"I would often fantasize that maybe someday I could be one of those stoic badasses whose emotions are mostly comprised of rock music and not being afraid of things"
Two weeks ago, I accidentally poured boiling water on to my hand. It led to a pretty decent first or second degree burn that I now show off proudly. However, it didn't need to have happened.
After I burned myself, I was too afraid of inconveniencing my host family, that I didn't ask for the help I needed, this time, access to cold water. Instead, I spent much of time afterwards trying to convince them I was fine, while trying to find cold water...without them realizing that I was in pain.
To say that was completely idiotic would be putting it lightly. And now I've got a scar to remind me of it.
I've always had a problem with asking for help. This hasn't manifested itself as much when I was in the US, because I knew how to do most of the things I wanted/needed to do. In south africa, everything is completely new.
And instead of asking for help...I've tried to act like a stoic badass. And it usually hasn't worked that well. Besides burning my hand, I've gotten incredibly lost on the streets of pretoria, really messed up doing my laundry, gotten sick in several cars, got caught in a thunderstorm... And that's just off the top of my head.
But I can see right now, if I continue this, I can't be a good peace corps volunteer. I need to ask for help from my counterparts, from my host family, from peace corps, from my friends, from the clinic, from bundu. And truth, that almost paralyzes me. I am incredibly scared. Maybe of rejection, maybe because I fear people thinking less of me, of failure.
But in order to get where I want to go, in order to be a good peace corps volunteer, in order to be the person I want to be, I got to face my fear and do it anyway.
Time for the 80's pump up music!
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Sunday, April 1, 2012
Saturday evening, I was playing a version of pictionary with my six year old host sister (she, using a stick, would draw something in the dirt, and I would have to guess what it was) when I heard a noise. It was coming from the pile of logs. When I went to investigate, I found a kitten. It was an orange tabby, probably less than a week old, its eyes barely open. It was the same color as one of our two cats. Further observance of the log pile found another kitten, the same age, this one pure white. It was the same color as the other of our two cats
In rural South Africa, it is very rare for children to be raised by both their mother and their father. Because of many factors, lack of employment in rural areas, the commoness of multiple concurrent relationships, the age of sexual debut and other, most children are raised by their grandmother. Their mother and sometimes father, live and work in the nearest city and come back when they can. The grandmother usually has many grandchildren living with her, from many of her children. This situation also has a monetary benefit. In South Africa, if one is raising your own child, one receives 250 rand a month per child from the government. But if you are raising someone elses child, you receive more than 1000 rand per month per child. Sometimes one of the mothers also lives with her children and the grandmother. And in one family I know, the father lives with his children and his mother. But in the village of bundu, I only know of one family where the children are being raised by both of their parents.
My first instinct when I found the kittens was to bring them to their mother. However, when I brought them to her, she seemed startled, but not interested. My host mother brought a large bowl and put a blanket in it and made the kittens a new home. Their mother ignored them. I started to get angry at the mother. I grabbed the mother by the neck, and held her down in the bowl, and guided the kittens toward their mothers nipples so they could feed. "You are a bad mother!" I yelled at the cat. "This is what happens when you have sex. You have to live with the consequences! You can't abandon your children!"
In rural South Africa, the kids take care of each other. They play together after school, a mix of ages, no adult supervision. The older ones help the younger ones out. Kids take on much more responsibility here than in america. One of my favorite sights has been watching my six year old neighbor teach his three year old cousin how to ride a bike. However, grandmothers, who have huge houses full of children can only do so much. As many of my fellow volunteers found out, children can be dropped off to live with their grandmother at any age, without any warning. Grandmothers have to triage. So kids seem to grow up without very much adult supervision or help. Makes it much easier to fall through the cracks. Especially since many of the children, most usually the girls, run the household, starting as early as ten. A fellow volunteer told me about how when her host brothers mother left him at his grandmothers for a year, to follow a man, he failed several classes. It takes a toll on kids.
When I was holding the mama cat down to feed her kittens, I misunderstood directions from my host mom. My grip slipped and the cat ran off. After chasing her for awhile, she evaded our grasp. Its been 24 hours and she hasn't come back. We wrapped the kittens up in a blanket and hoped for the best. When I was chasing the cat, before it got too dark to see my host mother told me "You can't make her into a good mother. She abandoned her kittens." I knew that, instictively. But I also knew these kittens needed food and the only way to get it was through her. I didn't want these kittens to die because she was a bad mom. Not under my watch. But she evaded us. The stores were closed, the khumbis had stopped running and there were no shelters to take them to.
When I woke up this morning, the kittens were dead.
In rural South Africa, it is very rare for children to be raised by both their mother and their father. Because of many factors, lack of employment in rural areas, the commoness of multiple concurrent relationships, the age of sexual debut and other, most children are raised by their grandmother. Their mother and sometimes father, live and work in the nearest city and come back when they can. The grandmother usually has many grandchildren living with her, from many of her children. This situation also has a monetary benefit. In South Africa, if one is raising your own child, one receives 250 rand a month per child from the government. But if you are raising someone elses child, you receive more than 1000 rand per month per child. Sometimes one of the mothers also lives with her children and the grandmother. And in one family I know, the father lives with his children and his mother. But in the village of bundu, I only know of one family where the children are being raised by both of their parents.
My first instinct when I found the kittens was to bring them to their mother. However, when I brought them to her, she seemed startled, but not interested. My host mother brought a large bowl and put a blanket in it and made the kittens a new home. Their mother ignored them. I started to get angry at the mother. I grabbed the mother by the neck, and held her down in the bowl, and guided the kittens toward their mothers nipples so they could feed. "You are a bad mother!" I yelled at the cat. "This is what happens when you have sex. You have to live with the consequences! You can't abandon your children!"
In rural South Africa, the kids take care of each other. They play together after school, a mix of ages, no adult supervision. The older ones help the younger ones out. Kids take on much more responsibility here than in america. One of my favorite sights has been watching my six year old neighbor teach his three year old cousin how to ride a bike. However, grandmothers, who have huge houses full of children can only do so much. As many of my fellow volunteers found out, children can be dropped off to live with their grandmother at any age, without any warning. Grandmothers have to triage. So kids seem to grow up without very much adult supervision or help. Makes it much easier to fall through the cracks. Especially since many of the children, most usually the girls, run the household, starting as early as ten. A fellow volunteer told me about how when her host brothers mother left him at his grandmothers for a year, to follow a man, he failed several classes. It takes a toll on kids.
When I was holding the mama cat down to feed her kittens, I misunderstood directions from my host mom. My grip slipped and the cat ran off. After chasing her for awhile, she evaded our grasp. Its been 24 hours and she hasn't come back. We wrapped the kittens up in a blanket and hoped for the best. When I was chasing the cat, before it got too dark to see my host mother told me "You can't make her into a good mother. She abandoned her kittens." I knew that, instictively. But I also knew these kittens needed food and the only way to get it was through her. I didn't want these kittens to die because she was a bad mom. Not under my watch. But she evaded us. The stores were closed, the khumbis had stopped running and there were no shelters to take them to.
When I woke up this morning, the kittens were dead.
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Once in a lifetime
"And you may ask yourself, Well, how did I get here?"
In 7th grade, my class went on a backpacking trip. While the experience was memorable in many ways, the one that stands out now is that it introduced me to the band The Talking Heads. During that 7 hour car ride to Sierra Canyon, my car must have listened to "Psychokiller" at least 30 times. Psychokiller remains a favorite, but when exploring the disography of the Talking Heads, "Once in a lifetime" always stuck a chord in me emotionally.
"And you may tell yourself, This is not my beautiful house"
I moved into my new house on Friday, the day after swear in. My house is not particularly beautiful. Or large. Truthfully, I've lived in dorm rooms larger than it. But it's mine. I spent most of yesterday and today putting together a kitchen. Tonight, I'll be cooking my first meal.
The house is part of a large family compound, the mashiani family. There are eleven family members who live there, a grandmother and a grandfather, three sisters and six children. Have definitely not gotten everyone's names down yet. But they are all incredibly nice and welcoming, while still letting me have my independence.
I met my last supervisor (I apparently have 3, its going to be a bit confusing) and I start work tomorrow. By work, I'm not exactly sure. I plan to do what I did during site visit, which is to follow one of the nurses around. According to Peace Corps, I'm not supposed to do any major work for the first three months, just integrate and study the community. We'll see how it goes.
Bundu is still lovely. It's a tiny village, population of maybe 1000, surrounded by beautiful rolling hills. Sometimes the views take my breath away. There is a strong community here, it seems like everyone knows each other and says hi.The community seems very receptive to me. Even more than receptive, I keep on getting asked about projects people want help on, groups people want to start. It's a bit overwhelming, but very fun. I'm a replacement volunteer, the last volunteer just left and I was lucky enough to meet her and talk to her about Bundu.
"And you may tell yourself, this is not my beautiful wife"
On Thursday and Friday, I had to say goodbye to the 32 other members of SA 25. Because of geographic distance and peace wcorps regulations, the likelihood that I will see any members of the group for the first three months is slim.
Its going to be pretty hard, as I have gotten close with many volunteers. But hanging out with american friends is not why I joined peace corps. Ill just become best friends with my blackberry and think back on good PST memories, knowing that there will be many more to come in the next two years.
These past two months have been incredible. Not without lows, but on the whole, an amazing experience. I have to pinch myself at least once a day, because sometimes the fact that I AM a peace corps volunteer, this is my real life. It seems very surreal at times.
But sometimes as "once in a lifetime" says, this really is my life. And I'm just going to enjoy it
In 7th grade, my class went on a backpacking trip. While the experience was memorable in many ways, the one that stands out now is that it introduced me to the band The Talking Heads. During that 7 hour car ride to Sierra Canyon, my car must have listened to "Psychokiller" at least 30 times. Psychokiller remains a favorite, but when exploring the disography of the Talking Heads, "Once in a lifetime" always stuck a chord in me emotionally.
"And you may tell yourself, This is not my beautiful house"
I moved into my new house on Friday, the day after swear in. My house is not particularly beautiful. Or large. Truthfully, I've lived in dorm rooms larger than it. But it's mine. I spent most of yesterday and today putting together a kitchen. Tonight, I'll be cooking my first meal.
The house is part of a large family compound, the mashiani family. There are eleven family members who live there, a grandmother and a grandfather, three sisters and six children. Have definitely not gotten everyone's names down yet. But they are all incredibly nice and welcoming, while still letting me have my independence.
I met my last supervisor (I apparently have 3, its going to be a bit confusing) and I start work tomorrow. By work, I'm not exactly sure. I plan to do what I did during site visit, which is to follow one of the nurses around. According to Peace Corps, I'm not supposed to do any major work for the first three months, just integrate and study the community. We'll see how it goes.
Bundu is still lovely. It's a tiny village, population of maybe 1000, surrounded by beautiful rolling hills. Sometimes the views take my breath away. There is a strong community here, it seems like everyone knows each other and says hi.The community seems very receptive to me. Even more than receptive, I keep on getting asked about projects people want help on, groups people want to start. It's a bit overwhelming, but very fun. I'm a replacement volunteer, the last volunteer just left and I was lucky enough to meet her and talk to her about Bundu.
"And you may tell yourself, this is not my beautiful wife"
On Thursday and Friday, I had to say goodbye to the 32 other members of SA 25. Because of geographic distance and peace wcorps regulations, the likelihood that I will see any members of the group for the first three months is slim.
Its going to be pretty hard, as I have gotten close with many volunteers. But hanging out with american friends is not why I joined peace corps. Ill just become best friends with my blackberry and think back on good PST memories, knowing that there will be many more to come in the next two years.
These past two months have been incredible. Not without lows, but on the whole, an amazing experience. I have to pinch myself at least once a day, because sometimes the fact that I AM a peace corps volunteer, this is my real life. It seems very surreal at times.
But sometimes as "once in a lifetime" says, this really is my life. And I'm just going to enjoy it
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Today was a long day. SA 25 had its host family farewell party, which involved at least six hours of cooking as well as other preparations, speechwriting, dance learning, costume making/dressing... Our group worked hard. The event went off with the usual hitches that I've come to associate with south africa (Too many people! Transportation is late! Not enough food! Everything takes longer than it should and starts late! Why is there six different groups doing the same dance to the same song?). But eventually everyone got fed, we went through the entire program and no fights escalated beyond some yelling. Like most south african events, it ended in a huge dance party, so I'm calling it a success.
Today was one of the last times our whole group will be together for awhile. 33 of us will swear in on thursday and then spread out across the limpopo, mpumalanga and kwazulunatal provinces. For three months, I will probably not see another member of my training group.
I love my training group. The 32 other members are incredibly fantastic individuals. Unfortunately, even after the 3 month lockdown period, many of my closest friends are going to be 6 to 15 hours away.
But although I'd love to live much closer to some of these fantastic people, that's not what peace corps is about. Its about changing communities, changing lives and integrating fully into my community, which is much harder to do when surrounded by other americans.
So when the vans come to take everyone away, I will be sad. I might even cry. But for my community and for myself, this is necessary for growth. And when it gets bad, I can chat with people using my blackberry, as well as planning trips with friends. Thank god for blacberries.
Today was one of the last times our whole group will be together for awhile. 33 of us will swear in on thursday and then spread out across the limpopo, mpumalanga and kwazulunatal provinces. For three months, I will probably not see another member of my training group.
I love my training group. The 32 other members are incredibly fantastic individuals. Unfortunately, even after the 3 month lockdown period, many of my closest friends are going to be 6 to 15 hours away.
But although I'd love to live much closer to some of these fantastic people, that's not what peace corps is about. Its about changing communities, changing lives and integrating fully into my community, which is much harder to do when surrounded by other americans.
So when the vans come to take everyone away, I will be sad. I might even cry. But for my community and for myself, this is necessary for growth. And when it gets bad, I can chat with people using my blackberry, as well as planning trips with friends. Thank god for blacberries.
Saturday, March 10, 2012
" You seem to get sick a lot"
That quote came from one of my peace corps medical officers, or pcmos for short. As of today, I can award myself with the dubious honor of being the sickest person in my training class. I have been down for the count with 3 different illnesses, as far as I know, the most times someone has been sick besides me is once. Or twice with the same illness both times.
1.5 weeks in, I woke up with angelina jolie sized lips. My lips kept on swelling up so it looked like I had gotten into a fight with a plastic surgeon. Then my eyes started swelling up as well, so I could barely open them. When a rash started to accompany this, I called the pcmo. The culprit was mangos. Turns out although even though I had eaten and enjoyed mangos in the states, nicaragua and vietnam, these south african mangos made my immune system go haywire
4 weeks in, one night I could sleep, my whole body was itchy. I woke uop to an angry red rash on my neck, chest and face. Aafter a four hour wait at the clinic, I was diagnosed with a photodermatitic reaction. Sun exposure had given me a rash. So I am now allergic to mangos and the sun. And I'm in africa. Great.
Then last night, after a day with a dull headache I wake up in the middle of the night shivering. I have a fever... And the only prescription is more cowbell! That or asprin. I sleep walk through most of today, with my temperature bouncing between 102 and 96 (I didn't even know it could go that low) until I finally call my pcmo who tells me its probably a virus and I just have to wait it out.
With all that, and the immense number of scrapes/ bugbites (so much that I have been asked what happened by a couple trainees), the common joke is that I'm allergic to south africa. And I have two more years here
My response is bring it on south africa.
But truthfully I can only say that because our pcmos/peace corps health care is fantastic. Rides/chaperones to the clinic, two fabulous medical professionals on call 24/7, meds delivered to my door!
So may the force and fabulous health care be with me!
1.5 weeks in, I woke up with angelina jolie sized lips. My lips kept on swelling up so it looked like I had gotten into a fight with a plastic surgeon. Then my eyes started swelling up as well, so I could barely open them. When a rash started to accompany this, I called the pcmo. The culprit was mangos. Turns out although even though I had eaten and enjoyed mangos in the states, nicaragua and vietnam, these south african mangos made my immune system go haywire
4 weeks in, one night I could sleep, my whole body was itchy. I woke uop to an angry red rash on my neck, chest and face. Aafter a four hour wait at the clinic, I was diagnosed with a photodermatitic reaction. Sun exposure had given me a rash. So I am now allergic to mangos and the sun. And I'm in africa. Great.
Then last night, after a day with a dull headache I wake up in the middle of the night shivering. I have a fever... And the only prescription is more cowbell! That or asprin. I sleep walk through most of today, with my temperature bouncing between 102 and 96 (I didn't even know it could go that low) until I finally call my pcmo who tells me its probably a virus and I just have to wait it out.
With all that, and the immense number of scrapes/ bugbites (so much that I have been asked what happened by a couple trainees), the common joke is that I'm allergic to south africa. And I have two more years here
My response is bring it on south africa.
But truthfully I can only say that because our pcmos/peace corps health care is fantastic. Rides/chaperones to the clinic, two fabulous medical professionals on call 24/7, meds delivered to my door!
So may the force and fabulous health care be with me!
Monday, March 5, 2012
Sanibonani! That is hello in zulu, the language I am now learning. I'm typing this from my newly acquired smartphonen so this is slow going. Its been about six weeks in south africa. I've lost about five pounds, developed allergies to both mangos and the sun, have met many fabulous people, both american and south african.
I'm on mý way to polokwane for a conference to meet my supervisor. I'm going to be working at goederede clinic in bundu, mpumalanga province. It's the same place as our training site, so I'm hitting the ground running, with tons of contacts I've made already and ideas for secondary projects coming at warp speed. -'m really happy. And excited about the next two years!
I'm on mý way to polokwane for a conference to meet my supervisor. I'm going to be working at goederede clinic in bundu, mpumalanga province. It's the same place as our training site, so I'm hitting the ground running, with tons of contacts I've made already and ideas for secondary projects coming at warp speed. -'m really happy. And excited about the next two years!
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