home.

So I'm home. Sorry for the lack of updates in the last few weeks of my trip, internet was scarce, and expensive where you could find it. I finished up my paper, photo-editing, and presentation on the antenatal care and home environments of rural newborns and pregnant women; it turned out well. I'm really pleased with how the photos, especially, turned out. I'll give you a heads up when they are posted on flikr. After the academic stuff ended, we did some last hurrah safari things with the group. Saying goodbye to everyone was really rough, we only had 15 minutes in an airport parking lot. Everyone who was leaving wanted nothing more than to stay, everyone staying wanted nothing more than to go home, all of us wanted to stay together wherever we were. I ended up crying way more than you'd expect and hanging on to my friends for dear life until they had to go catch their planes. 

While I was still sniffling, Sara, Mary Beth, and I had to catch a shuttle to Nelspruit, the town outside of Kruger Park, our next destination. After way more planning than I enjoy, we rented a car and went into Kruger for a day, guided by a guy from the backpackers' who had been a guide for 16 years. He knew the park top to bottom, from bugs to trees to clouds, and of course the big game. We learned all about their behavior and about the park and had a really cool experience. We were there sunrise to sunset. We had some really cool experiences with elephants- stories I am saving to tell in person- and saw some gorgeous scenery. We ended up having to book it out of the park to make it before the gates closed- MB realized that we had to be out by 5:30 instead of 6- so it was exciting right up 'til the end.

After Nelspruit we went to Livingstone, Zambia by Victoria Falls. The falls is on the border of Zambia and Zimbabwe and is the world's largest waterfall. It is a mile across of unbroken falling water. There is no one spot where you can see the waterfall in its entirety, especially with the clouds of mist constantly rising from it. The Zambezi river below it is at the highest point it has been at in at least a decade. Unfortunately this meant that rafting was cancelled, but we got to see the river at the height of its power. The first day we did an abseiling (rappelling) combo at/over/across the gorge 3 km (1.8 mi) down from the falls. We were over rapid 6 of the Zambezi, known as the Devil's Toilet Bowl. It's accurately named, as the kayaking line is to get sucked down in to a whirlpool, spin downstream underwater and then pop back up at the end of the, er, flush. Kayaking the Zambezi takes a LOT of talent. And insanity. 

Anyway, the abseiling day included a zipline across the gorge, abseiling (backwards- sitting- and forwards- walking down the side of the gorge), and a gorge swing. Now I didn't totally know what I was getting into with the gorge swing. You step off the side of this cliff and free fall for 3 seconds- 173 feet- before the rope and harness catch you and you swing back and forth over the gorge. It's not quite like bungee jumping because you are right side up and you don't bounce, but the free fall is the same. When I did it, I hadn't seen anyone do it, so I was sort of flying blind. 

"I'll count down from 3, and then you step off the edge."

"...and then what happens?"

What happens is I squeezed my eyes shut (it is impossible to make your body step of the edge of a gorge if it sees what it's doing) and screamed a LOT, but had an awesome adrenaline rush and a lot of fun. I even did it again as a tandem swing with Sara. 

Sara and I also did a tandem bungee jump the next day at Victoria Falls. It's off of the bridge by the falls and has a beautiful view. It was scary for the first part, but after that, surprisingly serene. Just rainbows and trees and water everywhere. A really wonderful way to sightsee, if you're okay with being disoriented. 

We also walked across the bridge closest to the falls. There are buckets and buckets of water at every spot at every second. You can't even SEE there is so much water. Most people do this with raincoats and flip flops, we did it fully clothed and in tennis shoes. It was one of the most invigorating experiences I've ever had. We went up and sunned ourselves on a rock at the top of the falls afterwards and watched the water rush over the edge. 

After Zambia we went to Cape Town. I'd been for a weekend before, but Sara and Mary Beth hadn't. It's much different in character and appearance than Durban or elsewhere; much more like Europe. It's a great place to visit, but I was glad I spent my time where I did. It's the rainy season, so it was very wet and cold. Because of that, a lot of the sightseeing things, like the boat to Robben Island and the cable car to Table Mountain were closed, but we still got to do some exploring and had an awesome day doing a wine tour in Stellenboch, about an hour's train ride from CT. Stellenboch is beautiful, pastoral area almost entirely devoted to wineries. We ate cheese and pretended to know how to properly taste wine, met some cool people and had a really nice and relaxing day. We stayed the night at a backpackers' then returned by train to Cape Town. 

I left to return to Jo'burg the day we got back as my flight to New York left the next day. Leaving, and arriving for that matter, still seems like a surreal experience. I hugged Mary Beth and Sara goodbye, putting it off 'til the last minute, and set off on my own. 

It's weird getting used to spending time alone, and being out at night, and having choices in my food and purchases and clothing. I miss a lot about South Africa, but I have missed a lot about home. I'm finally caught up as far as jet lag goes (I think), but I think it'll still take me a little while to feel totally re-integrated here. I feel like a broken record, because all I can talk about is SA, but it's also just about all I can think about. Just like when I went to SA and couldn't stop thinking about America, it's not that I want to be there, exactly, it's just that there's a lot to process. Forgive me if I am either a broken record or if I can't put things into words- you're bound to get one or the other. 

Impendle!

A long overdue post... This is basically a summary of the two weeks I had no internet. Enjoy!

Wednesday, April 1^st: Our Independent Study Projects (ISPs) begin! We arrive at our new homestay. It’s a homestead setup typical of rural areas, where rooms are separate rondoval huts in a compound instead of all together in one house. All of them are painted lime green on the outside and pink on the inside. I want to live in a brightly colored house someday. Our bedroom has 2 double beds, one single, all beautifully made with shiny bedspreads and lots of pillows. There’s also a big table and a fridge, among some other things, so we have a pretty nice set-up. We have taken to calling it the princess hut due to it’s lavishness (compared to most rural bedrooms).

            There are two girls, 8 year olds, Pamela and Luyanda, one 13 year old boy, Andile, a 17 (-ish) year old girl named Nosipho,  two women, Mama Pumzile and Mama Thandi, and a gogo (called Gogo).  Luyanda and Andile, we were told, are orphans, the children of Pumzile’s brother that passed away. Pamela is Thandi’s daughter, Nosipho is the daughter of another brother, who we met later on, who is a truck driver and apparently wealthy.

There are also some animals (cows, goats, chickens and 2 obnoxious roosters), much to Laura’s delight, as she is studying diseases caused by animals (like rabies). [Note that this is a different Laura than I was staying with before in Windemere. This is Laura K., that was Laura F. So you know.] Katie is studying water and sanitation. There is a long drop toilet (outhouse) that is nicer than any I’ve seen, plus there is a separate child-sized one! I also spy a car between two of the buildings. These people are pretty well-off.

            We have dinner in a building with two bedrooms, a bathroom (remember that just means bath not toilet) where we are happy to see a bathtub, a living room, and a kitchen. The kitchen has an old-fashioned wood-burning stove that is constantly boiling water or cooking rice. We eat steam bread (so good. I have the recipe and am making it when I get back) and beans in large large portions, watch a weird movie made in Nollywood (Nigeria), and go to bed.

 

Thursday, April 2^nd: Making plans and whatnot. Go to town, which is a 20-minute or so walk through a field and down a hill. Everyone stares at us, as we are the only white people around, and we feel really awkward.  Luckily Mama Pumzile is with us to explain our presence. We meet up with a Community Health Worker who promises to take us out several days in the coming week. She will introduce me to pregnant women so I can photograph them and interview them about antenatal care.

 

Friday, April 3^rd: Nothing, really, as we can’t do much in the way of research when we have no one to introduce us to people or translate our questions into Zulu. We hang out in the princess hut. Our card game repertoire consists of: Gin Rummy, Crazy 8s, BS, Egyptian Rat Screw, and Golf. Three is an awkward number for cards.

 

Saturday, April 4^th: Today we go to a funeral with Mama Pumzile and Mama Thandi (for Pumzile’s cousin). Funerals in Zulu culture seem part celebratory of life and part mournful for death (whereas American funerals are usually just mournful). First we walk into a kitchen area, where huge pots (like I could probably fit in one if I curled up small enough) are boiling and a bucket of freshly slaughtered and cut up meat is sitting in a bucket, all bloody and ready to be made into delicious curry. This cow was pasture-fed, given individual attention, and as Laura said, “Had a wonderful life and one really bad day.” This is probably the freshest beef I’ll ever get to eat and we are excited for the curry, which will no doubt be amazing. Then we are taken from the kitchen outside past some Gogos cooking something or other (maybe Zulu beer) in huge black cauldrons. They speak to us in excited Zulu and we piece together a sentence meaning, “I speak only a little Zulu.” And they laugh and keep talking to us, and we just smile. Their happiness is contagious, and they make me enthusiastic to communicate with people here even if we can’t speak to each other very well. Good to have a dose of Zulu laughter sometimes, they laugh at themselves and at you and each other and it refreshes your sense of humor.

            We then are led into a mostly empty hut where we sit and Mama talks with some other women. We are served tea and I try to ignore my migraine that won’t go away.

            Then it’s time for the service to start, so we go into the big blue and white striped tent that’s set up beside the hut we are in. We sit and the rows of colorful plastic chairs fill up and soon the Apostolic minister (priest?) comes in, with a cadre of nun-type women (I really don’t know anything about the Apostolic church), all of them dressed in green, blue, and white.  The minister is chanting/singing something in Zulu that he reads from the Bible. Behind them come lots of men carrying the coffin, which they set on plastic chairs (that scares me a little as plastic chairs are not all that reliable, but it goes okay).  They soon begin a cycle where one person prays or says something about the deceased, and then everyone sings. All this is in Zulu, of course, so we just sit, and my head hurts so I keep nodding off, which I feel bad about. Some of the women cry, as it seems he died pretty painfully of some sort of disease. Mama Pumzile says meningitis.

            Then everyone walks down to the burial site, which is on the property. The coffin is covered in a large animal-print blanket and flowers. There is more singing, and Mama leads us up to eat.

            Eat is an understatement. This was more like feasting. We have curry and rice and tons of sides that mama keeps bringing. It covers the plate (this is usually the case) and is piled at least an inch and a half high. It’s really, really good though, and we do our best to eat as much as we can. When we’re absolutely stuffed and thinking that skirts were a good choice both for cultural and waistline-expansion reasons, we give up our plates. In exchange we are given Jello and custard. Okay. Man up. We finish that, but ignore the plate of corn muffins on the table in front of us, and lay back and try to stay awake.

            A few minutes later, Mama carries in a wooden plank with two huge chunks of roast beef and two big pieces of steam bread. She says, “You eat meat?” and sets it on our laps. We stare it down, wondering if she’s serious, as she watches to see what we’ll do. We break off a couple pieces and eat it, and it is awesome, awesome roast beef but there is NO ROOM. We eat some both to be polite and because we don’t want to pass up the opportunity, but we don’t make it very far before we are all just sitting there staring at it. Mama Pumzile and Mama Thandi ask, “Nisuthi?” (You’re satisfied?) and we nod emphatically, giving up the roast beef for someone later on to eat. We laugh with them about how full we are and say we want no supper.

            That night we are served beef curry and rice for dinner. I eat the squash and the potatoes and pour myself into bed.

 

Sunday, April 5^th: I have a migraine, so I stay in bed all day. Katie and Laura, however, go with Mama Pumzile to a party that was sort of a Zulu bridal shower. From what I hear, there was lots of Zulu dancing, some traditions that involved carrying things on their heads in circles around the homestead, and a fresh-slaughtered sheep. It got dragged unwillingly into the compound and then they saw it get dragged back out…  Haha. Sad I missed it, I still haven’t learned to Zulu dance.

 

Monday, April 6^th: Regina, the Community Health Worker (CHW), who we were supposed to meet at 8 AM, up and goes to Pietermaritzburg (small city halfway between here and Durban), so we are left in the lurch. Frustrating, as I’m depending on her to get my project started. Mama Pumzile, who is a home-based care worker (home visits to care for the very ill), takes us on a visit with her, which is not directly related to our projects, but is powerful nonetheless.

We go to the homestead of a 29 year old woman and her family. The woman, Mama says, has TB. Mama is there to help bathe her. We can only see her eyes (which she can barely keep open), as she is lying on a mattress and covered in heavy blankets. Mama and the other women in the family- the woman’s caregivers- take the blankets off, and I have to hold back my gasps. It’s evident now that the woman is in an advanced stage of AIDS, but Mama couldn’t tell us because of disclosure laws (TB is a very common opportunistic illness that often kills AIDS patients). She is wearing only a diaper and a t-shirt, which are both carefully removed by her family members. She is wasted away, all bones stabbing out every which way and excess skin that just couldn’t shrink any more hanging off of her. The women pick her up and move her to another sheet on the floor, so as not to get the bed wet during the bath and so that her sheets can be changed.

We try not to look, as we feel like we are invading her privacy, but at the same time it feels almost rude to directly look away. I spend most of the sponge bath looking at her 2 year old child, tied with a blanket to another woman’s back, overlooking his mother’s care. These are probably the only things he’ll ever see of his mother; maybe it’s for the best that he’s too young to remember it.

As the women begin to bathe her, holding her up, I sneak another glance. She still is struggling to keep her eyes open, and could not have sat up on her own. Her breasts are deflated, like empty bags of skin hanging flattened on her chest. Her hipbones look like they could cut someone.

This is the stuff that can get to you. You have to try hard here sometimes to keep focused on the good.

 

Tuesday, April 7^th: Finally able to go out and start my project. I intended to photograph pregnant women, but it seems like there are very few that the CHW knows. I settle for newborns, because the home environment is still the same and in some cases photographs might be more vivid. We go to 5 houses. The language barrier is difficult, I can’t ask questions at quite the level of depth I’d like, but hey, at least I’ve started. Regina tells us that tomorrow we can’t go out with her because she will be preparing for Maundy (Holy) Thursday, which is basically a preparation for Good Friday (which is the beginning of a 4-day weekend here). We don’t get to work because she- and everyone else- is preparing to prepare for a holiday. Sigh.

 

Wednesday, April 8^th and Thursday, April 9^th: Playing cards and being frustrated. Feeling pent-up. Blah. Let’s move on.

 

Friday, April 10^th – Sunday, April 12^th: Okay, this was an epic weekend. We went to stay for a couple of nights at this hippie commune (well, we call it a commune, they call it a community). This magical place is where Sam, a graduate of SIT’s graduate school and our initial contact person for Impendle (though she’s really not THAT involved the community) lives. Samantha has long colorful dreadlocks going every which way, wears all kinds of crocheted or tie-dyed or other hand-made clothes, and is often barefoot. She’s originally American, and now has a weird combination of American and South African accents (like American with SA inflections).  She is also the tannest person I’ve ever seen.

            There are about 10 (?) families/couples/houses in the community. Sam’s family consists of her husband Malcolm, whom she’s very close with but only married for citizenship, their daughter Oriah (age 6), and an adopted Zulu son, Kai (age 4).  The commune owns a TON of land, 1000 acres if I remember correctly, and it is beautiful. There is a mountain and surrounding hills and ridges which drop down into a valley with a river running though it. It’s all green and luscious, undeveloped, and the sky is blue and clear overhead all weekend.

 One of the prerequisites for living there is building a house, and wow, do they build houses. Malcolm designed an awesome wooden A-frame, the bedroom as a loft, the rest as a big open area, with a big deck around it overlooking the valley below. It’s basically a fantastic version of a kid’s dream tree house (minus the tree). Even the outhouse had the most fantastic view I’d ever seen. There was also a rondaval hut that looks like it could have been in an architecture magazine, and various other designs.

I can’t possibly fit all the details of the weekend into one post (that’s already very long), so I’ll just give some highlights:

-At dinner the first night, instead of praying, they had a moment of silence while holding hands and ended with an “Om,” which the kids made amusing. There was lots of talk over dinner of love and feelings. Nothing they said was bad, but it was really over the top. I’ve been working on that whole cultural acceptance thing, and this is their culture, so I didn’t say anything.

-They had a fire bath outside, which is a bathtub under the stars heated by a fire you make underneath the tub. Awesome. Supposedly if you do it right, the bath gets warmer instead of cooler as you sit, so you can just hang out and look at the stars without getting cold. I didn’t get a chance to try it, but I sorta want one.

-They were working on breaking a horse when we first got there. Laura, who works on a ranch in the summer, had to work really hard to suppress a long rant. Sam called it horse whispering. Hehe.

-You can dye your hair with Indian prayer dye (the stuff they use during Holi, Google it if you don’t know what I’m talking about)! I’m gonna try it.

-They had a HUGE HUGE HUGE pot plant, like 6 feet tall, 10 feet wide, 5 feet deep. Crazy. Not totally surprising… Pretty hilarious, actually.

-There was this huge wedding party that everyone went to the second night, but we wouldn’t have known anyone so we stayed behind. One story Sam told us: “We all went up to this big old oak tree and we just loved it so much we wanted to be a part of it, so we climbed up on it, but we didn’t see that the branch was broken, so it fell down. We felt bad, but we circled around the tree and just hugged it, so at least the tree knew we loved it.”

-Malcolm’s wedding outfit included a turquoise skirt, face paint, and braided pigtails. This guy is awesome, by the way. The most down to earth of all of them.

-I am getting some amazingly comfortable handmade leather wool-lined boots from one of the men there (who actually reminded me a lot of what Keith might be like in about 10 years). They’re actually being custom made and mailed to me here in Durban because he didn’t have my size.

-We mentioned on our last day that we might hike down the river. Sam starts singing the “Go down to the river and pray” song, and says, “Oh, you can sing that on the way down! Come on, sing with me!” She also substituted “Spirit” for “Lord.”

-We ate amazing museli that Sam makes and sells. We also ate approximately one million homemade rusks (which are sort of like little biscotti things usually but not necessarily eaten with tea) and lots of dried fruit.

It was basically a really good and very interesting weekend. It was a nice change of pace to camp (we were in a big tent in Sam’s front yard) and not eat huge meals. Hiking around seeing the scenery was also beautiful, and it was good to get some time outside of our rond.

 

Monday, April 13^th: Another very unproductive public holiday. I learned to Zulu dance in the yard, though. I wasn’t half bad, either, at least for an umlungu.

 

Tuesday, April 14^th – Wednesday, April 15^th: Went out with 2 Community Health Workers that were actually really helpful and awesome. Turns out Regina is actually a coordinator for the CHWs, which explains why she was not quite as helpful or familiar with the community as we thought she’d be. The women I was with went through my consent form sentence by sentence, translating into Zulu, and asking the women about their experiences. I felt much better about this that about going around with Regina, who I think sometimes just answered for the women instead of actually asking them. I walked all day Tuesday and didn’t get back home until it was starting to get dark. Quite an achievement, as every other day we’ve managed to do anything we were done by about noon. Wednesday we seemed to have exhausted the supply of newborns so we only visited 2 houses and it was a somewhat shorter day. Keep in mind that we are walking from house to house, and they are fairly spread out, not to mention the leisurely pace of walking and conversations along the way (which are kind of nice when you are in the mood), so 2 home visits easily takes half a day. I ended up with 9 rolls of film total- about 270 photos, so hopefully I’ll be able to find 10-15 really good shots to cover everything. Still have yet to develop them, though. Fingers crossed.

 

Thursday, April 15^th: Met with my advisor, a photographer named Cedric Nunn. He’s been shooting for about 30 years, and though he’s self-taught, he’s a really good source of advice and such. He’s also just a cool guy. After we’d talked about pressing issues for my project we just sat and talked shop for about an hour. Pretty sweet.

Afterwards I walk back up the hill (about a half hour walk up, steep-ish) to the rond that I am informed is now named the Polony Palace, after the pink color inside and the large about of polony (like bologna) that is of a similar color that we have eaten.

 

Friday, April 16^th: After lots of pictures with the family, Thula picks us up and drives us back to Durban. We feast on internet, get some laundry done, then go to Windemere for much needed showers. Then we decide on a whim to go to Cape Town! See next post…

 

 

 

Whirrrrrrrr

Last two weeks we've had about 3 major assignments due and have had to figure out all the final logistics for our ISPs. This has made my brain very tired and me and my body very stressed. I think I will watch Superbad tonight.

Had a good weekend though. Big party at a club with some new friends Friday- we finally met people outside of the group of 22!! Then a Relay for Life Saturday where we sold coffee and tea all night to raise money for the South African cancer society. Pretty fun. Sunday, very sleep deprived, my roommates and I went to a concert for a pretty popular (deservingly so) local band called Freshly Ground. Awesome band, really cool girl as a lead singer. It was a picnic concert in a park so we brought our mats/blankets/towels and a basket of food and relaxed in the sun. I'm getting an awesome tan here, by the way. 

New pictures up soon. Hopefully it will satiate you as I will be leaving Wednesday until April 17th and have no internet! Or indoor plumbing! The horrors! No, sarcasm there, I really like Impendle and I am looking forward to it, I do have phone service for those of you concerned. I'll be in a room with two of the other Americans, fairly nice with electricity and plentiful food.

Wish me luck on my photo project... I'll be working with pregnant mothers to document antenatal care. Yay! Like most other things here before they happen, I'm excited, but nervous.

One of my old blog posts has been published in the Tartan as part of their Tartans abroad series: thetartan.org/2009/3/30/pillbox/abroad

All for now, see you in a couple weeks!

Beds

(I actually wrote this a few days ago, but didn't have consistent internet access. Changed a couple relevant details but here ya go.)

Maybe it’s only because I hold sleep very dear, but beds are strongly tied to sense of home for me. When I think of Nashville, I think of my comfortable room, melting into by soft pillowy bed, relaxing with family nearby. For Pittsburgh, I think of lying down beside Nik with my head on his chest. The places here have had their own character as well. In Cato Manor, my bed was pristine and soft, nearly as large as the room, while Mama slept on a thin mattress on the floor. In Windemere there is usually sand in the sheets and we wake up to the hot sun reflecting off the ocean. There’s sort of a cheap surfer feel, priorities lie with the view, not décor or comfort of the bed.

 

This sounds so nostalgic. I think it’s because I didn’t sleep well last night. I’m nostalgic in general lately.

I’m also figuring out that America won’t look quite the same to me when I get back. I didn’t fully realize how much of an impact this experience would have on me. Hm.

---

Otherwise, we just finished a 20 page (minimum) paper, and independent study starts in a week (on April 1^st).  Still have a fair amount to get done before then, plus I’ll be without much contact with the outside world for two weeks. Sorta nervous, but not actually all that worried about things. 

About the sangoma

Henry asked about the sangoma we spoke with while in Amatikulu, so I though I'd share my response.

It was very interesting, he is actually a sangoma (traditional diagnostician who divines the health problem), inyanga (traditional pharmacist, uses "muthi" or herbal medicines), as well as a Zionist priest. It's pretty rare for someone to be one of those, much less any of them in combination. We didn't get to see a healing ritual or anything, but through a translator we asked him all kinds of questions and he told us his story. To become a sangoma, you don't just choose it as if you would choose to become a doctor. Instead you are "called," and have all kinds of dreams, and you cannot refuse the call. If you were to try, he says, you would "go crazy or die." He is a Christian, and has been since childhood, and didn't want to be a sangoma because he didn't see them as compatible. People in the church told him he was going to be a sangoma and he was afraid, but had no choice.
Many African Christians do not visit sangomas because they see it as wrong. He described the relationship between the ancestors, which African tradition is focused on, and God. The sangoma serves as a link and a translator to the world of the ancestors. Ancestors will sometimes cause illness if they have not been paid proper respect, and as such they (and elders in general) are due much respect in African culture. The ancestors, then, serve as a line back to God. 
Now as a healer he travels all over the province to see patients. He accepts whatever payment the patient can afford, sometimes a goat or a chicken, sometimes nothing at all, depending on the ailment. He was dressed in a button down shirt and trousers, though dress for sangomas varies from this through traditional healer dress (including most importantly, the gallbladders of chickens). He will treat anyone of any race, though I doubt he's ever treated anyone but a Zulu (or other Ngoni-speaking, that is, same ethnic family) person.
I'll answer any questions to the best of my ability!

Good things.

Sorry for the sparseness in posts, things have been very busy here. 

But there are some happy coincidences! So I want to do my Independent Study in Impendle, the first rural stay I was on, near the Drakensberg Mountains. I haven't totally worked that out yet (sort of stressful, but I have faith that things will work out like they're supposed to), but some good coincidences:

-the photographer I want to be my advisor happens to live about 30 miles from the village

-Heard about this awesome music festival that happens over the long Easter weekend that is only about 40 miles from the village

-Unrelated, but I have an actual, written out, firmed up position for the summer and it is exactly what I wanted! I'm gonna teach photography to some kids/youth and have a part in developing the curriculum. This will be really challenging and I can't wait. The whole payment thing hasn't come through yet, though... 

Otherwise:

Our last rural homestay went well. Learned Zulu beading from a woman who didn't speak English and I have a whole new respect for the coordination and eyesight required. Went on rounds with my homestay mama who is a community health worker. My friend Laura and I shared a single bed in the one room rented by my mama, so she and I, my mama and one of her daughters all stayed together. And FYI, kids everywhere love bubbles. A lot. 

Moved into our apartment for the last 2 weeks of lecture. We have a balcony overlooking the ocean and the sound of waves (and the beachside nightclub...) rock me to sleep at night. I think my favorite detail is that off on the horizon, you can see big barges, which sometimes come in to dock at night. There are also lots of surfers to watch, wipe outs are pretty amusing. The waves are gigantic so they happen a lot. 

I've been feeling sort of adrift lately. I think it's because I don't feel very anchored. We spent a fair amount of time in Cato Manor, but for the rest of the program, I won't spend longer than 2 weeks in any one place. Makes me long for home a little more, I know I have a home base (or two) there, but they're far and remote feeling. Just a weird feeling. I think that's also amplified by what stage I'm at, and everyone at home is at, in the whole "adaptation cycle." According to one of my lecturers, week 6-7 (the last couple of weeks) are when people start to forget about you, stop writing and calling, forget your birthday, etc etc. Hm. Not a plea for attention, and I don't feel neglected, just thinking about it lately. 

Out of Cato Manor

We moved out of Cato Manor on Saturday morning. I think I'm going to miss it a lot. I had come to know it as my home, and I can't tell you how much my mama means to me. My bed there is what I missed when I was sick, I missed mama when I wanted companionship and a fresh perspective, I even missed the TV and all its soapies. I think I'll welcome the time to myself and the ability to get some work done, but honestly I've gotten way more out of my homestay and my experience outside of the classroom than any class I've had so far.

 

This weekend I went to the flea market on the beach. Good day. Sunny and full of people. I got two skirts (one super cheap, one very pretty and Indian wrap-around like) and a comfy plastic replacement for my broken flip flops. Also Saturday night a few friends and I went to a gay bar/club that was playing techno remixes of Bollywood songs all night. So random but really fun. Nice not to get hit on constantly. Everyone was super nice, we had lots of conversations about politics and race and religion... It was a good night. 

 

We're off to the rural areas again today. We'll be there until Thursday and will be staying with Community Health Workers. We'll be doing rounds with them tomorrow, learning traditional Zulu beading on Wednesday as well as seeing a sangoma (traditional African healer). Lectures Thursday I think (blah. Like I said, I get way more out of my time outside the classroom), and then back. I desperately need to do laundry. Oops.

"What are you guys so excited about?"

"We're making an assembly line!"

This is how most of our trips begin. Last Friday we left for the Drakensberg Mountains. I was still under the weather with stomach issues, doctor thinks perhaps some bacteria, which is finally going away with some Cipro, thank God, so I did not participate in the assembly line action. But water bottles and hot dogs and s'more fixin's were passed down until the trailer was unloaded and our lovely camp site (a building with dorm rooms lit by candles!) was all ready. We sat around and watched the rain, lots and lots of rain, for the evening. Oh- we also roasted marshmallows over charcoal. 

The next day was our hike through the mountains up to see the Khoi-Sans rock art. The rain had all cleared up and the scenery was so, so pretty. I can't even put it into words, but there were mountains on all sides, crumbled and eroded, with tops fading into the clouds. Our path, sometimes over streams, sometimes through reeds taller than we were, but mostly through knee-high grass and mud, snaked around the mountains. There was a range of colors from blue, blue sky to gauzy clouds to white rushing streams, and of course green- everywhere green, in different shades at different layers of the mountain. We got to a stream after about an hour, then began the climb upward. This was a grueling, but much needed endeavor. It felt good to sweat and get my heart beating fast after the monotony of Cato Manor. As we climbed, the air thankfully got cooler, though thinner. We eventually found our way to the rock art, still on the rock walls after about 200 years. Much of it depicted cows and horses, as well as a few battle scenes. It was wonderful, painted with such detail, and sometimes with several layers of shading. No one really knows about the individuals within the Khoi-Sans community who painted the art, or for what reasons, or really what all of it depicted. A mystery! 

We ate chocolate and cheese sandwiches and hiked back. Afterwards we bathed and swam in a river (cold and spring-fed with a swinging bridge over it!), which made me very clean-feeling, peppermint-smelling, and relaxed. Dinner and various other niceties made for a wonderful day. The next day was nearly better.  We walked out past some baboons up on a ridge, about 30 of them, to spring that formed a waterfall. We were afraid that, due to baboon's aggressive nature, they'd attack us when we jumping into their watering hole, but were just being paranoid because all they did was look at us. We all stripped down to sports bras and such (perks of being on an all-girl trip) and jumped into the very, VERY cold pool at the base of the waterfall (think NaCoMe for those of you who've been). We dubbed the pool Baboon Lagoon and hiked back, with a short sunbathing diversion by the same now rain-swollen rapids of the river. 

Mid-day we left for Impendle for our rural homestays. On the drive there it rained again for about 4th time- things were getting muddy. We got there and my friend Laura and I (who were rooming together) met our mama, who was awesome. She spoke very little English, and we spoke very little Zulu, so there was a lot of gesturing and more laughing. We met more neighbors and friends and family throughout the weekend. We were staying nearby two other girls from our program, as well as a few hippies, a couple who were cool and one who was new to the country, a little spacey, and oh yeah- and wore ENTIRELY purple. 

The following morning we went on home visits with home-based care workers. There were a couple of TB patients and a diabetes patient and 2/3 were bedridden. They lived in rondoval huts with their families looking after them. Poverty... well it sucks. A lot. The last patient needed to go to the doctor for a visit, but her father couldn't afford the fare to get her there. Also the closest hospital was an hour away, meaning that if you need an ambulance for any reason you are pretty much out of luck.  There was a bright note, one of the patients we walked past was busy hanging laundry and said she was near finishing her meds and would soon be moving back to Jo'burg to work!

Relapsed with getting sick at about 3:30 AM... with a long-drop toilet (think wooden port-a-potty). Thank goodness for my headlamp. Got driven back to Durban in the morning, saw a doctor and am now well for good, after two courses of different antibacterials. Take that weird germs. Please please don't worry about me with the whole sickness thing, it's pretty common here and I knew what I was getting into. Way worth it for the experience I'm having.

Otherwise I've been very busy lately figuring out things stateside. I have housing (hooray), have been invited to apply to the Senior Honors program to pursue my thesis (awesome), and various other things. I'm also figuring out contacts and specifics for my Independent Study Project for my last month here. Busy busy... Hope you all are well.

15 White Girls in a Mini-Bus Taxi. And Orphans.

First off, Happy Birthday Grandmommy! I played with some babies this morning, and while I was holding and soothing them I kept thinking of all the songs you used to sing to me as a little girl (though some Sound of Music may have snuck in). So, thanks for that!

I was holding babies this morning because 6 of us (we were spread out among various non-profits for the day) visited Inthemba Lethu (meaning "I have a destiny"), an orphanage for AIDS-orphaned children and babies. A few of the children were HIV+ themselves. Situated in a fairly nice part of town, the orphanage occupied two houses and an office building. Each house had rooms for the children, and each child had his own crib or bed. Most kids that were old enough were gone to school for the day, so all the ones we were with were about 1-2 years old. We only had 6 or so to care for, and as the day progressed the kids dropped like flies, one by one falling asleep in our arms. The "garden" (playground/yard) had plenty of toys and lots of playground equipment (many made of repurposed tires, pretty cool). The babies really liked to be cuddled, though that might have just been due to sleepiness. I rocked and held and walked until my arms hurt, but these were adorable babies, and each with his or her own personality. 

One girl was other than the babies and had been kept home from school for the day due to sickness. She was dressed in bright pink and happy, but very thin and small. She'd gone earlier in the day to have her blood tested due to being sick, so it was pretty evident she was HIV positive.  She acted just like any other kid, though, splashing around in the water where we were washing toys, trying so hard to help, but not really accomplishing much but getting wet. After that she cuddled with me for a bit, and fell asleep on my chest.

After all the babies fell asleep and all the toys were washed, we sat around and talked about food (we were all starving) until we left and that was that. 

Now, about the title of this post. Let me preface by explaining what exactly a mini-bus taxi is. Durban (and S.A. in general) doesn't really have any public transportation to speak of. So, people who can't afford a car rely on mini-bus (14 passenger van) taxis (see the beginning of this post for a little bit on them). Normally they are only used by the poor, that is, black Africans. And normally, white people would never set foot in a township.

Last night, 15 of us went to see an awful chick flick (He's Just Not That Into You) and to get home, all 15 of us took a mini-bus taxi into Cato Manor. (For any concerned, it was not late and weeknights are generally safe plus there were 15 of us, so don't freak out.) There were African women literally staring slack-jawed at the full bus as we pulled out. It may have been the first time a mini-bus was filled with English chatter instead of Zulu. Interesting night. 

After we got home (it was about 7:30), I ate with Mama and Baba then watched a scary scary zombie movie with a few friends. Good night. Tonight we're all going to an art gallery (at the prompting of one of our lecturers) for the opening of an AIDS awareness exhibition. Should be interesting. 

Just an addendum: I should explain that during apartheid, things were obviously VERY broken down by race. As such, everyone was classified (in order of hierarchy) as "White," "Indian," "Coloured" (what we think of as mixed), and "African" (what we'd think of as Black). These are still the acceptable terms, and sometimes I'll use them in an explanation because privilege- and most everything- is still very, very broken down by race. South Africa still has a lot of healing to do, 15 years after the end of apartheid.

Jungle Monkeys.

My weekend was not the greatest. Well, let me back up. The beginning was nice. I actually had a lovely Valentine's day spent hiking. We hiked through a village and into the grasslands along the coast. Our director hyped the hike up to be this big huge deal, only for the best of the best hikers, but it was fairly easy. A couple of hills, lots of mud, but mostly just cow paths through the fields. I will say that Tevas were not the best choice of footwear, I wore them because I didn't have my hiking boots (too heavy to bring on the plane) and they are pretty broken in. I ended up getting a blister on the bottom of my left foot though, right on the ball. It wasn't too bad though after I layered up a couple of Band-Aids. But we hiked to a beautiful waterfall; a river spilling over into the Indian Ocean. It was churning and crashing more than anything I'd ever seen. On the way back, we swam under a smaller waterfall in a big pool of water. That cooled us off nicely for the hike back. I didn't mention that the entire hike the scenery was layers and layers of mountains and hills, folded back into each other until they disappeared into the ether. I would have done that hike if I'd had to do it on crutches.

When we got back to our campsite (we were staying in rondoval huts!) it started raining. It started at dinner and didn't stop. The plan was to drive out the next day to Gwexlintaba where we had our rural homestays. After we left in the morning, we got halfway there before we decided the rest of the road, by which I mean dirt path through boulders and down a steep muddy hill, was impassable with the rain. We stayed in this hostel in the middle of nowhere, middle of nowhere being Port St. John's. This place was called Jungle Monkeys and I am never ever going back.

Before we left the hut campsite, a few people were already having problems with diarrhea. I consider this foreshadowing. The first night at Jungle Monkeys, right at 11 PM, about 5 (maybe more?) of us all got sick. Kirsten threw up and it set off a chain reaction: I heard her and got sick, Laura heard me and got sick, and so on. I was up all night along with several other people. It was pretty pathetic, but hilarious in retrospect. The few well people left the next morning for the village while we got left behind to lay around miserable. Everyone at the hostel thought we were just hung over, no matter how many times we told them otherwise, and even when it was 6 o'clock at night and all we could eat was saltines. -rolls eyes- We were pretty sad to miss the village, but it turns out a lot of them got sick once they got there, so maybe we had the fortunate end of the deal, since we had toilets and all. We eventually got out of that godforsaken place, covered head to toe in mosquito bites (I have them all over my face.) and some people in flea bites. One girl has a staph infection on her face. We got in the van, not exactly excited for the bumpy ride home but never so glad to be going back to Cato Manor. 

Adventure!

I'm going to the bush for the next few days, be back in Durban Tuesday, around the internet either Wed. or Thurs. I'm going to go on a sweet hike that involves swimming in natural pools. we'll also be beside the ocean for the first couple of days. Tonight we'll have a "braii," which is a barbeque/cookout. The second half we'll be in homestays in a Xhosa-speaking rural area called Gxwetlintaba (the "x" is a click) in the Eastern Cape. We'll be in huts, bathe in buckets, plant mango trees... We'll mainly be observing and hanging out, since we can't speak Xhosa, but rural conditions are a huge part of our theme of Community Health, so it'll be good to see that. We get to see washing day too! I'll post pictures.

Otherwise, I'm going to make chili for my host mama next week. I'm missing some creature comforts, like ketchup that's salty not sweet and milk that does not come in a box. Oh, and frozen pizza. I'm adding that to the list. I love it here, though, don't get me wrong. 

A couple more photos

The area/house where we have class. Note the palm trees and pool scum. Lots of plants.

Class and Choice: The Elephant in the Room

[This is pretty long, but important, so take the time to read it.]

“What is privilege but multiple choices?”

–Zed McGladdery, SIT Community Health Program Director

I’m staying in a lower class area called a township, all black government owned projects remaining from apartheid. Staying here has made me realize what incredible privilege I have been raised in, what powerful circumstances everyone in America lives in. Even the color of my skin means that because of the history of this country, I am granted more reverence and more respect, whether or not I ask for it.

This weekend on the phone my mother asked me how it felt to be a minority. She was surprised when I answered, “Guilty.” When I got to my homestay, my bag took up the entire path on one side of the bed. “So much stuff!” my new mama said.  I unpacked, placing my name brand shampoo and my name brand face wash on the tub, which had socks drying on the washtub inside it.  I placed my soap, exfoliating with a small dove carved in the surface, beside the generic green bar.  I was so thankful that at least their toothpaste was name brand to ease my mounting guilt.

Before I left home, my sister and I had been whining that the hot water heater had an element out and only provided hot water for the first 5 minutes of a shower. On arriving in Cato Manor, I did not have a shower at all, much less hot water.  We don’t even use half of my house in the United States, whereas the living room here is used for basically everything, and is, well, small, at least by my previously held standards. Dinner is very heavy in starches and fats, and fruit and vegetables are sparse. The ones that are around are typically only served to me. The meal that is prepared is eaten for every meal of the day (though lunch is generally sparse) until it is finished several days later. I am served Cornflakes and specially prepared jam and butter sandwiches. Even within my home, my family treats me as a special guest.

I realize now how much stuff I have. I thought I only brought the essentials with me. A week’s worth of clothes, 3 pairs of shoes, various cosmetics and toiletries, 2 cameras (one is for my photo essay later on), an iPod, 3 books, 2 journals, some outdoor things… Granted, I have used most of these things, but I could also live without most of them.  They are comforts that I have learned to see as necessary to life, but many of them, such as books, never mind cameras or an iPod, people in Cato Manor have never had. My first night, my mama offered that I could watch TV after she went to bed. When I replied that I would read, she said, “Oh, always good to keep learning.” Education is held in high esteem, but book are too expensive to afford.

That we have the choice to educate ourselves, our children, especially at the university level, is remarkable. Many of us can choose to study without worrying about having to send money home to support the family.  I know probably one girl my age in America with a child. The fact that I can pick up an leave the United States, have the money and the freedom to just wander the globe, speaks to my incredible privilege. Mama has no choice but to work, and even still she couldn't afford a gift for her daughter's 13th birthday last week.

Though I am living within the lower class homestay environment, everyday I detach for a time being in class, situated in a higher income area. We have our classes in a house in an area that was classified as “white” under apartheid. There we have showers, fruit, vegetables, air conditioning, a pool. All twenty-two students type away on our laptops. We have this space to be “rich.” I’m still wrestling with the ethics of this situation. Should we have fruit, cameras, laptops, a spacious area and time to debate health policy, when as a whole the people of Cato Manor do not? Of course it’s impossible to totally balance the playing field, but there are some steps we can take to not be so spoiled, as well as some things we can do to improve the situation of people like our homestay families (for example, in access to health care). In the meantime, people on both ends of the wealth spectrum are taking time to appreciate and learn from one another.  As cheesy as it sounds, it’s pretty comforting. 

Photos!

No pictures of people yet (coming soon!) but this is the street (Dromore) I live on in Cato Manor, and to the right, my house! You might be able to see mama in the door if you look closely. 

On the left, you can see a "tuck shop," which is part of the informal economy. They are all over and sell various things. This one sells bread, eggs, onions, oil, super glue, coke, maybe some other stuff. 

camera

I got a camera yesterday, so pictures are coming soon!

2fer!

You get 2 posts today, lucky you (the other one was mostly finished so...).

Oh, by the way, if you hadn't figured it out, township = projects. FYI.

I visited the School for the Deaf on Wednesday. Really interesting to see. The Vice-Principal says that since the kids can't hear and therefore can't communicate, a lot of parents just don't pay much attention to them early on. Sad. They teach sign language in the early classes, but it's really hard for the kids to learn english/writing, especially coming from a multi-lingual culture. Imagine that your family speaks Zulu at home, which you can't hear. You start to pick up sign language at school- which is based on English. To learn to read and write, you basically have to memorize it all, because you can't sound it out like hearing people do. Sign language really has no association with the sounds of English. Then for your matriculation exams (for graduation and university admission), you have to read and write in English. Very hard. Only about 2% go on to university. We saw a monkey while we were there, on the bright side! Big and light colored, just hopped down from a tree.

---

Yesterday the kids next door (there are a lot of them) were really anxious for me to come out and play, so I went out after dinner (before it got dark) to run around in the streets with all of them hanging off of me. Seriously- they fight over who gets to hold my hand. We went and recruited some other white girls (we are the only whiteys in the neighborhood) to play. We wandered around for a while and they laughed at my poor attempts at Zulu and I tried to figure out who actually lived next door to me. After my friends ended up going elsewhere to do homework, I had the whole flock of kids (probably like 8, all around age 7) to go back down to our street with. We walked back to our street, and past a couple of scraggly dogs. A quick explanation: Dogs here are not pets, people can't afford to look after animals, so dogs are mangy and skinny and mean, and usually act as watchdogs. There really isn't anyone to look after most of them. Anyway, we walk past these dogs and a couple of the kids start barking at them. The dogs barked back and I was kind of like, "Haha, the dog is talking to you!" but then the dogs started chasing us! The kids started running, fast, so I followed suit and booked it. The people at the house above us were cracking up at the white girl running for her life with all these kids, I'm sure it was a hilarious sight. But then one of the smaller girls fell down and started crying. I turned to see her on the ground with a dog over her and I was terrified that the dog had bitten her, but he just sniffed at her and once satisfied we were out of his territory, went on his way. I went over to her, and she was crying, so I brushed her off and checked her over. She had scraped her elbow pretty badly, but was otherwise unharmed. I took her back and got some first aid stuff from my room (thanks grandma!) and cleaned her up and slapped a band-aid on it. I was amazed that she didn't even flinch when I wiped the scrape with an alcohol pad- in fact she was laughing at the toddler walking around beside us. All was well. Actually a funny experience in retrospect.

"You are a soul!" (and some other stuff)

A few things, then I'll tell you how church on Sunday went.

Each of these could probably be it's own post but I don't have that kinda time:

-There's tons of litter here. If you use a kleenex while out walking, it is common practice to throw it to the ground afterward. Even bagged up trash is then just thrown over the closest hill. I guess there's no real public sanitation in the poor areas?

-To send a letter, you have to go to the post office. This may make sending postcards more difficult than I thought...

-My homestay cousin (though he's treated more like a brother) was taught in school that condoms aren't always effective in preventing HIV/AIDS. He gave the impression that they don't always work, so why ever use them? Scary.

-Oh, even if I don't respond to all your comments, I do read all of them and I really appreciate it! Same generally goes for email. 

-Email me (allisonrpiper [at] gmail ) if you want my address to mail me something.

-Class takes place in a house. We have a pool, but it is of questionable cleanliness. My whole program is 22 women. We are in class all day, then I go home and do homework. High school all over again.

Okay. Church.

Mama was disappointed that I did not bring more skirts. She had me lay out all 3 that I brought, with some shirts, and she picked out my outfit for me. She said it was okay that I didn't wear all white, since I am a visitor. I wore a knee-length purple skirt and a long-sleeved pink shirt and shiny blue flip-flops. Not actually the most attractive outfit, but it covered my shoulders (that was a big concern), and I wasn't about to put up a fight. I bought a white shawl thing to wrap my head, but it ended up being really long, so I had like a tail... I looked pretty funny aside from being the only white person, but everyone was glad I was there. 

We walked for a while through the township to get to church, which is held in a school classroom.

When we get there, the room is packed and hot. Everyone was dressed in white, with various kinds of white head coverings. The whole room is singing.

(Okay, here I am picking up after a 2-day power outage at the place I take classes and having Blogger lose my post. Sorry for any discontinuity.)

I got my own personal sermon from the preacher, in English. I was really impressed he went so out of his way for me. He said I am a soul and can be saved and stuff... Um... yeah. But he was really nice!  Lots of praying, when one person finished another would pick up. There was crying and carrying on, and I was really curious what was happening but didn't want to interrupt for a translation. After all that, there were new members who were baptized. Each of the 5 (all about my age, plus one who had a baby), after being straightened and tidied by elders on their walk up, got a cross of water on their forehead. There was more singing then as communion was served. Only members could take it, and they came up to drink from the communal cup and took in their palms a small flat cracker of bread. More singing and preaching (I got my own English address again at the end) and we are done. The whole service lasted about 2 and a half hours, I think. 

At the end, everyone, while singing, filed out and lined up against the wall. As we snaked out, everyone shook hands of the people lined up, and then joined the line. Everyone was very welcoming of me. After that a lady (Sister someone, I don't remember her name) came over to tell me about Jesus. She was so enjoying explaining that I didn't have the heart to tell her I had a church at home, was baptized, etc. 

On the walk back Mama introduced me to a boy my age/a little younger to talked to me about the church and how they don't believe in a God up in the sky ("Up there is only clouds") but in the God inside of all of us. I thought that made a lot of sense. Then we talked about "ubuntu"- the Zulu concept, roughly translated, that means "Through other people, I live." Very interconnected, very warm. He talked about how you always have food to feed a stranger (though people here don't always have much food), and will always provide shelter or anything else to a stranger in need. It also means everyone greets everyone else, asks how they're doing, looks after one another. Sort of like an extended form of Southern hospitality. Anyway, I like all that.  "Ubuntu" is probably my favorite thing about the Zulu culture. 

The weekend

Sanibona (Hello all)-

So on Saturday we visited gogo (grandmother) and uncle. Sunday was church. 

Gogo is raising my sisi (sister) and bhuti (brother) in another town- Claremont, which mama and I got to with a series of mini-bus taxis. These taxis are CRAZY, but it's the only means of transport most people here have. You hold up a finger or make a certain motion to indicate where you want to go- like one finger in Cato Manor means going to town. Then you get into the van, which is big and white, sometimes with colorful words (as in different colors, not off-color) written in big letters across it, crammed with people, and usually blaring loooooud music. Fare is usually around R8. We took about... 4? to get to Claremont (we also bought some groceries for Gogo on the way).

Gogo is 75, but seemed much older. She used a cane and shuffled slow-slow-slowly across the floor, bent about in half. I don't think she had teeth. She could only say hello and goodbye in English, and I could only say hello and goodbye in Zulu, so I didn't get to talk to her much. We dropped off groceries, talked/relaxed for a little while, played with someone's baby, then left to visit mama's brother in the hospital.

This hospital is... different than in the U.S. Her brother had had a stroke, and for some related reason had had his hand amputated (which I can't figure out unless it's diabetes, and mama hadn't had it explained to her so she wasn't sure). He was in the surgical ward healing from the amputation. The ward was dim, with dingy (maybe mildewy? hard to say) walls. There were 8 beds, all filled with pretty severely-injured men. All were black. Mama's brother couldn't speak because of the stroke, and I couldn't tell how much of what we were saying he could understand. The man in the bed to the left was very much out of it. His bed was soiled when we walked in, and it wasn't changed until about half an hour after we got there. He didn't wake up the whole time. The man to the right was very severely burned, he had 3rd degree burns covering most of his upper body and his entire face. Turns out his neighbor (a woman, which mama was shocked by) had tried to kill him by throwing acid on him. His nose, one of the few un-bandaged parts, had big blackened sections. He was very friendly and talkative, though. He also was snacking on chips, though he was on an all-liquid diet. He said (in Zulu, I had it translated by mama) that they dread 6pm coming, because of the night shift nurse. She doesn't always give them the pain medication they ask for, and when she gives injections she just stabs it in, hard. They said the day shift nurse was ok, though. The other men in the ward were also covered in lots of bandages, or had large swathes of thin, pink flesh that was very new. A group came in to pray for a little while, singing and reading from the Bible, doing some preaching.

This all contrasted a lot with what I know about Durban hospitals- they are world-class, the first successful heart transplant was performed in South Africa. It was pretty obvious that this was a question of a disparity of resources. 

Sunday I went to church... I'll write about that tomorrow, right now it's time to go home!

"Ngisuthi" = I'm full

I thought I would fill you in on an average day with my homestay family.

 I get home from class around 5, and my mama welcomes me at the door and asks if i want tea. Baba (my father, who coincidently is also named Stephen) is already settled in front of the TV (which does not turn off in any Zulu family until bedtime, if then) with his tea. I set my things down in my bedroom and put my wet shoes in the bathroom. My mama comes in and tell me, "I made your bed." To which I reply, "Did I not do it correctly?" 

"No, the sheet below was showing here. Don't worry, you will learn."

None of this is mean, by the way, it's all good natured and humorous. Homestay mamas treat their guests as their own daughters, and my mama wants to make sure that after my 5 weeks with her I will be prepared to keep a house and raise a family. That's the women's role, think of South Africa sort of as America post-desegregation, but pre-bra-burning feminine stage.

As I drink my tea, two boys (who are related to the family I think? I believe one is my brother, but he doesn't live in the house, so I'm not sure) ask me questions about America. They ask if I know Jasmine, last year's homestay daughter. She lives in Atlanta. I explain the East/Midwest/West division and draw maps in the air for them. They ask about my iPod and laptop. Then we discuss the digestive system, which my brother (?) has learned about in school.

We go down the street to buy bread, and by the time I am back there are about 5 children hanging on me. The streets are filled with people. 

With the original two boys we go back into the house, and mama gives me an ear of corn- but called mealies, and slightly more starchy, and only boiled not buttered. I take forever to eat it while we watch TV.

After a while dinner is ready (last night she showed me how to make the chicken curry and had me make the salad). The boys have gone back to their house for dinner, so it is only me, mama and baba. We have leftovers from last night, chicken curry on rice (delicious), as well as pumpkin and beetroot salad (pickled beet pieces). But there is a LOT. This is an intimidating plate of food, and I probably have half the amount they have. My mama was afraid I didn't get enough last night (I definitely did), so I got way more tonight. They finish and I am trying, trying to finish, because not to is impolite. Painfully full, I finish. She offers that she has "German peanut butter" that I can eat for lunch or snacks or whatever, and I timidly say that I don't really eat peanut butter much, but thank you very much. I felt really bad, maybe I should have just sucked it up? 

She pulls out a 3 liter, unopened bottle of Coke and says "We thought you might like to have some of this!" I don't drink Coke normally, but this was such a nice gesture that I said "Sure!" and downed a glass. I gathered up the dishes to wash but Generations was coming on.

Generations is the soap opera that comes on every weeknight, prime time. EVERYONE watches it and it's addicting. There is this girl who got stabbed in the face and a girl who had a miscarriage and ohoh- it's in Zulu (with subtitles). At the end mama said it was good to watch Generations to learn what I want (as in from a relationship). 

She had me watch Generations before doing the dishes. After that we washed up, and went to bed. There's not really a roof like we are used to, it's more like covered rafters, so when someone has on a light, there is a light on for the whole house. So... after Generations, everyone goes to bed! Everyone wakes up early here- like 5am. Me sleeping to 6:15 is pretty late. 

In the morning I am the last up- mama leaves as I am getting up. I wash in a tub, with a wash basin in it, which I'm still figuring out how to get clean in. Also I'm expected to wash twice a day, as a female child. 

This weekend we're going to church. It's Anglican, and everyone wears long white dresses and wraps their heads in white. I'll let you know how it goes, but it should be interesting. African singing is beautiful.

 

sigh

Homesick for the first time. I think being separate from the rest of the group for the first time is taking some getting used to. I guess I'm just missing the support system I have at home. That's all.

Homestay family!

Last night I moved in with my homestay family. In Zulu culture you address anyone of your mother's age as "mama" and anyone your father's age as "baba." Boys your own age are called "bhuti" (brother) and girls are "sisi" (sister). My family is only mama and baba, most other people had lots of kids or a gogo (grandmother). It is the mama's duty to raise the children, especially the daughters, and she shows the daughters how to cook and keep a house for when she has a family. It's also a matter of pride to fatten up your homestay daughter- I've been told most students take about 10 pounds of South Africa back with them. 

She cooked us chicken curry and showed me how to make it. I made the salad. We watched soaps and talked about Obama while it was cooking, and I showed them pictures of my family. Everyone here LOVES Obama and is super-interested in him. They have their own election coming up in April, but no one seems as interested in it as in our's. 

In the city, almost everyone speaks English, especially the younger generation. Most older people are more comfortable with Zulu, but are fluent in English. Everyone is very soft-spoken, I had to get my mama to speak up a few times. 

I have my own room, very nicely furnished. There's no roof like we no it- there's one to keep the rain off but not one to keep sound from drifting over the walls (made of concrete- floors too). My family has a bathtub (but no hot water), and you use a washtub in it to bathe. The bathroom (with the bathtub and sink) is separate from the toilet.

Sunday I'll be going to Adventist church- we will wear long white dresses and cover our heads in white as well. 

More later, class is starting.

To catch you up...

So I've been here for 5 days (i think). I've seen a ton already so it'll be hard to totally catch you up, but I'll touch on a few things. We flew into Johannesburg (aka Jo'burg) on 23 Jan. (18 hour flight, I think I am finally finally over my jet lag as of today) and day before yesterday drove into Durban, which will be my home base for the next 4 months. We stayed in a hostel in Jo'burg, another one here that we moved out of this morning. So a few things about South Africa...

-It's hot. And humid.

-People really do carry things on their heads (weirdest thing I've seen so far is a car door)

-Everybody is generally very friendly and helpful, though Africans find it hilarious when white people try to speak Zulu (which I have had 2 classes of) 

-It's gorgeous. The bushveld (savannah) is wide open and undeveloped almost all the way from Jo'burg from Durban (6 hours).  Lots of big mountain things that are now plateaus because of erosion.

-All the birds and plants are different. Ants and mosquitoes are the same. 

-We went to the shore of the Indian Ocean when we got to Durban and got stung by little bitty jelly fish (just an annoyance, nothing to worry about).

-The Indian Ocean has the most gigantic waves I've ever seen. There are also huge huge ships that come into the Durban port.

-Women carry their babies on their backs, secured with blankets tied around them.

-African singing is probably the most heavenly thing I've ever heard and the dance is stunning.

-The roads are lined with market stalls everywhere you go, selling fruit, scarves, jewelry, cigarettes, everything. Lots of people. 

-Money is in Rand, 10 Rand = 1 US dollar. You can buy a decent dinner at a casual restaurant for about 35 Rand ($3.50 US). 

-Carrying water bottles is just an American thing. Nalgenes/Aluminum bottles etc. make you a target for mugging. Most South Africans just drink cokes. 

-HIV/AIDS rate is about 1 in 4. 

-School kids all wear uniforms in solid colors (e.g. a navy blue dress with matching hat) and walk around in groups. It's the cutest thing ever.

Okay. Enough for now. Feel free to post questions. I'll let you know how the homestay move-in goes!