Thursday, June 16, 2011

Saying goodbye to Pudimoe


Baby and Mrs. B-- my So African family



On Tuesday, June 14, 2011, I visited my village for the last time.  Many of you know that I was supposed to complete my Peace Corps service in Aug/Sept 2011, but something happened and I had to wrap up my service quickly.  The something that happened wasn’t “very nice” and it made revisiting my village awkward.  (For those of you needing to know “the rest of the story,” just shoot me a private email and I’d be happy to give you all of the sordid details.) 

On Tuesday morning, first thing, I readied myself to ride to Pudimoe to spend one afternoon, one evening, and one morning to break down my household, pack my two bags of permitted stuff to carry home, and say goodbye to a community I’d been living with for two years. No, twelve hours is not enough time to accomplish these things.



My colleagues at Vuselela FET College



I couldn’t have done it at all if Emily Lesego, the nearest and dearest PCV to me, hadn’t come to my aid. She was an angel and bolstered me through a very difficult time.

While I was hoping to arrive in Pudimoe by 1:00 or 2:00 on Tuesday, I didn’t arrive until 3:00 and hadn’t realized how tired I would be after traveling/waiting around for 7 hours. While I had hoped to walk to the village grocer to say goodbye to my postmistress and my “grocer family,” there simply wasn’t time.

As soon as I arrived at my trailer, I threw down my suitcases and began closing down my house. Also, I began cooking what would be my last batch of chakalaka and was hoping Emily would stay for dinner. (She would do better than that—she stayed the night!) Also during this crazy, busy time, Mrs. B and her daughter Baby came by so I could give her some things to carry to the primary school for me. (The incident that sent me packing had to do with a person at the primary school, and I was not allowed to return. It broke my heart not to say farewell to the school children!)





Marina--the best cook in South Africa... She is also one of So African family
 

I was hoping to spend a bit of quality time with Mrs. B and Baby, and then later when her husband, Mr. B arrived, but it was just too frantic. If I were to call anyone in South Africa “my family,” it is these wonderful people. They were very loving towards me.


The B’s left; Emily and I had dinner, and then resumed the frantic packing. We packed until way past 8:00 pm. Finally, with a tiny bit of urging from Emily, we took a break to stroll around campus (my last time) and enjoy the nearly full moon. Fella, my second African dog, was happy with going for a late-night walk. It was chilly, but very nice.

I was pretty keyed up, but finally able to sleep. Fella spent his last night in my house, propped up on a comfy dog bed. He’ll have to go back to being an African dog now. He was an American dog for a few months.




Mr. K--his wife was my star student. 
I love this shot because he would never, ever smile for the camera for me.
He has a lovely smile, doesn't he? 





On Wednesday morning, Emily and I had a quick breakfast, shared out last French press of coffee, and she accompanied me to my college staff meeting where I would bid everyone goodbye.  Because my departure was so sudden, most of my colleagues were shocked and dismayed at my abrupt departure, but all posed for farewell pictures with me, which made me happy. 

It was an emotional time for me. Physically, especially while packing on Tuesday, I was having nausea and chest pounding. I was also physically trembling. I had a bit of this again on Wednesday morning, but Emily thought it more from the questionable eggs we had eaten for breakfast.  I didn’t cry at all on Tuesday, not even at telling the B’s goodbye, but began on Tuesday morning with my farewell speech with the college. I broke completely down at loading the car and telling Fella goodbye. I hated to leave him and he had experienced a nasty gash on his leg while I was in Pretoria. I hated to leave him AND he was wounded. I must leave him to the care of Mother Africa and the campus community. He was a good companion in my last months in Africa.




Goodbye Fella.
Thank you for being so good to me.



Israel--my star student and my Setswana teacher.
He's a great kid--I'll miss him.
Although he is on Facebook!  :-)




Riding out of the gate, I had to bid farewell to one of my favorite people in Africa, Tanke, one of my college’s security guards who was very kind and helpful to me.  Tanke, like many Zimbabweans, has fled his country because of the cruel leadership of  Zimbabwe.   All of the Zimbabweans I met are longing to return safely to their country when their leadership changes.

I cried all as we drove out of my village, knowing I would never see it again. It was a bittersweet time for me: I was sad at leaving but also relieved.

And I was crying still, when we dropped Emily at her house and I had to say goodbye. She’s a wonderful young woman, a fabulous Peace Corps Volunteer, and a dear friend. I could not have managed the departure without her—and likely not my two years in Africa either!

I’ll be home this time next week!
Karen

PS.  I have more photos posted to my Facebook page.  You need not be a member of Facebook to see these photos (Just click on the link):

 




This is Tanke, my campus's security guard.
He has a beautiful smile, although you don't see it here.
He was very good to me.


Emily Lesego and I say goodbye.
The photo is fuzzy, but I love the mood of it.


Bags packed and ready to go.
Emily says I look much too happy here!







Saturday, June 11, 2011

On being a tourist…


I’m not sure if I’ve posted these photos before or not, so sorry if a repeat: these are of a trip through Namaqualand and a side excursion to Port Nolloth to see the beach. The ocean you see is the Atlantic. And the following is a little blurb about Port Nolloth from Lonely Planet’s South Africa: Lesotho & Swaziland, 6th edition:

“Port Nolloth is a sandy and exposed little place with a certain fascination. Originally developed as he shipping point for the region’s copper, it is now dependent on the small fishing boats that catch diamonds and crayfish. [South African’s call lobsters “crayfish.”] The boats are fitted with pumps, and divers vacuum up the diamond-bearing gravel found on the ocean floor. The town has attracted a multicultural group of fortune-seekers and they give it frontier vitality.” (512)


Quiver trees--my third favorite tree in Africa
 Am switching gears on you abruptly now…


A gentleman I’ve never met in person, although we’ve become “friends” on Facebook, recently waged what felt like a personal attack at my excitement at coming home. To paraphrase his opinion, he seemed to believe that I would miss Africa on my return to the States—as I resumed my boring life of lazy complacency—his words—and admonished to me to see all of the lovely sights of Africa as I could before returning home.

His commentary more than a bit ruffled my feathers and I publicly rebuked him, but then my conscience bothered me enough to pull my comment off of Facebook a half an hour later. The last thing I wanted to do was engage publicly with a man I’ve never met and battle with him about his values and how he was projecting them onto me.

Anyway…

Others have raised this issue as well, although in a kinder, gentler fashion, and certainly not with the accusation that I would resume a life of complacency on my return home. My fellow Peace Corps volunteers have sometimes gently suggested, “I don’t get out enough,” especially when I’m voicing some of the concerns I have about living in my community. What they mean is, in their opinion: I don’t travel enough.

Now I will admit: If I had buckets of money and could travel about with ease (as having buckets of money would allow me), I would see much, much more of Africa than I have. However, I don’t have buckets of money and traveling about Africa is a bit more of an adventure than I care to enjoy on my limited budget. I have made a few small trips and have seen the sights I wish to see; specifically, I’m glad to have traveled north to see Africa’s famous “baobab tree” (Adansonia digitata) and I enjoyed very much traveling south to see Cape Town and Table Mountain National Park.

However, I’m in Africa as a Peace Corps Volunteer, not a tourist and become irritable when people suggest I spend more of my time (and money) being a tourist.

In general, I am happy to stay in my village and enjoy my home and community during school holidays and breaks. Basically, everyone leaves the community to go elsewhere to spend their holidays and the hustle and bustle of my community dies down considerably. I love having this time to walk about my village feeling relaxed and enjoying my neighbors and the beauty of my African “countryside.” I also enjoy the uninterrupted (with work) time to enjoy my home in Africa and in spending time in it.

As my departure date approaches, I have one more opportunity to travel in Africa and see more of its sights. I have a friend who lives near Port Elizabeth, a town on the eastern coast of South Africa. I have not seen the eastern coast of South Africa and would love to see the Indian Ocean while I’m here.

I haven’t decided if I’ll travel or not in the coming weeks. Although the trip sounds appealing, it will also be the last “holiday” in my village I’ll ever enjoy. Perhaps I could do a little of both: take the trip and devote a part of the holiday for being home (in my village).

Either way, I’m happy to know that it will be my decision about how to spend my time in the way I most favor. And I’ll invite the gentleman that challenged me to come to Africa himself to enjoy the beauty of Africa, instead of admonishing me to do it. After all, we are our choices! And I am happy enough with mine!

Soon, very soon,
Karen

PS. Since I’ve drafted this blog I’ve learned that I will be coming home much sooner than expected. My last “trip” in South Africa will be an extended stay in Pretoria.

Sunday, June 5, 2011

On being a celebrity…


Ok, folks… I’ve participated in the Mother Bear Project for my last time and here are some last shots of the little lovelies and their bears and yes—they are adorable! These children are from the Ikameng Early Childcare Center in my village. I’ve worked with Mother Bear Project three times in my two years in Africa and must say that the organization is exceptional to work with. Distributing the hand-made teddy bears to the vulnerable children of Africa affected by HIV/AIDS has simply brought happiness and delight into my communities that nothing else really did. I enjoyed the kids, I enjoyed taking the photos, and I enjoyed how the parents and educators seemed to enjoy the delight of it all. Mother Bear days were very happy days. So, here are a few of the last photos of my last time with Mother Bear. Remember, if you’re a knitter or have a few extra pennies, contributing to this great organization is a great way to spread a little love all over the world and how can you resist that?: www.motherbearproject.org.

Am giving you a bit of a warning here: In this blog, I’m mixing a bit of the good (Mother Bear) with a bit of the bad (unwanted attention received in my community). So, you will encounter unpleasantness in this blog. I will speak of racism here and I will speak in generalities: what I’m discussing doesn’t apply to every single South African I meet. Also, I’d like to point out that every Peace Corps volunteer’s experience in South Africa is very, very different and many—and most--of my PC colleagues are astounded when I tell them these stories and are appalled and strongly claim to experience nothing like this at all in South Africa. What I am speaking to is my experience and my experience only.

Also, I have since learned, two years too late, that because I live near a “location,” something like a big town where people are more politically active, etc., these kinds of hostilities—that I will describe--are more likely to be encountered. Two years ago, I should have asked to change my site. Two years ago, I thought I was the one that needed to change, and to keep trying. I kept trying, but to no betterment. Lesson learned!

Just a bit of background on me before we begin. One of the nicest things I’ve learned in my journey in this life is that I’m “just another Bozo on the bus”: I am no better or worse than any other human being. I seek a relationship of equality in everyone I meet: be it a child, an adolescent, an adult or a CEO of a company. Perhaps this value is the one that has been the most challenged during my Peace Corps service, and as a dear, fellow Peace Corps volunteer friend has tried to convince me: Just the fact that we are Americans will always displace us out of an equal relationship with our host-country nationals. I’ve fought for this my whole two years in Peace Corps: to not be treated as special, better than, or a VIP within my community. It is a lost battle.

One of the things I’ve gained in my Peace Corps experience—and completely unexpected—is the feeling, even if on a very small scale, of what it must be like to be a celebrity.

How many times have I rolled my eyes at hearing movie stars or super models whining on TV about how wretched their lives are because they are constantly hounded by the press, the paparazzi, and, well, everyone?


 
I have a whole new respect for what it must be like to be Oprah Winfrey or Tom Cruise. In fact, I am much more sympathetic to Tom Cruise’s meltdown a few years back, at jumping up and down on Oprah’s couch proclaiming to the world his love for Katie Holmes. I sympathize with his breakdown because he’s been living the life of a celebrity for most of his life; I have lived the life of a “celebrity” for only two years. Having the attention of everyone on the planet is tolerable for about three days, and after three days, your life as a celebrity becomes a nightmare.


I’ve come to the conclusion that my friend is correct: because I’m an American, no one in my community will ever approach me or relate to me as an equal, and this makes me sad.

Peace Corps warns us early to expect “unwanted attention” and how stressful it can be “living in a fishbowl.” But really, I had no idea what it would be like and I can tell you this clearly: I don’t like anything about it and one of the things I most long for on returning home, is the ability to “become anonymous and invisible” in my own world again. And I feel much, much more empathy for very famous celebrities that can never do this. (Well, OK! They do have millions of dollars to flee to exotic locations… but still!)

So, why exactly am I a “celebrity” in my rural existence in the Republic of South Africa? Is it because I’m a Peace Corps volunteer? Well, no. Sadly, and although I introduce myself as a Peace Corps volunteer and try to explain what Peace Corps is and what Peace Corps does, most people in my community have no idea about Peace Corps and could really care less.

So, why am I a celebrity? I’m a celebrity because I’m a white American woman living within a black community. There ya go…

Ok, ok. I feel your feathers ruffling. I understand… In my discussion, I’m speaking from the realm of “racism” and in my country, the USA, we don’t like racism and we don’t like racists. However, I’ve experienced a whole new reality in my temporary life in South Africa: because of South Africa’s history (which is, interestingly, very, very similar to the history of the United States), what “race” you belong to is very much a part of your “identity.” Identifying yourself as black South African, white South African, Afrikaner, Colored, Xhosa, Zulu, Indian, etc. is very important here and is the rule rather than the exception. South Africans consider their “color” and their classification in a group of people as a source of pride. This attitude is very much in contrast with the American attitude of “people are people, so why can’t we all just get along?”

(And yes, I’m speaking in generalities here.)

So, for Americans especially, I sense your discomfort at my “racist” discussion. I sense it and I appreciate it.

To live as a white, American woman inside a black community in rural South Africa is simply not done: She can live far away from it, and be separate from it, but she cannot live in it and participate with it. It’s simply not done. It is more than a bit out of the ordinary.




 
When I was very, very new in my service, I was on a taxi with several fellow PC volunteers riding through a town. A small group of young black South African girls saw us and became very excited. They pointed and shouted and ran with the taxi as it passed calling, “Magoa! Magoa!” The young women were excited at seeing a taxi full of “white” people riding through their town. I didn’t realize this at the time, but I was being introduced to the way my life would be for all of my two years living and working in rural South Africa.


So, what does it feel like to be a celebrity in this circumstance? It feels very uncomfortable at best and intolerable at worst; some days are better than others; but the constant strain of it every single day is trying… And thus, I can understand and appreciate Tom Cruise’s public “meltdown”—I often feel, especially at this late date, that I’m on the verge of one of my own.

I have lived and worked in my community for nearly two years. The people I work closely with of course are used to me and are loving and kind with me, etc. However, because my community is so large, I’m constantly encountering people every single day who do not know who I am or why I am here, simply in my walking from one place to another. I must first endure their surprise, which I’ve already encountered thousands and thousands of times, and which may be friendly and delightful, but often, because of the racial tensions that still poison my community, often are hostile and angry. Encountering hostility and anger, every single day, in some form is very trying… If I let it, it can shut me down and force me to withdraw: I have encountered hostility so many times and so regularly, it makes me not want to be friendly with strangers. To withdraw in this manner is harmful in many ways: in one way, I’m much more likely to miss the happy exchanges and in another, I seem like a hateful, American white woman—very much what Peace Corps doesn’t want me to present to the world!

So this aspect of “celebrity” is very trying.

One way I’m a celebrity is that I’m a white woman. I’m not really sure how the romantic realm operates between the men and women of my community, but I can tell you, when they’re trying to be romantic with me, it is more than a bit unpleasant. I was warned, at some point, that it would be a good idea to come to South Africa as a married woman and even if not, to pretend I was. I adopted this strategy and bought myself some “wedding rings” before arriving, but it rarely spares me the discomfort of the “unwanted” attention I regularly receive from men. It’s worse however, for my younger female PC colleagues. In Peace Corps it is called “unwanted attention”; in the USA, it is called “sexual harassment” and legal defenses and protections can be sought. In rural South Africa, we’re on our own. I won’t go into detail about what I’ve witnessed and heard with the younger, female Peace Corps volunteers, but I will say, I wouldn’t want my 20-something year old daughter serving Peace Corps South Africa.

I find unwanted attentions from men in my community extremely inappropriate, rude, and creepy. I have never gotten used to the sexual advances from strange men in my community and still react with shock and outrage, a shock and outrage these men seem completely unaware of and unbothered by, as if of course I would, after “Hello, it’s nice to meet you,” agree to have sex with them later in the day, “Say, around 4:00?” No thank you, I don’t think so. The faux wedding rings have never deflected these advances. There is also a vulgar gesture I’ve encountered with strange men when I’ve gone to shake their hands in introduction; younger female volunteers also know—and are repulsed by—this gesture. I’ve experienced it while shaking hands at church—yes, at church!--and by the police captain when I was introducing myself as someone who might rely on his protection. Needless to say, I felt more than a bit dismayed at the thought of this man coming to my aid in the case of an emergency. Once, at 7:00 in the morning, while attending a funeral, I was meeting a strange man my principal, my South African supervisor, was introducing me to. After everyone had a nice chuckle all the way around, I enquired as to what was so funny. Oh, the strange man was asking if he could kiss “the legoa.” Legoa is the Setswana word for “white” woman. Nice! I’m at a funeral, and it’s 7:00 in the morning, and I have a strange man making a joke about kissing me. Grr. I could go on with more instances describing this kind of “unwanted attention,” but I think you get the idea.







Sometimes I feel that every man in my community wants this kind of “shot” at me.  Is it because I’m perceived as a celebrity?  And in this way, I cannot feel equal with my “fellow man.”

In a similar way, but in a different fashion, I encounter these rude moment by young men of my community. These encounters are more likely endured from a distance: young men will shout to me “Marry me” or taunt and tease me, “I love you, I love you!” After becoming used to these kinds of attentions, they become laughable. However, the young men of my community are much more likely to respond to my greetings in passing with a hostile smirk and/or by purposely ignoring me. Of course, this is just “kids being kids” and I should be more tolerant of it and I do try to be. It’s the constant wear of such encounters every day, day after day, that feels demoralizing.

And in this way, I’m a “celebrity”—albeit and infamous one--and denied the opportunity to be equal community member.

Another way I’m perceived as a celebrity, that does not entail my “femaleness,” is the fact that I’m an American and as everyone knows: all Americans are rich.

I acknowledge the fact that I live in first-world country, have achieved a higher education, and am more likely employable than any in my community. In this way, indeed, I am very rich. However, I haven’t any money to give and Peace Corps doesn’t provide us with any money to give. In this way, I am very poor—cash poor.

Also early in my service, in my host-family’s village, there was a shop where we bought bread and such. The young children loitering about, and without fail, would demand: Give me five rands. Although I didn’t realize it at the time, I would be hearing this phrase and be approached this way for every single day of all of my two years in Africa. Not only am I asked for money from children, but also from educators and other community members—and most depressingly, from my South African friends. I’m asked to get jobs for South Africans in the USA; I’m asked for trips to the USA “just to visit for a couple of weeks and then return to Africa”; and I’m asked to find people homes in the USA. I try to tell people that a) I will need to find my own job in the USA once I return; and b) currently, I have no home and will have to stay with friends when I return; and c) I have no money for travel or to pay for friends to travel and the only reason I’m in South Africa is because I joined Peace Corps.

These explanations don’t make any sense to the people here, because they simply cannot fathom the idea that not all Americans are rich. The South Africans of my community are convinced that our streets are running with milk and honey and that everyone that lives in America is rich—no exceptions! There is no dispelling this myth—as hard as I’ve tried. I blame this belief solely on American-made TV and films.

So yes, being a celebrity and approached for money constantly from strangers is draining. I can’t imagine how Bill Gates must feel.







In a similar way, but in a different fashion, I encounter these rude moment by young men of my community.  These encounters are more likely endured from a distance: young men will shout to me “Marry me” or taunt and tease me, “I love you, I love you!”  After becoming used to these kinds of attentions, they become laughable.  However, the young men of my community are much more likely to respond to my greetings in passing with a hostile smirk and/or by purposely ignoring me.  Of course, this is just “kids being kids” and I should be more tolerant of  it and I do try to be.  It’s the constant wear of such encounters every day, day after day, that feels demoralizing.

And in this way, I’m a “celebrity”—albeit and infamous one--and denied the opportunity to be equal community member.

Another way I’m perceived as a celebrity, that does not entail my “femaleness,” is the fact that I’m an American and as everyone knows: all Americans are rich.

I acknowledge the fact that I live in first-world country, have achieved a higher education, and am more likely employable than any in my community. In this way, indeed, I am very rich. However, I haven’t any money to give and Peace Corps doesn’t provide us with any money to give. In this way, I am very poor—cash poor.

Also early in my service, in my host-family’s village, there was a shop where we bought bread and such. The young children loitering about, and without fail, would demand: Give me five rands. Although I didn’t realize it at the time, I would be hearing this phrase and be approached this way for every single day of all of my two years in Africa. Not only am I asked for money from children, but also from educators and other community members—and most depressingly, from my South African friends. I’m asked to get jobs for South Africans in the USA; I’m asked for trips to the USA “just to visit for a couple of weeks and then return to Africa”; and I’m asked to find people homes in the USA. I try to tell people that a) I will need to find my own job in the USA once I return; and b) currently, I have no home and will have to stay with friends when I return; and c) I have no money for travel or to pay for friends to travel and the only reason I’m in South Africa is because I joined Peace Corps.

These explanations don’t make any sense to the people here, because they simply cannot fathom the idea that not all Americans are rich. The South Africans of my community are convinced that our streets are running with milk and honey and that everyone that lives in America is rich—no exceptions! There is no dispelling this myth—as hard as I’ve tried. I blame this belief solely on American-made TV and films.

So yes, being a celebrity and approached for money constantly from strangers is draining. I can’t imagine how Bill Gates must feel.

Along this line, as an American, I’m expected to “know everything.” In the classroom, at the grocery, on the taxi, in the streets… I’m simply expected to be a walking font of knowledge that can produce business plans, solve complex calculus problems, teach fourth grade natural science with three minutes notice, and pontificate smartly on why we Americans, simply carry on without mercy in killing the likes of Osama bin Laden. (By the way, Peace Corps strongly discourages our discussing American politics—or any politics-- while serving in-country.)




Along these lines, in every “gathering” type of event, where many in my community come together for meetings, weddings and the like, I’m often treated as a special guest, or a VIP if you will.  When I’m invited to attend churches new to me, I will either be asked directly to speak or—as what usually happens—the service will be an interrupted so I can speak.  (Yes, I want to die when this happens.)  At social gatherings where food is served, I’m usually ushered to the front of the line.  On this weekend past, a fellow PCV and I were attending a district meeting of our areas Department of Education.  There were 600 principals in attendance, yet my friend and I were asked to step over to a special room where a special meal was prepared for the “very important people.” Gratefully, my friend declined for the both of us.  I would have died being ushered off to be treated differently than my principal!  This trend in my community is the one I’m most uncomfortable with: to be treated as special or different.

And then lastly, this experience has been most unnerving: people go through my trash. I’ve read of celebrities complaining of people going through their trash and how invasive it feels. It does! You would think that since you are throwing something away, that who cares who sees it or knows about it? But think about it: what you throw away can say a great deal about who you are and I find it very troubling to have people go through my trash. I sometimes do a silly little thing and write my prayers on slips of paper and place them in a “God box.” Well, these things are sometimes cleared out to make way for new prayers, and while there is something delightful about walking about on campus to encounter my prayers flitting about in the wind, there are other things I throw away that aren’t so delightful! I’ve made it a habit to carry my most sensitive trash into my shopping town to dispose of it in large, public trash receptacles. In this way, even if someone goes through my trash, at least my identity will be protected.

So, yeah, I think I kind of know what it’s like now, to be a celebrity: to be hounded wherever you go; to be the spectacle and the spotlight of everyone’s attention; and to encounter constant requests for favors and money. It’s exhausting, it’s unnerving, and it’s grating. Not everyone is made for the spotlight and not everyone is able to live in a fishbowl: I am one of these. I can’t wait to crawl out of my fishbowl and return to being another “Bozo on the bus.” And yes, I will be much more sympathetic to the Tom Cruises and Oprah Winfreys of the world!

Shh, don’t tell anyone, especially the mothers in my family, but there was a time in my Peace Corps service—a very short time--that I felt loved, and wanted, and, well, yes, an equal within my community. I had hopes of working more closely with the elderly and the orphans in my community and visited my area’s police department. I met this wonderful, vibrant strong black South African woman: she was the Lieutenant Colonel of the division. She spoke impeccable English and she had some great understandings of her community and was keen in seeing ways I could better help. We worked together and talked about several different ways I could become involved with the community and extend my time in Africa. I was so excited to find someone, someone I felt equal with, someone I felt I could forge an effective professional partnership with. I felt happy and fulfilled in Africa—FINALLY! And then she said the one thing that I fear to hear, the one thing I dread to hear, and the one thing that I always hear: Will you take me to America?

At that instant, I knew. I knew strongly, surely, and completely what my friend said to be true: As an American, I will never be perceived as an equal in my South African community. I will always be different, I will always be special, I will always be perceived as better than. At that moment, I knew I would come home.

Looking back over my two years as a celebrity in my community, I must admit some happy times at being the center of attention. It was fun when I initially came to my schools and initially met my coworkers and colleagues. It was fun to be wined and dined, and it was fun to be introduced to large crowds. And, it’s fun that everyone is so happy to see me on Mother Bear Days. But it all goes back to it being fun for about three days—and then the unrelenting grind of it that comes.

I am tired of my celebrity and so looking forward to being just another Bozo on the bus!

Soon,
Karen

P.S.  ALL of the unpleasantness is worth it--the KIDS more than make up for it!  :-)