On a Lighter Note.

So the taxi system. I obviously don’t have a car for transport here (although it is often debated because I am an American so of course I would have a car and know Oprah, right)?  Anyway, most of the people in my village don’t have a car. We all rely on the public taxi system that isn’t like you are used to (or I was used to anyway). You don’t hail a cab and then tell the driver your destination. The taxis here are vans…think minibus like, maybe a bit VWish? You can fit about 15 passengers in one of these vans (occasionally, more are crammed into one).

You stand on the side of the road and point your finger in the air indicating that you want to go to town (or point it down if you are just riding local). And the taxi picks you up (most of the time). There is a system that everyone knows and sometimes I seem to get passed by but it seems like there is a reason and maybe I’m just not keen to every nuance yet but I'm still in the learning stages. Anyway, everyone knows the taxi change points and ranks and typically what times of day you can and can’t get taxis…of course, I didn’t know this a couple of months ago but you start to figure it out as you go (at least in the local area you travel…it’s always a fresh start when you go somewhere new). The other customs that you start to figure out include where to sit in the taxi. You don’t want to sit in the front with the driver because then you have to be the money collector (there can also be some flirting as the driver “wants to be your friend” which is a bit annoying). The first row is the best but you want to sit by the window because then you can control if it’s open or not. Most people here don’t want the window open. Ever. Even if it is a million degrees. And smelly. The back row is a bit miserable because you are usually squished in and bounced around. Oh, and squished in is just part of the most every taxi ride.

So I took a taxi to town this morning to do errands for our upcoming soccer tournament. I did my finger pointing (not that kind) and my taxi finally arrived. And taxis arrive when they arrive. There is no schedule. You take what you get. Some of these taxis have seen better days. If you are lucky you get what is called a Quantum. These are the newer, nicer taxis. It’s like a luxury ride (okay, not really but they are pretty nice in comparison). Or you get what I got this morning. There were windows in working order (most were like gone), the engine sounded like it was going to die at any moment (there was some serious liquid leaking from somewhere) and the door (usually a sliding door that you pull open and closed when you board) was missing the cover and handle. So when the driver stopped and I tried to open the door it wouldn’t budge. So the driver turned off the taxi, got out, and opened the side door window to pull the door off the hinges (yes, it actually came off) to let me inside. Then he closed the door (after 5 or 6 tries reattaching) and walked back around the taxi. He then tried to turn over the engine, it sputtered and with a push from a few people on the side of the road off we went.

The amusing part was that for EVERY person that got on and off the taxi this same procedure was repeated. And, we stopped like, oh, 50 times. Oh, what a beautiful morning, oh what a beautiful day.

My Yoga Mat.

I feel like sometimes I am going crazy. Let me explain.


My days can be filled with so much drama. And I’m not talking about external, loud drama. I go through this roller coaster of highs and lows. Good day, bad day. Productive, non-productive. Happy, sad. I’ve written letters to a few of you about this (sorry if it sounded so dramatic - I really am fine!) but in an effort to explain I may have sounded a bit crazy. Luckily, I talked to another volunteer who is experiencing these same things so either we are both going crazy or at least I’m not going crazy alone.

Sometimes it’s even within a single day that I experience this sense of high and low. For example, I went to the primary school this week. I’ve been going to the school one day each week to get to know the children and teachers (understand that there are almost 700 children at this school so it's going to take a while...). It’s been good for networking in the community as well as to give me an idea of the type of education the children in the community are getting (I am also hoping that I can help with a project here at some point). It’s been really…interesting. But I really love going. Anyway, I went to Grade 1 and I was practicing Sepedi words with the learners (this is what they call the students) – they were actually engaged and listening. It was wonderful. HIGH!

Later that day, I went to Grade 2…and experienced another spectrum at the school. The class was overcrowded, the teacher wasn’t engaged, many of the children didn’t have supplies, didn't understand the lesson at all…LOW.

This is just a small example but it’s indicative of being thrust into a community, culture, place where what you experience is so…much. And, I know that I’ve had these same highs and lows in my life. I’m sure I did back home (or maybe I am crazy)! But I think the difference is not being able to process what you feel or hear or see.

Now I know why we are asked, during all of those Peace Corps interviews prior to leaving home, what we do to cope with stress. It’s not like I can get a massage (ahh!), take a bubble bath, go to a movie, get in my car and take a drive, eat chocolate (unless I have planned accordingly several weeks in advance)…you get the picture. Someone asked me in a letter recently about my yoga mat – if it was a good decision to pack and bring on my journey. The answer is yes. Definitely yes.

The Adventures of Flat Carter (written for my nephew, Carter)!

Flat Carter began his long journey from Crested Butte, Colorado, to visit Aunt Wendy in South Africa early one morning. It was cold when he left Colorado but he knew it would be HOT in Africa.  His journey was only supposed to take a few weeks but instead it took many long months. Flying over the Atlantic Ocean took a LONG time! But, Flat Carter finally arrived safe and sound in South Africa and he was ready for his big adventure.

But first he had to get clean (he smelled pretty bad after that long flight)? So, Aunt Wendy gave him a bucket bath of course. She filled her big blue bucket with water and poured it over Flat Carter to get him squeaky clean.

Aunt Wendy and Flat Carter then walked down the long dirt road to visit the children at the center and greeted people along the way. “Dumelang!” Flat Carter learned to say (this means “Hello”). When they arrived at the center they played all day.  On the walk home they saw a donkey along the road.

Flat Carter wanted to ride on the donkey but Aunt Wendy didn’t think this was a good idea. They saw goats, chickens, and many cows, When they got back to Aunt Wendy’s house it was time to eat pap (everyone eats pap here -  I can't believe you don't know what it is)? Flat Carter loved eating pap because you get to use your hands. It’s been a busy day and it’s time for Flat Carter to go to sleep. But don’t forget to get under the mosquito net, Flat Carter! Tomorrow more adventures await you in beautiful South Africa. O robala gabotse, Flat Carter!

Slow Living Time.

So my wonderful mom (hi mom!) asked me a question about what I do every day when I go in to the office. Well, let me provide a bit of perspective about life in rural Africa because I think that it is important. There is a term here called “African Time” that I have come to call, “Slow Living Time.” This means that while work gets done it gets done when it gets done – you know in SLT (Slow Living Time). I thought that much of my general lack of understanding about SLT was because I didn’t understand the language. No. It’s just the general way of life for most everyone (yes, exceptions do exist I will admit). But, for example, I was told to meet at the “tar road” (this is the main paved road in my village) at 8AM to go to town this morning. We didn’t leave until after 9AM. I don’t really know why. There was a lot of standing around and greeting and talking while we waited for transport to arrive. And in SLT, we left for town and things got done eventually (there was more SLT throughout the day, yes). But this happens often – mostly every day.

The life of a volunteer can’t really be measured by what happens at the “office.” Much of the work we as volunteers do happens in SLT that I can’t even begin to compare to what you all know there in our American lifestyle…I sure didn’t and it has taken me some time to adapt (and I still struggle I have to admit). 

Sometimes, you just wait for the cows to cross the road and enjoy the day. I took this picture on my way to the “office” this morning.

One Big Extended Family.

During our 2 months of training, we were divided into small language groups. As I mentioned, I was learning Xitsonga along with 5 other Peace Corps trainees. We were assigned to a LCF (Language and Cultural Facilitator) who was our teacher during these two months. Our teacher was a young woman named Ntombi (Ntombifuthi is her full name I have since learned). She was beautiful, very kind and a bit shy at first but she tried to get our unruly group to settle down and learn. We came to form a strange and interesting crew – everyone with a different story - one big extended family of sorts. We were sad to say goodbye to our teacher after training ended. A few of the volunteers in our group actually ended up at sites near Ntombi and she has ushered them into the community and made them feel welcome.

I am telling you this because we learned that Ntombi’s father passed away last week. She invited us all to the funeral and this past weekend our entire language group made the journey to attend his service. Her father was a magistrate and was well known throughout the community. The funeral was packed with family and friends. We all showed up early in the morning (the funeral started at 6AM and didn’t end until after 1PM – and then there was continued socializing into the afternoon…) and it was a beautiful tribute to what seemed like a great man who unfortunately I didn’t get to meet but he certainly raised a wonderful daughter. And even though we kept telling Ntombi not to worry about us she wanted to make sure we were all taken care of and looked after - introducing us to family and friends.

It just really made me appreciate not only the kindness I have been shown by people that I have met on this journey so far (and it’s only just the beginning) but also the wonderful beauty of family and community that are just a way of life here. At first I didn’t understand it and I’m not sure I could completely explain it either but once you start to simply live in it for a bit, it just kind of makes sense.

Here is a picture of our language group. One big, extended family.

Yes, it's a mole.

So I forgot to mention that I went to church a couple of weekends ago. In an effort to get to know a few of my community members, I reached out to the family that lives in the village nearby and had hosted the previous PC volunteer. They were nice enough to invite me to church and, innocently, I said that of course I would attend. Well, on Sunday morning I walked to their house (this took half an hour) and we all loaded into their large work truck (their father is a carpenter). When we arrived at the “church” I learned that it is in the process of being built and because there isn’t enough money, it’s not completely finished. There were walls and a roof but the rest was in a bit of disarray. It was at this time that I also discovered that their mom would be conducting the church service. So, being the first family to arrive, we swept the church out and arranged the chairs. I actually wasn’t sure what to expect in terms of a service (I am still not really sure what kind of church it is?) but the oldest daughter had promised to interpret in English for me so at least I would be able to understand. There were a few children that arrived for “Sunday School” which consisted of dancing and singing. A little girl, Blessing, took to me during Sunday School and wouldn’t get out of my lap. She liked playing with my watch – taking it on and off. As people started coming in at about 11AM then the service started, I think. We danced and sang…of course the little girl, Blessing, was on my lap the entire time which quite fine but at one point she started pointing and then trying to pull the mole off my chin. I tried to explain that it was attached in my limited “Sepedi for children” but finally one of the adults had to come and take her away because it was getting a bit unmanageable. The service continued with dancing and singing. Finally at about 1PM there was a sermon (translated for me in English) and then more dancing and singing. We finished at about 2ish. It was actually quite nice although a bit long) because afterward everyone was so happy I had come and wanted to know if I would be coming back.


I will make sure to plan for a long day when I do…

Christmas in South Africa?!

Could it be Christmas already? It sure felt like it! On Friday I made the long journey to the post office. I have to take a taxi and then walk about 20-30 minutes to get to the post office (I think I’ve mentioned this?) so the anticipation of actually having mail is intense. This was my first time going alone. I had been escorted before to make sure I could find it but now I was on my own. Well, I was so excited to go that I set off early. I figured that the post office would be open by 8AM, right? And by the time I got there it was 8:30AM so of course it would be open. But as I approached I was worried. It looked closed. The actual post boxes are outside so I could at least get the mail but if I needed to pick up a package I was out of luck. I opened the box and what did I find? Lots of slips telling me there were packages to pick up – at least that’s what I assumed. They were all different and random (like handwriting on torn slips – nothing official looking) but what else would they be? But now I would have to wait. How long? What were the hours? I was walking around looking for something that would provide a clue when a woman came out the side door and started sweeping the patio. She greeted me and asked me where I stayed (yes, in Sepedi). I got through that question okay but then she asked me another one that I couldn’t quite understand (and, by the way, my lessons are going well - I really like my teacher but it's a process, okay)? We laughed and smiled (when in doubt just laugh and smile). I pointed to my slips of paper and gestured to the closed post door. Well, she seemed to understand (and take pity on me) because she opened the door and invited me inside where we found another post office worker who was willing to help me. Interestingly, once the door opened it seemed like people started coming in – the hours just must be when the door opens? Who knows. Anyway, I had so many packages (thank you my wonderful family who I love SO MUCH) it was like Christmas! But then there seemed to be a glitch. She needed me to sign the slips and I didn’t know my ID number (I don’t travel with my passport number)? I panicked. Was I going to have to walk back to the road, take a taxi to my house and come back all over again just to bring my ID number? She looked at my face (panic, sadness, confusion…you get the picture) and said we could just have someone else that she knows sign for the packages. Can you do that? Well, we did (the nice gogo behind me) and I got my packages. Next time I guess I will bring my ID with me.


And it really was like Christmas opening the packages. Coffee (thank you, grandmother!), soap, trail mix (I love you, mom and dad)…it was so exciting! It was only spoiled when I went to put some of the stuff away and realized that there were roaches now also invading my wardrobe. But, not to fear, in one of the packages my wonderful parents sent me there was some roach killer. Ahh, to be spoiled by my family from so far away! Thank you!  Thank you!  But I might need more...and maybe some ant killer.

And send more trail mix and red vines too!  :)