather can’t walk from one of her schools to the other because she may get attacked by lions (she’s next to Kruger Park). I have alligators in my river, or so I’ve heard from many mouths.

Many of us live in areas where there are poisonous snakes, specifically mambas. They come in green and black. Thanks to one hilarious Joanna we learned that mambas can have bursts of speed up to 15 feet/second! Yes, we should fear them.

A couple of weeks ago I heard from Andrew that his host brother, Mamakgeme, saw a mamba cascading in front of the drop-in center. What does Mamakgeme do? He saves the children’s lives by jumping in his truck and running over the snake a few times!

Yesterday I was in my “office”, Mannyetha’s library and heard screaming and saw running. I checked out the situation in the courtyard and found hundreds of children beating a small snake (not a mamba). Later a teacher placed the corpse in a clear bottle for observation. She also found a complete scale that had been shed nearby.

Today during morning assembly the headmaster spoke to the learners about the green mambas in the toilets. His words went something like this . . .

“Do not just run to the toilet. You must look up, down, and all around, you must have a friend look up, down, and all around. Do you know why? (In unison 700 children say no) There are mambas, green mambas, in the toilets. They bite. Do you know what happens if they bite you? (again a resounding no) You will not be eating porridge any longer, you will not see your parents, you will be buried. So for the junior phase learners be careful and look around before you do whatever you do there. Small ones, there is a bush over there, just go to the bush. It is not safe to go to the toilet.”

As I look out my window I can see 7 children, 7 children with pants dropped to their ankles.

I’ve never been afraid of animals or reptiles- just spiders, roaches, chachas, etc. But I am thinking if I saw a mamba I would probably freak out.

In my bedroom the main issue is flies, they are everywhere! Sometimes I encounter huge bugs with antennas, beetles, a roach or so, mammoth sized wasps, etc. Then outside at night I have centipedes the length of my hand and width of a pinky finger, black insects with red spots that are the size of my palm, frogs in the water buckets, rats in the toilet, roaches in the main house, chickens on my back porch, and so on.

Just after the sun sets I usually gather with my family in the front cement courtyard. We drink tea, the kids do homework, and I usually play with Toka, my adorable 5-yr old brother. We are in love. He tells me every day In Sepedi how beautiful I am, he tells his friends he loves me, he falls asleep on my lap, he hangs on my feet, he calls my name even though he has nothing to say. We walk home from school holding hands, I hold his backpack. He’s adorable. At night he “protects” me. He crushes beetles and chachas with his bare feet, stomping until the guts cover his already dirty soles. Then he points to them and says in Sepedi “They are dead, they can’t breathe!” Toka occasionally tries to kill insects on the gravel by peeing on them. Thanks bouti.

I love babies. baby humans, kittens, puppies, calves, pups, and now especially kids. No I don’t mean human children, I mean baby goats; kids! Why? Well because my neighbor has approximately 300 goats! Therefore I no longer wake only to roosters, but also to the sounds of crying kids. The irony of this is that kids sounds like human babies!

My first week here I picked up a kid! It was so soft and small, and kept on crying. . . I received many strange looks. Considering dogs aren’t even treated like pets, carrying a goat, rather cradling a goat probably does look foolish.

In the morning the goats are released from their corral at 10am. Then in mass they stride straight down the hill towards the river for grazing. Shades of brown, white, and black marching, dust flying. The kids cry and travel in every direction except the right one. They are practically marched upon as they stretch their snouts towards their mothers’ udders. Lekwae swiftly grabs 2 kids in each hand by their hind legs and tosses them back into the corral/yard. He scatters the parents and makes the sound of “sk, sk, sk” while pretending as though he’ll hit them.

Probably my favorite part of the day is from 2 to 4 when the parents return from grazing and drinking. A chorus of kids cry sounds that strangely resemble “mom, mom!” and the mothers return the calls until they are reconnected mouth to nipple.

Until sunset the 300 goats chill outside the corral in a mess of stones and rubbish. They cover the “street” and are found on top of mounds of cement fragments. At nightfall they cram back into the corral.

*excuse my poor grammar*

and im currently without a working camera otherwise i would post photos. . .

As a PCV I am not allowed to drive a vehicle or ride on a motorcycle.

Therefore I travel like everyone else . . . on kombis.

You may ask, what is a kombi?

Before I arrived here I read Disgrace by Coetzee and was intrigued by this idea of travel. So here’s the deal:

-16 passenger van

-Windows are always closed, regardless of heat because women (& men) don’t want to mess their hairstyles

-Music is generally ridiculously loud

-You are expected to hold other peoples bags, buckets, and even children

-If you sit next to the driver you are responsible for making change and holding money throughout the duration of your trip

*my brother is over my shoulder and said I have to balance good things and bad- so the good:

- they are efficient ways to travel in mass

- they will get you from A to B. . . eventually. . .

- drivers are protective of passengers

- taxi cue marshalls are helpful and will never overcharge you

So my first time traveling alone on the kombi I was told to sit in the front seat- next to the driver. One foot near the driver (on the right side!) and one foot near my extra close neighbor and one shifting gear in between. I later determined this seat was also given to me so that I could be seen by each person we passed on the dirt road. The trouble with this seat is that I was the fare collector. I managed somehow; I laughed a lot, I spoke Sepeish (Sepedi-English), I dropped money on the floor, I lost some money on the floor, I laughed some more. I made it. This trip took 2 hours when I drove in my principal’s car. When taking the kombi system it took 5 hours and 4 different kombis.

This story was told to me by some friends. So it’s early Saturday morning and they want to travel to town. They flag down a kombi and pile in. Just as they are pulling away the driver pops open a Castle Lite and drives away from the direction of town. He then pulls into a yard, exits the vehicle, and goes inside the house. Meanwhile the PCVs are left with deafening music. One says “Why don’t you turn it down?” the other says “We would like to live.” 5 minutes later the driver returns and states that it’s national hangover day. They drive away towards town and then suddenly stop and the driver begins backing up in the middle of the road some 50 yards to a woman who’s holding an umbrella and carrying a baby on her back. He says “I think she wants to go to Marapyane.” (Note: she did not flag him down.) So the woman hands LaTosha (PCV who is in the front row) her baby and then she climbs to the back row (4th row). Ten minutes later they arrive at their destination, LaTosha still with baby in hand.

This past week began with 3 days of walking door to door throughout the community. I introduced myself to each person I met and attempted to determine who resided in each home, sometimes to no avail. Additionally, we discussed what is working well in the community and what needs to be improved in the coming years to make life more fulfilling.

I mapped Wonderboom during school hours and was met mainly by women between the ages of 22 and 28 and women over sixty. In general these women said gardening, washing, and cleaning are the most enjoyable parts of life. Not a single woman I met in the community of approximately 800 had a steady income. A few sold vegetables, goats, and mats to neighbors. Other than local trading and government support there appears to be no circulation of money. Magallame Mahlare, an older woman clapped her hands and said “no money, no man, no food.” Additionally, nearly every person mentioned the issue of water. Residents must walk at least a kilometer to fetch water from the Lepelle River, often several times a day. There are broken taps all around town and without water gardening is impossible and collecting water takes up a great deal of time and energy.

The men in this village are not very visible during the days. But upon investigation I found that several work together to support each family. For instance, men worked together to make bricks, dig a grave, discuss the school, etc. Although several men seem productive there is still a great deal of alcoholism in the village.

Children in this village speak English especially well since they attend Mannyetha which uses English as the language of instruction. The boys enjoy passing time by playing soccer, catching birds, running near the river and relaxing in the shade. The girls in this village seem to help out at home. They are generally responsible for fetching water and wood from the river.

My understanding of Wonderboom’s social functioning is that women bear a majority of the workload. They rise early and stay up late to ensure the functioning of a family. Many families consist of grandmothers raising grandchildren while mothers and fathers work in Polokwane, Pretoria, or Johannesburg.

So I arrived in Johannesburg on July 15 and immediately traveled to Marapyane College, an abandoned teachers college in the Mmpumalanga Province. Some years ago the government did an audit of the country and determined there were too many teachers. The solution? Close 20 teachers colleges. . . here we are today with 17,000 unfilled teaching positions.

The 44 of us stayed in the college dorms for the first week. We ate 5 meals a day, 2 of which were tea breaks complete with sandwiches and biscuits. We met our language trainers, the country director, and our first chickens. It turns out roosters can crow all night and truly are alarm clocks. That first week my body began to adjust to waking at 6 and now sometimes I roll over at 5:45. All of us were given a great deal of information in preparation for moving into home stays where we stayed for the first 2 months. So what exactly did we need to know before moving in with a rural South African family?

- how to bathe in a bucket (top down with a towel underneath yourself)

- hold your elbow when shaking hands to show respect

- people show affection by holding hands with those of the same sex

- they will assume that those of us who are white speak Africaans

- they will except those of us who are black to learn the language quickly

- how to wash clothes in a bucket

- get up before your parents to pour out your pee bucket

- people go to sleep after “Generations” (soap opera @ 8pm)

- food in the fridge is everyone’s food, the only food that’s yours is in your belly

- ONLY use your right hand when accepting –anything- never use your left (My brother just handed me a pen and I reached for it with my left he pulled back until I reached with my right. Also interestingly women only paint the nails on their left hand!)

What did the South African parents need to know about Americans?

- we drink a lot of water

- if we are sitting alone somewhere it does not mean we are lonely

- we like to read

* Since apartheid has ended villages and signs are slowly changing from Africaans names to Sotho names. Many villages have two names now i.e. Warmbads to Bela Bela, Pietersberg to Polokwane.

* Pap is many peoples “favorite food” it’s eaten most days by most people. It’s essentially finely ground mealie meal/corn meal . . . it’s eaten as a soft porridge for breakfast and as a thick solid oblong ball for lunch and dinner. Generally it’s eaten with grated tomatoes or sopa, a thick brown gravy with beans. . . I think. Whatever the case it has grown on me and is making me grow.

. . . Which brings me to weight. At my first homestay my mother grabbed my arm fat and said “OOO, you’re getting fat!” Then when I arrived at my permanent site the second time my brother Puku said “What do they feed you in Marapyane? Your cheeks are fat.” Then there’s my new host father who insists on my eating all the time. Each of these comments led me into a cultural conversation. Here people want to be fat, which they also consider strong. They want me to also be fat so that everyone can see I’m not suffering. These comments I may(?)get used to in time. . . but until then they are motivation for me to run with the girls in my village!

Ubuntu. Philosophy of life here. It means essentially I am because you are. How I love this place, these people, this life.

I want to thoroughly update my blog however each day comes and goes with more happening and I continue procrastinating. The thought of summarizing two months in a concise entry is overwhelming. So I am just going to begin by talking about life and then catching up the rest later.

Last Friday we had our swearing in as volunteers. We had a great ceremony with speeches by the US Ambassador and two PCVs who spoke in Sepedi and Siswati. The principals whom we will be working with over the next two years attended and after we ate a traditional feast (sour pap, cabbage, beets, chicken, setempa- I’ll explain these foods later. . .) we were swept away- each to a different village.

I drove two hours from Mpumalanga to the area of GaMasemola which is in the Limpopo Province just maybe 50km south of Polokwane. The village I stay in is 5 km from a main road and my nearest PCV, Kelly, said her principal referred to the area in which I live as the “bush”. I am absolutely in love with my village. We are located in a semi-mountainous area with gravel everywhere. There are approximately 800 residents here, 2 tuck shops, my key primary school Mannyetha, and a ridiculous amount of goats.

I am adjusting to daily life which seems to revolve around the Lebelle River. The 2km winding path that takes me from home to the river slowly transforms from low-lying prickly bushes, aloe plants, and dust to lush grasses and massive trees. Since it has not rained here since March I walk (or rather glide at a slow African pace) with my sisters to the river each day. Once we pass the herds of cows that feast on the tall river grasses it’s a sprint down the warm sand to the rivers edge. We scrub down the 20L buckets with pebbles. I never seem to clean my bucket up to Pleasure’s standards- she always insists on “helping” me. Then the girls help me wrap a scarf for my head and hoist the container up. The first time I carried a ½ bucket, but since then I’ve been able to carry my share of water. The neighbors stare and laugh from their yard. I just shout “Ke na le mathla!” (“I have power!”) Lebelle is also where I wash my clothes, swim, and occasionally am lucky enough to spot a monkey in the trees. But I’ve learned to keep sightings to myself so that the boys don’t take out there slingshots. Slingshots lead to monkeys moving across the trees until there’s no where to go but down, from there the dogs take over chasing until. . . well let’s just say it’s not a pretty end.

I’m staying in a room that has a door leading directly outside, but I’m just a wall away from my 20 year old brother. Then main home is steps away; we share a concrete patio. In the main home stays my mother who only speaks Sepedi, my father who worked in a DeBeers mine for 30 years and four children. Daily life consists of: heating water over a fire in the fire hut, taking baths in a bucket not much larger than a couple huge dog bowls, peeing in pit toilet during the day, at night in a small bedside bucket, and fetching firewood from near the river (the only place to find trees). It’s amazing how quickly a person can adjust. One thing for sure, I’ve relearned all things I knew in the states and nothing is simple.

I’m exhausted from today, dust down my lungs, sun on my skin, lots of walking. . . I promise to write more later.

I'm in DC, finally starting the transition to S Africa!

I left Chicago at 9 this morning and saying goodbye was just as hard as expected- but in the past few years I have been slowly conquering my tears, sp today turned out to not be that bad! Certainly I cried, but not too much:-)

I can't even wrap my head around the idea of leaving for 2 years, so I mentally just thought I'm saying goodbye for now, but I'll see everyone soon.

In any case tonight I just need some time to relax, so I'm reading Disgrace, writing in my journal, and going to sleep early. Tomorrow I plan on going out and socializing with all the great new people I met today! There are 44 of us, from all across the country. There were more than a few people from California and North Carolina- 2 young married couples and one older couple - many people 22-28 i would say- many teachers, as is to be expected, but then a few random majors

Once we leave here Monday it's off to receive vaccinations, then 17.5 hours to SA- 4 days in a dorm, then to the host families homes where we stay during the 8-12 weeks of training. I won't have internet or a phone for these first few months, but I will have a lot going on so that's good. Onto my book now. . .write if you want to know more about anything. peace

PIG ROAST!

A couple of weeks ago Abby and I had our graduation party (Abby graduated from Lemont High School, I finally graduated from DePaul). It was great! So many people came to show their love and support. At my request we roasted a pig!! Brad and I drove an hour south to pick it up. We brought a massive cooler to put the pig in. . . but apparently it wasn't large enough, so instead of the usual dog nose pressed against the rear window, we had a pig corpse( morbid choice of words, sorry). The morning of the party my dad roasted the 108lb piggy in a handmade cooker and with little more than the occasional basting- we ate a feast 7 hours hours later! The meat was tender on the inside and had a crispy crunchy skin. . . my mouth waters thinking of it. . . mmm. . . Everyone who was sampling the meat straight from the carving table took on an intoxicated look . . . and HUGE rib bones!

In case you are wondering- no one ate the head, but my dad did put it- the head that is- complete with cigar and apple- on the backporch of family friends, the Smith's.

Yes there was more to the party- egg toss, sack race, 3-legged race, swimming, basketball games, dessert!, flippy cup for the serious competitors, and mostly good company, laughs, friends, and family!

(This blogging sure takes a long time with the photo uploads and all. . . but it's worth it, especially once I'm overseas.)

OK- so the other "All American Weekend" went something like this. . .

Friday, June 27th&28th-Camping at Chain O Lakes with Brad, Jim, and Olivia

Sunday, June 29th-Chicago's very own Gay Pride parade! This was the first year I was walking around, previously I lived with Julie and Ashley along the parade route. On street level things got pretty crazy!

Tuesday's dinner-They don't have Portillo's, Panera, or Chipotle in South Africa. . .

Thursday, July 3rd- Joined the other 999,999 people down at the Taste of Chicago to watch the fireworks, was able to walk on the concrete median on Lake Shore Drive.

Friday, July 4th-Saw Phil Lesh and Friends & The Roots at Summerfest in Milwaukee. Visited with Tim and Erin at their new place in Madison, enjoyed the tunes and sunshine:-)

Saturday, July 5th-Uncle Mike and Aunt Kathy took Mom, Dad, Morg, Brad and I out to the "boats" (read- casino) for the night. We took a limo stocked with beers to Joliet, had a delicious dinner, I ate lobster tail(!), and then played blackjack for hours. . . what a great time. Uncle Mike made my cheeks hurt from laughing!

Sunday, July 6th-Cleaned the Bell Road house, what filth. . . but after a days hard work I ate at J. Alexander's with the WHOLE family, it's so nice to finally have Morgan in town and to go out with everyone, the energy makes me so happy.

Monday, July 7th-Watched my cousin Tyler win his baseball game. What a star, what an arm. . . I just love those Bromers

In 16 days I head to Washington DC. . . 3 quick days there for greetings, paperwork, and shots. Then a 17.5 hour flight to Johannesburg and the adventure begins!

Once I'm in South Africa I will take up writing on this blog. . . and snail mail. I would love to have pen pals from home so here's what you need to know:

* mail takes 2-3 weeks

* $.95 a letter

* write airmail on the envelope

* if you send a package, make it a padded envelope

* if you scribble religious symbols/quotes on the letter the odds of it getting to me are greater

* if you use red ink to address the letter it again is more likely to arrive intact

Finally- my address!

Molly Murphy

Peace Corps

PO Box 9536

Pretoria 0001

South Africa

Oh and I'm sure some of you may be wondering what I am actually doing when I arrive. Well for 8 -12 weeks I'll be in training (learning Sepedi, safety, AIDs education, first aid, cultural training, etc.) in the Pretoria area. Then I'll be living with a family in a rural community and begin my work as an educational resource specialist.