Oasis Haven

Yesterday, I arrived at the Peace Corps office to begin the process known as "early termination." Which basically means that I am terminating my Peace Corps contract prior to the expected "close of service" date in April of next year.

Why?

Because I have accepted a new volunteer position with an NGO in Johannesburg and will start with them full time on September 1st.

I will be working for Oasis Haven of Love Foundation—a NGO in Johannesburg working to meet the challenge of the orphan crisis in Africa by rethinking the orphanage system and the adoption system. I'm volunteering as their fundraising coordinator, a position that will hopefully move into a full-time salaried position.

As I’ve gotten to know Oasis Haven over the last few months and as we have prayed about me coming on board with them, I have grown evermore excited about the ways that Oasis Haven is trying to follow our Biblical mandate to care for the orphan. It is exciting to hear about how God has called them, shaped them and reshaped them.

As fundraising coordinator, I will be developing a fundraising model based on their just completed revisioning and strategic planning process. I’ll also be in charge of event planning and coordinating their American and South African fundraising efforts.

It’s a perfectly nerdy job for a perfect nerd.

But beyond being the perfect job for the perfect nerd, I fully believe that God has brought it all together, putting all the pieces in place and asked me to come and be a part of what He’s doing at Oasis Haven.

I sent an email to them a few months back when I saw the post on idealist.com. Things in Mmametlhake and with Peace Corps were not as stable as they are now, and I decided to put out a few feelers. I got an email back from them at the first of June about a month after things had stabilized.

Since then we have all been conversing and praying about what God was doing. I approached my supervisor and counterpart at the care centre in Mmametlhake about it, both essentially said, “Go, we don’t want to hold you back from where God is calling you.”

It’s very bittersweet to leave Mmametlhake, and we all cried on Tuesday as we said goodbye. Even though we are making plans for me to continue my involvement at the centre from afar, I have greatly enjoyed my time working with them and will miss them dearly. I will miss the easy, quiet pace of Mmametlhake, and I will miss all the good friends I have made here.

Please be praying as I make this transition.

Pray as I begin in Jo’burg that God would give me wisdom to understand fully the path that He has led Oasis Haven on and how to create a fundraising model that would honor the work He has done and is doing. Pray also for wisdom on how to continue my involvement with the centre and with Mmametlhake. Pray that I would quickly find community in Jo'burg, especially community with women, something I’m starved for at the moment.

In many ways it seems that the transition process has taken forever, and in other ways it feels that it has not been long enough at all. I'm excited and looking forward to this new leg of the journey. Thank you for your prayers and joining me on it.

Only Skin Deep

A few months ago, I had the privilege to participate in my host mother’s 50th birthday party—well it was at my house, so…

During the course of the day, I made a new friend in a ten-year-old boy and subsequently his mom. I was sitting chatting with his mom and he was chatting with one of my little cousins. He turned to ask me something calling me “lekgoa” (white person). Generally, when children refer to me as “lekgoa,” I reply, “Ga ke nna lekgoa. Ke nna Amanda.”—which loosely translates to, “My name is not white person. My name is Amanda.”

Usually that satisfies the child and they are content to call me Amanda from then on. But this little boy was not having it. He turned to my little cousin and said, “O lekgoa” (She’s a white person). His mom entered the conversation, saying in Setswana, “No, she’s not a white person, she’s Matswana” or that I was part of the Batswana tribe. Again, her son was not having it. To his eyes, and he was right, I was a lekgoa. No getting around it.

The subject eventually dropped, but I could still see the wheels spinning in my little cousin’s head. Eventually she spoke up again. She asked the little boy if he knew Rachel, a little girl in our village who is albino. He said he did, and she responded, “Sissy Amanda is like that. She looks like a lekgoa, but really she’s Batswana.”

I was so proud of her at this moment. She knew that somehow I was a part of her, the same as her, she just needed a little time to work it out. I’m not Batswana, but at that moment I was really proud to be called Batswana.

South Africa is definitely still healing from the hurts of it’s past. There is still a long journey ahead, but if this is the future. If girls and boys like my little cousin are the future of South Africa—girls and boys willing to look past skin color at what is in the heart of another person—South Africa has a great future ahead of them.

The World Cup in Mmametlhake

The World Cup came. I think many thought that it would never arrive. And then it was here and for a month all eyes were on South Africa. And it went well.

It was an honor and a privilege to be part of the World Cup, to see the games (I had the opportunity to go to the Denmark vs. Cameroon game in Pretoria) and to feel the “fiva.”

But the greatest honor was getting to see the faces of 256 fifth and sixth graders who joined us for the Mmametlhake World Cup Day Camp. For four weeks we worked with the students from the four primary schools in our village, teaching them valuable life skills through drama, games and crafts. Throughout, it was my joy to direct the 26 high school students who served as camp counselors during those four weeks. They were an amazing group of students that simply made my job easy every day.

From our staff to our students to their parents and teachers, everyone saw Mmametlhake come alive. It was more than the World Cup Fiva—it was the confidence, the self-esteem and the dreams being built up in our students. It was a simply beautiful thing to see.

You can see the photos here on Picasa.

Thanks to all who supported us throughout. Oh and to all you country folk out there, you really missed out seeing our kids dance the Cottoneye Joe.

Enjoy!

Mom and Dad in South Africa

Two weeks ago, I put my parents on a plane and sent them back to the States. I did fairly well with that goodbye until I told my mom to hug my sister, brother-in-law and nephew for me. That’s when the tears started flowing.

Not including air travel, my parents were in South Africa for about nine days. And it was a great nine days.

When they arrived at the airport, we all broke down into tears at the sight of each other. Sixteen months. It was the longest by far that we had ever been apart. Thus, the scene we made was fairly predictable.

But there was only nine days. The first six was a whirlwind tour through the Western side of South Africa—The Drakensburgs followed by Durban followed by St. Lucia and Imfolozi Game Park. Then we came back through Pretoria and on for the last few days in Mmametlhake.

Those first few days were great, but I’ll let the pictures do the talking for those days. The most special to me, and I think to all of us, were the days that we spent with my community.

There are many stories that I could share with you of those few days but here’s some of the highlights:

My host brother receiving his t-shirt from the States—he’s worn it at least three times a week since they left. Pastor Bethuel greeting them, sharing tea and sharing stories about how my organization came to be. Local children running wild with excitement at the site of the camera. My host mother preparing lunch for my parents and inviting the neighbors and the immediate family to join us. Visiting the chief at his house. Having my parents see, touch, experience the people and places that have become such an important part of my life.

I don’t think that Mmametlhake will ever forget the day my parents came to visit. They are now asked after regularly, everyone wanting to know they are well and thanking me for bringing them. It was an honor to them to have Mom and Dad come, and it was an honor to me to have them here.

I greatly look forward to visiting over the Christmas holiday. Getting to hug those of my family who couldn’t come and to hold my sister’s second child for the first time. It was a sweet, sweet time.

Snapshots of March & April

The last two months have been more than a bit crazy for me with lots going on. And as usual, when life gets hectic, blogging is the first thing to go. So here’s the snapshot overview of the last two months. Enjoy!

• In March, I started working with my organization to develop a four week day camp program to take place this winter (summer for those of you in the northern hemisphere) during the 2010 World Cup. This has been the project that has consumed majority of my time. We should be hearing soon about a grant that we applied for through Peace Corps. I’m sure you will be getting lots of blog updates about this project, so I’ll leave the details for a later post.
• March 25th, I turned 28. It’s not an incredibly important birthday year per say. But I will say that 28 officially feels like I should be or am an adult. Good friend Anne baked me a cake the weekend before when I visited her place, and my host family bought me a cake day of. (Got to say Americans do cake better than South Africans—sorry, but its true.) Also received lots and lots of calls and emails. Fantastic goodness.
• On the weekend of March 27th, a good number of PCVs came together to run the Longtom Ultra Marathon and show support for the KLM Foundation. I ran the 21k (half marathon) in 2hrs 32min. The course was mostly downhill except for a few excruciatingly painful and steep hills. Props to my buddies who ran the ultra marathon (56k), first going up the mountain and then coming back down.
• As the weekend closed, a few of us also decided to take in a Freshly Ground concert. Freshly Ground is a favorite find in SA, a fantastic Afro Pop group with a host of incredibly talented musicians. To all of my music aficionado friends out there, I really recommend that you check them out. I already know that you’ll love them.
• April 2nd, SA19 (my intake group) celebrated one year of service. 14 months in country, 12 months at site, 12 more to go. A few days later, we came together in Pretoria for Mid-Service Training and mid-service medical checks. We celebrated with our usual wild rumpus through Hatfield Square, the local college spot.
• Mid-service med check also meant for me a visit to a specialist to have my left knee checked out. It has been hurting off and on for several months, but training and the subsequent brutal nature of Longtom led to constant pain. Diagnosis: My ITB (the band that connects your knee and your hip) is too short, causing it to rub against the knee joint whenever I bend my knee. Treatment: I’ve started taking the 2 1/2hr taxi ride to and back from Pretoria twice a week for physical therapy, trying to lengthen the ITB. I’ll be doing this for probably around two months (I’ve been going for three weeks at this point), and then the doctor will re-evaluate. If physical therapy is not effective, I will likely have to have surgery.
• At the first of April, I started facilitating the training that I’ve been developing for the home-based care workers at our organization. I was very pleased with the participation level and the feedback I received from the care workers following the first session. We’ll have two sessions a month for the next few months.

Between developing and implementing the training, developing and preparing for the day camp, going back and forth to Pretoria and keeping up the friendships I’ve developed here, life is suddenly very full. But I’m thoroughly enjoying it. Things to look forward to in May: continued work on the afore mentioned things, my host mom’s 50th birthday party (big plans are in the works) and my parents’ visit at the end of the month. Its been almost fifteen months since the last time we saw each other, so their visit promises to be the highlight of May.

I hope that March and April were fantastic months for all of you. No promises, but hopefully May will see more blog posts coming your way. Cheers!

I Hate to Ask, But...

Its always been true. I hate asking people for money. I hate fundraising. Weren't we taught that it's better to give than to receive? And it is, isn't it?

So when I found out that the Longtom Marathon that Peace Corps South Africa volunteers participate in every year meant raising a minimum of $100, I was skeptical. I didn't know this KLM Foundation except through what other volunteers had told me. And while the idea of running my first half-marathon was appealing, I wasn't sure if I wanted to put myself through the agony of fundraising for said organization.

But I believe in education and I believe in giving children the opportunity to reach their full potential. That is what KLM is about. I know what the benefits of a good education are. I experience it every time I meet an extremely intelligent adult who is jobless because they lack the educational qualifications. Or see malnourished bellies and threadbare clothing.Or find myself caught in the hopelessness that can be at times all too encompassing.

So the marathon on March 27th is more about a chance for a quality education and a chance for a child to rise above and less about the miles logged. So I'm asking you to consider donating what you can $5, $20, $50 or more to the KLM foundation to sponsor my run and the education of a promising child.

Please go to the KLM website right now to make a donation. Just click on the 'donate' photo and make sure to put my name in the white box where it asks for the Longtom runner you want to sponsor.

The online donation is preferable, but if you need to mail in a check, please make it payable to "Kgwale Le Mollo (US)" and send it to:

KLM Foundation (US)
c/o Bowen Hsu
461 So. Bonita Avenue
Pasadena, CA 91107

Please make sure to include a note that your donation is on my behalf.

I'll be running a 10K in Pretoria this weekend that I'm looking forward to it as a nice warm-up before Longtom. I'll hopefully be able to post pictures of the race and blog about the event soon. Thanks for your support.

Mmametlhake Family Care Centre

With the new year came a shift in organizations for me. I've spent the past month and a half working with the Mmametlhake Family Care Centre. The shift was finalized this week when Peace Corps came to have a final meeting with Tirisano Victim Empowerment Centre (my old organization) and officially close that placement.

The Mmametlhake Family Care Centre is a strong and stable organization that I had worked with on occasion throughout the first nine months in the village. They currently run a home-based care in Mmametlhake and the surrounding villages and put on HIV/AIDS prevention campaigns at area schools. In Mmametlhake, they provide much needed computer services, have a small library and often have food and clothing donations available. Established in 2002 by a local pastor who saw a need to care for those living with and affected by HIV/AIDS, the aim of Family Care is to provide for people living with and affected by HIV/AIDS in whatever way they can by whatever means they can.

My first project that I am working on is developing a training program and training manual for the home-based care workers. Many of the workers have already been trained through the government, but Family Care would like to have something that is more tailored to the centre. It's a big endeavor and has me back doing what I love--program development. I’m already having fun doing research and just generally being a nerd.

Although it has been hard to leave Tirisano and to feel as though I am disappointing my coworkers there, I am happy about the transition and feel that it is the best move for me. I am now getting the opportunity to work directly with HIV/AIDS work, which is a major reason that I accepted this assignment in the first place. Hopefully, I will still on occasion be able to assist Tirisano, and I intend on maintaining the relationships that I formed there.


The American funders of my new organization have an in-process website at handinhandinafrica.org. You can go there to find out a little bit more about Family Care. The section on Family Care is on the "Projects" page and is still being updated. You can also find several articles about the centre if you do a Google search.

A New Top Ten

On this day a year ago, myself and 25 other individuals from all over the United States met for the first time in Philadelphia to travel to South Africa as the nineteenth group of Peace Corps volunteers to serve in South Africa. After orientation activities, shots galore, a blizzardy bus ride to JFK and a seventeen hour plane ride, we begin our South African journey two days later in Marapyane, South Africa.

To commemorate the day, I thought it appropriate to update old top ten lists and add a few new ones. Enjoy!

(Note: All lists are in no particular order.)

Top 10 sites I’ve seen in South Africa:

1. Blyde River Canyon
2. Indian Ocean
3. My host brother dancing to Motown in our yard.
4. Seaview Lion Park (nothing beats playing with lion cubs).
5. A baby zebra on the road a few feet in front of me.
6. Lions outside my tent when I woke up at the lion park.
7. The sunsets in my village.
8. A giant sea turtle on the beach.
9. A herd of elephant in Krueger Park.
10. The look on my coworkers’ faces the first time I made brownies.

Top 10 items received in a care package:

1. Photos of people I love.
2. Duct tape—of course it still makes the list. I’m about to be on my third roll.
3. Sara Groves’ new album.
4. Fall leaves from both Portland and Lubbock.
5. Coffee from Jim and Patty’s in Portland.
6. Drawings from my nephew.
7. Individual-sized drink mixes. They’ve helped a lot in the heat when I get sick of drinking water.
8. All the episodes of The Office that I’ve missed up until the package was sent.
9. My new laptop—actually that was delivered by hand from my friend Anne, but still.
10. And I’m still loving all the TLC granola bars.

Top 10 items that I just couldn’t do without:

1. Photos, letters, phone calls, emails, etc. from home.
2. Books—discovered during my computer’s long absence that these were absolutely invaluable.
3. Toilet paper—I probably could if I absolutely had to, but I don’t want to go there.
4. Duct tape—oh the endless uses.
5. Cell phone—pretty much the only way to stay connected to anything around here.
6. My Nalgene—hydration is too important in the heat.
7. Buckets for all sorts of things.
8. A table-top oven—even if the one I have is on the slow march, baking has become therapy for me.
9. My Bible.
10. My running shoes. The rainy season is slowing, and I’m finally able to get back out there. I had no idea how much I had missed it.

Top 10 things I never knew I could do or probably never would have tried without coming to South Africa:

1. Cook a host of foods from scratch—tortillas, wheat bread, pasta sauce, brownies, to name a few.
2. Learn to speak Setswana—I still have a long way to go, but I feel that I continue to improve.
3. Jumping out of a plane.
4. Be a good long distance communicator—probably still growing in this area too :)
5. Live without a computer for almost six months.
6. Live without a music source for a month of that time.
7. Learn to sit in stillness for lengths of time without going crazy.
8. Go without regular transportation.
9. Go to bed at 9pm and rise at 5am or half past.
10. Live in another country very different from my own for a year.

Running for a Good Cause

One week from tomorrow on February 2nd, I will have been in South Africa for exactly one year. It's hard to believe that it's already been a year, and still I am learning so much and gaining so much from this experience. And plenty of new experiences are yet to come.

One of these is the Longtom Marathon--actually a half- and an ultra-marathon. Though I'd love to tell you that my running has improved so dramatically that I'll be running the ultra, I'm going with the much more attainable half, 21.2km. The marathon takes place on March 27 in Sabie, Mpumalanga Province, not too far from Kruger Park. It starts at the top of the Longtom Pass and goes downhill most of the way into Lydenburg. You may remember seeing pictures from my trip to Blyde River Canyon. Longtom Pass is in the same region as the canyon. Longtom is a major annual event for Peace Corps volunteers. It will be a lot of fun for all of us to get together in one a place. Its rare that so many of us, somewhere around 70, are able to get together.

In addition to having a good time though, the main reason for taking part is to support the KLM foundation. The organization was founded by two PCVs (Peace Corps volunteers) who served here in South Africa a few years ago. They decided to use the Longtom Marathon as a fundraiser to provide the financial means for a worthy, needy child to attend an excellent independent high school in Mpumalanga called Uplands College. It's a great opportunity to bring great educational opportunity to a child who will become a leader in the future of this country. The children they choose for this opportunity are very carefully selected through a four-tier application process. In the seven years that KLM has been fundraising through Longtom, seven children have been chosen and are all excelling. You can read more about the work of the KLM foundation at www.klm-foundation.org.

But why share all this with you? I am asking for your support. Please give what you can; any amount is appreciated. Even if you can only give $5, it is much needed. Of course, larger donations are welcome too :) And your donation is tax-deductible. So please go to the KLM website to make a donation, just click on the 'donate' photo. Make sure to put my name in the white box where it asks for the Longtom runner you want to sponsor.

The online donation is preferable, but if you need to mail in a check, please make it payable to "Kgwale Le Mollo (US)" and send it to:

KLM Foundation (US)
c/o Bowen Hsu
461 So. Bonita Avenue
Pasadena, CA 91107

Please make sure to include a note that your donation is on my behalf.

Thank you for your support, and especially for supporting the child who is chosen next year to attend Uplands College. I'll be sure to put up a post after the race, and let you know how everything went.

Shipwreck Coast Photos

Pictures from the trip have now been uploaded to Picasa. From now on I'll be updating to Picasa rather than Flickr. But I'll continue to let you know when I've uploaded new photos. You can see the new photos here.

Holiday Travels

Over the Christmas and New Year's Holiday, I went on a backpacking trip along the Shipwreck Coast with three other Peace Corps volunteers. It was a fantastic trip, and I was thrilled at the opportunity to see and experience so much more of this beautiful country.

We took a six day hike along the coast and finished up the week in the Port Elizabeth area. The Shipwreck Coast is a beautiful stretch of land along the Indian Ocean that is mostly uninhabited. We went days without seeing another person. We hiked along white sandy beaches with the Indian Ocean to one side and huge sand dunes to the other. Seashells, coral and seaglass where abundant. Absolutely one of the most pristine and beautiful stretches of coastline that I have ever been on.

We had the privelege of being the second group ever to set off on the new trail--really decently priced for permants, etc. and most of the proceeds were going to an NGO set up by our trail supervisor. (I highly recommend this trail for PCVs, anyone reading this, email me and I can get you Dave's information.) Day one was mostly along the coast. We hiked barefoot through the sand and stopped often for playtime in the sand and the water. It was my first experience with the Indian Ocean which I had always heard was supposed to be warm--apparently not when its mixed with arctic waters. Highlight of the day was coming across a giant sea turtle and getting to get up close and personal.

Day two was split between hiking on the beach and then hiking into the bush to a gigantic treehouse, our lodging for the night. It was nice change for my calves that were aching from walking in the sand with my pack weighing me down. And the treehouse was fantastic. I was a little sad in the morning when it was time to go. (That was also the dead dolphin day. His carcass had washed up onto the beach. Not my favorite part of our travels. I much preferred the petrified leopard shark carcass we found the day before.)

On day three we hiked back out of the bush into open pasture land. Cows a plenty, but nice, fat, healthy cows unlike the village cows I've grown accustomed too. The pastures were beautiful and the elevation high enough that in many spots we had a nice view of the coast. Our aim was a Cold War Era, American funded, Soviet Spy Station, operational during Apartheid which would be our night's lodgings. Yes, we all fully appreciated the great irony of Peace Corps volunteers staying there. Before evening set in, the three girls in our party hiked down to the beach for some playtime on what turned out to be one of the most beautiful beaches we were on for the length of the hike.

Day four started with a short hike through beach bush to the mouth of the Kleinemonde West River where our trail supervisor Dave met us with the canoes. We canoed 10km into the Nyala Valley Game Reserve where we took a short hike to the Lilypad Hut, a beautiful bamboo, open-air camp ground set up by the game reserve. On our short hike we came across a baby zebra and had a great photo-op. Since the reserve was non-predator, we were free to walk around. It was an awesome experience to walk freely through the reserve and come across herd after herd of various types of animals--wildebeest, giraffes, nyala, etc.

The next day we hiked back out and canoed upriver against fierce winds. It was definitely not the easy canoe of the day before, but I'll say for myself that I enjoyed the challenge. After the canoe, we hiked along the coast through some beautiful rocky beaches before turning inland. We had already hiked up several sand dunes in previous days (not an easy feat in normal circumstances but especially not with a pack), but the dunes on day five were especially steep. Hiking more often meant crawling up them. But our reward was a beautiful hike through more pasture to the Stone Cottage. The cottage was built in 1854 and had recently been renovated to include a clawfoot tub, shower, stove, all the modern conveniences. Not only was it luxurious for hikers, it was luxurious for Peace Corps volunteers used to village accomodations. From the window, we could look out onto the pastures and watch springbok and impala herds. The whole experience felt like something out of Jane Austen, and I definitely wanted to live there forever.

The last day we hiked back out to the coast past the Fish River Lighthouse to the mouth of the Fish River where the trail ended. After seeing no more than probably ten people for the past five days, we suddenly came upon a crowded beach of swimmers. Our first stop off the trail with our grubby, sand-coated selves was a local pizzeria in Port Alfred. Ah, pizza and beer, nothing better for a first meal off the trail.


The last half of our day was spent driving to Away with the Fairies Backpacker in Hogsback, the supposed inspiration for JRR Tolkein's Hobbit and his boyhood home. We didn't have much time there and were all wiped out, so we missed the amazing hiking in the area. I'm looking forward to going back when my parents come to visit.


Our final day before heading back to site was spent at the Seaview Lion Park just outside of Port Elizabeth. Its a great little gamepark, but the best part was getting to play with lion cubs and then camping in the middle of the lion enclosure. It was an awesome thing to wake up, open the tent flap and have four adolescent male lions staring at me from about 30 feet away--thankfully with a lot of fencing in between us.

I'll hopefully get a lot of pictures posted soon. It was a really amazing trip and a great way to spend the holiday so far from home. Hope every one is having a great start to the new year!

New Photos

I've finally posted photos from my trip to Blyde River and a few from the village. You can check them out here.

A Few of My Favorite Things

A friend just sent me a one line email with the question "What is your favorite thing about South Africa?"

I wish that the answer came as easily as the question. I wish there was just one thing that I could pin point and say, "that's my favorite thing about this place." But its not that simple, especially when you are talking about a place as complex as South Africa.


However, since I'm sure that Oprah's doing it and its the time of the year to pull The Sound of Music off the shelf and because its Christmas time,  here's a few of my favorite things as best as I can represent them:

My Favorite Store: Fruit and Veg City. The freshest fruit and veggies I think I've ever seen in my life, and they always have great deals. I'm lucky to have one in my shopping town.

My Favorite Pizza Place: Bravo Pizza. Americans need pizza or at least we need something that makes us feel a little connected to home. Its a small place in Pretoria with outdoor seating, a brick oven and the thinnest crust I've ever found. Amazing and oh so good. And the people who run it are great.

My Favorite South African Food: A toss up between Sepatlo and Samp. Sepatlo, a South African sandwich that's ridiculously bad for you but ridiculously good. Samp, similar to hominy but not quite the same. Hard to describe.

My Favorite South African Beer: Yeah, haven't found that yet. Not a place especially known for their beer.

My Favorite Spot in the Village: The road behind the village that I run on in the mornings. Not much traffic, foot or auto. A nice quite place to run where I can enjoy the solitude and can watch the sunrise.

My Favorite Village Animal: The donkey. Hands down saddest and yet funniest creature in the world.

My Favorite South African Saying: It varies between "Eish", "Sharp", and "Owwa". Eish is kind of like saying "oh, my goodness." Sharp like saying "its good", "i'm good", "got it", or basically anything you want it to mean at the time. Owwa like saying "I can't believe you just said that" or "no, that's not at all what I was trying to say".

My Favorite South African Adventure: Skydiving or getting up close and personal with an elephant herd.


My Favorite Time of Day in South Africa: Sunset. Beautiful.

My Favorite Part of My Life in South Africa: The simplicity of life in the village. I have few possessions and with a few notable exceptions (like my computer) most of them are not worth very much. Life is slower and calmer. I read. I write. I watch movies. I sit for hours chatting with my host mom and neighbors. I bake my own bread and make my own pasta sauce. Everything in my life with the exception of the grocery store and the ATM is a fifteen minute walk or less.  I realize more and more how little in life I actually need, and its a nice realization.

My Favorite Thing about South Africa: It is a country that desperately wants to heal from its past. I think that overwhelmingly people want to put Apartheid and its results behind them, but how to do that is a confusing and very complex thing. Often what is tried is not effective or doesn't have the intended effect. But almost everyone I talk to, they want to move forward. And I think that's simply amazing.

Africa's Sex Appeal

“Africa is not that Sexy,” read the article headline in the latest Relevant Magazine issue newly arrived in far off Mmametlhake, South Africa. Yes, it’s true. Africa is not that sexy.

The African cause. No matter how many dollars are poured into aid and development. No matter how many celebrities stand up in support of their favorite charity. No matter how many politicians visit the remotest parts. Africa is not that sexy.

I thought it was when I moved here. The sex appeal and the romanticism of living in the African village. The simplicity of it. Working with your hands. Teaching and serving. Making a difference and making life long friends.

But simply put, it’s just not that sexy.

The pit latrine. The insects the size of my fist. The passive aggressiveness so prevalent in South African culture. The corruption and nepotism that runs rampant and seemingly unchecked. The stereotypes one African culture has about another, leading to xenophobia and racism. The unemployment rates. The widespread alcoholism. The violence. The crime. The poverty. The hungry. The sick. The dying. None of it sexy.

But when was it supposed to be sexy. When was giving a cup of water or a loaf or bread ever supposed to be sexy? When was caring for the widow or the orphan ever supposed to be sexy? When was loving others as yourself ever supposed to be sexy? Was acting out the gospel message ever supposed to be sexy?

I don’t think that it was. People didn’t believe in Jesus because of his sex appeal. They believed because of the simple complexity of grace and the fullness of love. And the people he lived among and served weren’t sexy. But they carried in them a need for the love of God and his mercy.

No, when you look at it, Africa has no real sex appeal. At least what I have seen of it. But it has a lot of people who have a lot to give and a lot to receive.

Life is not easy here. Simpler maybe, but not easy. It’s not romantic. It’s not ideal or even that fun a lot of the time. But it’s a place where Jesus is. It’s a place where God is moving and working. And where God’s people move and work. It may not be sexy. But I do believe that it holds the quiet beauty of a place being shaped and formed by the hands of God.

A Pre-Technology Kind of Life

I just wrote the following article for our monthly (or sometimes monthly) Peace Corps South Africa newsletter and thought some of you out there might be interested in the read:

I was talking with another volunteer the other night about life in the village without a computer. Her laptop recently had a bad run in with an electrical storm and she’s now learning to live without until she can get it fixed.

My own computer’s power adapter went out back in July. At the time, I was able to easily get a replacement, but unfortunately the box store that sold it to me sold me the wrong adapter. It was just an amp off from what it needed to be, and that one little amp fried my ac/dc connection and the screen. Four months later, and I just heard the good news that my computer is on the way back from HP.

I greatly admire those volunteers who decided not to bring a computer with them, but I was not hardcore enough to be among that crowd. I need my fix—Gmail, Facebook, The Office and movies galore. In the first few months at site, I developed a reliance on it for brain-numbing entertainment and a taste of America.

Without my computer, I was at a loss. Within a month, I had read ten books and worked my way through two books of crosswords. Bedtime went from 11pm to 9pm. I cooked, baked, exercised, wrote letters, journaled and eventually found that I was sitting for long periods of time doing absolutely nothing.

After that first month, I began to adjust and being computerless did not bother me quite as much. I grew accustomed to the new forms of entertainment and discovered a sort of nostalgic enjoyment for pre-technology life. I discovered life at a slower and more enjoyable pace. I discovered the joy of simpler pleasures and rediscovered old hobbies.

Now that I have a computer again (I have a loner from a friend for a few weeks), I am certainly enjoying and reacquainting myself with the technological wonder that is the computer, but it’s nice to know that I can live without it. That I don’t really need the fix. It’s not the most profound of self-discoveries that I will experience during my Peace Corps experience, but it is a step towards deeper self-awareness none the less. And I certainly didn’t know that all that time without a computer would bring me to a better understanding of myself. The experience brought home to me that our time in Peace Corps is on one level about coming to a better understanding of ourselves and what we am capable of—whether its life without a computer, a toilet, running water or Chipotle. I think we are unimaginably capable of pushing ourselves beyond the limit we previously knew. With a world of limitless possibilities, new depths are always possible.

Tragedy Part 3 (Written 28 August 2009)

It was early, the sun had yet to find the horizon and the moon was growing dull in the early morning haze. 5:00am.

I wanted to stay in the warmth of my bed—deep in the embracing comfort—but this was not the day for snoozing.

I pulled the covers away and fumbled quickly for extra layers of clothing. The nights were slowly becoming warmer, but it was still very cold outside of my toasty bed.

The light. The kettle. The mug. And the can of instant coffee.

I moved back to the dresser. A long black skirt. A long sleeved brown shirt. The best funeral garb I had. Out of the drawer came a thin, black scarf. Hair up in a bun and the scarf wrapped neatly around. Shoes—brown slides. Not the best outfit I had ever put together, but it would do. Everyone would be happy to see my head covered, my arms covered, and the skirt. No one would care about the style or lack there of in the ensemble.

I sat to wait. I heard Rakgadi return. The sun had risen but was veiled behind a thin layer of clouds.

6:00am passed and 7:00am approached. Maybe Rakgadi had changed her mind about taking me along. Maybe it was all too much for her and she wasn’t up to being my chaperone today.

No—the familiar “sissy” soon came. I opened the door and came out of the house. There was a look of approval from Rakgadi, and I know a look of envy from me as I noticed Papis’s jeans.

We walked to the gate, left our yard, and walked the path to Rakgadi’s sister’s house. All the while the singing of the night before continued and amplified as we neared the tent prepared for the funeral guests.

The funeral service lasted well over an hour. It was too sad for words, and many of the words spoken I did not understand. As it drew to a close, the guests began to make room in the yard for the make-shift hearse. Majority of the guests would follow to the nearby cemetery. I stayed behind with Rakgadi to help with the final preparations of the meal the guests would soon return to.

Rakgadi was unsteady and unsure of herself. She walked slowly into the house and sat down on the sofa. No words. No tears. Just a blankness. I held her hand, rubbed her back and sat in silence with her.

Ten minutes passed and she forced herself to return. To remind herself of the task. She moved slowly to the back of the house where the preparations were going on—still in a daze.

“Aus Natai” from one direction. “Aus Natai” from another. All were asking her questions—they needed her guidance. She looked towards her name each time it was spoken, but past the person speaking. Several minutes passed before she became herself—giving answers, directions, and finding the many tasks that her hands needed. I followed dutifully along, helping where I could.

By the time we arrived home that day, the exhaustion was well worn on Rakgadi’s face, and my own tiredness was beginning to take its toll. Rakgadi gave a simple thank you for my help. It was more than what was needed. We both knew it. We both felt it. Our relationship had changed that day.

“Family” was no longer a word thrown about, but it was what we were. Since, our meals together have become more frequent. Our talks together more intimate. The way we move about each other in our day to day more familiar. And our mutual love for one another deeper.

I have always known that tragedy has a way of bringing people together, but over the passing of these days, I saw it played out in my relationship with Rakgadi. And although we still have many days when culture and language just don’t translate, we have a deeper understanding of each other that pulls us through those moments. Ours is a relationship that I could not nor would want to do without in my South African journey.

Tragedy Part 2 (Written 23 August 2009)

10kg bags of carrots and potatoes and onions were stacked around and under tables in the small room. A group of women crammed in around the tables littered with fresh vegetable peelings. I greeted the women, took the rather dull knife that was handed to me and found a place around the table. Potato in one hand and knife in the other, I began to scrape the skin from one vegetable after another.

The short walk with Rakgadi to her sister’s house had seemed endless. We had little to say to each other—her grief weighing heavy upon her, my nerves jostled at the thought of the coming cultural interaction. I had helped prepare meals at weddings and other village celebrations, but never a funeral. No, I shouldn’t have offered to come and help. I should make an excuse and leave soon. I am the foreigner. I am the legoa (white person). What can I give? No, this is not about my comfort level. This is about supporting Rakgadi and the community. This is not about me. This is not about me.

As we peeled and diced and chopped, the women talked freely. But there was a blanket of sadness that hung about the room. This was not the lively and jovial talk that I was growing accustom to.

I went about my work quietly, occasionally smiling to myself at the small bits of conversation that I caught. My hands grew tired as I struggled with the dull knife. Potato after potato, carrot after carrot and the hard rinds of the pumpkins. After the bags of potatoes and carrots, bags of onions appeared on the tables. One onion, eyes began to sting. Two onions, eyes were watering. Three onions, large tears were brimming, making it difficult to see. Four onions, the tears were spilling over and we began to laugh in spite of ourselves.

The laughter and the tears were freeing to all the women at the table. Some how they brought us closer together. The laughter and the tears. Laughter and tears over the potency of onions, but laughter and tears over something much deeper, as well. It is the unspoken thing around the table. It is what we cannot say or admit to. It is the horrific and the painful—layers as potent as the layers of the onions.

In that moment, we found a common bond—a bond around the laughter and the tears. That bond would carry us through the onions and the rest of the pumpkins to the finality of tea and biscuits as the sun set over the day.

Rakgadi would soon walk me home and gather blankets to bring back. She and her sisters would spend the night—cooking all through so that when morning came, all would be ready for the funeral guests.

As the sun set that night, I heard the song begin. The song of mourning and lamenting that would drift through the night air until the first rays of sun returned. I listened to the song as I laid in my bed, remembering in its slow rhythm the laughter and the tears. The laughter, the tears, the song—they all merged and melted into dream as I lay in my bed. Dream and hope for something better the next day.

Tradgedy Part 1

My good friend Roze has graciously loaned me her computer for a week, so I'm going to take full advantage and post several blogs entries that I have written over the last few months. Below is the first post in a three part series...

________________________________

Tragedy Part 1
15 August 2009

It was a day as any other day. My host mother came home from school. I heard her open her door, and I waited and listened to the sounds of her settling in after the day's work before going to greet her.

I continued reading my book, half-listening to the sounds when I heard a new sound. It was the faint sound of uncontrollable sobbing. I have heard this sounds before since coming to the village, but it was usually at night and now seemed out of place in the daylight hours. I know that there is much hidden sadness in this place, but I question how I can help this mourner in this moment. Can I help them? Should I? And the final, incessant and irritating question--What is culturally appropriate?

Before I can make a decision, I hear the familiar sounds that signal my host mother's readiness for our daily greeting.

I put down my book. The wailing has stopped. I stand and walk to the door. I can hear my host mother making moves to the same door.

"Dumela Rakgadi" (Greetings aunt)

"Aghe, Le kae sissy?" (Hello, how are you sissy?)

"Ke teng. O kae?" (I'm fine. How are you?)...but as I ask, I can see. Rakgadi's eyes are swollen with tears. She is the wailing woman. She falters and asks me how my flu is before I can ask her what is wrong. I tell her I am better but don't have the words to speak further. Tears in this strong woman's eyes are not something I have seen.

She finds the words that I do not have.

"It is very bad," she says as she swallows back more tears. "Do you remember that girl who came to ask you about the computer?" I remembered her. She had come to ask Rakgadi--her rakgadi and my rakgadi--about places to use the Internet. Rakgadi asked what she needed the Internet for--"to search for scholarships." I told her of an Internet Cafe I knew of in a village not far from here--a R10 taxi ride. She was shy and quiet in front of the American and thanked me before leaving. After she left, Rakgadi remarked, "she's very clever, that girl."

Yes. I remembered her. Seventeen years old. Just completed metric--the equivalent to senior year in schools in the States. I remembered her.

"That girl has been killed."

"What?" I stammered. "That's awful."

I was again at a lost for words, but I didn't need them as Rakgadi continued, "Did you see the police come past last night? I saw them and told Papis I had a pain. I knew, I knew then. They found her body in the bush. Killed by her boyfriend's friend."

It was still too awful for words. I wanted to reach out and hold Rakgadi. I wanted to hug her and let her cry. I wanted to offer some comfort, but all I could offer was my shock and stunned silence.

I asked if Papis, my host brother, knew.  She said it was he who had called her. She was leaving to go to the family--to sit with them, to mourn with them, and as one of the elders in the family to begin making arrangements for the funeral.

The story would later be told to me. That this friend of the girl's boyfriend had called her late at night and told her that her boyfriend was cheating on her. He lured her out of the safety of her home under the guise of taking her to see the boyfriend's infidelity. Once he had lured her out he raped and killed her, leaving her body in the bush.


This clever girl. This young, clever girl who had found, applied for and won a scholarship to the University of Pretoria. This girl with the bright future--the chance to pull herself out of poverty and her family along with her. This girl stolen and now mourned by a grief-stricken community. Yes, I remembered this girl...

As Rakgadi prepared to leave, I told her to let me know if I could do anything to help. It is what we say in our culture. An offer, to show our condolences and our sorrow. But it lost its meaning as it crossed from my lips to her ears. I saw the question in her face. "Anything," I said, "I want to be of use. I want to help. You, you are my family now. This is my family." With these last words, I saw understanding pass into her eyes.

Family. This was her family. I was asking in this moment of grief to be a part of the family and offering to give what I had.We both found a shared understanding in this word. and in the coming days it would come to have a deeper meaning for our relationship. Family. It would come to be the word that would carry us through.

Village Fun Run

Let me start out by providing you all with some sage advice. If you are going to Africa or some other remote place in the world, I highly recommend doing a full overhaul and check-up on your laptop before you go. It’s been almost three months since I took my laptop to Pretoria to be fixed and it is likely to be at least one more month before I get it back. The first place I took it to was unable to fix it, and although the second place can fix it, they have to wait on the parts. So in the mean time, I’m dependent on my internet phone and infrequent access to rather pricey internet cafes. Thus my long absence here. But I wanted to give you an update and let you know that I am still alive.

So alive that last Friday, I participated in the Mmametlhake South African Police Service (SAPS) 5K Fun Run. For those of you who are fans of “The Office,” yes, there were many similarities to that remarkable episode, but with a South African flare.

The race was scheduled to start at 7am that morning. Graciously a few other volunteers who stay in villages near me came to run. (Thanks again, Laura, for sticking it out.) Being Americans, we arrived at SAPS at seven. Several of the officers and the superintendent seemed to be in a pre-race meeting, so we hung back until Constable Ngobini—one of the officers who works closely with my organization and a friend—came over to tell us that they were running late and would be starting soon. This was expected and as we seemed to be the only participants, we sat down to wait it out.

Eight o’clock passed and a few other participants began to arrive. By 8:30 there were about fifteen of us, and there was no putting it off anymore. The plan was to start by our in-progress domestic violence shelter (still roofless) and run back to the SAPS offices. Six of us climbed into the back of an ambulance, a few more into a squad car and the remaining into a taxi. The ambulance drove to the shelter, and…we waited. For some reason the other vehicles did not arrive for another fifteen minutes.

Finally, we all arrived at the starting point, and Laura and I were ready to go. (Anne and David, neither one feeling well, had by this point gone back to my place to cook us cinnamon rolls as an after race treat.) Before starting one of the officers organized us into lines of four. Strange, but I thought, “Okay that’s logical. There’s only a few of us running on a tar road. It’s a safety thing.” Oh, no. Not a safety thing. The officer began leading us in stretches and a, well, 1980’s aerobic style warm-up. Laura and I, deciding that we had already done plenty of warming up, stepped to the side to, umm, observe.

After a grueling warm-up the lead car set off and we finally started the run. Besides my self and Laura, there were two other guys who were actually runners, and I should point out much better runners than myself. The rest of the group was a hodge-podge of employees from the various government offices in our village most of whom admitted to the fact that they had not run in years. Laura and I did fairly well coming in a respectable forth and fifth overall and first and second among the women. When I checked my watch to see our time, we had run it in a remarkable 25 minutes. I know I’m improving and getting back to my pre-Colorado departure pace and I know we were running a little faster than normal pace, but 5K in 25 minutes? That couldn’t have possibly been a full 5K. I’m running between a six and seven minute kilometer on a regular basis, which means we should have been running for five to ten more minutes. When we checked it on Google Earth later, we discovered that our 5K fun run was probably just over 3K. Oh, well, “E” for effort.

Overall it was an enjoyable time, and I’m all about promoting exercise and healthy habits in the village. I’m also looking forward to the opportunities that will come out of it. I’ve been asked to help plan the next run which I am hoping we can turn into a big community event for World AIDs Day on December 1st. I also have a new running buddy out of it, Constable Connie, one of the officers who helped plan the run. If interest continues to spread from here, there might also be an opportunity for creating a running club. But that’s all to come…

So six and a half months into my service—more than a quarter of the way through for those who are keeping track—I am still finding my groove in my community and contributing where I can. It’s never easy but never unbearably hard either. I’m looking forward to the return of my computer and posting the many blog posts I’ve been saving. Until then…

The Pretoria Effect

So this will likely be my last blog post for a while. Why? Because my laptop is feeling a little ill and had to go visit the doctor. Hopefully it's not too serious and the doctor bill won't be too steep. That also means I will be a bit slow responding to emails, etc. (Currently at an internet cafe in town. And since I don't get to town all that often...)

The past two weeks, I have spent readjusting to life in the village. Readjusting after almost a month living in Pretoria. At the end of June, I started having strange and very painful cramping and stabbing pain throughout my abdomen. Peace Corps brought me to Pretoria to do some tests and try to determine what was wrong.

I lived the posh life in Pretoria at the Rose Guest Lodge--a nice bed and breakfast that Peace Corps uses to house med-evacs from other African countries and South African volunteers who are having a time of it medically. It was definitely high living--in some ways higher than in the states: breakfast made-to-order every morning, terry cloth bathrobes, hot shower complete with water pressure, real coffee. It was a good life at the rose.

I spent my days going between medical appointments, wandering around one of the three malls near the Rose, waiting for test results, deciding which movie theather to go to and which movie to see, deciding what test to try next and choosing between restraunts, ordering-in or cooking with the other volunteers staying at the Rose. It was an entire world away from the four months I had spent in the village.

After a litany of blood, urine and stool tests, an ultrasound, an x-ray, a CT scan and finally a colonoscopy and gastroscopy--all of which came back normal--we decided to try an anti-parasite treatment even though there had been no evidence of parasites in my urine or stool. Two weeks after the start of the ten day treatment, I seem to be fine. Apparently those little tiny creatures are really good at hide-and-seek.

The month in Pretoria was physically, emotionally and mentally exhausting. While it was nice to have all of the modern conveniences surrounding me, this was not the life that I came to Africa for. I was tired, and many times seriously considered whether it was worth it or not to continue with Peace Corps. Each time a test result came back normal, I was happy to know that the signs pointed to nothing seriously wrong with me but was still in a lot of pain and disappointed that we were no closer to finding the answer. I wanted to be back in my village--building relationships, settling into the routine of village life, learning the culture and language and assisting my organization. But having so much time on my hands also made me resent many of the things that I had come into contact with in the village. So while I wanted to get back to the village, there was a part of me that also wanted to have nothing to do with the village. I wanted friends and family and resented that they were not there to comfort me through the barrage of medical exams and tests.

It was a strange experience that I really had no one who I could fully express all the things I was feeling to. There were just certain thoughts and emotions that didn't translate without a good understanding of the context. And the Peace Corps rumor-mill is a vicious thing. I wanted to keep myself out of it as much as possible, so I tried to limit the number of volunteers who knew that I was in Pretoria. (Thinking back on it, I'm sure everyone knew, but I like to think that I kept it pretty quiet.)

My month in Pretoria is a feat I hope not to replicate during the rest of my service. It's a nice place to visit for a few days, but a month is too much. The "Pretoria Effect," as many volunteers refer to it, can be a very damaging thing to one's psyche. I am very happy to be back in the village now and as much as possible am trying to pick up where I left off. In some senses, I am starting over and rebuilding, but I know every night when my host brother comes over to say goodnight and everyday when the women at my organization ask how I am feeling and when I recieve a big hug and a "I was praying for you"--I know at those moments that people do care and are truly glad that I'm here. That foundation is still there, just some cracks that need to be filled in before we can start building again.