As I sat saturday on the steps of the bank, waiting for Alyssa and Colin to get their money, my only thought was "how the hell am I going to make it through another year?"
Don't worry, this post gets more optimistic. However, my thoughts for the last week have definitely run the gamut.
One year, This time last year I was living in a little rondaval with another trainee, across from a married couple, spending days in long sessions and nights handing out with other trainees. I didn't even know was isndbele was, having no idea about the language that would continue to befuddle me. I remember meeting Sbongile for the first time, not yet knowing I was going to be the one to replace her. She looked impecable in a long flowy skirt and a tanktop while I sweated profusely in my business casual.
It's been a year and I haven't been able to replicate Sbongile's style or sense of calm or ease. However, I have made my own style in bundu, my sweaty, goofy, terrible isndebele, goofing with kids style. Bundu is my home. I teach, I run my gogo's group, I do random projects. I help in the garden. I talk. I have coffee. I play with the kids. I try to find new stuff to do.
Its pleasant and nice and fun and feels like life. I'm not the best or most hardworking peace corps volunteer, but I've done a bit. All but two of the students in my grade 9 english class passed. My gogo's are trying to get their group registered as an NPO. We are working on the IGA stuff. I'm teaching life orientation this term. My boyfriend is coming to visit in 17 days.
I'll make it through this year like I did the last. One day at a time.
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