Thutlwane

Today, on the way to school, I was thinking for millionth time about how beautiful my village is and how lucky I am to be living this life. I looked down at the sandy path and realized that amongst the bare footprints, the bootprints, and the ubiqutious generic converse prints were my shoeprints from yesterday. I don't know why this struck me but it did, it led me to think about my place in this place.

Thutlwane Village is beautiful. It sits on the edge of an expanse of flat bush that seems to go on forever. The sunrises and sunsets are lovely every single day, without fail. There is a sleepy windmill at the center of the village, a gathering place for kids to hang out (sometimes they literally hang from the windmill) and adults to collect water. There are sleepy cows and ornery donkeys in every open space. Dogs run free, and unlike the dogs in Megan's village they are friendly or shy or both. Old women work to keep their yards neat and old men heard the livestock and drive on ancient tractors. It's a farming community, but the fields are shrinking and the younger generation are striking out to find a different fortune or quietly sitting with their sickness behind closed doors. There are kids everywhere: laughing, fighting, playing soccer with homemade balls, and doing all those things kids everywhere do to amuse themselves and grow their little brains.

In the midst of all of this there is a white woman. I walk around with a level of comfort no white person has probably ever had in this place. I greet people and I'm greeted back. I get scolded for not using my umbrella to protect me from the sun. I get stared at for reading in my yard. I send the whole shop full of people into giggles when I scoff at the advances of drunk men. I live here. I am not of the community, and I am not exactly in the community, but I am somehow a part of this community.

This weekend our little village will have four funerals. Three of the dead are young people. Earlier this week Kgosi mused, "who will bury the old ones?" The friends and family of the dead, the city people who have never been here or more likely have not been here in a long time, will return to pay their respects and help these four people pass on. They will gawk at me. Saturday night, as they move into the "after tears" parties, they may even harass. They will not understand the fragile but very real position I hold as a somehow part of this community. But I will pass their confusion and even their possible harassment off as a misunderstanding because I know that somehow this is my place for right now and I'm incredibly grateful for that place, even if it is hard for people to understand.

monkey drama

Something I've learned about myself since I came to South Africa is that I hate monkeys. My use of the word "hate" may strike you as a little harsh, but let me assure you it is accurate.

I don't like them. They have teeth and claws and opposable thumbs. They steal and make messes and masturbate in public. They are dirty and they often give humans dirty looks. I imagine they smell, but I never get close enough to them to find out. They act as if they have every right to enter into the human world but they are not welcome in this human's world!

Lots of people think they are cute. Last year at Christmas some friends of mine (who will go unnamed... but you know who you are) decided it was funny to feed the monkeys that hung out at our beach house in Durban. Upon viewing the food a well meaning but horribly misled friend had left around the front door the cleaning woman exclaimed, "much party for monkeys!".

It wasn't much party for me, though.

If it's not obvious by now let me be clear: I am really, really afraid of monkeys. I can't fully explain it. Until this past week I considered this an unreasonable fear, up there with my fear of birds and their hollow bones.

Well, last week I was in Blyde River Canyon helping with a training. It was a lovely week, filled with amazing people, good food and beautiful views. Go ahead, imagine me in this idyllic setting surrounded by rosy-cheeked-saving-the-world Peace Corps Volunteers and their South African counterparts. Imagine me strolling from breakfast to our first workshop with come colleagues, discussing some deep but cheerful topic. While you're at it, imagine me looking really stunning because we had access to hot showers EVERY DAY.

Well, now the stage is set: I was walking with my friends Katie and Tera when we saw some monkeys. There were a lot of monkeys in residence at the hotel where we were staying so we didn't think much of it. Then a car pulled up behind us and pushed us closer to the troop of monkeys. The car sounded its horn and sped past, pissing off the monkeys and forcing us even closer to the pissed off monkeys.

Then it happened. My irrational fear of monkeys became, in one terrifying moment, a completely rational fear. A monkey started following us. Katie, in an effort to get it to go away yelled an unmentionable word in Afrikaans that usually is quite successful in dispersing annoying animals. This monkey was not impressed with her alpha behavior and began TO CHASE US. Yes, this is true. The monkey chased us.

In this moment all of my higher brain functions shut down and all the miles I've clocked on my running shoes finally paid off. I took off, showing my cowardly colors, screaming and running as fast as I could. I left my friends behind, trying to convince myself that if the monkey caught them I'd come back and help but knowing that may very well not be true. So go ahead, imagine me running as fast as I can, screaming my head off, skirt flying, tears flowing as Katie and Tera ran with the monkey in hot pursuit.

They outran the evil beast and caught up with me at the top of the hill. When I realized we were safe I turned and yelled an unmentionable phrase in English in order to reestablish the dominance of humans. Tears mixed with laughter as Katie, Tera and I regained our higher brain functions (notably, that little jerk of a monkey had no higher brain functions to regain).

Miles to go before I sleep...

By the time I came home from school it was about five and the golden evening had set in. The evenings here are lovely beyond description, with everything just a little warmer looking and cooler feeling. When I got home my host family was sitting in the yard. The adults were enjoying the evening and the kids were enjoying the attention of the adults. As I walked up Ma pointed to a chair and I sat down. Kgosi was cutting a watermelon and handing out pieces to everyone, including me. We chatted about the weather, the rain (that’s a different subject than the weather in rural South Africa), the kids, the livestock, and other news of the day. My host sister Barbara and I talked a bit about the HIV and STI prevention work she’s doing in our community. Mostly, though, we just sat with each other enjoying the time together. It was a magical hour, comfortable and laced with my understanding that few outsiders ever get this sort of daily intimacy with people living in rural villages. It was a precious reminder that I am very lucky to be living as I am.

I’ve been having a hard time personally in the last few months. I’ve been struggling with some anxiety. Earlier this week, in the midst of quite a bit of internal turmoil, I realized I want to be here. In fact, I love my life here. Life here has been really hard for me for a number of reasons I’ve shared with many of you but in the end I feel very sure that the hardship has been and will continue to be worth it. My life is peppered not only with wonderful moments like this evening, but also with hard working people who are doing their best to make their worlds better. My life here is made up of challenge, frustration, surprising moments of accomplishment and lots of reminders that this is the life I wish to be leading.

I got lost for a while. Honestly, I got scared. I was afraid that I was losing myself. Now I feel like I’ve turned a corner and found that I’m not only still the person I want to be, but even closer to perfecting that person. I’ve got “miles to go before I sleep”, but this effort to be true to who I want to be and what I believe is what I want my life to be made of.

I feel recommitted to my service and to myself. It’s a good feeling.
Thanks to all of you who helped me to get to this point.


The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
-Robert Frost (Excerpt from "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening")

This really happened. Like, for real.

I just got back from a leadership camp I planned and ran for the student leaders at my primary school and a primary school in my area. Thanks to the incredible help of my principal, his friend (who is the principal of the other school) and Megan it was a success.

Not only did some of the kids at the camp swim in a pool for the first time (sheer, wet chaos) and have their own can of pop for the first time (lots of initial issues with opening, but then the natural progression to mixing coke and sprite to look like whiskey) but we also had... well... some incidents...

Let me just tell you about today, the second day in our two day camp. It started early and noisy. The kids woke up at about 5:15 and began romping as only unattended kids can romp. Then, later I ran some workshops on listening skills and self love that went really well. All was peaceful and happy. It was going great. Kids were listening to each other. They were showing off their "me" collages. I was feeling like we were almost done and everything had gone well.

Then, our guests arrived. They were two members of the South African Police Service form our area. They were on time and prepared. Ready to do a speech and question and answer time with our students about the drugs in our community. We decided to hold this session because there have been a wave of kids at our school who are huffing glue. I introduced them, got the kids ready to listen and then went to sit in the back of the room. I must admit I didn't understand most of what was being said because they were speaking in Setswana and my limited vocabulary doesn't include a lot of drug terms.

All of the sudden, the police officer started dropping baggies in front of all of the kids. He told them in Setswana "I'm giving you sweets" (of course my vocabulary includes "sweets"). I looked at what he was passing out and realized it was bags of weed. I'm not kidding. The police gave my kids weed. I thought, "no, way. that's got to be dried grass or something." but then I took a whif of the bag that dropped on our table and it smelled a whole lot like weed. I asked my principal if it was really "daga" (what they call marijuana here- pronounced "da ha") and he told me it was. Now I have all these pictures of my students holding little baggies of weed. I cannot even begin to describe how surreal it was.

Megan and I had to excuse ourselves to have a 30 second freak-out behind the building and then we came back in. The kids were still holding, sniffing, and looking at the bags of weed. The weirdest thing was, no one else seemed to think this was strange. Apparently, police giving small children weed is not cause for humor or alarm from my colleagues. I told my principal that Megan and I thought it was pretty strange and funny that the police were handing out daga and he just smiled and told me it was important for the kids to know what the "real thing" looks like.

In the end, the police collected all the baggies, reminded the kids to stay away from drugs and left. I must admit that the kids seemed to really enjoy the speech and learn a lot. I've had a lot of moments where I thought, "this would NEVER happen in the US" but I think cops giving weed to children (even if it was temporarily) may top them all.

Then, as if my day hadn't been strange enough, Megan and I were walking toward our bus when I noticed my principal helping the driver back up. I was struck by how badly the driver was driving when I realized the person driving our bus was not the bus driver at all but actually the principal from the other school! I asked why he was driving and he informed me that our bus driver had hitchhiked back to town and the owner of the bus had told him they would have to drive the bus themselves. So there he was, having never driven a bus before, driving all of our kids down the dirt roads back to the village. It's important to note that both of these principals are WONDERFUL and unceasingly positive, so they just laughed, loaded the kids and took off down the road.

Some things can really only happen in Africa...

Home.

A long, long time ago in a land far, far away I recieved a letter from a wise and wonderful friend questioning me on why I never refered to South Africa as "home". It spurred an ongoing musing on the topic of home, and a dawning realization that at this point in my life I don't really have much of a defined "home".

In the last month I've experienced the "home" feeling of being with almost every person I love the most (above mentioned wise and wonderful friend is the notable exception). I've been "home" in the US since December 10. Before I came to the US I spent 10 days with a friend I really love and value in Cairo, in the perfect mix of adventure and comfort... things I hope for someday in my "home" reality. I've seen friends who are living all over the country, I've had hours of wonderful time with my family, I've opened presents and cooked food and talked about important things and drank whiskey. I've crossed a pretty wide variety of situations that all contribute to the happiness of my life. I leave in two days to return "home" to South Africa.

I'm a long way off from a settling point of any kind, and I'm still not quite sure where that settling point might be but at least this trip has given me an reminder of what I'm looking for. Many of my friends here in the US are settling into pretty cool realities that include partners, home buying, jobs they care about, circles of friends, and unusual paths. When I see people I respect and care about living cool and interesting lives I am reminded that some of these things can be mine.

So now I'm trying to readjust my thinking to go back "home" to South Africa and honestly, I know it's going to be hard becuase even though I care about the people in my life and the work I'm doing over there, it's not "home". Peace Corps is part of my adventure and it is helping me define what is important, what I want and what I don't want. In many ways living in circumstances so far from what I wish for in my life has exposed me to how sweet home is/can/will be.

I am so lucky to have amazing people in my life. Thanks if you were part of my much-needed return to my world. Thanks especially to the people who really listened to what I have been struggling with, and who live wildly and fully with me. All of you are what make the grey skies and empty strip malls of Ohio feel like some sort of promised land.

I'm leaving... on a jet plane!

I'm leaving for Cairo in a little over a week. I'm so excited. It's hard to imagine being in one of the largest cities in the world when today I was teaching middle school kids and watching a donkey cart slowly pass the school.
Lately things have been going pretty well here. I'm working on some cool projects at my schools, actually helping my teachers teach, and just rolling with the village rhythum. There have been a few things lately that have made me really happy to be here...

There is a girl who attends the local high school who I have noticed before. She drew my attention becuase she's pretty masculine. I even asked Megan if she was a boy despite my inability to concieve of a boy living as a girl (dressing in a girl's school uniform, using the girl's bathroom, etc) in our rural community. Megan and I talked about it a little and decided she must be a really masculine girl.
Well... the other day I was at the farewell function for the grade 9 students at my middle school who are going to the high school next year. This event, like most South African events, was a bonanza of community speakers, singing, praying, food and traditional dancing. It was the traditional dancing that caught my attention, this time not only because I love it when the kids dance but also because this girl was dancing. The crowd went WILD when she started dancing. Old ladies were uulating. Middle school students were cheering. Some people were looking away in disgust. She danced really well, and when she did a partner dance with a boy people went even more crazy. Mostly happy, supportive crazy.
All of this hubub had me wondering so I asked Megan again and she delicately asked one of our teacher friends at the high school. She is a he. This girl is living as a girl despite physically being a boy. In rural Africa. In a really traditional society. In a patriarchy with incredibly static gender roles. She's doing it, and as far as I can see she's not facing all that much descrimination. I'm blown away in a really good way. I suppose I have a lot to learn about the nature of community and belonging in rural South Africa. This is a lesson I'm so glad to be learning.

A few days later, I was working at my primary school when a group of boys came in and turned in R100. That's about $10 USD, but it's a lot of money around here. To give you perspective, that's almost half of the pay our school's cleaner gets every month. To a bunch of kids in the school yard it must have appeard to be a fortune.
Often people in South Africa talk about the moral decline of the country. The crime rate and widespread corruption seem to speak clearly of some sort of cultural break down. But the thing is, there are really good people out there. These kids did the right thing simply becuase it was right. These kids are just one more little reminder that there are good people leading good lives all over the world in all sorts of circumstances.

I'm excited to strike out into the world and have some new experiences. I'm also excited to be leaving at a time when I'm feeling pretty good about my life here in South Africa becuase I know I'll be coming home to work I really believe in and people I really care about. This is a pretty cool life I'm leading...

Pictures... Finally!

I've had a lot of people ask me to post some pictures... and I'm finally going to stop being so lazy and show you a little of my world! Enjoy...

This is my house (and very much my home). Well, half of this is my house. I love it here.

This is the Middle School where I work. We're painting our World Map on the other side of the white building! Most schools in South Africa look a lot like this.

Kids in the village make these cool wire cars out of scrap wire they find around. I love these wire cars, they're proof that kids here have it going on!!

This is my mom and dad at "danger point" at Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe. I took this picture from so far away because I was afraid to go out there... it's a long drop they're standing in front of.

This might be my favorite picture of my parents of all time.
We had such a great time on this trip!
I miss them so much.