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.