Projects & Revenge

Current Projects:

1. My principal asked me to judge her management skills as well as different things the school can improve on. I felt comfortable enough to more or less tell her my mind. This has lead to me being relatively busy as I am now individually assessing kindergarten and first graders in their math skills. I can already see we need to do a lot of work with mental math in general as well as place value and subtraction. I have enjoyed getting to see beaming faces of first graders as they get to play with manipulatives to show their knowledge of patterns, shapes, adding, etc. Plus it’s always nice to see a child here getting individualized attention that doesn’t include being hit with a stick.

2. On the note of being hit with a stick I walked in on a third grade teacher doing just that to her cowering students. I told my principal that I suggested it stop seeing as it was not helping the kids to learn and, among other things, illegal. I may have pissed off the third grade teacher which I may or may not regret, but I’m also at the point where I think it’s okay to be confrontational because frankly the schools aren’t going to improve without a little confrontation.

3. I started a writing contest for my Grade 7 Learners. The prompt: If you could go anywhere in the world where would you go? Why? Their entries are due next Wednesday. I look forward to reading them.

4. I have started playing soccer regularly with the children and slowly girls are beginning to ask me if they too can play. I hope to eventually acquire enough females to start a few teams. I also am gradually introducing the concepts of balanced physical fitness: yesterday we actually warmed up and stretched before we played. The children think I’m crazy, but I would like to prevent injuries on my time. I also attempted to have them do some drills: dribbling through a slalom of rocks. This would have worked better if I had more soccer balls…and the kids weren’t so determined just to play. I wonder if I put them on a competitive team whether or not they’d be more receptive…

5. Last night as I was knitting in the family room Oupa turned on world wide wrestling. The thought slowly crept into my head and then, with only malicious intentions, I turned to him and said:

“You know that wrestling is fake right…”

Devastation followed as I continued on my point and the actuality of the fact was realized in his head. I may as well as told a young child that Santa Clause didn’t exist. Best revenge ever…

David

During my sophomore year of college I met David while working on The Vagina Monologues. David, though he will probably deny it, is infinitely wiser, more mature, and more intuitive than me. Thus, I consider him one of my greatest mentors, a reason- he jokes- that we didn’t make it as a couple. Throughout some of my greatest battles in college over issues with the Monologues, until today, when I often voice my tears and frustrations over the battles I wage here in South Africa, David has been a supportive shoulder: always knowing exactly what to say to inspire me, to bring me back to the original path I laid out for myself. His emails are often printed and posted on my wall to read over and over when my will starts to wane.

David started grad school as I started my junior year at university, and we often didn’t talk to each other for extended periods of time. Yet, each time we did manage to reconnect, it was as if he had never left and we were continuing a conversation started the day, hour, minute before. I saw him for the last time in June after not seeing for him for almost two years. We spent the entire time talking and philosophizing while walking around San Luis Obispo. It was probably one of the best days I’ve ever had. David and I have a real connection, and I really look up to him.

So today, as my mail was brought to me, I looked with childish glee and anticipation to realize I had gotten a package from him. I was not disappointed:

In it was the book: “That Takes Ovaries!: Bold Females and their Brazen Acts,” and inscribed was the following message:

Dear Cait,

I saw this play with my friend Sarah as we celebrated her 34th birthday. Throughout the show, I found my mind drifting to you and the kind of bravery, compassion, and commitment to social justice that you exhibit in the way you walk through life. I thought to myself- that Cait has some serious ovaries.

I’m sending you this book so that you can have something that really shows how you are part of a strong, dedicated global sisterhood. I am so proud of you and the efforts you direct toward feminist activism, and so are my friends who signed this book for you. They are proud of your work with V-Day and The Peace Corps as well. We are all writing in admiration and solidarity. Keep your passion.

Best,
David

The book begins with the following quotes:

“If you obey all the rules, you miss all the fun.”
-Katharine Hepburn

“Well-behaved women rarely make history.”
-Laurel Thatcher Ulrich

“If you don’t take risks, you won’t know what is possible.”
-Unknown

David knows me too well. I have realized that he is truly one of the best friends I have ever had: how else would you explain his commitment to helping me survive South Africa?

David you’re my rock.

Family Ties

Tibetian prayer flags accent the porch as the warm coat of a black and white patched dog gently lulls against my leg. Here marks the end of “family time,” a term coined to the days spent with Mike, Hossam, and Meagan-our unit, which has more or less replaced the brothers/sisters we left at home, as we desperately search for support and security in the loneliness of village life. We are a dysfunctional family, like any good family is: teasing Mike about having a big ego, kidding Hossam about being a tortured artist, harassing Meagan about being a thinly-veiled “player,” giving me a bad time about being the imperatively good, innocent one trying desperately to be bad. We argue, push nerves, disagree about money issues, drink too much wine; but we also have heated debates on the meaning of life, support and understand the great changes all of us our experiencing in relation to our own personal growth, and listen when no one else is there.

So now, as I write, Meagan reads, Mike reclines in the hammock, Hossam is showering: we coexist easily, simply, and with the components of ease of any family that has grown up together and knows exactly what to expect of one another.

In this chapter of family life we met up on Wednesday to travel to Meagan’s site to give 40 teachers from the school district a workshop on implementing a physical fitness program and using games in the school. Arranged at the last minute, we didn’t know exactly what we were getting ourselves into, but we did know that we would willingly leave our respective villages for our chance at time together. Once assembled, as we cooked chicken and beans, we discussed the upcoming workshop, commenting on how Mike would adore the time to flex in front of South African teachers, and lamenting over the feasibility of achieving all of our objectives for the day.

Come Thursday morning we managed to hitch a ride in the back of a pickup truck to the village hall where we were conducting the workshop. We dressed in sweats anticipating physical activity while our South African counterparts arrived in a variety of ensembles: jeans, skirts, high heels, etc. It was immediately apparent that we would be facing a crowd of primarily unfit people who would find the majority of the activities daunting and strenuous.

Immediately we started the group on a variety of stretching activities and strength building sets- Mike flexed a lot. I did have to keep my glee at bay as I watched South Africans attempt to do push-ups: some butts sticking high in the air, some doing who know what, all emitting loud grunts and the omnipresent: “Eish.” Regardless of whether or not things were executed perfectly, everyone was having a splendid time, with the most South African enthusiastic participation I’ve ever encountered.

Hindrance.

Enter two Afrikaner women (white). Now, I must admit; my soul is slightly tinged with racism when it comes to Afrikaners unless they prove themselves otherwise. Many tend to hold a very evident and oppressive attitude towards non-whites, which I find ridiculous, pointless, and utterly unproductive in a country that is 77% black, leaving “them” excessively in the minority.

These women, from the Department of Education, did NOT prove my theories regarding Afrikaners wrong. They chose to be on a platform, literally, and make sly remarks for the entire four and a half hours in which we gave the workshop. For example: Peace Corp Volunteers are used to teachers language switching between their home language and English- frankly we encourage it to help facilitate deeper understanding of whatever we happen to be teaching. Yet, in this case, one of the Afrinkaner women chimed in “You need to speak in English so WE (obviously that meant the Afrikaner women since we Americans don’t care) all understand.” I don’t think it ever occurred to them that perhaps they should learn anyone else’s language.

This incident did happen to lead to perhaps my favorite moment of the workshop: One of the teachers was singing a traditional song. After, she said, “Sorry, I don’t know the translation. We had to learn in under THAT education system-you know, Bantu education.” (aka apartheid).

Can I use my seventh grade sentiments to interject: BURN!!

In the end, I had fun at the workshop and felt that the teachers really took something away from it. We were definitely exhausted and to regenerate the four of us ate chocolate, drank wine, had Meagan tell our fortunes, and did a 500 piece puzzle (Thanks Mom).

Friday morning we had a surprise wake up call. Peace Corp sent us messages that we were to “consolidate” in order to test the emergency system (aka where we go hide until Peace Corp picks us up in case of an outbreak of avian flu, civil war, asteroid hitting the earth, etc). Now, we being the sneaky volunteers that we are- in desperate desire to know when we’ll get our next shower/flushing toilet/free in-room coffee had heard rumor of said “emergency drill.” Thus we had called the hotel to confirm reservations which, in turn, sort of killed the surprise. It was nice, nevertheless, to order pizza to our room (I’m still in shock that I could do this I wonder how Tino’s would feel delivering to the village…). We also went to a bar where we made an attempt to order a martini (the result: vodka in a glass with ice and two olives) and Meagan and I gossiped about:

1.Why were all the women in the bar young and beautiful and all the men old and wearing shorts so short they should be considered illegal?

2.Which of the following categories the men of the Peace Corp fell into: Looking for Love/Anti-Love/Looking for “Loving” (Mike and Hossam didn’t necessarily agree with our assessments. In fact, Mike called us out on it and told us we were basically lame and were spending way too much time lamenting.)

After a relaxed evening and sleeping in until-dare I say it- gasp 8:45(!) we left our first world accommodations to meet up with Adam- an American who lives and works in Tzaneen. The plan was to go back and stay at the farm he lives on. Our accommodations: a giant hut with a thatched roof (it’s really quite incredible and when I return to the states I ponder whether I could get an architect to build me one in California). Plans were slightly amended when Adam informed us he was going to a Catholic St. Patrick’s Day dance. Thus, we too went to the dance. Pictures will follow but I will relate the highlights:

1.Hossam tried to dance with a six-year-old- she rejected him- but danced with the rest of us.

2.80’s pop and YMCA is just as fun to foolishly dance to in South Africa as in America.

3.I enjoy the Irish Catholics of Tzaneen- they serve alcohol- I won a bottle of really horrible white wine. I usually drink boxed wine, due to how inexpensive it is here, so it should tell you something that I classified my free wine as horrible.

4.Mike dancing with the 70 year old granny was pretty classic

5.Adam brought his girlfriend-she’s black, he’s white- which is NOT an acceptable pairing in this country. Heads turn and stare/glare when they’re in public, but I felt that the Catholics were more or less friendly and welcoming. Point for the Catholics.

6.They definitely played Queen and we definitely rocked it.

In the end, the night turned out to be one of my Top 3 moment with other volunteers in South Africa (others include New Year’s and Thanksgiving).

So now, I’m coming down from my weeklong natural high while playing fetch with a dog addicted to chasing rocks and Otis Redding “Sitting on a Dock in the Bay” is humming lightly in the background. Mike is pressing flowers into his journal, Meagan is studying an article on the chemistry of love in National Geographic (Thanks Mom), and Hossam is trying to convince us to go skydiving in Durban for school break.

Awwww……Family.

80s night and a hedgehog...

Picture Walk of Village

Brown Water

So I have reached the point of divergence: where I have to choose between the way I would have acted in my previous life and the way I would act now:

The water at my site is currently brown…diluted coca cola is probably the best way to describe it. Peace Corp insists that if I boil it and filter it then it’s fine to drink even if it doesn’t taste great. The problem is….it’s still brown. Can brown water that’s been boiled really be clean? If I bathe in brown water will I be clean? My clothes? If I drink brown water will I get dysentery?

This would not even be a question in the states. If my water came out of my faucet brown then I’d be hauling off to Ralphs, club card in hand, stocking up on gallon jugs of purified water. Not an option here. I can’t really get to town. So…do I attempt to survive on pineapple fanta and get excessively dehydrated or do I add a bit of pineapple juice mix to mask the color and flavor and down it willingly?

Pineapple juice mix it is….good luck stomach.

The Pied Piper

Weekend redeemed.

Five o’ clock. I lace up my running shoes and lock my door. I throw a challenging look at my host mom to see if she’ll confront me on going out in shorts. I know the shorts bother her, but it’s hot, and all the girls in the village are wearing them. Maybe I’m not being culturally sensitive, maybe she has control issues, either way I’m exercising in shorts today. I dare her to confront me on the issue.

Under my left arm is a silver soccer ball. I want to go to the field and play but not alone. Khutso is MIA. I will find children.

I strut down the dirt path, past huts and houses, spotting children practically drooling to be invited to touch my soccer ball, and giving them the wave that says “Come, come to the field, and we will play.” The girls leave their hopscotch, a number of children drop their house work- a car is no longer getting washed, the young life has more or less disappeared from the neighborhood by the time we reach the diverging path.

We walk in a long line: white woman confidently smiling as small African children excitedly trip after her. The eager tension builds: we have almost reached the field. Finally, the ball is punted and throngs of children rush after it, their bare feet thudding against the dirt, each trying to be the first to reach the prized object.

There is such innocent, pure love for this game. Something is unchained in the normally contained children. They laugh and call to each other. They smile and are carefree. They cheer as we allow a 3-year-old to take penalty shots on the goal: his own broad grin increasing everyone’s mirth.

Oh children of Africa: follow me, be happy, be free, forget your woes, enjoy your lives, be young again. Come, come to the field and be free.

Untitled Short Story

When she sulked, she sulked with her whole body. You could see it, not only in her face, but in her entire being. The corners of her mouth would sag and so too would the dimples in her fleshy thighs. It was as if she left her body completely to be replaced with a demure, weasly replica.

Her husband liked to disappear when she came into one of these fits, which was seemingly happening more and more frequently. Her mood would engulf her, then their room, and would finally suck the life out of him too, so that his normally placid persona turned to pure resentment. Before this time of down trodden moods there had been so much to her, to him, to them as a couple. They had been individualists, tackling the world’s problems, propagates of world peace: living and communicating in extremes.

But then the passion dissolved as their entrapment together turned them into enemies. Since they could no longer be passionate together they chose to direct their energies towards a contained rivalry:
“Let’s play Scrabble,” she’d/he’d say.
“The Q is missing,” he’d/she’d reply.
“Where is the Q?”
“How should I know?”
“You hid it, didn’t you.”
“Why would I hide the Q?”
“Because you don’t want to play with me. You’re always avoiding me.”
“How can I avoid you, we’re stuck in the same room together.”
“Well, whose fault is that…”

It was then that the tumultuous, circular argument would begin, like clockwork, everyday- sometimes multiple times a day, about whose fault it was that they were stuck in this small room together. There was never a clear answer because, for both of them, it was always a bit foggy how things had progressed to this level of extremism: the two of them in one small room containing their shared woes- a bed with a tacky purple comforter, a couch whose arms were ridiculously jagged, a desk too wobbly to actually use to write on, a bookshelf with a shelf missing, a dresser whose top left drawer always stuck, and a few other odd storage units that clashed with one another. Before, they had shared an apartment that was not lavish, but was upscale, and had been at the center of things, so that something, anything, was always happening, someone was always awake displaying a quirky habit or hobby.

So now, being always alone together, their attention always focused on the other one, discrepancies in their lives began to surface that had been invisible in the previous fifteen years of their marriage:
“Why do you hold your pen like that?”
“Like what?”
“You don’t hold your pen right.”
“Why does it matter how I hold my pen?”
“Because…it’s just- not right, it looks funny.”

Or

“What should we eat for dinner?”
“Pasta.”
“I’m sick of pasta. We always have pasta.”
“Then make something else.”
“I’m sick of being creative. I always have to come up with something. You come up with something.”
“Pasta.”

Exasperation. The things that had once seemed so solid in their marriage: passion, dedication, love for literature and debating politics, a secret soft spot for orange tabby cats; disappeared as the continuous alone time they spent with each other compounded. She would try to hide in the corner, desperately craving to be lost in a book, but he was in the background, shuffling pieces as he played chess against an invisible opponent or she would hum 80’s pop as he tried to meditate atop a red cushion. Inevitably, these intrusions into each other’s personal space, personal needs, led to the fits: fits of bickering, fits of anger, fits of “the silent treatment,” fits of sulking.

In these fits both would contemplate in their minds: How was it that they had ended up in this small room together, where each day the wall shrank forcing them closer physically, all the while increasing the void between them? How had the person they loved more than anyone slowly become the one they wanted to run away from, poison, and generally dismember into 1,022 pieces?

At its conception the idea had seemed brilliant. They were at a place in their lives they could take a risk: financially they were stable- very stable in fact, their daughter (from her previous marriage) was going into her second year of college, their tabby cat had recently passed away. They were ready to try something new- to start an adventure.

They discussed their options: a safari- too Republican, backpacking through Europe- too young, moving to Florida- too old, running for office- too extreme, opening a business- too mundane, taking a road rip- too cliché. The ideas and pondering continued as the days, weeks, months stretched. Soon the spontaneity seemed to dissipate and their so-called adventure seemed to become lackluster.

They were still at this road block one night as they sat in front of their TV eating take-out sushi: spicy tuna roll and miso soup for her, California roll, salmon roll, and edamame for him, half chatting and half watching the evening movie: Shallow Hal. She found the movie vaguely amusing; he thought it was inane and paged through The Economist. It was nearing the end of the film- Gwyneth Paltrow was leaving, Jack Black wanted her back- together they were going into: the Peace Corps. At that mention- Peace Corps! - she excitedly punched her husband while rice fell from her chopsticks and bounced onto the cushioned arms of their sofa.

Now, here they were, a million miles away from running water, TV, decent newspapers, sushi: sitting in the room they had been sharing for the last six months while attempting to vary their days with community projects, but inevitably spending more time with each other, alone, than they ever had before: always together- at work, doing chores, going grocery shopping, meeting with villagers, always, in the end, in this room. Their sense of helping people increasingly eroded by their resentment towards each other:
“Let’s go running.”
“It’s raining.”
“So what?”
“We’ll end up knee deep in mud.”
“So what?”
“I don’t want to have to wash out all that mud.”

Or

“What do you want for dinner?”
“Sushi.”
“Ha ha…no really?”
“Some of the villagers gave me termites today. We could fry those up.”
Both of their mouths turned upward, slightly cringing, sharing the same thoughts of vexation at the villagers.
“Ha ha…no really?”
“Pasta.”
“I suppose…”

Sunday

It is Sunday. I am ridiculously bored. The only productive thing I have accomplished is ironing my laundry, and though I attempted to stretch out that activity for as long as possible, ironing even my t-shirts, I could only manage to allow it to occupy me for an hour and a half. Currently, I am lying flat on my back, staring at the mosquito net above me at the odd assortment of primarily dead creatures which have accumulated there- spider corpses, discarded wings, mosquito remains. I refer to them as primarily dead because there is one creature still going about his business- a small scorpion. This morning, when I first sighted him, I curled away in horror/disgust/annoyance. Those initial emotions have now been replaced with acceptance. He is a complacent creature and has been entertaining me as I listen to a mixture of Celine Dion/Kelly Clarkson/Traditional music emitted from my own/my brother’s/my neighbor’s radio. I get the feeling that the scorpion is stuck. Though he is definitely still alive, he hasn’t moved from his position since I noticed him. He is still active, reaching one claw forward, followed by the other, seductively shifting his tail as if it was a set of voluptuous hips. I know I should get rid of him before he manages to find a way to crawl onto me and deliver painful injury, but, for now, I’ll settle on him as my on mini television set.

I need to get out of my room, but once again it’s too hot. Last week, when I was in a hotel that had air conditioning, it was cold, as though winter had finally started after my almost eternal ten months of summer. It was cold enough that we took the thick, fleece comforters from our rooms and wore them as parkas to our workshops.

Yet, now I realize it was all a tease. I knew this yesterday as it took me three hours to complete washing my accumulated laundry by hand, leaving me so exhausted I napped for an equally long three hours, and my back so burnt that the multitude of my clothing choices aren’t currently possible.

I suppose the underlying problem of all this is I’ve forgotten how to entertain myself. I spent the last two and a half weeks with someone 24 hours a day, first Omar, and then the rest of the volunteers. So now, I’m attempting to reteach myself to be by myself, which is hard. Since Friday I’ve gone through three novels, a few Newsweeks, some knitting, written two short stories, done laundry and played soccer with the kids, but now, in mid-afternoon on Sunday, I’m at a loss for anything else. I figure I have at least six hours before I can go to bed and that seems like such an eternity, so for now, I’ll stare above me at a scorpion I’ve name Erwin, wishing for entertainment to appear in my life.

Meditations

One shoe was moderately clean but the other encompassed in thick, sienna, slithering muck. She sat contemplating it. She was tired, the syrupy sludge of exhaustion drudgingly seeping through her veins. To proceed home meant questions, multitudes of inane ponderings and gossip. Her patience had waned, her resolve diminished, her bright, sculpted smile grown paper-thin. If only she could lose herself in this seamless niche of solitude, complacently flattened against bleached granite with the soothing murmur of moving water ebbing through her thoughts, blotting out the loneliness, erasing the pessimism.

It was so easy to fall in love with Africa here, as great blue herons dipped from the sky nesting into the radiating water: to watch the sun dazzle and reflect infant fish slithering through the shallows or feel the humid breeze as it played with slender stems of water plants.

Here, it was simple to forget the unclean children, pitifully thin, rummaging through rubbish to claim a discarded can as this afternoon’s plaything. Here, it was simple to let go of the frustration of the day, the anger that only 8 teachers were at school to teach 900 children, while the rest were off interviewing for jobs of higher authority and responsibility, regardless of the fact that their own students were desperately behind due to inattention. Here, it was easy to want to stay, give up your soul to a goal that, at best, could only be moderately accomplished.

Yet, at some point she would have to stand up and face the realism. Hiding in a twenty-foot chasm was impossible; unless she planned on drinking infested water and eating worms: a village temptation she hadn’t given into yet. Eventually she would walk away to the role that she now played: an actress- always patient and forgiving, always pausing, always dropping her own activities to listen to melodramatic sufferings; but for now she would hide, and as always in hiding, she would allow her true feelings, attitudes, and being a few minutes to romp around and be itself.

Painted Toenails

I have had a week and a half of little comforts: showers, a freshly made bed everyday, air conditioning, prepared food, ice cream, going out, and painted toe nails. This all came as part of in service training where I sat through work shops for the designated time period on subjects such as: fundraising, secondary community projects, curriculum implementation, inclusivity in education, life skills training, etc.

It is amazing the simplicity of things which I find awe at now. To be able to stand upright in hot running water and wash my hair everyday not only made me feel very clean but also made me realize how much more shampoo my American persona uses compared to my South African. More about my dual personality:

My American Self:
*Enjoys shaving my legs while standing, showering everyday, and wasting hot water
*Enjoys going out for Italian food and drinking a pitcher of sangria
*Enjoys going to movies (especially when they cost the equivalent of two dollars) and ordering popcorn not because I’m hungry but because I can
*Enjoys window shopping
*Adores Coffee shops
*Can spend hours in the fabric store looking at different yarns and beads
*Likes to put on makeup and spend time getting ready to go out
*Worships ability to be out at night in a bar
*Will give up sleep for a week and a half in order to spend quality time with Americans doing insignificant and shallow things
*Enjoys the guilty pleasure of gossiping about said Americans and their insignificant and shallow things
*Enjoys not having to be culturally sensitive
*Eats a lot of ice cream
*Puts on the air conditioning ridiculously low and has to use a multitude of blankets to compensate just because I can
*Loves to stare at my toe nails now that they are painted scarlet red

My South African Self:
*Worries about how much shampoo I’m wasting by showering everyday.
*Worries about how much money I’m wasting having coffee, pizza, wine, beer, seeing movies, buying yarn, beads, etc
*Feels it’s a bit ridiculous putting on makeup around people who have never seen me with it in the first place
*Thinks said scarlet toe nails aren’t going to look so nice when they are covered in mud in the village
*Is feeling the comings of cold and exhaustion from lack of sleep
*Thinks I’ve probably been drinking more than I normally would just because suddenly I can
*Finds the idea of buying new clothes slightly nauseating when I know I’ll go back to the village wearing nice things while Khutso only eats bread for dinner
*Is starting to think I’m losing sight of things.
*Think the drama amongst Peace Corp Volunteers is verging on ridiculousness

I’ve been trying to make up for my week of indulgence by handing massive amounts of candy out to the children in my village to make me feel better about myself.

Life Skills Training

For three days of my in-service training we had a counterpart from our village, in my case Lucy Modjadji a 1st grade teacher at Letseku, come to Polokwane to experience Life Skills training that we can implement back in our village.

I have had some faulty training from Peace Corps in my past, but the three days of Life Skills training taught me more about South Africans than I had understood in all my previous time spent here. All of my earlier assumptions had been made through observations, so this was the first time that I delve into real and serious issues with the people that work in the village through face to face interactions. By discussing topics such as values, HIV/AIDS, gender roles, knowledge, assertiveness versus passivity, making good decisions, and self-esteem I came to realize the actuality of our cultural differences.

My methods often don’t work: not because people don’t want them to, but more importantly, because they don’t understand them or are overwhelmed by them. It seems apartheid has made many people passive or scared of change. While I deal with conflicts and problems head on, no holding back, culturally my counterparts like to avoid clashes. So when discord was introduced into our group via discussions and/or hard questions it was interesting to see a shift take place as people opened up more in the “safe setting” we had in front of us. One of the best discussions we had centered around the “question of the day:” HIV positive people should be required by law to inform their partner.

I often find myself frustrated with South Africans. I’m used to getting things done the fastest, in my opinion, most efficient way possible. Yet, for things to be more effective here they need to occur gradually. Emphasis in the village is placed on trust and relationships much more so than in America. I suppose this is the reason why meetings are catered even when there is little money for food. There is stress placed in showing respect and one-way people do that here is by providing meals.
Overall, I think I’ve seen the importance of patience. I’m not ineffective at my job I just need to fine-tune myself to fit into my job description. I would like to get a lot done as quickly as possible, but the culture I reside in doesn’t work that way. For me to constantly clash with the standardized norms is ineffective and only causes pains to myself. It has taken me four and a half months at site to gain a deeper understanding of the people around me. I may have to wait another four and a half for them to have the same understanding of me. Gradually, patiently, eventually…

Gender

Part of my week and half of training included a three day seminar on Life Skills training. One of the objectives of the session was to learn to facilitate an activity, and me being the obvious feminist that I am, predictably chose gender roles. As Caitlin said:
“Hey do you want me to sign you up for something?”
“Sure.”
“Let me guess….gender roles.”

We began the session by discussing what each person’s sex was, followed by what their gender was. We followed this by handing out cards that contained words such as violence, nurse, asks for sex, religious, money, power, etc. The group, comprised of approximately 30 people half of whom were American and half South African, had to put their words under the headings entitled male or female. In the end the stereotypical roles fell under their stereotypical category, which lead to some obvious debate. Did women have to raise the children? Were men the only one who could earn a living? Who was the real leader of the family?

Generally, when a group of South Africans and Americans get together the Americans dominate the interaction. This seems to be for a number of reasons, to begin with the interaction often takes place in English making us immediately more comfortable with language usage. In addition, Americans in general tend to be dominating as we have less regard for the roles of respect and submission. Yet, in this case, the South Africans were very adamant about achieving their say in the matter. As a woman I so often push for equality but what I noticed was that didn’t seem the actuality of what all women wanted. The American women and men as well as the South African men were obstinate about the fact that both men and women were capable of playing each role, but the South African women seemed less comfortable with the idea of taking leadership and other stereotypical male attitudes.

Our next activity split the group into four subgroups: South African men, South African women, American women, and American men. Each group was given a chart to fill out entitled on one side Male and on the other Female. In it they were supposed to place their groups perceived gender roles. Deliberately the activity was given little direction in order to make it as interpretive as possible. The following was the result:

South African Women
Male
Leaders
Digging Graves
Power
Work (salary)
Control
Strength
Security

Female
Raising Children
Cooking
Cleaning House
Beauty
Family Decisions
Chopping Wood
Fetching Water
Serving Others
Community Development
Social Worker

*When the South African women discussed their chart they spent a long time defining the reasons they placed each word under the “male” category but the “female” category seemed to be a given for them. I found it especially interesting that they put “Leaders” and “Strength” on the “male” side while at the same time putting “Family Decisions” and “Community Development” on their own without seeing the implications/relationships.

South African Men

Male
Law Enforcement
Doing General Repairs
Meet the needs of family
Man builds house

Female
Acts as manager
House chores
Raising children
Women build a home

*I found it intriguing that the South African men really paused to deliberate gender roles. They did not come up with many examples as their group was encompassed in debate for much of the activity. It was interesting to see that they came up with the idea that men were to provide the house but it wasn’t a home unless the women created the atmosphere.

American Women

Male
Breadwinner
Rational
Many partner= prowess
Never asks for directions
Pursuer/Predator
In business/money making
Assertive/Aggressive
Hard

Female
Caregivers/Nurturing
Emotional
Use a map
Verbal
Many partner=whore
Damsel in Distress
Civil service/People Oriented
Compromise
Soft

*The females made a point of saying that they saw these as the stereotypical roles and didn’t agree with them all. Though we may argue against the extreme stereotyping of gender roles in South Africa they are still alive in America as well.

American Men

Male

Female

*The American men decided to be coy and leave their paper blank to show that gender roles were perceptions and contextual and therefore could not be defined.

In the end the group came up with the following conclusions:
*In South Africa there is a focus on “respect of role” while in America the focus is more primarily “respect of individual.”
*Women who have grown up in the village don’t questions their roles out of respect for elders. I think non-questioning may also be a side-effect of the apartheid era.
*American women are at a definite crossroads regarding gender roles. Many want all the benefits of equality while still receiving the benefits of chivalry: free dinners, opened doors, free drinks.
*American men are confused with their own roles as society shifts. In the presence of women they often don’t know how to act as one woman may expect certain things: dinner, flowers, etc and another woman may be offended by the same offerings.
*The more education someone receives the more roles change due to the fact that more opportunities are available and often more critical thinking of current situations takes place.

All in all the session made me aware of a lot I wasn’t before. I notice in my host sisters their growing annoyance at doing all the work while the boys sit under the tree or watch TV. There is a subtle shift going on as more opportunities are afforded and Western culture gains a greater hold in the scheme of things.

Vagina Monologues

A few weeks ago I received the following text message from Heidi: “Rumor has it you were involved in the Vagina Monologues. Would you be interested in doing a show for the volunteers?”

In the first place, expressing myself as being involved in the Monologues is an understatement. For the last two years, and to some degree even the year before that, the monologues governed my life from approximately December to February. I put in at least forty hour weeks to produce/organize the show at Cal Poly San Luis Obispo in addition to going to school, working, etc. It was an exhausting and exhilarating time, but by far one of the greatest things I’ve ever experienced. In the end, between the two years, we raised about $20,000 dollars for the Rape Crisis Center and the Women’s Center in San Luis Obispo.

So when Heidi mentioned getting together some of the women to perform I was ecstatic. I had left so much of everything that was important to me in America, and it felt like discovering my identity again to be able to bring such an important part of my former life into the existence of my new being.

I contacted Dynia (my former director) and asked her to send me a few of the monologues. Eventually I received them from her and in addition I wrote my own entitled “The Elusive Mating Habits of the Peace Corp Volunteer.” I will unfortunately not be sharing it on my blog as it is risqué, as I’m sure my mom would quickly point out to me with one of her pointed messages that often attempts to censor words I use such as “bastard” which she feels are inappropriate to be uttered in this space. In addition, it is filled to the capacity with inside jokes that would leave the reader intensely confused making it pointless to distribute in the first place.

When we reached IST (in-service training) last week with the rest of the Education volunteers from SA14 I made an announcement with Heidi about putting on the show and if anyone was interested talk to me. They did.

There are close to 50 education volunteers and immediately 8 women came to ask if they could perform a monologue. In addition, the rest of the volunteers were very excited and kept pestering me about when we would perform.

So on Thursday we got up on a raised platform, after practicing once, in front of all the other volunteers and performed The Vagina Monologues. For whatever reason it clicked amazingly well and the transitions between the pieces as well as the deliverance of the pieces themselves was superb and moving. I would never have predicted to have such a powerful experience with the monologues in such a short time span, but I did. I sat and watched the “actresses” deliver themselves confidently, vulnerably, commitedly and I knew, knew that nothing is going to have such an effect on my life as my experiences here in Africa because everything leaves a much stronger imprint, is done with so much more conviction, that the emotions are so much more real and intense.

To Caitlin, Heidi, Michelle, Meagan, Melissa, Emily, and Ivy- Thank You