So I was walking to school today with a group of small children as my entourage. They were singing a song and scampering around as children do. I joined in occasionally on their singing, if only for the fit of giggles it produced.

Halfway to school, I glanced down at my outfit—a gray skirt, white button-up shirt and black shoes. I looked down at the child holding my hand and then up at the umbrella in my other hand. Suddenly, it hit me. My eyes bugged out and I mentally yelled:

“Oh my god, I’m Mary Poppins!”

I cannot wait to cruise around with my magical umbrella. I am positive it's in the mail and on the way. I've proven myself worthy.

This works like Hogwarts, right?

Hear ye, hear ye! Gather round, good people. I am pleased to announce that I am once again running the Longtom half marathon to raise money for a very praiseworthy scholarship.

As some of you may recall, I took on this challenge last year and managed to not only stay alive after 21 km, but to also help the KLM Foundation send a child to a wonderful high school.

What is the KLM Foundation, you may ask? It’s a foundation, started by two former Peace Corps volunteers, which sponsors a child each year to attend Uplands College, a very prestigious high school. Several of my friends personally visited this high school a few months ago and were blown away by its quality and by the recipients of this scholarship. Check out their website: http://www.klm-foundation.org/

I normally am not a fan of asking people for money, but, especially after my friends’ testimonies, I am 100% confident that this money will directly and very positively impact a child’s life. To be given the opportunity of high quality education is still rare in South Africa and will provide even more opportunities for that child in the future.

If for the past year and a half you have been wishing you could help me out in some way, this is how you can! Even just very small donations of $5 or $10 would be much appreciated.

Interested? This is how it’s done:

Method 1: Online

1. Go to the KLM Foundation website http://www.klm-foundation.org/

2. Click on the Donate photo in the upper right corner.

3. This opens up a secure https connection for people to donate.

4. Make sure that you put down my name in the Longtom Marathon field (I have to raise a minimum of $100)

Method 2: Check

1.Make a check out to Kgwale Le Mollo (US)

2.Add a sticky note stating which PCV (ME) you sponsoring

3.Mail to:

KLM Foundation (US)

c/o Bowen Hsu

461 So. Bonita Avenue

Pasendena, CA 91107

If you have any questions, comment on this post or send me an email!

My latest foray with African wildlife has been a strong and steady invasion of frogs. 'Tis the season, because just like last year they loiter about our yard like it’s the school playground and every day I somehow end up with at least one frog in my house. I’m well aware of this problem and during critical time periods (morning and evening) I am extra-cautious.

Now unless there are flying tadpoles here, the only way they can get into the house is through my one and only door. So especially during the evening, I am careful to check surrounding areas before quickly opening the door and slipping inside. Once inside my house I do a second quick scan for any stow-aways. When satisfied, I go about my business. But it then it happens—I sit down to read my book or work on the computer and all is well for a minute or two. Suddenly, I hear it: a gentle “plop plop. Plop plop.” Out of the corner of my eye I see the webbed miscreant self-righteously hopping across my floor.

That’s when the dance begins. I grab the nearest pot or bowl and stealthily make my way towards the amphibious devil. Now the big and fat ones are no prize catch—they can be nabbed with one sure stroke. But the little ones, now the little ones are trickier. Fast little buggers, they are always one hop ahead of my pot. They spring under chairs and behind wardrobes with deft evasive maneuvers. They’re too good…

So one of two things happen. I either think one hop ahead of the frog and nab him or, occasionally, I get so frustrated after chasing after a tiny frog for an absurd amount of time that I give up and go to bed, leaving my unwanted roommate in peace. Then every so often in the night I hear a soft “plop plop…plop plop…” as the intruder goes along his merry way. The next morning I am refreshed and full of vengeance. The hunt resumes.

Besides “Happy New Year,” a common phrase to bring in the New Year in South Africa is “Compliments” or the full “Compliments on the new season.” So compliments to everyone! The next time someone says “Compliments!” to me, though, I’ve decided to respond along the lines of “You look dashing in that hat, sir” or “Is that a new pair of blue coveralls?” or “You look just like Beyonce.”

It’s 2011! How did that happen? My December holidays were great. Highlights from my trip with my mom include:

-petting lions and jaguars. One kept on nibbling my arm.

-visiting Robben Island, where Nelson Mandela spent most of his imprisonment.

-getting lost around the Cape of Good Hope only to end up having lunch on the side of a hill with a breathtaking ocean view

Highlights from Christmas at the beach with friends:

-doing

-absolutely

-nothing

That’s a lie. But extreme relaxation did indeed occur.

Highlights from New Years in the city of Durban:

-Bunny Chow: not chopped up bunnies, my friends, but rather delicious curry inside of a 1/3 of a loaf of bread. Delicious.

-Bringing in the new year with friends

-participating in a dolphin show at an aquarium (being the only adult in a group of 9 to do so)

Now it’s back to my village and back to school! But it feels odd this time: I won’t be here for the whole school year. While my service doesn’t end until September, the end seems fast approaching. That’s just weird. But right now, it's time to focus on life here. And at the moment, that means bean tacos thanks to my wonderful brother who sent me black beans. I even splurged and bought cheese. Woohoo!

I spent last week in Pretoria, participating in a “general training of trainers,” in which a group of us prepared for the arrival of the next batch of volunteers in January and their subsequent “pre service training." Our training (there were four volunteers, but mainly South African language trainers) last week involved a lot of work and headaches, especially when it came down to deciding, amongst 20 people, the hourly schedule of an eight week long program. We left the office each day just reeking of bureaucratic efficiency. But it was still a good week, and I’m really looking forward to training the Peace Corps babies (many of whom will be older than me).

Thanksgiving gave a great twist to the week. This year the U.S. embassy organized for the volunteers who were in Pretoria on Thanksgiving (mainly those in for medical purposes, but a few of us there for work) to go to the homes of several American families. I and four others went to the home of the ambassador himself!

Now this was just awesome. He and his family live in a colossal house out in the swanky suburbs of Pretoria. The six or so armed guards immediately give you a clue that this isn’t your grandma’s house. The ambassador was incredibly gracious and welcoming, and did his best to stop us from being so formal and make us realize he is just a normal person. The signed photographs of him and the President beg to differ, but hey. Before dinner all the guests mingled outside and played games. Another volunteer and I played a group of marines at croquet and, I must boast, we gave them an epic smackdown. The dinner itself was wonderful, with great food and heartfelt toasts. I had a fantastic time!

On another good note, my mom is coming next week! She’ll be visiting for two weeks, absorbing the December heat, seeing how I live and exploring new parts of South Africa with me. After the necessary safari or two, we are heading down to Capetown. I’ve heard it’s like a whole other country, so we shall see. I’ll report back!

Rain has finally come! We’ve had several big rainstorms here recently and they have been most welcome. My family and I use rainwater for all our water needs; it collects in the gutters and drains into a large plastic tank, commonly known as a “jojo”. I then fill up a bucket and lug it into my house. Add a pitcher, kettle and several large bowls and presto! A plumbing system.

For drinking water, I boil and filter the water first. This habit is reinforced every time I imagine the rain flowing down exactly where birds hang out on top of the house. I swear, they hang out on the roof and purposefully defecate when I come outside as if to say "What now, punk? Thirsty?" I have found tiny worms squirming around in the water and try not to think of what else is in there. Needless to say, I’m an avid boiler.

Our jojo was getting precariously low the past few weeks, unfortunately right at the time when the need for washing—of clothes and body—went way up. With summer fast approaching (well, already here) I am a sweaty mess by lunchtime. When I first arrived in country, I found people’s habits of taking a bucket bath at least twice a day amusing. I quickly learned that without at least a once-a-day wash down, you can go about your business with that delightful briny film on your skin you used to think only developed after running a 10k.

Yesterday the rain was falling so thick and fast that I used the opportunity to rinse out buckets and other containers. And to have a Gene Kelly moment. Also celebrating the rain was the massive frog population of my village. They serenaded me way too loudly but with surprising coordination.

Sometimes life gets in the way of documenting life. Hence the pause in bloggage.

But life is good yet sweaty here in Afrika Borwa. Summer is peaking its head around the corner. Teased by days of relative coolness, we are then hit with bouts of mid-90s weather, during which I daydream of bucket-sized slushies and…what do they call those contraptions? Oh yes, showers. Those would be nice.

Though there has yet to be a definitive resolution, the public sector strike is, for now, over and the teachers are back to work. I’d say things are back to normal but I’ve realized there is no normal in my life. My work has lately been interrupted by various intrusions like a medical problem (non-serious) that has taken me into Pretoria with all too much frequency, but I’m still chugging along and making small progress here and there.

A recent excitement in my life: my cat had kittens!!! My host family and I jointly claim ownership of Kgabo (Setswana for monkey) who was just a baby herself when we got her last year. My host mom got her from a neighbor but I Americanized her so much (meaning she actually likes human contact and now loudly demands food from any passerby) that they tend to call her mine now. Anyways, she got knocked up by her feral boyfriend who had been diligently courting her and…presto! Four tiny wriggling cuties. While Bob Barker would be deeply disappointed in me, I had long ago decided having enough money to feed myself was worth not having her spayed. So, if they all survive, one is going to a nearby volunteer and we don’t know about the others yet. Once they’re crawling around, though, I just may have to name them and get intensely attached to the cute furballs. It’s so hard not too.

I have decided to include more random facts/aspects of my life here--realizing that, while it seem normal to me now, you may have no idea how to take a bucket bath. But that comes later. I will start with my South African moniker (which, despite my forthcoming rant, I really do like).

A rather embarrassing fact (that fellow volunteers love to capitalize on as often possible) is the unfortunate nickname of my Setswana name, Refilwe (ree-feel-way). Meaning “given to us,” it is often shortened to “Refi,” “Re” or, the terrible one—“Fifi.”

Yes, yes, I know. It sounds like a small, fluffy white dog. So hilarious. But, after a few “what did you call me?”s and eye twitches at the sound of it, I’ve decided to embrace it. It’s endearing and, more importantly, does not concoct an image of a poodle in people’s brains here. So neither shall it in mine.

BUT—and I can see the gleam in some of your eyes—this does not mean you can call me Fifi back in the States. That is a firm rule.

Workers of certain public sectors containing unions which are part of a congress that decided to strike for higher wages…unite!

Strike has been the name of the democratic game the past few weeks here in South Africa. The majority of teachers, along with health care workers and others, have been striking for higher wages and an increased housing allowance.

Striking is really a national past time here, right below soccer, rugby and braaiing (SA for barbequing). It happens often. Not only is the frequency quite high, but these strikes occur with much more zeal and gusto than the strikes I have seen in the U.S. It’s an art-form, really. When strikers protest, they often stage a “toyi-toyi” (or toi-toi..debatable and well just confusing to spell). This time-honored tradition involves a kind of high-step dance, knees coming up to their chests as people sing, chant and brandish various posters.

Now I think these toitoi-ers have it right. American strikers and protesters should take note. If you are going to picket and protest, do it with style, people. Turn those half-hearted, two-lined chants into harmonized songs. Coordinate your outfits. And by god, pick up those feet and move your body! Should South African labor unions ever see Americans strike, I’m sure their reaction would be along the lines of “Oh please. You’re barely trying. Can’t you do anything besides walk in a straight line and yell?”

As entertaining as striking is here, this whole business leaves me here in the village to entertain myself in the absence of my normal routine at the schools. It has been…challenging. The product of the American “busier is better” mentality, I have always experienced that delightful inverse relationship between time and productivity: the more free time I have, the less productive I am. Conversely and rather masochistically, when I am extra busy I get things done promptly. I become an efficiency machine.

To cling to the sanity I have left, I have been trying to spend more time on projects outside the schools. For example, a group of women and I are putting together quilts for HIV/AIDS awareness. We are using squares of fabric that the children decorated at my camp and plan on hanging them in four different schools. It is a fun project and is going quite well. My weekly Tswana sewing bee, I call it.

On the homefront, I have been cleaning my house and waging war against the bats currently residing in my roof. Right now, the current score (points generally determined as bats annoying me or temporary eviction of bats by me) is about as follows:

Bats: 764

Kristen: 5

I don't win often.

So the tedium, the bat fighting and the lack of real productivity continues, hopefully with an end in sight. In the meantime, the teachers continue to get their daily exercise high-stepping their way to a fatter paycheck.

As of the end of last month, I have been in South Africa for one year. With some speed bumps along the way, time has generally flown by. With such an anniversary I should probably launch into a critical and introspective analysis of my time here. However, being American, I’ve decided to talk about my vacation instead. My trip to Namibia was fantastic. Six of us hiked through the Fish River Canyon, one of the largest canyons in the world. It took us five days in total. It was definitely true backpacking—gathering firewood to make a fire at night, sleeping on sand, our faces to the stars, and let’s not forget the ever-fun digging a toilet wherever you go. Now this is more hardcore than I’d ever been before (in terms of hiking, of course) and the hike itself was not a stroll through Central Park, but it was an amazing experience. I definitely want to do something similar again. Highlights of our adventure included a natural sulfur hot spring that flowed into the river, creating amongst the rocks the best hot tub I’d ever experienced, wild horses and the thieving baboon who tried to run off with my friend’s pack. After we survived the canyon and celebrated by eating six large plates of French fries in record-breaking time, we headed north into the Namib desert to see some of the largest sand dunes in the world and to simultaneously have our “I totally conquered nature” attitudes yanked out from under us. Climbing sand dunes is HARD. A few of us climbed two dunes, one being potentially the highest in the world (Wikipedia and the Namibian Ministry for Tourism apparently don't see eye to eye) at about 400 meters high. Climbing a sand dune is like running up a down escalator, the steps of which sink under each footstep. Halfway through you are beet red, panting enormously with your heart racing. You look up and guesstimate about eh, 15 minutes more. Almost an hour later, you curse the god of sandy things and flop belly-first onto the ridge. But then, after you’ve reveled in the gorgeous view and the general incompetence of your physical health, the fun part starts. That’s when you get to sprint down the side of the dune as fast as you can, yelling your lungs out and praying you don’t hit a firm patch of sand and faceplant. I was surprised by the amount of sheer exhilaration that can be gained from a mound of sand. It could have been the effects of physical exhaustion, but I’ll take what I can get.

Eish! That’s a great South Africanism, meaning “wow,” “jeez” or “woah!” It has a wide range of applicability and is one of my favorites. Lots of things have been a-happenin since my last post. Firstly, the country has been going nutso with the World Cup. And frankly, it’s infectious. I thought I would go to one game and call it quits, but so far I have been to two games, one fanpark and watched many of the matches on TV. You can’t help getting caught up in it.

The first game I went to was U.S. vs. England. There were four of us completely surrounded by boisterous England fans and we got called “wankers” a lot. It was jolly good fun. The second game some friends and I stumbled upon tickets hours before the game, so we were able to see U.S. beat Algeria at the very end. Then, for each of the matches they have these fan parks set up at each hosting city for free, complete with big screens, live music and refreshments. Basically, whether you have a ticket or not, it’s a lot of fun. Good job FIFA and South Africa.

And THEN the event that has been the bane of my existence the past three months finally occurred. My host brother and I, in conjunction with four local schools and various organizations, held Camp Remmogo, an HIV awareness camp for fourth through sixth graders. We actually camped out at the nearby Borakalalo Game Reserve, freezing our bums off during the night and doing various activities during the day. Though it obviously did not go perfectly, everyone had a great time. Two other Peace Corps volunteers came to help and we had almost 30 adults help out with over 60 children. Almost all the kids had never been to any type of camp before and it was a new experience for a lot of the adults too.

One of my favorite light-hearted moments of the camp was when I attempted to show people how to toast a marshmallow, an unheard of concept. I explained what to do and shoved the marshmallow onto a stick. With their faces in a collective horrified expression, I lowered it down by the embers. I held it there for a few seconds until someone finally shouted "Stop! You're burning the sweet!" I eventually got a few people to try the very-American campfire delicacy. Some liked it, but most remained aghast at my reckless destruction of perfectly good sweets. Cultural exchange fail.

Overall, it was a success and the kids were so happy the entire time it made up for all the hair-pulling moments of organizing it. And several people have told me they want to run similar camps in the future, which is fantastic. Peace Corps would be proud.

So now it's another week of World Cup fever and then some friends and I are off to hike through the second largest canyon in the world, the Fish River Canyon in Namibia. Stay tuned for that adventure.

Also, I put up some new pictures of the games and the camp. Peruse at your pleasure.

I finally put pictures up! I have them in two different albums, one for training and my first few months at site and another for the events of 2010 so far.

In other news, I no longer need my refrigerator because it is so dang cold in my house. Thank you, winter. The lack of insulation in any building is just delightful. It’s like camping every night. And at school, each day the kids wear more and more layers in the drafty classrooms. If it keeps getting colder, I am going to hold a little-brother-from-A-Christmas-Story lookalike contest.

“Hit us. Hit us and we will listen.”

A year ago, I never imagined a child would ever ask me to hit her. It’s jarring to hear those words come out of a 10 year old’s mouth. I have been here long enough to understand (at least partially) what is behind those words, but it is no less disturbing to me.

I was having yet another behavioral talk with my 5th graders. While rather childish, I made a comparison to a fellow teacher in hopes that they would finally get that just because I am some exotic import who speaks oddly does not mean they should treat me differently than their other teachers.

“I have seen you in class with Mma M. You are quiet and you listen. I am a teacher just like her. When I speak you should be quiet and listen.”

“But you don’t hit us! Hit us, and we will listen.”

Others joined in, eagerly. They were encouraging me.

“Yes, hit us!”

They wanted to make me happy. I attempted to explain my reasons behind not hitting them, but failed. Words like “respect” are empty of meaning. The English sounds familiar, but there is no real understanding. It devastated me that I could not explain both why I do not want to hit children and furthermore why they still should listen to me when I don’t. Their faces were curious, intrigued. They really wanted to understand, but the barrier of language makes explaining deep cultural values to a child near impossible.

Corporal punishment in schools is illegal, but in the rural areas it is often the most common form of discipline. The Department of Education lacks the resources to enforce the law adequately and, in many places, corporal punishment continues to be culturally accepted and commonplace in both homes and schools. Unfortunately, though, there are those who take it too far. While I have been seriously disturbed witnessing a teacher whipping a child’s bottom with a stick, I know other volunteers have seen horrific, straight-up abuse, with the children's scars to prove it. There is always someone who uses authority as an excuse for viciousness. My schools do not have these extremes, luckily. Yes, corporal punishment happens, but more moderately. Still though, the encouragement by children to inflict pain upon them...well, it was unnerving. I don’t think I will forget it.

Imagine you’re hosting a dinner party. Expectations are high and it’s your first ever bona-fide dinner party. Sure, you’ve had the occasional luncheon and afternoon tea for the neighbors, but this is the big time. A ton of people will be there—and not just the regular crowd. We’re talking presidents, rock stars, pop stars, billionaires, you name it. On top of this, no one in your neighborhood has ever had such a grandiose dinner party. Sure, the fancy suburbs with themed street names will have them now and again, but you’re only half-heartedly invited anyway.

So how do you feel? There’s excitement, of course. And extreme nervousness. You could accidently set fire to Beyonce’s dress. Your crème brûlée could get flambéed. The toilet could explode on an unlucky prime minister. And then pride. Of course you feel pride, too. Because, out of your whole neighborhood, who was chosen? You.

If sport competitions were dining events, the Soccer World Cup would knock the pants off any White House gala. It was obviously a huge deal when South Africa was named the host for the 2010 World Cup. Even more so, though, because South Africa is the first African nation to receive this nomination. Though I normally shy away from gross continental generalizations, I will concede that Africa, in general, is in love with soccer. I mean, in love. If my 70 year-old host mom can jump up and down, yelling at the tv and shaking her fist like a crazed Packers fan on too much cheese, then imagine the kind devotion the younger population strata have. This is a big deal. Naturally, the country is a bit strung-out with anticipation and excitement. Any major road between cities hosting games is being widened and de-potholed, lodging and rental car prices are skyrocketing, and souvenir vendors have been salivating and chomping at the bit.

Basically all South African social structures are adjusting to this month-long extravaganza and the Department of Education is no exception. The school winter break has been elongated to six weeks this year. So, anticipating the extreme boredom of children during breaks which leads to dangling Timmy off the roof, my host brother and I decided to hold a camp. The camp will be for Grade4-6 learners and will have two main themes. To lure the children: soccer! To teach the children: HIV/AIDS awareness. The curriculum in South Africa introduces HIV very early, even in Grade 1. This is good to educate children as quickly as possible, but, when coupled with the silence in the community about HIV/AIDS, children are becoming desensitized. It becomes no more than an academic subject. We want to approach the subject from a different angle, outside the classroom. While I do not expect a three day camp will in any way be able to change this problem, we hope that it will get the ball rolling in our area and generate ideas and motivation to start similar projects.

So I have been rushing around, gathering volunteers, while South Africa hyperventilates with excitement for the ultimate sports dinner party. I’m excited too, by the way. No, I am not the largest soccer fan, but it will be fun to witness all the hullaballoo and to go to a game or two. I currently just have one ticket, but am on the lookout for more. I contemplated buying a whole bunch earlier on and going into the scalping business, but then I thought Peace Corps might not like that.

Yesterday some learners told me they thought I should go on the show “Style by Jury.” This is one of those hundreds of shows that tear down people (and any self-esteem they may have) just to build them back up again—but this time they are better people because they’re wearing makeup, better clothes, and are blonde. Apparently South Africa felt the need to import this show. You know, to see the ugly Americans too.

Finally, some brutal honesty about my fashion choices. Who knew it would come from 11 year olds. But then the girls further explained that if I went on the show, they could help me get rid of “all the spots on your face.” I attempted to explain that I have had freckles since I was a baby, but then they felt even sorrier for me.

This dialogue rivals another freckle conversation I had with one of my educators after Christmas break. After I told her about my trip to the beach, she told me I should probably go to the doctor. I asked why and she said they could help me with all the sand stuck in my skin.

That was a crazy past month!

I shall indulge you with a rundown of my activities, because I know that is what you were itching for:

-Wrote a grant proposal in a week’s time. Not the best idea.

-Attended an HIV/AIDS and project management training. I learned a great deal more on how the virus works and its origins, along with other helpful health tidbits like the benefits of garlic enemas. I also gorged myself on the free resort food, feeling it necessary in lieu of my next activities.

-Ran my first half-marathon. And survived. The Longtom Marathon had its pros and cons. Pro: it was in the mountains. Beautiful scenery helps you forget you’ve partially lost feeling in your lower extremities. Con: it was in the mountains. Them hills kicked my butt. And my knees hated me for about a week afterwards. It took me 2 hours and 37 minutes, but by golly I did it! And had the best feeling afterwards. I’d like to say it was my sense of accomplishment, but we mustn’t forget those lovely endorphins. ALSO: one more big and heartfelt thank you to those who sponsored me and donated to the KLM foundation. The total donations will sponsor a child for 5 years of study at a prestigious high school. There are still areas which don’t even have a high school anywhere nearby, so this will change a child’s life. Thank you.

-Went on a 5 day hike in the mountains with just a day to rest after the marathon. Again, not one of my best ideas. Although it was necessary to keep a consistent and fairly high level of pain-killer in my body, and 8 p.m. was our average bedtime due to sheer exhaustion, it was nevertheless a fantastic hike. This region of the Mpumalanga province is really quite beautiful and the 60ish km of trail had us (5 in total) traveling through all sorts of vegetation, by waterfalls, through streams, up and down mountains…it was wonderful.

-traveled South Africa with my pops! My dad flew in Easter Sunday and from Johannesburg we headed to the coast to the St. Lucia Estuary for a hippo and croc boat tour, snorkeling in the Indian Ocean (lots of tropical fish!), and the Imfolozi Game Reserve. Beyond some giraffe, a few rambunctious baboons and my serpentine encounters, I really hadn’t had the opportunity to appreciate South Africa’s awesome animal diversity. So this was my chance! Between four game reserves over our trip, animal sightings included: warthogs, giraffe, baboons, vervet monkeys, hippos, crocodiles, rhino, elephants, hyenas, wildebeest, water buffalo, zebra, eagles, herons, etc. At Imfolozi, we had one of those “be careful what you wish for” moments: the whole time we were on the watch for elephants. We saw a bunch of rhino and other cool animals, but Dumbo was in hiding. We kind of pushed our luck and kept driving around til we were at the far side of the park with only an hour before closing time. With the sun sinking fast, we started to speed our way through the twisty roads to get back to the entrance on time. Suddenly, my dad hits the breaks. There, smack dab in the middle of the road, plodding along at his own slow pace, was the biggest bull elephant either of us had ever seen. He was huge! Cameras were whipped out and we jabbered on excitedly. But then a couple of minutes passed, with us traveling just a few hundred meters. And then a few more minutes. The elephant just kept going straight down the road at his own leisurely pace. We started to get fidgety, glancing at the clock and at the sun, imaging both the fine for staying past closing and the potential of a pride of lions eating us in the night. Finally, Mr. Elephant meandered off the road for some supper. We sped past before he could change his mind.

After our coastal adventures, we drove up through Swaziland to the Blyde River Canyon area where the marathon was. We went white water rafting, saw some spectacular views and went on a bona fide safari in Kruger National Park. Highlight of that would be the hyenas eating a dead elephant. Then we headed to my village for my dad to see what life is really like for me. He got a taste of everything, from my schools to my lack of plumbing to a good ‘ol South African braai (barbeque) with the family. Though subjected to strange questions, slow hours and mystery meat, he was a trooper. We ended with a trip to the De Wildt Cheetah Research Center. This place was awesome. They are on the forefront of cheetah conservation and research and also work to protect other threatened species in southern Africa. Best part: I got to pet a cheetah! He was purring extremely loudly—a giant furry motor with fangs.

So that was a fantastic past four weeks. It feels good to be back at the schools and back to my normal routine, but I will be ready for my next adventure soon!

A HUGE thank you to all of you who have contributed to the KLM foundation so far!!

For those just tuning in, I am participating in a half marathon at the end of the month to raise money for a scholarship here in South Africa. The KLM scholarship sends children from rural areas of the impoverished Mpumalanga province to a prestigious high school. So please, consider sponsoring me and my running endeavors to help keep this commendable program continue. See three posts below for more details.

Thanks to this marathon, I have become even more of a spectacle than I already was in my village. Now the common greeting I’ve been getting is “Agee Refilwe! I saw you gyming yesterday!” It’s quite the novelty. I also quite enjoy the term “gyming.” I really feel spandex should accompany this action, but alas. Left those in the States.

You may have noticed the new addition to my blog—a list of blogs by other Peace Corps volunteers in South Africa. If you are ever bored one day, I highly recommend them. There are some fabulously written blogs, ranging from incredible insightful social commentary to hilarious accounts of the ridiculousness that occurs living in another country. I realize that they are more meaningful to me as I know these people and I am having similar experiences, but, all the same, check them out if you are ever so inclined.

Remember…check out www.klm-foundation.org and consider sponsoring me!

I recently was conned into writing an article for Peace Corps South Africa's monthly newsletter. I decided to write a short comparison of the budgetary deficits of South Africa and Brazil...just kidding. The following is the longer version of the article:

The pull-your-hair-out days of extreme frustration can unfortunately occur too frequently as a Peace Corps volunteer. The smallest thing—a comment or a misunderstanding—can send your decent day tumbling downwards until all you want is to go home and shut yourself in. But on the bad days (and the good days, too) there are also always those little instances, the random abnormalities, at which you can laugh. From Dolly Parton techno remixes to the antics of a renegade donkey, these minor amusements can be used for your benefit. Seek out and capitalize on all forms of hilarity, no matter how small, and your day may start to look up. Use your imagination and the ample opportunities for day-dreaming to extend a chuckle farther than it rationally should go. A favorite tidbit of mine is the very title of our organization and its unfortunate evolution in meaning.

The term “Peace Corps” was first introduced by Senator Hubert Humphrey in 1957, joining similar ideas such as a “Point Four Youth Corps” and even a “Peace Army” into which youth would be drafted. After then Senator Kennedy challenged students in 1960 to serve their country abroad, I’m sure there were many other names given consideration for the agency (League of Hippies, Axis of Goodness, Draft Dodgers Do Diplomacy, etc.) but Humphrey’s expression stuck. “The Peace Corps,” it seemed, embodied the organization’s overall mission and had just the right amounts of poetic resonance and diplomatic flair. Peace, obviously, sounds like a fantastic goal to work towards and corps connotes something hardcore and official. We are just as awe-inspiring and disciplined as the Marine Corps (but in an idealistic, peace and harmony-loving kind of way).

The Senators Humphrey and Kennedy, however, could not have predicted the PR side-effects of their chosen name. The word “corps” is often unknown in rural South Africa and is therefore, in my experience, subjected to phonetic butchering. Non-native English speakers take the incongruous “p” into dutiful consideration and pronounce it along with everything else. The result: South Africa plays host to the prestigious organization “The Peace Corpse.” In the most dignified manner, we are an organized and deceased body of American citizens. We are cadavers of goodwill assisting local communities.

A further unfortunate result of strange honorifics in foreign languages is that “Volunteer” tends to be dropped from my title. Combine this frequent occurrence with the aforementioned pronunciation mishap and I am officially the “Peace Corpse” of my village. The resulting comic relief can brighten any day. With each invocation, I am suddenly in a cheap zombie thriller, except with less carnage and more cultural exchange. I am the walking dead that teaches maths to children. My favorite moment was when, a few weeks after I arrived, a local pastor explained to the congregation that the community would be hosting a corpse from America for two years. If that doesn’t excite any horror film junkies out there, I don’t know what would.

The metamorphosis of our organization into a nonviolent cadaver was clearly not the intent of President Kennedy, but does no harm (beyond a little confusion) and provides the opportunity for a laugh. When having a less-than-spectacular day, look for the trivial yet whimsical incidents that are inevitable when living in a different country. It’s the small things that tend to make or break a day; don’t let the chance for a private chuckle slip by. Exploit the daily mispronunciations and misunderstandings for the sake of your sanity. And to the community members in our villages: a few words of advice. The corpse has a different background and culture. You may find the behavior of the corpse strange, but don’t be alarmed. Be patient and understanding. The corpse just wants to learn your way of life.

Well the weekend has come and gone—I went to a wedding, did my laundry, prepared for this week’s lessons and projects, half-heartedly cleaned, watched some tv shows, read my book...a good weekend. I just got back from dinner with my host mom in the main house. We were both too tired/lazy to cook, so we had a gourmet meal of tea with bread and peanut butter. My extreme liking of peanut butter is a source of continued amusement for my family; it’s rather high on the “Why Americans Are Weird” list that I am sure they are secretly compiling. They just don’t understand the gloriousness of good ‘ole PB & J.

As we were sitting there, drinking our tea (the British/South African way—very milky and sugary), she was rambling on in her English that is excellent but still occasionally challenging to follow and I kept on thinking: I am so lucky to have such an awesome host family. I absolutely adore them. Their warmth and love has been unwavering, despite all that has been asked of them. Really, how many families do you know would volunteer to take in a complete stranger from a very different culture for two whole years, not only allowing them to stay on their property but intimately including them in their everyday life? The very first thing my host mom did when I arrived, extremely nervous, was to embrace me and say “Welcome home, my daughter!”

My host mom is just awesome. A strong, no-nonsense woman, she is an adventurer at heart and has a love for life that is very apparent. She likes to laugh at everything, which was disconcerting at first (as I am one of her favorite subjects at which to laugh) but now it’s endearing. I taught her solitaire but, after hours and hours of coaching, she still completely forgets the rules. The funny thing is that she continues to play every day. The game has morphed into a whole new version of solitaire that I don’t really follow…but on she plays, informing me the number of games lost and won for the week. She has a deep hatred/fear of millipedes (she says they're cheeky) yet will literally run after a cobra with a rake to kill it. After six months she still gets upset that I do my own laundry and she worries that I exert myself too much when I do the dishes.

My host brother is probably my best friend in the village. He is one of the only people upon whom I can release my sarcasm. It kind of builds up all day, those dry remarks that I can’t really say because they’ll be taken the wrong way. But he tends to get them and it’s very relieving. In turn he likes to lie to me a lot and I fall for it every time.

“Refilwe, I’m leaving.”

“O ya kae—where are you going? The shop?”

“No, I’m leaving. I got a job in Capetown.”

“You did? Really?”

“Yes.”

“What is it?”

He’ll describe a job in detail, and then:

“No, I’m just joking. Ke ya shopong.—I’m going to the shop.”

I have 6 siblings in total and numerous nieces and nephews, so it’s quite a larger family than I’m used to. My 21 year old nephew from Johannesburg stays with us during the week. He’s an engineering student and likes to pretend he’s James Bond. Some of my other nieces and nephews live just two villages away, so I see them often as well. The little ones—ages 5 and 7—like to have dance parties with me and are now obsessed with the coloring books my dad sent.

It’s wonderful to have my own house, my own space, but when I need social interaction, when I need a family, they’re there. I can choose to cook for myself or I can go into the main house for dinner. Afterwards we watch South African soap operas and make fun of them. They invite me everywhere I go and I am thus much more connected to the community. These people have made life here quite rich and I know for a fact that my experience—especially the first several months—would be a lot more difficult if I didn’t have their support. From day one they have truly made me a part of the family. And for that I will always be grateful.

Dear Family, Friends, and Anyone randomly reading this blog because you have nothing better to do,

I don’t believe I’ve mentioned this yet, but at the end of March I’ll be participating in the Longtom half-marathon in the Drakensburg mountains. Now, for those who are aware of my running abilities, you are probably questioning this endeavor, as I generally consider anything over a mile “a long run.” But I am committed to the challenge.

The main purpose of this event is to serve as a fundraiser for the KLM Foundation. The KLM foundation (http://www.klm-foundation.org) is an organization started by two volunteers who served here in South Africa a few years back and raises money to send deserving students from rural communities to the Uplands College, a prestigious independent high school in Mpumalanga. The opportunity to attend this school will give students a chance at an awesome education and future that they otherwise wouldn’t have.

This marathon is going to be a huge fundraising event for the KLM Foundation which relies heavily on support from Peace Corps Volunteers to carry on their work. Each marathon participant is expected to raise a minimum of $100. I know many of you are interested in supporting me and the work that Peace Corps is doing in South Africa and by golly this is a great way to do so. If each of my family and friends donates just $5-$10 to this cause I will be well on my way to reaching my minimum goal. Any donation would be fantastic.

SO there are two ways to donate:

Method 1: Online

1. Go to the KLM foundation website http://www.klm-foundation.org

2. Click on the Donate photo in the upper left corner.

3. This opens up a secure https connection for people to donate.

4. Make sure you put my name in the Longtom Marathon field so the organization knows who you are sponsoring.

Method 2: Check

1. Make out a check to: Kgwale Le Mollo (US)

2. Add a sticky note declaring which PC volunteer (me) the donor (you) is sponsoring

Mail it to:

KLM Foundation (US)

c/o Bowen Hsu

461 So. Bonita Avenue

Pasadena, CA 91107

Thanks to you all for your continuing support of all my endeavors. Let me know if I can provide any more information about the organization or the process.

And I’ll let you know if I make it out of 21 km alive, definitely. Look for a post on my record-breaking run in April.

---Kristen

Ok that was a lie. Full-out falsification. I did not get another post up before Christmas. Well, for the past two months. Shame, shame on me. And I actually had written some entries; I just never posted them. That’s a key component of the whole process, I’ve been told recently. So I am going to treat you to a nice throw-up of entries. It’s up to you and your sharp mind to make sense of their order and content.

Written after Christmas:

First of all, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! I hope everyone had fabulous holidays; I sure did! A group of volunteers and I headed to the “Wild Coast”—a very rural area along the coast in the Eastern Cape. This is the land of the Xhosa people (fun fact of the day: Nelson Mandela is a Xhosa). Xhosa is one of those fantastic languages that has several different clicks in it (in fact, the “Xh” in Xhosa is one). Needless to say I was at a complete loss as to anything people were saying, which was disconcerting after months of half-understanding Setswana. The Eastern Cape seemed to be a whole new country: not only was the language completely foreign, but the landscape—rolling hills with very lush green vegetation—was exceedingly different from the flat and dry bush terrain at my village. It was difficult not to be envious.

Eleven of us camped at a backpackers that was right by the ocean. We spent Christmas and New Years not only in each other’s company, but with travelers from all over the world. It did not even feel like the holidays, as they were spent so differently than any year before, but great conversations, relaxation and adventures made Christmas 2009 one to remember. We hiked, swam and learned how to surf from a former world champion (a lesson was basically 5 minutes standing up on the board and 85 minutes of getting beat up by ocean and board. But it was still fun). And then it was back to reality and to our villages after New Years. Here’s something I wrote before vacation but did not post:

Well the schools are out and the test results are in. Learners took national exams starting in November (the South African school year corresponds with the calendar year, so it just ended). For Grade 4 and up, they were entirely in English, except for the home language exam (Setswana in my area). The rather abysmal results reflect a new education system that is still trying to get on its feet. At the high school level, 12th graders take their “matric exams” that are required to graduate. To pass in Math and languages, they need at least a 40%. In all other subjects, the requirement is 30%. The national pass rate this year was 60%, down 2 percentage points from last year.

At the primary level, I did not see a single score over 70%. In math, only one learner in Grade 6 at both of my schools passed. These results are terrible but vindicating. I have had some moments so far when, in frustration or depression, I think “What the heck am I doing here?!” Of course the answer to that is something much more than percentages, but the numbers give me something a bit more solid to cling to.

But my purpose here is not something to dive into now. The fact of the matter is there is room for improvement at the schools and I would like to help bring some. The principals and I are still crafting what exactly I’ll be doing this year, but it will involve teaching, holding workshops, working with the staff on curriculum and various other projects. I’ll give more detail once I actually begin to tackle these plans.

And that time is now! Teachers went back to school on the 11th and the kids followed on the 13th. As for me, plans are starting to be tackled, albeit very slowly. I decided to teach this year at one of the schools—a decision I thought long and hard about. This option is fairly new to Peace Corps volunteers in South Africa: until a year or so ago volunteers were only allowed to be resources for the teachers; the view of the Department of Education was that volunteers would take jobs away from South Africans (makes sense). But this view has changed in light of a massive teacher shortage and now volunteers may choose to have classes of their own. I have chosen to do so as I want to walk in the shoes of a South African teacher and, in doing so, be able to not only understand their problems more but more effectively address them. So I am teaching Grade 5 Maths! That’s right, maths, not math. You get used to it. The first week back was rather chaotic and there was unfortunately very little actual teaching going on. The second week has been better, but I have to keep in mind that teaching is only one small part of my work in these schools. I need to get a move-on with my other projects. But it’s only the beginning of the year and an adjustment period is definitely necessary.

Now back to present-time. February.

I shant be talking more about what I am doing for work because I think too much about it already. My last post I ranted on about the fauna of South Africa and I would just like to throw in an update: I have officially set a personal record—and quite possibly should call the Guinness Book of World Records—of number of mosquito bites on my body at one time. I recently was at an in-service training in the steamy Mpumalanga province, at which four volunteers each shared a dorm room. I was covertly named our group’s human sacrifice to the god of blood-sucking beasties and was assigned the bed next to the window. Midway through the week, I decided to execute a full inspection for the reason of my bumpy suffering and discovered that I had on my left leg alone—just my left leg—72 bug bites. Seventy-two. If that’s not impressive, I don’t know what is. It was like chicken pox without the oatmeal baths.

I am not going to promise more frequent updates on my blog because I would then feel like I was 10 years old again, promising my diary that this time, despite my successive failures at being one of those cool I-journal-daily types, I would write in it every day. However, don’t give up on me. Keep checking the blog. When the stars of internet access and Kristen’s motivation align, it’ll be spectacular, I promise.

Happy Thanksgiving (a day late)!! I seem to have a continuing trend of only posting around holidays—Halloween, Veterans Day, Thanksgiving…don’t worry, I’ll get something up before Christmas. But maybe this can be a quick read as you are recovering from yesterday’s tryptophan overdose or celebrating the Capitalist Day of Thanks, on which we inhale markdowns, special sales and other consumer delectables with more fervor than we did Grandma’s gravy.

I could not have asked for a better Thanksgiving my first year in the Peace Corps. A volunteer couple invited those in our area to come and spend Turkey Day at their site. They have a slightly unique situation, as they live at a Catholic mission instead of with a family in a village. It’s a great place, containing a high school, primary school, crèche (preschool) and adult education center. These missionary schools are not uncommon in South Africa and tend to produce good results. The compound is located at the top of a hill, having a spectacular view of the village. Being in a mountainous area, the mission houses more than fathers and nuns: there is a large population of baboons who are not a bit shy among humans and loaf around the area like lazy teenagers. As we were taking a tour of the place, we saw baboons on the grounds of the high school, scavenging for the forgotten bag of chips or half-eaten candy. They were not as impressed with us as we are of them. Not only are they huge and apparently quite annoying, they can become quite aggressive. I still thought they were cool, though.

Eleven of us gathered here and had a wonderful potluck dinner with all the fixings (including a 17 pound turkey apparently imported from Minnesota, although I did not partake in this). People talk about the “Peace Corps family” and that’s really what it felt like yesterday. We are a diverse bunch of people from all over the U.S. who have only known each other for four months, yet the companionship was evident. Amidst the food, stories and games I really felt like I was having a true Thanksgiving and was very grateful for our hodge-podge volunteer family.

Wildlife is appearing as rapidly as the summer weather here. I was getting used to the different animals and insects I had seen in late winter and early spring and had definitely been lulled into a false sense of security and acceptance of South Africa’s flora and fauna. But now Mother Nature has an “Oh we’ll see about that!” attitude about my complacency and has in the past few weeks pulled a few trump cards on me. Case in point: a cobra on my stoop. That was the prize specimen I [almost] stumbled on last Sunday morning: a greeny-gray cobra maybe a meter and a half long. The word on the street is that my village is notorious for its selection and abundance of snakes. I can’t fully express how overjoyed I was to hear this news when I first arrived. I think I would opt for a large tsotsi (general term for gangsters and thugs) population in my village as opposed to a reptilian one. That day, though, the terror-induced adrenaline rush was mutual and the cobra was gone before I could really start to panic. For an added touch, it raised its hood in retreat. So my first encounter with a poisonous snake here I came away unscathed. Yes! Then, just in case I got too cocky from that harmless experience, the next day we found a huge pregnant python hanging out in the garden. Awesome. But my host mom, being the kick-ass 69 year old she is, went into battle mode and promptly killed it with her metal rake.

I find it rather hilarious that I have the chance to sit down at a computer and write a post still only every couple weeks, yet instead of filling people in on important events—or even just a more encompassing description of what I am actually doing—I instead choose to describe, in detail, my run-ins with monkeys and snakes. Definitely priority number one to detail those incidents. However, I keep on telling myself that I will have my computer up and running in the next month or so and that’s when I will provide more substance. Eh, we’ll see.

My ankle jiggles when I walk. Jiggles, I tell you. I apparently sprained it while running and now it's rather swollen. That's what you get for exercising in the African bush. Not the most even of terrains, it requires extreme attention to maneuver, especially around the large piles of donkey droppings and the death bushes [the endearing name I bestowed on a very populous bush--and tree as well--that is covered with extremely sharp and long thorns]. I apparently did not succeed at this dodging game and now get to limp myself through said bush to the schools everyday. Excellent.

It is already my eighth week here; I have no idea how that happened. I am still following my given assignments, or at least attempting to follow. Sometimes the lack of order in everyday situations seriously trumps any prescribed order on paper. For example, a month ago there was a very strong wind storm one night and a portion of the roof of one of my schools blew off. The inspectors came and deemed the school unfit for school to safely be at. We first took them to the community hall and my god, what mayhem did ensue. It was a hilarious sight, 100 children lugging bags, books, tables and chairs through the bush. But the community hall is only one large room--please, imagine what happens when you attempt to hold five different classes in a hall at the same time (especially when there was always at least one teacher gone. Are the kids going to keep quiet?). Little actual learning occurred.

One day the Grade R and 1 (Kindergarten and 1st) teacher left for a workshop. "Sit quietly at your desks" just does not mean much to a 6 year old and, after realizing no one was going to step up and deal with the tiny ones, I decided to take them on. Now there was a slight problem with this scheme. My Setswana is still not great and their English goes as far as greeting me with "I am fine! And you?" This situation did not bode well for me. I had no books, and although I had some computer paper, not all of them had pencils. So we resorted to paper folding. We made hats, springs, boxes, you name it. During this, they would wander up to my table with requests and complaints. Some I could understand, but many, though, I would just make an educated guess as to the nature of their speech and provide the appropriate facial expressions--delight at a paper hat, concern and pity at the slightest sniffle and stern disapproval when the finger-pointing blame game began. This ridiculous school day culminated in the coup de gras of all paper folding: the paper airplane. Now this proved initially problematic as most had never seen an airplane before. But with a few examples and demonstrations, they dived into the project (especially the subsequent flight tests) with gusto. I’d say it was a roaring success.

The community hall fiasco only lasted a week and the school is now convening at the local Catholic Church--a better situation, as there are separate rooms in which the classes can go. Still not as good as the actual school, but unfortunately it looks like there will continue to be holy tutelage for the rest of the year. The repairs on the school have not started, nor is there any sign of them beginning soon. Some in the government have been pushing for a merger between the two primary schools in the village for a while now and there just may be a connection here. While the two schools are both very small and do not meet certain minimum requirements, the parents are vehemently opposed to this change and there are a lot of underlying politics. Not to mention logistics--the village is extremely spread out and the schools are located at opposite ends. There are children who live farther in the outskirts than I do and it takes me an hour to walk to the farther school. When it is already in the 80s by 7 a.m. during the summer, this is way too far for the little ones. So the future of the primary schools--which significantly impacts my work here--hangs in the air. It's a waiting game. As of now I will just jiggle along on my merry way.

Ah, another brief respite from my continuing computer deprivation. This week went by extremely fast and I am now spending a delightful Halloween with some fellow PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers). It was unexpected that I am so close to other volunteers (the nearest one is just a 30 minute bus ride), but it's been nice. I don't think my proximity to the others has impeded my integration into the culture; it's more so kept me sane. Just having a conversation with someone and having them really understand everything you say and mean, without fear of being culturally insensitive, is glorious. Each day I understand the strengths and shortcomings of the education system here just a bit more. This week I taught classes in the 6th grade at one of my schools. I did a little bit of everything: social sciences, maths (that's right, maths, not math), arts and culture, technology, etc. Thursday, during Life Orientation, I had them make a poster depicting one of the national holidays. They were to draw a picture and include the following information: when the holiday was first celebrated, any previous name it was known as, the historical event it recognizes and other information. I gave them some time to work on it as I graded maths problems at my desk. When I went to check on their progress, I had to stop from laughing out loud at two of the boys' posters. There, next to their picture was a neat paragraph in ink: “When the holiday was first celebrated. Any previous name it was known as. The historical event it recognizes.” Here is one of the largest problems afflicting the schools in South Africa. Beginning in 4th grade, all classes are to be taught in English. The majority of children, however, do not speak English at home and are usually in no way prepared for this overwhelming onslaught of a foreign language. The first years of school are taught in the children's home language (one of the 11 official languages). Teachers are supposed to slowly introduce more and more English into their lessons, but this often does not happen to the extent it needs to. So, beginning in the 4th grade, language ability becomes the name of the game and even the brightest children, if they are not comfortable in English, stop participating in class and fall behind. Most learners develop coping tactics. The ability of these kids to sight-read and memorize is astounding. You can ask comprehension questions and they respond correctly with good vocabulary. Then you change the questions ever so slightly, and they have no idea. They can fool you quite easily, though. The same goes for oral comprehension (for example, the directions I gave them on this poster). I thought for sure they knew to not just copy the directions from the book. I guessed wrong. And still—all in all, unfortunately, these 6th graders are doing really well. I've seen kids who barely have any English whatsoever and yet they still slide through even the graduation exams—which are in English. In the long run, though, this cripples young adults who move to the city and look for a job. Suddenly they find that they cannot actually effectively communicate at a professional level. It's a huge issue. Unfortunately some principals here feel that just having a native-English speaker present at the school will magically fix these problems. It's hard to break the news to them. Happy Halloween! Carve a pumpkin for me.

Well it has been an extremely long time since my last post and unfortunately I still do not have regular or reliable internet access. BUT I am alive and doing well and I thought I should let all you good people know. I am no longer in training—I am officially a volunteer! I have been at my permanent site for a month now. We swore in on September 17th at a hotel (best part, hands down: the showers!); the U.S. ambassador to South Africa was there, as well as Peace Corps staff and some of our principals. That day was wonderful but also sad. When you keep a group of people together all day, almost every day, for 2 months, friendships will obviously happen. But throw into the mix foreign, stressful situations and you form strong bonds quite quickly. The 40 other volunteers in my group are my support network and my family here. That day, I think everyone was a little shocked to say goodbye. I know I had been so preoccupied by the swearing-in ceremony that I almost forgot I was leaving without them. But now we are all at our sites and doing our own things. We keep in touch when we can and, at least for me, it’s enough to know that there are others out there having similar experiences and challenges. So now, about my site! It is about 2.5 hours by public transport north of Pretoria—a lot closer to civilization than I initially wanted, but I learned quickly that an area’s proximity to a city does not affect its remoteness. I am definitely in a rural village and have everything that comes along with that---very few shops or facilities, unreliable transportation coupled with shoddy dirt roads, temperamental electricity, and a close-knit, small community. I love it all, but it definitely has taken some getting used to. I live with an amazing family—my host mother, 69, host brother, 33, and host nephew, 21. They are really wonderful; it’s helped me a lot to have dinner and hang out with them after a long day. I have my own little house in the back of the main house. Yes, I said house---very fancy schmancy for the Peace Corps. It has 3 rooms; a bedroom, a living room and another little room I converted in to a kitchen. I’m still rocking the pit toilet and chamber pot, along with the ever-glorious bucket baths, but it’s absolutely fine. The bats in my house—those aren’t so fine. But we are currently negotiating living spaces. I named one Al--if you walk into a room where he is, Al freaks out and dive-bombs your head.One very cool addition to my site: I’m right next to a game reserve! That’s right, giraffes, hippos and leopards practically in my backyard. Ok I haven't actually seen most of the animals. I've only been in the reserve briefly (you have to have a car). But still! I like to know that they're there. I hear jackals at night and have seen baboons and giraffes along the road. It’s pretty awesome.I am assigned to two primary schools, although I am allowed to extend my work to the middle school and high school, as well as anywhere else in the community. The primary schools are tiny—one has 41 learners (they’re learners here, not students) with 4 educators (educator instead of teacher) and the other, 101 learners and 7 educators (the principals are included in these teacher counts; they have classes to manage as well as administrative duties). Both are Kindergarten through 6th grade.These first three months, until Christmas break, are designed so I may acclimate myself to the community and to assess the needs and wants of the people. That sounds grand, but it’s a slow process that is simultaneously overwhelming and underwhelming. It’s better now, but at first there was such an onslaught of new places, people and experiences that I would just be exhausted at the end of the day. Not to mention that I quickly discovered that my task is extremely daunting. Let alone instituting change, but even being accepted into a community is no small matter.On the other hand, the first month has also had its fair share of extremely underwhelming moments. While I have tasks each week and general things to do, there is a lot of downtime. A lot. I guess I am used to my crazy, hectic life back home and sitting on my couch, looking at my watch and counting the hours I have until it’s time for bed is a rather foreign concept for me. I’m working on it.Unfortunately I still do not have regular internet access, nor will I for a while. I have had so many technical difficulties over here; it’s extremely aggravating. But in the next couple of months I will post when I can. Hopefully next year my electronics will actually want to cooperate with me and there will be more regular blog postage. Hopefully.

I have been in South Africa for a month and wow—it feels like I’ve been here for a much longer time (in a good way). I have my routine now, although I continue to learn at an exponential rate. I am very adept at doing something culturally stupid just about every day, which aids in the learning process and provides a good laugh for my host family or the locals.

I feel like I need to recap for people on what exactly I am doing:

I am officially a Community Resource and Education volunteer, a member of “SA 20,” meaning the 20th Peace Corps group to serve in South Africa. Nelson Mandela invited Peace Corps to come (a country must first invite PC) in 1996. The majority of volunteers have been involved in education and HIV/AIDS awareness. Up until very recently the SA Department of Education banned Peace Corps volunteers from teaching in the classroom, as the fear was that we would take jobs away from locals. However, there has been an incredibly shortage of teachers the past few years and our group, SA 20, is the first group to be trained and scheduled to teach. The new strategy is to have us all teach at first, after which we have the choice to continue teaching, work more on school/community projects, teacher training, work with the management, etc. This way we will have hopefully gained acceptance and respect from the community and educators, making us more effective.

SO that leads me to what I am doing now: training. Probably 2/3 of us (42 in all) have teaching experience, but a good chunk of that number have, like me, little experience in the actual classroom. Therefore we are going through a HUGE amount of information, basically squeezing a B.A. in Education into two months. Beyond that, we learn a lot on being a volunteer, hurtling cultural barriers and basically surviving in a foreign country and in SA. I was pleasantly surprised at the amount of time we’ve spent on the history of South Africa, the current state of the country and comparisons between SA and the U.S., especially pertaining to race relations. Obviously racial segregation and race relations have played huge roles in both countries; we have had many in-depth sessions studying the Apartheid era and we have received major refreshers on Jim Crow laws and the civil rights movement in the U.S. It’s very interesting and very pertinent to our service. Race still plays a huge role here and the country is plainly still healing wounds—socially, culturally and structurally—from the effects of apartheid, which ended only 15 years ago (I want to dive into that more later, but for those unsure, apartheid was the official government policy of complete segregation of races that lasted from the 1950s to 1994). Training is fairly arduous purely because there is A LOT of information and it’s dumped on us all day, six days a week. I am very tired in the evening and there are definitely days when you just don’t want to learn a thing.

I should touch upon the giant cultural roadblock we all are grappling with, which is the language. I am learning Setswana, a Bantu language spoken by the Tswana people mainly in 3 of 9 SA provinces. It is also one of the official languages of Botswana (which literally means the Tswana people). Setswana is rather difficult; there are sounds completely foreign to an English speaker. My background in Swahili, another Bantu language, has helped some, as the grammatical structure is similar. In comparison to a language class at a university, I am learning at a lightning speed, but I still feel like it’s coming along at an achingly slow pace. I will say that my host family has been good to try and speak Setswana with me (especially as their English is not stellar). It’s also helpful to have small children in the house because you either tell them, in Setswana, to drop the permanent marker and get out of your room, or you have delightful graffiti on your bed sheets (there was a close call the other day).

My host family has been wonderful, although we have had our share of misunderstandings and some frustrations. I live with Mama (64 yrs old), Papa (?), brother Andrias (25), sister Linki (23), her daughter Amo (2) and a neighbor’s child, Shebe (6) who lives with us. This is fairly common; the parents of a family work in Pretoria or Johannesburg and the kids, depending on the age, either take care of themselves or live with neighbors in the village. Shebe’s parents visit around once a month and bring food/money. Andrias is currently unemployed and Linki is training to be a police officer. There are 4 other siblings who live elsewhere; I think all but one live in the cities. Mama was a domestic worker for an Afrikaaner family for 18 years and then a traditional healer; Papa is a pastor.

This first month has definitely been an adventure and I have absolutely loved it. It’s been crazy, scary and overwhelming but just amazing. South Africa is beautiful and I’m really excited for the next 26 months. Just trying to paint a basic picture of my experiences this first month is difficult—I could write pages and pages more attempting to explain everything. So I will just keep posting (when I can)!

Hello everyone! Just a very quick post to let you all know that I am alive and well in South Africa. The flight was inhumanely long--we were on the plane for 20 hours. Spent a week living at the training college and then moved in with host families. It's definitely an adventure! We have no running water, heat (winter is definitely winter here), and no bathroom at all! Woop woop. I am having fun, though. My host family is very nice and welcoming---I am now known here as Refilwe Mehala. Refilwe ("reh-feel-weh," don't forget to roll the r) means "God has given to us" and Mehala is my family's last name. Training is fairly intense; the days are long and are packed with language training and endless amounts of information about South Africa, the education system and being a volunteer. Medical sessions are fun, either learning about how you can die within 48 hours from cerebral malaria or getting yet another shot. There's so much going on and I am learning so much! My internet access will be minimal until about Nov. or Dec. That's also when I should be getting a cell phone. I will try when I can to post, but we shall see!

This is a test post. I'm just trying to see what the formatting looks like when I post. If you are reading this it doesn't really mean anything, but check back soon for more quality content about my adventures.