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.