Day to Day Pictures

The following pictures from my everyday life which I didn't think I had represented well:

















This is how I do my wash. I miss machines :(

















This is the view from my front yard. Notice: the dam in the background, the "miners" hut (you can see part of the miner behind the tree), and one of the kids on his way to get water (luckily I have a tap in my yard and don't have to wheelbarrow in my water, some of the other volunteers do have to)

















This is my house. Notice: The tin room, my room on the left with the burglar bars open, and the taxi my dad drives (this is one of the small taxis).
















This is the wall I decorated in the Grade 7 class at Matshwi Primary. These kids wrote letters back to kids in Oceano, California where I did my student teaching. The letters and pictures on the wall are from the kids in Oceano.
















Yes...I am proud of my wall.

















Every morning before school all the children gather for morning assembly where they sing and pray. It's probably my favorite part of the day.















The Grade 7 class at Matshwi Primary.






















Mapula cooking bogobe (our stove is out of commission currently).
















The Grade 7 at Matshwi Primary writing their pen pal letters.
















A Grade 2 class at Letseku Primary. This is probably the most decorated any of the classrooms I deal with are. I really like this teacher. Technically she is like an "aunt" to me or something similar.

Running Revisited

My running routine has changed drastically since moving to the village. Due to the anti- malaria medication I take I am often plagued by insomnia and/or bizarre dreams. For example, last night the world was about to end and I had to choose between Mary Kate Oleson and A.C. Slater from Saved by the Bell to have a last love affair with. I’m not particularly attracted to either in real life but go figure. This type of sleeping arrangement makes running at five in the morning no longer a feasible reality. As a result, now, I usually go between 5:30-6:00 in the evening.

What does this mean? Inevitably a lot more people are awake and going about their daily lives, hence I receive a lot more attention. Many of the kids are in the midst of soccer practice and are all too eager to focus their energy on the fact that I’m running. Then the following occurs:

The boys will watch and cheer me on while waiting timidly to be invited to join. As soon as they get the inevitable hand gesture from me that says “Yes, come and run with me,” they race to catch up. Within a matter of minutes my once solo run has been increased to me and anywhere between 6-12, with more joining each day, young African children. I have decided that running with me has become one of the favorite activities and spectacles of the day for everyone except me. The following steps occur during the course of our jog:

The boys are way more “hardcore” than me. I struggle up hills avoiding large rocks, mud, and other various artifacts. The boys do it all barefoot, running on the rocks, in the mud, over the broken glass all the while not complaining or even being phased. I come home with blisters while their feet look the same as before our expedition. I need those calluses.

Inevitably, and so it goes, the boys are much faster and in much better shape than me. They attempt to encourage me interspersing phrases in broken English such as “Go, go my friend, go.” Occasionally I attempt to appease them and break into a quick wind sprint which is greeted with cheers and attempts to race me (I’m always the loser). The problem with this is I still have another mile or so to go and now am exhausted.


As we make the return trip towards home, and I slow more, and they keep their “energizer” mentality, they attempt to entertain themselves. One of their favorite tricks is sprinting ahead and sitting on a post or boulder to wait until I catch up. I know they are mocking me, but I also find it funny so I’m a good sport and let it slide.

The boys enjoy whistling while they run. Once in a while, I too will throw in a whistle or two which leaves them in frenzies of giggles and amusement. Now they want me to continue whistling. Unfortunately, I am dying, due to sprinting and inadequate air intake, as I instead waste my valuable oxygen to perform.


Finally we reach the end. They go back to playing soccer, a few beads of sweat dripping down to the side of their faces, while I red faced, sweat covered, and at the point of collapse slowly trudge back home where the ones who follow me are awarded with candy. My host mom says “You are causing problems by giving some of the children candy and not others.” My reply “They know if they run they get candy. It is fair.” And it is. And tomorrow I will probably have an entourage of 30 children running faster than me in order to obtain a lollipop. Hopefully this is a sign that I will be in good shape fast.

I am thinking I should start a village cross country team and have them compete against a “white school” (many of the nice schools are primarily white due to economic separations and living in town versus living in the village). I think it would be a huge self confidence boost for these children to see that they can compete with kids they often feel are so “above” them.

Land Rover

I have found it amusing that the idea behind Peace Corps is to live at the level of your village in order for them to view you as an information resource and not a money supply. It is important for us to gain respect and a place in the community. I understand these values and attempt to adhere to them as much as possible. Yet, sometimes things about the life I lead interrupt my validity and stretch my credibility.

Case in point: Peace Corp staff has been to my village twice now: once for a site visit and once for a safety and security meeting. Both times they have driven up to my front door in posh Land Rovers. I have to question how exactly the village is going to react when they see my “rich friends.” Go figure, apparently the way we live is not an organization wide policy.

Oupa

Last night Oupa swallowed his pride and asked me to tutor him in math (he apparently started going back to school at the end of last week). It felt nice to take an authoritative role over him and to see that this was his way of trying to get past “the incident.” Hopefully this is the type of behavior that continues.

Mapula left for University this morning it should be interesting to see how that pans out for me left alone with no one to really talk to. At least I have Sello part of the time.

Rating System

I have come up with a rating scale for the people I encounter here based on the number system 1-5 with 1 being harmless and 5 resulting in obvious terror. This creation is a result of how I react and put on a menacing, bitchy, “Don’t mess with me,” entourage as I go about my daily business. The ratings are categorized as follows:

1: Innocent, harmless, non-threatening; very small children and very old women are the prime residents of this category.

2: People who mean no harm but can occasionally verge on irritating: example my neighbors are perfectly wonderful but they also often do one of two things:
1. Comment on my appearance- usually negatively
2. Speak the same sentence to me in Sotho repeatedly apparently on the theory that come the 73rd repetition a miracle will occur and I will have mastered the language.

3: People who still are harmless but it takes all that I have not to have an outburst of annoyance and/or offense. This would include children calling from across the village “white person” in their language, anyone asking me for money/sweets/gifts etc, and the majority of giggling teenage girls.

4: This category is where I start to fear for my possessions/personal safety. Any male between the ages of 13-70 is placed in this category until they prove themselves and are likewise bumped down the rating scale.

5: Times I get really scared by people they receive this rating. Generally any male who is intoxicated, peeping in my window, making lewd sexual movements mainly consisting of thrusting motions, or trying to touch me gets put here. I don’t know if I’ve ever given a woman a rating of 5.

School Materials

My principal is away, and I took the opportunity to search around the office to see the types of materials that are at the school’s disposal. Shockingly, a lot more than I previously imagined. I have teachers persistently complaining that their schools are in such poor shape due to lack of materials. Yet, hidden in odd corners, with thick layers of dust, in various states of disintegration, is the following inventory:
A complete science kit with enough materials to have a small lab if teachers so desired. It has more materials in it than in any elementary school I ever spent time at in the states. Currently stored in a closet with paper cups and other various oversights.
Amazing maps and a globe. If these were posted in classrooms as opposed to collecting dust in the office maybe people would stop asking me if I drove here from America.
Dozens of teacher guides with scripted lesson plans for cooperative learning.
Hundreds of books including: Individual books on influential South African leaders, “Bonsai for Everyone,” “My Little Pony,” “Astrological Signs,” “They came and ate us” (a book about some B movie made God knows when), and my personal favorite: “What Every Boy Should Know” by Dr Jan van Elfen circa 1983 which I will now take a brief moment to quote from as I found her insight to be so very educational (chapters are titled with such names as “Hello Stranger” “Becoming a man is fun” “A New Look at Eve”):
“Too many sweets will give you a stomach-ache; too much secret playing with yourself will give you a distaste of yourself. If you want to amuse yourself in a childish way, play with toy cars rather than yourself.”
“And that is the first snag. If you regularly have sex with a girl, she will come to love you- that just happens to be in the nature of girls.”
“A girl who takes such precautions is certainly an old hand at it…probably a girl about town…second-hand.”
“A homosexual is a man or woman who showed normal physical ripening in adolescence but is retarded in his or her sexual awakening. [] In most cases homosexuality is not due to an aberration of birth or a hormonal abnormality, but to faulty education and treatment in the years of growth.”

What a waste all these materials are going to, specifically Dr Jan van Elfen’s inspirational and eye awakening information into the male development. It is time to make a teacher resource room and educate teachers how to use it.

P.S. The children are outside sliding down the giant boulder on pieces of wood. It looks like sledding or a slide. They are having the time of their lives. The problem is there is no sand or snow to break the fall. Inevitably this will end in injury…oh well they’re having fun I’m not going to stop it :)

Safety and Security

I woke up yesterday morning, stepped out of my room, and immediately knew I was the enemy and had stepped into unfriendly territory. Terrifying glares ensued from my mother and father as they stared at me while I went about my morning business. I knew the reason: the impending meeting that afternoon, which they had obviously just been informed about, and with Mapula not yet awake I had no one to translate for me to discover exactly the meaning of those looks of bitterness.

I went to school dreading the day. My principal discussed the issue with me, but she too seemed slightly put out. The whole thing was overwhelming: I was the one who had been sinned against yet suddenly I was also the one that was the most guilty, the one causing the problems. I hadn’t asked for this meeting from Peace Corp, it was something they insisted upon, but no one saw it that way. My family had assumed the issue was closed and then this. I could see why they felt betrayed, but at the same time I too felt deceived, everyone had made so light of the issue, and here I was, worried about the upcoming year and a half I was to spend in this home.

When I got home my mom wouldn’t even look at me. I tried to talk to her, to have Mapula explain that if an issue arose in the family Peace Corp required a meeting, but she was resistant.

“It is court.”
“No, no it’s not court. They aren’t coming here to attack you. They just want to come and make sure that I am safe and this won’t happen again.”
“I don’t like bad things.”
“I don’t either.”
“Oupa apologized.”
“I know. I told Peace Corp but they still have to have a meeting.””I don’t like this I have a short temper. I don’t like bad things.”

Still she would not look at me, and I went to hide in my room, to avoid this accumulating hatred from the family. The evening dragged on. The meeting was planned for six. Peace Corp got lost. My principal and family sat outside waiting disgruntled and outraged that they were forced into this meeting and now had to linger. Finally, the head of safety and security arrived. Then my mom, my principal, and he disappeared into the house for a long conversation. I sat outside, cross stitching, wondering why I had cancelled going on my afternoon run if I wasn’t even going to be apart of the meeting, while thinking:

“I’m going to be homeless. The village hates me. What am I doing here? Why do I cause so many problems….wait why do I think I caused this problem? Why am I the one who feels guilty? This is somehow a nasty turn of events.”

The tribunal started and Oupa was called in. After a short amount of time he left the house and consequently burst out laughing. He’s definitely an immature sixteen year old. I hope he trips on a rock and breaks his arm….again.

Finally, I was brought in. The issue was resolved. They had come to the same conclusion I had on Sunday with my family. The only advice I got was to buy lace curtains to further bolster my privacy (I wonder if Peace Corp is providing the extra stipend for that…currently I have the equivalent of thirty dollars to get through the rest of the month meaning I’m stuck in my village and not going to a certain get together with other volunteers this weekend…being poor sucks).

After Peace Corp left, my family asked if Peace Corp employees got paid by the hour. “He just wanted money. Was that why he felt the need to come?” I explained it was protocol… they were confused.

I think the whole result of this meeting is that my family no longer trusts me. Khutso is most upset with me, God knows why, and that’s what upsets me the most. I think Oupa harasses him more than anyone else, but perhaps after Khutso’s upbringing he is the abused dog that is overly protective of his master even though that same master constantly kicks him.

Mapula leaves for university on the 23rd. Oh lonely nights to come. With the exception of my mother, I will be residing in a household containing an abundance of men. I need to find someone to adopt me in the village and give me an occasional escape. There is way too much testosterone in my house.

Poverty Ignored

While listening to the radio today, a plea was established asking for donations of school materials and uniforms for a school that was recently flooded due to heavy rains. In my sick mind, my reaction was not for my heart to go out, but instead: “Why couldn’t my schools have flooded? We would be so set. Damn, better luck next time. The natural disaster lucky lottery strikes again!” Then again, if we had a flood here we would have nothing to lose. At least I have that to be thankful for, honestly nothing could get worse.

The same radio show is doing a promotion where they will clear someone’s credit card debt for them. How asinine, because in this country, to even have a credit card, you wouldn’t be poverty stricken, at least not in the sense of village standards. So now, some middle class person is going to be really happy, while I watch children more or less starve. Oh well, poverty isn’t pretty, we wouldn’t want to put a face on it with a radio promotion because then we would be forced to acknowledge it. “Okay, we will drive through the village, but put on your tunnel vision goggles, look straight ahead, do not pass go, please let us continue in our fantasy world…should we pick up KFC for dinner?”

Peeping Tom...Still Going

Peace Corps is sending their head of safety and security to have a meeting with my family tomorrow regarding the ¨Oupa incident.¨ It should be interesting.

When I got home from school yesterday I had a letter under my door from Mapula talking about how sorry she was that Oupa was causing problems and how much she was going to miss me when she leaves for university next week. It was amazing and made me want to move from the house even less, though once she leaves I lose my main support, which will be devastating. Stupid Oupa.

On a completely separate note I got the following message from my real mom yesterday which I found hilarious. For anyone not completely briefed on my background Sam is my youngest brother who is almost 6:

¨Sam said he wanted you to come home today. When asked if he missed you he said: No. I just want her to make me Mickey Mouse pancakes.¨

At least I know how I´m valued in this world :) One of the other volunteers, Tom, says he doesn´t blame my brother, that he too wants Mickey Mouse pancakes. I may have to cook them for our next Peace Corp event.

Conundrum

I inevitably find that if something here goes incredibly well….something equally as horrifying will result, popping my bubble of positive euphoria, and bringing me back down to the realities of the world.

Yesterday I received a package from my master teacher with whom I taught at the end of last school year, Mrs.Ehrisman, containing pen pal letters from her second grade class. Frankly, they were adorable especially coming to Africa and contained such lines as: “I like to find new words in the dictionary and learn what they mean.” “My favourite zoo animal is a zebra.” “I have an Uncle Ramon that lives next to the dollar tree.” “I like to play soccer. Soccer is a sport.” In addition, she also included many photos including one that showed her bulletin board with the letters displayed that I had written to her class. It felt bizarre, yet amazing, to see my life here on show over there. Finally, she included two books to add to my library project here, one being The Giving Tree.

Today I took The Giving Tree to a kindergarten class and read it to the students while the teacher translated. We did a lot of hand motions to help increase understanding: climbing the tree, swinging from the branches, eating the apples. It was so genuinely fun, and the children were enjoying themselves to such a degree that I could be nothing short of thrilled.

In addition, I am having a Grade 7 class respond to her class’s letters (I have to use older children in order for the response to be in English) and am making the equivalent of a bulletin board with the letters from the U.S. I am incorporating a geography lesson as well as an English lesson to accomplish this task. I was so genuinely excited about the prospect of being in the classroom with the students last night that I couldn’t wait for today to come. As much as I often deny wanting to be a teacher anymore, I am still incredibly at home and happy in a classroom. Undeniably, if it weren’t for bureaucracy, I would admit that teaching is my calling.

Further adding to my growing amount of tasks today was a request from the Grade 3 teachers to assist them with a contest. Our district is having a “design a playground” competition where the winners will receive a “fun day.” It was so enjoyable to work with third graders while they diligently worked in groups dreaming up their ideas of a perfect playground. They were all so unique seeing as many of these children had never seen play equipment before. I thought it was a great activity for their creativity and imagination.

After all that, a general feeling of euphoria overtook my state of being. I casually and happily strolled back to the office stealing glances into classrooms as I went. As I walked by the Grade 1 classroom I noticed the teacher going around beating children with rulers. I have no idea what the children did, but I get the feeling it was probably for working more slowly than the others. As American teachers often choose group leaders it seemed she was choosing a member from each group to make an example of. All I wanted to do was yell “Stop, what the hell do you think you’re doing!! It is absolutely illegal for you to hit a learner.” Yet, my problem is I can’t afford to make enemies. I am caught in such a conundrum. Yes, morally I wish I could do it, but at the same time I know if I were to say something it would stop for that moment but I’m only at the school on average of three-four days per two weeks. As soon as I left it would continue. If I were to yell at her she would shut down and probably have a number of other teachers back her against me: meaning that I would lose my ability to assist her in improving her teaching and maybe my ability to assist other teachers as well, due to the backlash.

I find it frustrating how often I find myself in these situations. If I were in the U.S. there are so many reactions I would have immediately, but here I jeopardize both my safety as well as the ability to have teacher’s take me seriously and legitimately. Like on the taxi coming home from Nelspruit this week, a man was pretending to be asleep while trying to rub my leg. I shifted a few times, and it didn’t stop, so finally I took his hand and placed it on his lap. I was dying to scream at him but at the same time becoming confrontational with a strange man can have dire consequences. Once again I censored myself and felt worse afterwards.

How is it that I balance my virtues with reality? How much do I risk losing compared to how much I can gain in certain instances? This may be the biggest struggle I deal with here…trying to find equilibrium when really I wish I could start so many things with a clean slate.

Nelspruit

Over the weekend I went to Nelspruit with a large number of the other volunteers. Not only was the area beautiful but the city was very upscale. I forgot, for a few days, about rural Africa and felt I was back in America. Hence, I experienced a bit of culture shock.

We spent most of the time in the mall, which was huge and beautiful. While there we went out for meals, had coffee, and saw movies (Chronicles of Narnia and Harry Potter….finally!!). I can only describe the entirety of the place as sensory overload. I no longer know exactly how to act in such a setting. Really, I felt I was in an entirely different world, and I more or less was. It left it hard for me to imagine that this place with upscale shops: Diesel, The Body Shop, Nine West, a casino, an elaborate movie theatre, a casino, half a dozen coffee shops, and dozens of restaurants, could be in the same country as the life I lead. The divide was intense; I don’t feel that any of the villagers that I spend my days with would have been comfortable in any way in this place. The fact that there was an upscale internet café where kids were “gaming” was so different than the way computers are seen in rural areas. I had forgotten that children, or most adults for that matter, even knew how to use a computer.

One evening, for dinner, we went to an Italian restaurant. After we were done with our food we realized it was after nine in the evening. I have not been out in a public setting that late at night since August when I left the U.S. I am confined to my house in the village as soon as evening begins. It blew my mind to think that people still did go out and have “night lives” in other areas.

The backpackers where we stayed, suitably named: The Funky Monkey, had a great atmosphere. I spent an evening having a barbecue with 20 something volunteers, as well as a number of other travelling South Africans, a few French men, and a Dutch volunteer who worked in Swaziland. The international men did the cooking, which was elaborate: multiple kinds of pizzas, amazing hamburgers, different salads, and deserts, including a plum tart. I was shocked to realize that men can be self sufficient creatures, a fact I had forgotten in the villages. I was commenting to the Dutch volunteer that I was planning on taking him as a wife. At that point one of the men from France chimed in “This is normal for us…American men don’t know how to properly provide.” After seeing all the elaborate preparations he went to I couldn’t really disagree.

We spent our evening drinking wine, swimming in the pool (pools…another miraculous creation I had forgotten about), and commenting on how far removed we all feel from being able to cope with the developed world any longer. It was a nice relief and left me contented once more.

Peeping Tom Conclustion...Hopefully

After being away from site in Nelspruit for three nights I finally returned and inevitably had to deal with the problem known as Oupa. I had reported the situation to Peace Corps and their response was great. My APCD, Lydia, basically my boss who is in charge of overseeing all of my work, was very supportive and wanted to know if I wanted her to come to my site and move me to a new home. Apparently, she also got on the phone with the head of Peace Corp safety and security as well as Peace Corp Medical Staff who I also received phone calls from: “Cait we just wanted to check on your psychological health after the incident. If you ever feel overwhelmed and need to talk to someone please call us. We think it is good that you’re going away for the weekend.”

I had decided with Lydia that I wasn’t ready to try to move somewhere yet. I adore the rest of my family and my house is in the perfect location as compared to my schools. I told her I would talk to my family Sunday night about the situation and get their opinion:

“Peace Corp is talking about moving me to a new house. They are worried about my safety here. I told them I loved my family and didn’t want to move, but I am worried about the situation becoming worse. What do you think?”

In the conversation that ensued we discussed that we didn’t think Oupa was going to hurt me, but I was concerned that with him getting older, (he’s 16 now) and dropping out of school, I was fearful of him becoming worse. They didn’t think he would, but then I pointed out with him spending his time drinking and gambling and basically being the epitome of a bum that I couldn’t see him suddenly becoming beneficial to the family in some way. At about this time Oupa showed up and I went into my room because I had no desire to be in the middle of that conversation.

Eventually they called me out and Oupa apologized. He explained that he was drunk and when he drinks he goes to the side of the house to urinate. He just happened to look in the curtains and didn’t mean any harm. My mom then said she was going to close the space in between the fence and my wall so that it wouldn’t be possible for anyone to be there.

For now I’m running on the “wait and see” policy. I’m going to give it at least another week or two before I make any more permanent decisions about moving. I finally feel settled in my community and don’t particularly want to uproot and start again with a new family, in a new location, trying to become comfortable. At least I feel I can cope for now.

Peeping Tom

Tonight I was performing my usual routine: wash face, brush teeth, change into pajamas, etc. I happened to glance out my window and there was a face on the other side staring in. It is not often that a thousand thoughts race through my head at once but this did happen to be one of the times that exactly that happened. At the same time he saw me see him and consequently raced away. By the time I got Sello he was gone.

After it happened I talked to Omar and Tom about the situation: Isn’t your room on the family’s property? Yes, he was standing in the one foot of space between my wall and the fence that surrounds the property. Do you feel safe? Yes, he was just looking, a peeping tom, I don’t think he had any intention of entering.

The more I thought about it the more I think it was Oupa. My family agrees with me, but unlike me, they dismissed it as another one of Oupa’s misbehaviours. No one can control him and the whole situation has become ridiculous. In addition to last night’s incident, Mapula now has to lock the food she cooks for the family in another room so that Oupa does not eat everyone’s dinner. I also can’t buy refrigerated food anymore because anything I leave in the fridge he immediately consumes. It has been a long week subsisting on only peanut butter and oatmeal.

I have reached my limits of tolerance. I have been nothing but nice to Oupa. I go out of my way to do things for him. Now I just hope he does something to get arrested and hauled off to jail. He is out of control and a burden.

At first I was relieved to think that it was Oupa, who I know won’t hurt me, as opposed to some random stranger. Yet, now I feel more upset. My sense of safety and security has been completely corrupted. I feel helpless and violated: I know there will be no repercussions for his actions. These horrible thoughts keep running through my head: how many times has he done this before, what has he seen, how long was he there for, etc. I had to sleep with Mapula simply to comfort myself, but all night I was plagued with antagonizing dreams of being attacked. This morning, instead of feeling refreshed and relieved, I feel more upset. I told my principal and even she wasn’t outraged. I have reached the limit of my frustration.

I am going away for the weekend, thank god, I can’t be here right now. I’m hoping I feel better on Sunday otherwise I don’t know how I’m going to cope.

The Net

Last night I got ten mosquito bites: on my hands. Nothing is worse than waking up to dizzyingly distracting itchiness that you can do nothing to subtract from. Any hope for rest is futile after that. What makes it worse, after you hide your entire body under a blanket and are suffocating in your own carbon dioxide, is hearing that horrible humming of a mosquito on the other side. The sound, though quiet, is so stomach turning and high pitched that it can drive you insane. Pointlessly you swat at it knowing that, in the dark, your chances of killing it are as likely as your family building a new pit toilet; a nice dream but nothing more.

Gradually you doze, and a toe creeps out from under the blanket, and that stupid mosquito takes a nice leisurely bite meaning that in the morning you’ll be performing intricate yoga poses to scratch the dozens of bites simultaneously.

All of these compounded factors finally convinced me to put up my mosquito net which I had been trying not to do because, while I’d like to give a good reason, but mainly I’m silly, and it blocks the maps hanging on my wall which kills the aesthetics of my room. I’m such an American

In college I had this dainty white mosquito net that gracefully hung from my ceiling and elegantly accented my bed. I believe Bed, Bath, & Beyond still sells the same one. I felt so glorious, like an African princess, as I slept under that draped netting. I was really stupid.

My mosquito net now is forest green and smells like mildew. In order to hang it over my bed I had to tie a ribbon onto each corner of the netting (thank you for using ribbon when wrapping my Christmas gifts) tie the other end to a battery and attempt to “thread” it over the planks holding up my tin roof by throwing the battery through the small space between the two. After causing enough clanging for Mapula to stop cooking and to ask what I was doing I finally got it set up over my bed.

Besides being incredibly ugly and smelly, the netting is for a twin bed and I have a double. I have to lie at odd angles in order to not be attacked by the net. I guess it’ll be worth it if I get a full night’s sleep. We’ll see.

Back to School

Back at school, and finally feeling a glimmer of inspiration again. It’s a good thing because I had spent the last month discouraged and disillusioned knowing that I still wanted to be here, while at the same time constantly questioning if there was any point; if really, was I actually helping anyone? Was I hurting more than doing good? I think the book Dark Star Safari really made me feel jaded about the whole experience.

Then I got to Letseku on Monday and all the teachers were genuinely excited to see me and gave me hugs and talked about my upcoming workshop series on “Best Classroom Practices,” and I began to see legitimacy in myself again. I realized: I don’t drive a Land Rover, I’m living in the village and gaining people’s respect instead of simply throwing money at them, and I’m not just here for a month to build a school and leave while it collects dust in my absence. I’m hoping my permanence here for the remaining 21 months helps to encourage the sustainability I dream of.

I was reading my newest copy of National Geographic yesterday, and it was pointing out that aid in the world was like a giant lottery. Whoever has the biggest natural disaster gets all the foreign money and goods even if much of it gets wasted. For example, after the tsunami many clothes were donated and much of them were burned because there was such an over abundance and no way to store or distribute them. Yet, so many children in the villages here run around in nothing more sufficient than rags. I suppose to truly get that boost to you country’s infrastructure you pray for a natural disaster that captivates the media’s attention.

Likewise, the article was commenting on how many people die daily from AIDS with little world recognition, yet when you see a super model clinging to a tree so as not to be swept away by a giant wave you heart goes out to her. I suppose it’s the sensationalism of the experience. An AIDS death takes lifetimes as compared to the devastation of a sudden earthquake.

I’m not trying to discredit the intensity of huge scale disasters. They are horrific and we should reach out our arms in support. Yet, we need to realize that all over the world tragedies occur everyday. Yet, constantly focusing on them is discouraging: “Yes, people in the Sudan are being raped and murdered, yes people in Ethiopia are starving, yes the baby a few houses down from mine has AIDS, and yes there are homeless children in America, but my dinner is getting cold, and I’m going to be late to see the new Tom Cruise movie.”

When I first got here I kept saying to myself: I’m going to build new classrooms! I’m going to get the school new computers! Etc. etc. Yet, I now realize that these material goods are not going to improve the education of the children. The teachers keep telling me these are the reasons their schools aren’t good, because they don’t have things. Yes, I could build them a new staff room, but why? So they have a nice place to run to and spend even less time in the classroom?

My goal now is the encouragement of seeing students as individuals, to decrease the amount of harassment of children and focus on the encouragement of personal growth and success, and to plant a love for learning and improvement because without that these children aren’t getting anywhere.

I still have my personal aims of establishing a library, which I still feel is a good thing. I also know that I want to establish the library soon so I have an entire year to train the teachers to use it so it’s sustainable when I leave. I would cry to know it feel into disrepair and disuse upon my departure.

I’m cynical to my core now but maybe that will make my development projects more viable in the end. Only time will tell. For now I will take pride in very small successes.

University

Mapula starts the University of Pretoria studying horticulture on January 30. I’m going to be lonely. My goal, while she is away, is not to kill Oupa who is driving me, and the rest of the family insane. I have my doubts on my ability to accomplish this.

Worst Moment Ever

Today I went to dump my chamber pot out in the pit toilet. Unfortunately, it had been raining, and my stairs were slippery. My feet lost their grip and wildly flew out from under me. As if in slow motion, the bucket flew in the air, flipped over, and tumbled on top of me. All I could think about, as I lay covered in my own urine, is how much the world hates me. Damn I miss indoor plumbing. All those who have it remember this as you take fro granted your ability to flush a toilet.

Birthday

Sello was talking about turning 25 on Monday and in the midst of conversation I asked when Khutso’s birthday was. No one knew. They made him get his birth certificate to find out. Seeing as Khutso is a nephew I though the case might have been he hadn’t lived at the house long, and they simply didn’t remember it. Not the case…he has been here for three years I discovered. Three years and not one person in the family even knew the month of his birth. I find that utterly depressing. In addition, his mother got arrested on New Year’s for drunken fighting. I am trying not to be judgmental here but some things break my heart.

New Year's

Four words: BEST NEW YEAR'S EVER.......that's all I've got