It is HERE.

I imagine you have all heard that the World Cup is in South Africa. Yes, FEEL IT.  IT IS HERE (this is said all of the time). I admit that I didn’t really watch soccer that much prior to coming here but I have watched more soccer in this last month than probably in my entire lifetime. Well, that’s not true. I have listened to a lot of soccer (thanks to my reliable radio) and watched a little bit (thanks to a fabulous host this weekend). Including, yes, attending a game. I couldn’t go back to the states having been here during this monumental occasion and not attend a game? Are you crazy? It has been quite fun being part of all of the discussions (some in Sotho) and excitement even through the sadness of Bafana, Bafana getting eliminated. Have you heard about this thing called a vuvuzela (in one of my pictures below at the match that I attended).  Oh, and it was freezing.  Yes, it's cold in South Africa right now. 

We also had a wonderful event at my organization for the children. We hosted a “World Cup” Soccer Tournament to coincide with the start of the World Cup. The tournament was open to the children who visit our drop-in centers.  We had a tournament (with prizes!), provided lunch and had an awards ceremony...it was really a great day. In an effort to build awareness, interest and understanding about how the World Cup works, we have also been sharing information with the children at the centers during the World Cup school closures.  Here are a couple of pictures from the tournament day.  I need to post more as I have some really great pictures of the day!

The World Cup has been a once in a lifetime opportunity for South Africans. Whether you like soccer or not, it has brought together a country of soccer fans.  I wonder who will win?

Just a Hike.

I went on an amazing hike. In Africa. Like no other hike I have been on before.  My village sits at the Northern end of the Drakensburg mountains. It is really beautiful and I have been saying for quite some time that I want to go hiking in the mountains that sit behind my village. Well, most people don’t “hike” around here. They walk for a purpose.  But, I think my excitement (or maybe persistance?) rubbed off because I talked some women from my organization into taking me up onto the mountain for a hike. It will be a day I won't forget.

Understand that there aren’t really hiking trails. There are cow paths that most of the people know around here because the farmers in the area use them to herd their cattle and get up and down from the mountain. My unlikely hiking crew set off at 6:30AM one morning (okay, it was actually more like 7:00AM – please refer back to SLT if you need to know about being on time here) and it was extremely cold…for Africa. The women had several layers of pants and skirts and dukus (head wraps) as well as their large, dull knife (to be explained later) and lots of food. I wasn’t sure what to expect so I hadn’t brought much so they all gave me a hard time (they don’t think I eat enough) and said if I helped carry things, they might share.

We started off on our journey. It was a real hike (I really wasn’t sure what to expect - like maybe we would walk up the road and call it good)! But, no, we were heading into the hills!  The views were spectacular and I was saying to myself, “It feels just like any other hike?” But then…some changes began to take shape. Which is what made the day really spectacular. Let me point out just a few of the highlights:

• Picked field grass for making small brooms (it’s a special kind of grass that apparently only grows on the mountain – well, the best kind anyway)
• Visited a rural (very rural) African farming family where we were served sweet potatoes, avocado, and sugar cane while one of the older farmers told us stories
• Ended up at another very rural farmer’s place where we were given bananas (and also saw a baboon – although it was dead because the farmer had killed it when he found it eating his crops but I was interested to learn that baboons live in the mountains)
• Stopped for a picnic of pap, chicken, atchar, and gravy
• Learned how I could carry wood down the mountain on my head next time (all of the women actually did carry wood on their head down the mountain but I opted out for fear of stumbling and killing myself) - oh, and the knife was used to cut the wood

I can’t tell you how wonderful this day was for me. The next day I asked if we could do it again. They all looked at me like I was crazy. I don’t think this is something they do very often? Take a look at some of the pictures though. You, too, can come to Africa and experience this hike with me. Maybe I can talk them into it again if I have visitors?

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.