back in the saddle

Hey all. Sorry it’s been so long since I last wrote. I know that’s a trite way to start a blog entry but I really am sorry. I know that many of you check my blog to see how I’m doing and I should be doing my part. Enough self deprecation, on to my news…

I have a home! I’ve moved to a new village that is about an hour away from my old village. It’s a lot more rural and a lot smaller. I’m working at a Primary School and a Middle School. I’ve been here almost two weeks and I feel like this is home. It’s a good feeling!

I live with the kgosi (chief ) of the village and his family. They are really good people and I am so lucky to live with them. Living with the kgosi has its benefits, when I arrived with all my stuff in a Peace Corps truck I was greeted by the elders of the village and they helped me move in. That was a pretty cool welcome. I also was invited to the kgotla, the kgosi’s weekly meeting with the community. At the kgotla I found myself suddenly giving an impromptu speech in Setswana which was a little nerve wracking but also kind of cool.

It’s been nice to be back in a village, where my life becomes a series of little stories…

One of the first days I was here my three year old host sister was sitting with me, trying to figure out if she was afraid of this crazy white lady that has moved into the compound. I brought out some crayons for her and she was coloring while I was reading on my stoop. Suddenly she decided she wasn’t afraid, and showing her true sassy colors she climbed up on my lap. She instantly became fascinated with my moles on my chest. She started comparing the color of her skin with the color of the moles, and she seemed reassured that at least part of my body was the “right” color. When I sat her back down on the stoop among the crayons she picked up a yellow crayon and tried to give herself some white spots on her chest. Sometimes racial politics take on very cute and innocent forms!

Sometimes, though, racial politics can be very, very nasty here. Megan and I met a really nice Afrikaner guy who took us to his family farm. He spoke Setswana well, something that seems pretty rare in our parts, and he seemed to genuinely be friends with a Tswana guy who was with him. When we got to the farm we met his dad who said “I’m not racist but” (Megan and I braced ourselves at this point) “the only good black is a dead black”. We told him about all the wonderful people we know who are black and he looked at us like we are fools. It was a sad (and a little bit scary) look at the old South Africa and how it is still very much alive and well in pockets of the country.

I came here knowing it wasn't perfect, and that there was work to do. Now I'm getting on to the working part.

All in all, I’m happy. I have work to do at school, I have a great family to live with, my village is beautiful and friendly and I’m learning so much. I live closer to Megan so we can do more work together. I’m figuring out ways I can help my schools and my community. AND I bought a really cool one speed bike. I’m back in the saddle (pun intended).