In one year…

There are three major goals of Peace Corps service, and one is the hope that South Africans can learn a bit about Americans by my serving here. Well, I haven’t taken any interviews or conducted any polls, but here are some things South Africans may have learned about ONE American (other than, of course, this American’s urgent need to save all yard debris from burning!):

*The Primary School children have learned that I will not hit them. This isn’t as wonderful as it sounds: in my community, respect is earned with beatings. In fact, the person in charge of the beatings is often referred to as “the protector” as in, “thank you sir, for protecting us from the disturbance.”

*The college kids have learned that I will not scream at them, throw things at them, curse at them, etc. Here too, not such a great thing when the aforementioned behaviors earn respect. We also waste some—but not a lot-- of class time waiting for them to decide if they want to be respectful or not (so we can begin class).

*Members in my community have learned that I would rather walk to the local market than ride the taxi. (I’m not sure if my community members have learned that I would rather gouge my eyes out than ride a public taxi.) :-)

*Members in my community know that I enjoy watching the birds. They also know that I walk the campus in the evenings to see all of the different bird activity around the different areas of the campus.

*Members in my community know that I enjoy working in a garden.

*Members in my community know that I’d rather be outside than in.

*Members in my community know that I don’t enjoy watching TV and that I don’t own one in my home. (I don’t own one in the States either.)

*Members in my community know that I don’t own a personal computer.

*Members in my community know that I’m not rich enough to travel to the States to visit my family.

*Members in my community know that no, I don’t have R5 to give them.

*Members in my community know that I am not interested in dressing in a sexually suggestive manner, nor do I feel the need to adorn my face with make-up.

*Members in my community know that I don’t have a “helper” and that I do my own cleaning and laundry.

*Members in my community know that I don’t cook meat for myself and if they come to visit, won’t be offered any!

*Members in my community know that I love where I live and miss my home and family very much.

*Members in my community know that I get grumpy with all of the “KFC” talk—Kentucky is so much more than fried chicken!!

*Members in my community know that at church, I will sing the hymns in Setswana if someone shares their hymnal with me (someone usually does!)

I wonder what my remaining year has in store for my community members… What will this American do next?

Soon,

Karen

BOOM! 13 months to finish! Let the countdown begin!

A few weeks ago, Peace Corps volunteers in the neighboring shopping town had a party to celebrate “a year in country.” (We were officially a year in country on July 24).

I have another friend who, if asked, will tell you the month, day, hour and minute until time to go home.

Another friend pointed out that August 15 was our “half way mark.”

Myself, I’ve been waiting for September 17, because September 17 marks “one year to go before going home!” I personally can’t wait for September 18, because it will be the last September 18, I’ll spend in South Africa! For each and every day from that point on, I’ll have the perspective of: this is it, better enjoy it while it lasts!

However, Tuesday, August 17, marks 13 months to go, and boy, does it feel thrilling to think of only thirteen months. It feels much more manageable to say 13 months instead of the 27 months! So, I’m beginning my countdown a month early!

Why so happy to count down? Well, it’s been a difficult year for me, serving for Peace Corps in South Africa, and well, I feel pretty exited about being over the hump.

There must be a “pain of childbirth” quality about serving Peace Corps. Before I left for my service, I met up with the Returned Peace Corps Volunteers Group in my area. I met with them for their monthly dinners and we had the grandest time: there was laughing and joking, lots of story telling. It was one of the happiest groups of people I’ve ever met.

But I always came away from those dinners wondering, “Why didn’t anyone sign up for a second tour?”

And of course, some did serve a second term, and in fact, Peace Corps discourages multiple terms of service. (Peace Corps wishes the opportunity for any American able to serve and would rather give first-comers a shot over someone who has already served). But very few people in our group had served more than one term.

And now that I’m a year in, I’m hearing from a few of these Returned Peace Corps Volunteers from back home. And they’re all saying, “Congratulations! You’ve survived! The worst is over! You’ve made it! It’s cake from here on!”

And I think, “Why didn’t these guys warn me about how difficult my first year would be?”

And I remember feeling outraged, when I realized all the work that goes into child-rearing, when it dawned on me that the women in my family had never warned me about the hardships of raising a family! They all sat around laughing, telling stories, and remembering how wonderful their “babyhoods” were.

So, just like with childbirth and child-raising, Peace Corps volunteers seem to forget the pain and hardships and only remember only the fond parts!

Eish!

I’ll be home in 13 months! Let the countdown begin! Woo hoo!

Soon,

Karen

National Women's Day in South Africa

On Monday, August 9, 2010, my community hosted a Women’s Day celebration. South Africa recognizes Women’s Day as a National Holiday and the nation is treated as such: no work or school on Monday!

I was told that our community would host a celebration in our community hall. When I asked what time it would start, I was told: at nine or ten (a.m.). I arrived at 11:20 with no start in sight!

And if you see the photo of the program, the program states that activities were to start at 7:30!! Ah, South African time…

I was able to stay for a couple of hours. I was a bit disappointed at the turnout: there may have been 50 women. No one came from my college and only one from my primary school. You may recognize the “lioness” as she was there. I’m told by my colleagues that she is a powerful political figure in my community. I’m happy to report too, that we’ve taken to each other…

There were no men present at the celebration either, which made me sad.

Emily and her cousin, Morley, visiting from Namibia made an appearance--YAY!

Lots of singing and praying--and special guest speakers, but although I was promised a "cow would be slaughtered," no food was in sight.

I’ve posted a bit of info below about South Africa’s National Women’s Day and the link:


On 9 August 1956, 20 000 women staged a march on the Union Buildings in Pretoria to protest against the proposed amendments to the Urban Areas Act (commonly known as the pass laws) of 1950. They left bundles of petitions containing more than 100 000 signatures at prime minister J.G. Strijdom's office doors. Outside they stood silently for 30 minutes, many with their children on their backs. Those who were working for Whites as nannies were carrying their white charges with them. The women sang a protest song that was composed in honor of the occasion: Wathint'Abafazi Wathint'imbokodo! (Now you have touched the women, you have struck a rock.). In the 54 years since, the phrase (or its latest incarnation: "you strike a woman, you strike a rock") has come to represent women's courage and strength in South Africa.

The march was led by Lilian Ngoyi, Helen Joseph, Albertina Sisulu and Sophia Williams-De Bruyn.

Other participants included Frances Baard, a statue of whom was unveiled by Northern Cape Premier Hazel Jenkins in Kimberley (Frances Baard District Municipality) on National Women's Day 2009.[1]

Since 9 August 1994, the day has been commemorated annually and is known as Women's Day in South Africa. In 2006 a reenactment of the march was staged for its 50th anniversary, with many of the 1956 march veterans attending.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/National_Women's_Day

 
Soon,

Karen

Spring has sprung in my part of the world!

Well, as soon as I say, "spring has sprung," we've plummeted back into freezing temperatures!  I've gone from wearing shorts and a tank top back to layers and ear warmers!  Oh well.  There are certainly SIGNS that spring is on the way.

Here are some shots of some things around my campus/community.  There are a couple of trees and wildflowers in bloom and the invasive Mexican poppy (plant with thorns)  that I was so taken with when I first arrived in South Africa.  (Now that I'm clear in my understanding that this plant is not welcome here, I no longer thrill to see its bloom!)

But we have new pine cones and emerging green from the burned landscape.  That's me in a tank top when it was warm (a few days ago) and me shirted on the pay  phone.  I make my long-distance phone calls from a pay phone on campus using a World Call long distance call.  The calls aren't cheap, but necessary!  I usually talk to everyone in my family at least once a month, or try to.

What else do we have here... There is a shot of our sunrise a few days ago...  The early morning cloud cover made me ache for rain (it hasn't rained here since April) but the clouds burned off later that morning.  One thing that happens when winter is ending and spring is coming is the African winds begin to blow.  I've read that tornadoes only occur in Northern America and do not occur in Africa; however, the winds that blow here are bad enough that we don't need tornadoes!  I despair in seeing my clothes drying in the dusty winds and take small consolation in the idea of a "dust bath."  If dust baths are good enough for birds, perhaps their good enough for my just-washed laundry! 

And there is a shot of the ants returning... I'm not happy to see these guys become active again!  They are voracious biters and a real curse in summer time! They glom onto you if you stop walking even for a second.

One shot is a burn spot surrounded by reeds.  When I arrived on site last year, I remember falling asleep at night to the sound of frogs calling in the night.  I remember thinking, "I'm at the edge of the desert and it is very dry here...  That sound cannot be frogs calling."  Well, yes it was!  In the shot of the sunrise there is a big, square object.  The big square object is a water tower located here on campus and very near this burned, reedy spot in the photograph.  Well, the water tower leaks.  The leak is a bad thing, of course, in regards to water conservation.  However, the water leak is a GREAT thing if you want to develop a wetland habitat.  If you have a wetland habitat, you get frogs, animals that feed on frogs, a HUGE variety of birds, including a variety of water fowl.  When the rains come, this burned, black spot will fill with water and the frogs will sing again!  I'm so excited! I can't wait for it to rain!!

And then lastly, spring calling means I'm feeling the urge to dig again.  So, one photo is of a big hole.  I'm digging a trench garden.  Now, those of you who know me well know that I'm inherently lazy and digging, really big digging is not my thing.  I'd much rather garden with mulching and composting techniques, but mulching and composting techniques don't go over well here (they burn EVERYTHING here!).  But, trench gardening is the recommended gardening style for establishing food sustainability and I'm hoping to go out into my community and establish food gardens (trench gardens) for the needy.  Since I've only read about trench gardens, I thought I'd better practice what I preach, and I sure in the heck need to know how labor-intensive this project is, especially if I'm working with orphans or crippled old ladies.

I thought digging the beds would be killer, but I do a little at a time.  And because trench gardening has other steps: collecting organic material to "fill" the trenches and use as mulch, I have other things to do to build in breaks from my digging.  Also, as we have free-roaming goats, I'll need to build a fence, or my very labor-intensive trenched beds will be a lovely buffet for the free-roaming goats!  So, I also take breaks from digging to collect material to build a fence.

The easiest and most effective way to fence would be to use barbed-wire and posts; however, since many in my community will not have money even for modest fencing, I will try fencing with thorns, of which we have plenty.

Wish me luck!  And wish me luck that this cold spell moves back quickly into spring! 

Soon, Karen

100% pass rate and feeding the lions

On Monday, August 2, I went on a “field trip” to visit another school. The school was about two hours away in a town called Stella.

The trip was arranged by fellow Peace Corps volunteer Matson Contardo and Matson, thank you very, very, much, for graciously supplying the photos for this blog post because I had forgotten my camera. Thanks so much Matson!  I should know better than to leave my camera at home when travelling anywhere in South Africa.  You never know when someone might say, "I know a gentleman nearby that keeps lions.  I've phoned him to see if we might pop over to see the lions feeding.  Would you like to go?"

This is exactly what happened at the end of our school visit.  Matson, Emily (Emily was along for the trip!), and I kind of looked at each other and said, "SURE!"

As spectacular as the school was, the lions, well, as you can imagine, snagged the spot of "wow factor" of the day.  I was expecting to see a lion or two in a cage: I had NO IDEA we would see a group of lions almost sixty in number!!

But I must speak about the school visit first, so bear with me.

The point of the field trip was to visit a rural South African School with a 100% pass rate.  I was very excited about this prospect because the pass rate in most rural, South African schools are well below 100%.  I was told by my deputy principal at "my" primary school that the pass rate was 50% (which is considered a high pass rate, by some).

I wanted to see this school and learn their "secret."  What were they doing for their learners that might help ours?

Well, I was more than a bit disappointed to learn that we would be visiting a "white" school.  And I thought to myself, "Well, there is your reason for a 100% pass rate!"

How racist of me!  But it's true: the school has resources, books, qualified educators, classrooms, extra-curricular activities, involved parents, computers, learners with both parents, learners with full bellies--you name it--they had it!

I asked if the school "had enough money" and was told, "No, but we fund-raise to make up the difference."

And there is the sticking point:  This school is able to fundraise because their fund-base (families of learners) has money to give.  In my school, the fund-base is families living in poverty, so the families have no money to give.  My families want to give and want to support their children's schools, but the families are usually struggling to pay the standard school fees, purchase the required uniforms, and shoes for their kids. (This without even mentioning their struggles to pay for food, electricity, water, etc., basic living needs.)

It's really heartbreaking.  So, I'm asking any and all, Do you know of any effective fund-raising strategies to employ for people living in poverty?

But the school was great, the kids were great, the administration was great, the educators were great.  It was a wonderful day and I'm glad to have gone.  And, after all, Afrikaners are a "different" people too!--yet another group to live with and learn from...  And they were excited, I think, to encounter a group of Americans and learn a bit about American culture. 

I have yet to blog about the "White Tribe of Africa" but hope to be brave enough to do so one day...

Okay, okay, the lions.

So, we drive to a private property with signs everywhere: "Lions on Property: Enter at Your Own Risk!"  We drive onto the property and see herds of gemsbok (pictured) and other wild antelope.  We scan the landscape in search of lions and our host, Cristo (that's him with the camera in one photo, photographing a very grumpy "alpha lion" that was not happy with our intrusion to their feast), would assure us, "The lions are caged."

And then I saw it in the distance: this enormous, fenced in area and could see the lions pacing about inside.  As I mentioned previously, I expected to see one or two lions and to see so many was nothing short of spectacular.

We arrived before the dinner truck and the lions weren't especially excited about our presence.  We sat for awhile and I was completely content to stare at these amazing beasts, lounging contentedly in their cages, basking in the sun.

However, the time came for "dinner" to arrive and the lions were certainly keen to an approaching scent (the same scent that we would not be so keen about in a few minutes) and raised their heads in the direction of the approaching vehicle: the dead cattle were hauled in.

I asked about the cattle used for feeding the lions: were they killed specifically for the feeding or where they random corpses gathered as "trash removal"?  Well, I was hoping for the answer to be the former, but it was not: the cattle fed to the lions were indeed those having died and the farmers wishing their removal.

The lions, familiar with the routine, became very excited at the appearance of a pick-up truck, with on carcass in its bed pulling a trailer with two more dead cows in tow.  The lions came near the food-loading area of the cages and paced wildly and rubbed on the bars of the cage with their massive heads.  They're behavior was very house-cat-like: a lot like our felines rubbing our knees in the kitchen at the sound of the can opening.

I anxiously watched all of this action unfolding, prayerfully hoping for the strength and integrity of the cage: we were literally inches away from these hungry lions.  For the very first time in my life, I appreciated the horror of  the Roman spectacle of  "feeding one to the lions."

When the beef was loaded, the cage secured, and the feeding-gate raised, the lions entered.  It wasn't as violent or as gory as I expected; but after all, the beef was already dead, there was no kill necessary, and the cattle certainly weren't bleeding.  The lions simply surrounded the dead beef, lay down, and began eating.  There was ripping of flesh and crunching of bones, but the feeding was amazingly low-key.  Every once in awhile, some lion would grumpily growl if another lion was munching too near and of course, the alpha male was aggravated by our presence the whole time and snarled at the cameras.  He must have fed well at an earlier feeding, because he was much more content to focus on us than the food.

Although it was certainly amazing to be so close to such magnificent beasts feeding in this way, I came away feeling sad, much in the same way I leave a zoo after a day of visiting animals.  I find it inherently sad to see such animals, especially predators, being caged and fed.  These beasts, as with all others, should (ideally) be living their lives in the wild, hunting and killing on their own.

Hmm, I wonder if the gentleman, who owns the lions, would consider it an option to charge admission for watching the lions feed.  My primary school could certainly use the funds!

Soon, and thanks again Matson, for the amazing photos,

Karen

A day at “my” primary school…

I took my camera to my primary school on Thursday, August 05, 2010, because, well, why not?

Actually, I took it because I thought the teacher’s might go on strike next week, and if they did, well, who knew when I might get some pictures of my primary schoolers. (Actually, the teachers still may strike next week: no one seems to know.)

So, no special occasion, just some random, mostly candid shots.

Please note our “lunchroom ladies.” They usually cook meals inside, but my school seems to have run out of funds for purchasing gas to power the school’s gas cook stoves. So, our lunchroom ladies are cooking for 500, outside, on a wood fire. And I thought my job was tough…

Lunch was, well, you can see what lunch was. And yes, that is what it looks like. :-)

The rest are random shots in the classroom and out of the classroom. The outside shots are of learners at lunchtime.

More pictures are posted at my Facebook page. You need not be a Facebook member to view the photos:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=74986&id=1239371142&l=b2afed57ec



Soon,

Karen

Presence of God

I love having “spiritual assignments.” A recent one, suggested to me, is to note the moments in my days when I feel “the presence of God.”

I’ve enjoyed this assignment very much and am delightfully surprised to find that I can feel the presence of God at almost any time, but there are definitely certain times when I find the presence of God more than others.

I feel the presence of God most certainly at day break. When I was living in the States and my life was crazy busy, I still managed to get up early enough to see the morning come in. There is something very special about the stillness found in the early-morning hours of dawn. I’m finding myself here in Africa, too, making sure to set my alarm for waking when the night is still dark, but will allow me time to see the first pink of the morning light and then sit in the stillness as the dawn breaks. It continues to be a favorite part of my day.

There is another part of the day that I feel the presence of God strongly, if I pause long enough to listen and feel. It’s the time of day in late afternoon, when the light changes. If there is a breeze blowing or a strong wind, I feel the presence of God.

I DEFINITELY don’t feel the presence of God when I’m working on the computer!  And seem to feel God’s presence mostly when I’m OUTSIDE, out of doors, not inside!

I have three stories of finding the presence of God since coming to South Africa. I’ve already told you one—about the intimate moment I shared with my African “grandmother” when I was trying to comfort her by massaging her feet. (So actually, I have four stories!) These next stories share a similar theme: suffering and attempting to provide comfort.

I’m often struck by the suffering of animals. This was the case for me in the States as well. I worked as a meter-reader for a utilities company for a few years and there were many days when I would come home and cry myself to sleep at the suffering (of dogs) I had witnessed in the course of my workday. At home I could do something about it: I could call the Humane Society (or even the police) and make a report.

When I first arrived at my permanent site, I noticed a starving dog. She had the coloring of a Rotweiler but the shape of a Dalmatian. She was so thin that she seemed a walking spine with an attached ribcage. I would see her in the soccer field in front of my hostel (when I was residing in the hostel) and she seemed to come regularly to forage (for garbage left about by the college students).

Although my heart is very tender for suffering animals, it is not so tender that I’ll “take them in.” In my self-centeredness, I’ve decided I can barely take care of myself, let alone another living being. So, when I would see this creature, I would tell myself, “Don’t look at her.” I would see her somewhat regularly and would always think, at her wasting away, “She’s not long for this world.”

One afternoon I watched her approach and she had a loopy, staggering gate. She was below my window looking for food to eat, but she could barely stand.


I said to myself, “I can’t watch this anymore” and went about looking to find her something to eat. I knew this was a bad idea with potentially unwelcome consequences: if I fed her, she would come regularly; I would become attached, etc. But no matter, I could not endure this suffering a moment longer.

I was on the bottom end of my week’s worth of groceries but I did have three raw eggs. I broke open the eggs and placed them in a dish and carried them out to her. It was all that I had that a carnivore would eat.

As soon as she saw me approaching, she fled. I could have cried. Well, I did cry. I gingerly placed the dish of raw egg in the grass, hoping she would come back, but one of the eggs slipped out and fell into the grass. I left the dish anyway. I spent the next few hours bawling my eyes out, but crying was a good thing. It was my first in Africa and overdue. Crying your eyes out seems to clean the soul like nothing else.

I never knew if she came back for the eggs. The dish was empty the next day, so I knew SOMETHING ate the eggs.

I saw her only once more, when the grass in the soccer field was quite tall. She wasn’t in great shape, and again, her gait was uneven and wobbly. She bounded out into the tall grass and lay down. The grass was so high I couldn’t see her.

It was an especially hot part of the day and I couldn’t imagine why she would choose this spot, out in the middle of the field, unprotected from the hot sun, to lie down. I wondered if she had chosen this spot—and this time--to die.

I tried to find her, out in the tall grass the next day, but could not. I still look for her bones in the burned, dried grass of the soccer field, but cannot any sign of her.

I felt the presence of God in the suffering of that animal.

Another morning, I was sitting on a concrete bench, outside the college library waiting for it to open. It was a cool morning and I remember enjoying how good it felt to sit in the warm sun. The bench I was sitting was placed under a large pepper tree and I heard a large, crashing noise as something came falling down out of the tree and around me.

A pigeon, obviously dying, came crashing out of the pepper tree to lie dying at my feet. His last gesture was to spread his wings, surely in hopes of cushioning his fall, and he lay at my feet, belly and head down, with his wings outspread. He lay in a way that I could see his body expand and contract with his dying breaths.

There was nothing I could do for this creature but stay with it, be present, and witness his death. I was willing and able to do this; I felt it my obligation to be with this dying creature. It took him quite a few minutes to die and college students and staff walked by us, glancing down at the dying bird, and curious, I’m sure, as to what I was doing.

I stayed with that dying bird and I felt the presence of God. They were exquisitely beautiful moments.


On my walk to the primary school, I pass two especially heart-wrenching cases. One is of a starving dog, chained and fenced in someone’s yard (he is a family pet). He is chained to his dog house and has about 1.5 feet of lead to move about. So, he doesn’t have room to move about.

The dog is very thin and his eyes are cloudy (a sign of malnutrition). He makes his poo as far away as he can, which isn’t far at all, and it mounds up in a big pile, but he must lie very near it, in the way that he is chained. He is there, lying on the cold ground on the freezing mornings, and he is there, lying in the hot sun, in brutally hot afternoons. Every day, he is there.

On my same route, there is another creature suffering in the same manner, except this creature is significantly larger: it is a cow. Now there is something significantly more horrible about watching an animal of this size being contained in such a way: it is tethered, with very little rope, and made to live in its excrement. I’ve seen it lying down, although with the little length of its tether, cannot imagine how it does so. On most days, I find the suffering of this animal more than I can bear, and I choose to walk by a different route.

One day, when I was feeling especially brave, I walked by to see my favorite suffering animal. As I approached, I was somewhat startled to realize that this cow had something live, lying at its feet, and was licking it in way that a mother cow would lick a calf.

“Oh no, please don’t tell me that this poor, tortured creature has given birth,” I thought to myself. But as I came nearer, I could see that the creature lying at the cow’s feet was not a calf, but a dog. There was a dog tethered in the same area near the cow, and tethered in a way that the dog and cow could be near each other, if they reached far enough on their respective, cruelly-short ropes.

The dog was lying on his back, his legs in the air, and the cow was stroking the dog’s belly with its tongue, much in the way a human would “rub a dog’s belly.” The dog’s little leg was bouncing with the joy of the ticklishness of the sensation.

These poor, suffering creatures, were providing a measure of comfort to each other. In all of this African filth and cruelty, these beautiful, blessed, suffering creatures were providing comfort to each other.

And I felt the presence of God.

Soon,
Karen

Ps. The photo is one of mine, of the African sky. And I feel the presence of God when I see it.