Come on! Let’s run errands in my shopping town!

I'm showing you pictures of rainbows that have been gracing my sky the last couple of nights. Believe me; you don't want to see photos of my shopping town. Imagine the shopping areas of Preston Highway or Dixie Highway... Yep, that's what my shopping town looks like—U-G-L-Y!


I normally loathe going to my shopping town. Just the thought of the taxi rides coming and going can keep me home-bound longer and eating rice and lentils much longer than necessary. This isn’t so much a South African thing (although the taxi rides don’t help!) as a Karen thing: I’m known to procrastinate and put off shopping trips and errand running in the States too.

I do whine long and loudly about the need to visit Vryburg, my shopping town, when necessities run low. Which is why I was so surprised that, for the first time since arriving in Africa, I actually enjoyed a visit to my shopping town!

Recap:
• I use my mental crow-bar to pry myself from my home and head for the taxi to town. I have my shopping bags, sunhat, sunglasses, and umbrella at hand. The sun is shining; it will be fine.

• My ride on the taxi can take 40 minutes to an hour, depending on how full the taxi is and how long we have to wait for other riders. I’m lucky: I rarely wait more than 20 minutes for a taxi to fill and head to town. As my taxi heads north to Vryburg, four adult men engage in a spirited conversation about I-don’t-know-what (the conversation is in Setswana) but I’m more than a bit troubled by the fact that the phrase “protective order” keeps repeating throughout the conversation, for the whole of the 40 minute ride, and is met with rousing jocularity and hilarity. (I worry that these adult males think it’s funny that a woman has taken out a legal protective order against one of these men because of battering and that they think it hilarious.)

• I ask to be dropped a the “cemetery,” which is a bit out of the ordinary (for a white, American woman to be asking to be dropped at a very, very large, black South African cemetery) and a quiet falls over the taxi as I climb out of it. I’m not going to the cemetery; I’m going to the State Veterinarian’s Office that is on the same road as the cemetery. (If you’re curious as to why I was going to the vet’s office, see my blog:

http://karenkaye789.blogspot.com/2011/03/ounaai-suffers-my-improving.html

• After an entertaining visit with the veterinarian, (he coached me as how to better administer a vaccine and we chatted about a dog’s recovery from the bite of a puff adder!!), I’m walking down the dirt road to the main road and notice a bird of prey perched on a telephone wire. Wait! It’s not just one bird of prey, there’s another… And another… And another! Oh my goodness! There are like 50 of these birds of prey right here! Sure enough, there were many, many southern pale chanting goshawks (Melierax canorus) in the area! What a treat! This is the first bird of prey I noticed when coming to live in South Africa and I delighted watching him “hovering about” over a field in search of prey. They’ll scope, fly to a spot, then hover—much in the same way a hummingbird will, but a goshawk is much, much larger than a hummingbird--and pounce if prey is available or fly to another area if it is not, to hover again. Before this day, I had only seen solitary goshawks. It was a treat to find a field full of them and I stared at them for quite awhile. Then I headed toward the main road and the “sketchy” part of my walk.

• The cemetery and the vet’s office lie just outside of Vryburg and there is a 10-minute stretch I walk by the busy highway. I have the word “sketchy” in quotation marks, because this portion of my walk isn’t sketchy at all: it’s along a major highway full of cars moving in both directions at any hour of the day. As is always the case, a white South African will pull over and offer me a ride because they fear for my safety. If I accept a ride (which I rarely do—it’s only a 10 minute walk), they admonish me severely for walking here. “It is dangerous!” or “It is unsafe!” they tell me over and over again for all of the three minutes I will be in the car with them. “Yes,” I reply, “This is what people tell me.” (White South Africans have told me for two years now how unsafe it is for me to be living with black South Africans and they are just shocked—shocked--that we do so.) Whatever.

• I finish the sketchy, busy portion of my walk and head into the suburbs. I notice a tractor-trailer pulled up beside a grocery store and I can’t keep my eyes off of the cab of it. In the passenger’s side sits an abnormally-large, (not fat or too tall, just LARGE) woman with blonde hair that is smiling like she’s starring in a Broadway musical. She’s dressed like she’s starring in a Broadway musical too: I can see a low-cut, strappy blouse above that million dollar smile. Why in the world is she smiling? I’m mesmerized with the spectacle of this woman. Ha, ha! The joke is on me! It’s a cardboard cutout of a dazzling woman that the truck driver has in his truck to wow his friends. I almost double over from laughing so hard. This is the funniest thing I’ve seen anywhere, not just in South Africa!

• I go to the pharmacist to pick up my first of a three month prescription of birth control pills. Yes, birth control pills. I’m a bit irritated because I’m supposed to take them for three months and Peace Corps will only pay for a month at a time. Are you kidding me? A) I do not want to be taking birth control pills in the first place (my body needs a hormonal “adjustment” and B) I really, really, really don’t want to have to come back for two more times for these pills I don’t want to take. (But I’m being silly, really. I will have to come back to Vryburg for shopping trips and to make another stop in my errand day is really no trouble. But I feel irritated nonetheless.) However, on leaving the drugstore, I burst out laughing at the idea of my taking birth control pills. It’s been a long, long time since I’ve needed any of these!

• I make a visit to the editor/publisher of the Vryburg newspaper, the Stellalander, because they’ve just discovered that I dropped and left my winter hat in their house when I visited last winter. I’m happy to go because I will need this hat in a few weeks, as African winter is headed my way and because these people are happy to see me. I hadn’t realized how much my soul longs for company and companionship of those that seem delighted in me. I miss people delighting in me. So it felt good to exchange pleasantries with these wonderfully kind people who had no idea how kindness-starved I am.

• I leave the office of the Stellalander to go see another woman who delights in seeing me, the librarian at the Vryburg library. Wow, perhaps I should come to Vryburg more often… People actually like me in Vryburg. Elna, the librarian, often sends me inspirational text messages. Here is her latest: “Your dreams will not die, your plans will not fail, your destiny won’t be aborted, desire of your heart will be granted by God, may your life be clean, calm, and clear, like the early morning water. May the grace of the Almighty support, sustain, and supply all your needs according to His riches and glory. You never know when you will be blessed. Good things happen when you least expect them. God is with you this morning. Amen.” Isn’t that sweet? She knows I sometimes fall down in the dumps.

• I move then to a jeweler, to pick up my “faux” wedding ring that I had dropped for repair. I find things that I love in second-hand shops and then spend a fortune on them to repair or refurbish them. I bought a great pair of cowboy boots second-hand, then spent four times what I paid to have them resoled. I bought this ring, the week before I left for Africa, in a second-hand shop, and paid less than $10 for it. It’s sterling and I love its antiqued appearance. The band split on me a few months ago and I debated having it repaired. It was intended to ward off aggressive suitors here (and has somewhat worked) but I’ve grown very fond of the ring and love it very much. I inquired about the repair and having it sized. Sure enough, I paid more for the repair than the ring itself! ($15). I was surprised, and soon dismayed at how different the ring looked when I picked it up: It looked like a different ring! It was bright and shiny, and well, different looking! The lady at the jewelry shop said, “Oh, we cleaned it too.” Cleaned it? They removed the antiquing! That’s why it looked so different! I was upset at first, shrugged it off, then though, “Heck, I’ll rub some black shoe polish or something on it to get the antiquing back.” However, it’s dirtying up nicely on its own.

• Then, lucky me, I had lunch with American friends and they cheered me even more. They too, were happy to see me! .

• Now, the somewhat-urgent-reason I needed to visit Vryburg on this day, in addition to needing to run all of these other errands: I was meeting someone who was bringing me a warthog tusk. A warthog tusk? Yes, a warthog tusk.

In high school, I met and dated the guy that I commonly refer to as “the guy I should have married.” (He was very good to me.) He joined the marines as I finished high school and we lost contact. I hadn’t heard from him in years and we hooked up recently on Facebook. (Yes, Facebook is good for something!). He’s been asking, for a year and a half now, if I could please get him a warthog tusk. Now, you probably can find these items at souvenir type places, but I am very rarely at a souvenir type place. I couldn’t imagine how I would find him one and was even thinking of checking on EBay. (Shh, don’t tell!) Well, I didn’t have to look on EBay, because I met a nice young man on my bus ride back from Cape Town. We were chatting and he told me he was a hunter. I casually mentioned something along the lines of, “Hey, you couldn’t get me a warthog tusk, could you?”

Well, yes he could and he did. I met Rudi, my friend, in Vryburg as he was riding the bus into Pretoria and we knew it would stop in Vryburg. So, guess what I’ve got in my hot little hands? You got it! A genuine warthog tusk!

You just never know what’s going to happen in Vryburg. Perhaps I’ll be happier to go on my next visit!  Perhaps YOU can meet me there!

Soon,
Karen

Mother Bear Project and SA's Human Rights Day

I think I intuitively knew I’d be discouraged by my February project with the college, and had the forethought to plan something easy and fun for March. The great thing about the Mother Bear Project is Amy B, the woman that organizes the shipping of the bears, is a dream to work with.

I met these powerhouses of women that run this awesome day care center last year at the crèche graduation. I worked with these women this year to distribute the toy bears to their orphans and vulnerable children. We timed our event to honor South Africa’s national holiday: Human Rights Day.

The photos speak for themselves; the kids are darlings!

Of course, these little ones don’t yet understand the history behind their nation’s holiday, Human Rights Day, and the HIV/AIDS connection is that it is a human right for all to live in a world affected by HIV/AIDS to have the right to treatment if infected, and education for prevention if not.

Human Rights Day, in South Africa, however, marks a very significant historical event. The apartheid government darkened South Africa’s nation in 1948. Tensions regarding such a brutal separatism challenged the government almost immediately. In 1959, the tensions were worsening and national demonstrations were staged by protestors. On March 21, 1960, one such demonstration was planned for township of Sharpeville and sadly, police opened fire on the protesters and killed 67 and wounded 187 demonstrators. It is said that most were shot in the back. Eighteen thousand protesters were arrested.

Nelson Mandela, along with several other powerful, African leaders would be arrested only four years later and apartheid only later dismantled in 1994. However, the Sharpeville Massacre, which is remembered annually and renamed Human Rights Day, marked the turning point for the fall of apartheid in South Africa.

Heavy stuff, I know, for toddlers and toy bears—but hey, I’m an education volunteer!

Soon,
Karen

PS. For more pictures of our Mother Bear Project and SA Human Rights Day, see my public Facebook page (click on the link). You need not be a FB member to see the photos:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=115020&id=1239371142&l=a771f194f8

Ounaai suffers my improving veterinarian skills

The only time Ounaai tolerates the camera is when she is sleeping.



Vaccination attempt: round one

I am nervous. I withdraw the liquid portion of the vaccine into the syringe, insert the needle into the vial of the powdered portion, squirt the liquid in with the powdered portion, mix the solution well, and then withdraw the now ready-to-use mixture back into the syringe. I am now ready to vaccinate. Ounaai senses something is up, but I sit with her, restrain her with my legs, speak soothingly to her, grab the scruff of her neck, and insert the needle. Jab is more like it--the needle seems as big around as a tree trunk. She yelps, struggles and I hurry. She struggles more, I worry of her escaping my grasp, and hurriedly plunge the syringe quickly. She struggles even harder, she is crying with pain, I am still plunging the syringe, but she struggles and I pull it out. Whatever was coming out of the plunging syringe, along with anything else pulsing through Ounaai insides, sprays into my eyes. She’s now thoroughly pissed at and frightened of me and I’m running to the sink to flush my eyes out with tap water.

As I’m flushing my yes, I’m thinking what it must feel like to be a healthcare worker, having just been sprayed in the eyes with a syringe full of something coming out of the human body. In the age of HIV and TB it doesn’t take a great leap to think of how frightening such a scenario could be, and for the first time in my life, I am empathizing with health care workers completely. After all, who knows what has just entered my bloodstream through my eyes. (A friend would later tease that at least I wouldn’t contract distemper.)





Perhaps she'll tolerate the camera if she is eating?

 

I call the vet, explain what has happened, and oddly, am more worried about whether or not I got enough of the vaccine into the dog than the condition of my eyes. I would hate having gone through such awfulness for nothing. I told him I had gotten “most of it”-- the vaccine-- into the dog and he told me she would be fine. As for me and my eyes, yes, he assured, I should be fine too, and to just rinse my eyes well. This I have done and do some more. Did I hear a chuckle in his voice? Did he think this funny? I have slight stinging in my eyes for the rest of the evening, but otherwise, all is well.





Nope, not tolerating the camera!

 Vaccination attempt: round two

Poor Ounaai. If only she had a competent health-care provider.

I did round two of vaccinations this weekend past and thankfully, she won’t need any more. (Well, she’s supposed to get a yearly booster…) I went to the vet to pick up her second round of vaccinations and ask for some “coaching” as to how to better administer it. The vet, who is wonderful by the way—everyone at this clinic is wonderfully helpful—asked me back into the “no man’s land” of behind the scenes vet care. (He’s let me come back before and knows I’m curious and not squeamish.) I tell him how my disastrously bad my first attempt was, and much to my chagrin, he is delighted and reacts with hilarity at my account of poor Ounaai enduring such a blundering, painful shot. In the back room, where dogs are recovering, he pulls out a dog from a cage to demonstrate the proper administration of an injection. (The dog needed a shot anyway; he wasn’t just using an animal for my benefit.) The vet showed me how to grab the scruff at the neck, (I was correct here), but he further showed me to make a “tent” in the scruff of her neck to form a depression in her scruff within which to insert the needle and to protect her muscles.

Oh, so THAT’s how you do it!!

However, the best advice was that he told me that if she struggled, to release my grasp on the syringe. If she struggled, I was to release the syringe, with it still inserted in her neck, (but not release the dog), and let her calm. The worst of it was over, she felt the stick and the needle was in, so she would no longer feel it. He told me to wait for her to calm and then slowly and gently depress the plunger of the syringe. He showed all of this too me on the huge dog that was recovering, and while he demonstrated everything beautifully, I kept thinking to myself, “Yeah, but THIS dog is sedated. Mine will not be sedated.”




Nope, definitely NOT tolerating the camera!

And this is the cool, the cool part, the cool part… The demonstration dog HAD BEEN BITTEN BY A PUFF ADDER!!  I was so excited! Not excited that the poor dog had been bitten by a puff adder, poor thing, but YES!, to have evidence that there are puff adders in Africa, even if I haven’t seen one.  Before coming to South Africa, I read anything about South African flora and fauna I could get my hands on.  In some of my reading, I learned that South Africa’s more common snake is the puff adder (Bitis arietans)—it’s found in all regions of South Africa.  A family member, noting my excitement asked, “What’s a puff adder?”  I replied, still excitedly, “It’s one of the most venomous snakes in the WORLD!”  She was worried, I was excited!  By the way, no, I do not want to be BITTEN by a puff adder;  however, it would be thrilling to see one.  As with all wild creatures, they despise being bothered and  bite only defensively.  They do not slither around with the sole purpose of seeking and biting someone.  I have not come across a puff adder in the wild, even though I worried I would when building my thorn fence (but it was winter time).  I have come across a cape cobra (Naja nivea) outside my village and a horned adder (Bitus caudalis) in Messina when I went to see the baobab trees.  Thrilling finds!




Ounaai now very grumpy with my camera has decided to sit outside.



Anyway, back to the dog. I had often wondered what domestic animals do if bitten while grazing: the cattle, donkeys, and goats are all over the wild places between the villages. The vet told me that dogs actually do better than humans with a puff adder bite. This is because a dog has very loose skin that has plenty of “give” to accommodate the swelling of tissue that results with a snake bite. Humans, on the other hand, have tight skin and therefore have no “room” to “give” with the resulting swelling. The vet then he pointed out, of the dog, “See how big his head is? His head is five times its normal size!” (I couldn’t tell because I was unfamiliar with the breed. He just looked to me like a dog with a big head—hey, some breeds have big heads!—and woozy from his sedation.) The vet felt certain of this animal’s recovery and further added that the antivenin for dogs is very expensive. So, this guy had a very caring owner.

So, that was pretty cool. However, I still had to face Ounaai, so it was time to head home.

 


This is Ounaai’s former beau, Fella… Isn’t he gorgeous? 

The “heat” of the romance cooled with Ounaai’s spaying.



Poor Ounaai. She just knew something was up. As soon as I walked in the door, she ducked her head and cast down her eyes. I just read Louise Erdrich’s Shadow Tag and Erdrich does a fantastic job of portraying the family dogs in the novel as ultra sensitive to the family dynamic—dogs just know, you know? I could tell Ounaai knew something was up. In the States, our vet back plies our animals with Pupperoni to distract them when administering vaccinations. I couldn’t find any Pupperoni in Vryburg, but decided to try biltong instead. (Biltong is a South Africa’s version of beef jerky. Go ahead, roll your eyes. But I’m telling you, a girl in Peace Corps has gotta do what a girl in Peace Corps has gotta do!) I approached Ounaai, with biltong in hand (and the syringe behind my back), but she would have none of it. Because she is a very, very good dog, she did not run from me, but sat bravely for the painful horrors that awaited her. I tried to give her the biltong, but she only tentatively held it in her mouth, not even biting it, but holding it between her lips! I tried to wrestle up some neck scruff, but she had hers bolted down like armor. Bless her heart—she knew what was coming. Her injection went much better this second time. I felt much better about administering it, felt better informed with the how and why of it, and was generally more relaxed all the way around. She did struggle a bit, I let go of the syringe, and she quieted immediately, just as the vet had said she would. I reassured her, the worst of it was over (she had already felt the needle stick), and I lightly depressed the plunger. With the needle withdrawn, she decided she liked biltong very much, could she have some more?




Fella is very shy.



Just think… If I kept at it, I could become the best vaccinator Ounaai has ever had! It’s too bad I only had a couple of tries and she had to endure my beginner’s clumsiness—especially in regards to a painful shot!

In thinking about Ounaai enduring the development of my veterinarian skills, I couldn’t help but make comparisons in other areas of my life. I shudder to think of my first class of freshmen composition students, and how in the world they survived me trying to figure out what in the heck I was doing. Surprisingly, my best student that first-go-round of teaching remains a very good friend, even today, and he remembers nothing odd or amiss about our writing class. And then my sons—oh my-- how they suffered from inexperience and my ongoing, blundering attempts at parenting! You can’t imagine how I wish for a second chance at raising my sons!

Ounaai suffers the development of my veterinarian skills; my composition students suffered the development of my teaching skills; and my sons suffered the development of my parenting skills.


Second chances? If only!

Soon,
Karen

PS. While I is easy to fall into a guilt-induced spiral of shame and regret inspired by the lost opportunities of second chances, it occurs to me that some things just won’t improve with second, third, and well, many more tries: No matter how many times I try, I cannot seem to cook a pretty egg; no matter how many attempts I make at homemade hummus, I can’t seem to find happiness with my resulting paste; no matter how hard I study or try to learn an additional language, I can’t seem to find fluency.


PSS. Ounaai is officially “ruined” as a dog. She knows that in a cabinet in my kitchen sits a tin canister containing a lovely biltong treat that she sometimes gets if Karen is anywhere near the kitchen. So guess who is lying at my feet anytime I’m near the kitchen, mildly begging for a treat? Go ahead, roll your eyes! I’m rolling mine too!



Fella usually lies curled up in the tall grass outside my home at the bottom of my stairs.


 

Christmas in March! How did you know...

I would need such cheering up!

Last week I was feeling overwhelmed by receiving so many packages in the mail. My sister sent me a huge package full of love, my Aunt sent me my absolute favorite pecans (which make me delightedly happy, for some reason), and my friend Mary sent me a package full of sweets and school supplies.

Again, I felt overwhelmed with receiving so many packages and I always swoon and almost faint when I see how much my loved ones have spent in shipping!

Imagine my surprise when I went to the post office this morning!

A shout out to my friends who have sent school supplies: reward stickers, colored pens, notebooks, fun reward toys (glow in the bracelets!), and INFLATALBE GLOBES! Yay! And for me: stationary, stamps, back issues of the Sun Magazine (my favorite), spiritual reading, Dr. Bronner’s soap (another favorite) and SPICES! I’m a lucky girl!

My good friend Joe Y, who influenced me greatly in my naturalist pursuits, has sent along some children’s books with a nature focus to share with my school children. He’s doing wonderful things influencing our next generations to become stewards of nature!

Be sure to check out his company’s website at: http://www.childrensnatureguide.com/



I’m particularly fond of KK’s hope….Hmm… Wonder why?

 My mom has assembled a posse of wonderful women who have contributed greatly to my South African adventure and they sent me this humongous package chocked with goodies! Thanks Teen R and Faye J! Their goody box had all things school supplies: maps, more inflatable globes (Yay! A village can never have too many inflatable globes!), colored pens, pencils, markers, scissors (these will be a hot item!), erasers, glue sticks, reward stickers, tape, and sharpeners. My primary school will be very, very happy to see me this week—thank you both!

For me, they included COFFEE, (yay, yay, yay!) vitamins and probiotics, spices, MOVIES (yay! yay! yay!), cardstock and envelops (was critically short—thank you!), and a heat resistant spatula! Oh, and some ladies under-things that I needed (blush). Thank you!

And a few of you have contributed funds to my bank account--which always makes life easier!  Thank you!
It has been a particularly rough week and you couldn’t have known (nor would have I) how uplifting this shower of gifts has been. I feel bolstered, encouraged, and hopeful again! Amazing how a little bit—or a lot of bit!--of love from across the sea can be so regenerative.

Thank you everyone for your generosity! I am a humbled and lucky girl!

Soon,
Karen

Love crushes and the South African Dog Days of Summer

 Some people develop love crushes on people—and I certainly do! However, I also develop love crushes on old, abandoned buildings and here is my longest standing African heart-throb: the old abandoned Catholic Church in my village. This building, of course, is no longer in use and the current Catholic Church sits nearby in the foreground. I’m not sure how old this building is, but I know the principal at my primary school attended this church as his school when he was a child. I love the old ruin of it and have wanted to photograph it since I arrived. As with all things in South Africa, I wanted to photograph this church in the late-afternoon, early-evening light to avoid exposure to the blaring hot, African sun—exposure which creates unlovely photographs. And, as I’m still experiencing inconsistencies with uploading photos to my blog, so who knows what you will see!!--but hopefully the images are lovely enough.


As the day was late when I set off to photograph the church, I hoped Ounaai would accompany me as a companion; however, she is well-trained in not following me into the village as I’m usually off to school or church, both places where village dogs are unwelcome, and I scold her heartily if she tries to follow me. I need to figure out a way to better train her, about how to know when it’s fine to follow me and when it’s not. Will keep you posted. So, she was not with me this day, although I wished she were.




crossing the cemetary on the way to the church

  

As with many churches I suppose, it is necessary to approach this church by passing through a cemetery.  I’ve wanted to show you photos of the cemeteries of my people before, but struggle  with my conscious in regards to the appropriateness of the situation and with not wanting to exploit my people and their privacy.  So, here you are and I apologize if anyone is offended. 




the better-to-do are buried next to the poor

 

You can see, from the photos, that just like in living in rural South Africa, the poor  reside by the rich, or if not rich, at least better off.  The more elaborate the gravesite, the larger and lovelier the tombstone, the more elaborate the fencing, and the appearance of other fancier grave decorations, the wealthier the family of the deceased; or unfortunately, the more debt the family of the deceased has taken on to bury their loved one.  The gravesites of the poor are marked only with stones.  Three prominent dates are displayed on the tombstones of the well-to-do: the birth date, the death date, and the burial date.  Also, both names of the deceased, the English as well as the African name are displayed on the tombstone.  The most beautiful song I’ve heard since coming to South Africa was sung at a funeral: the men closest to the deceased sang only the two first verses of the national anthem, Nkosi sikelel' iAfrika.  (They sang the black African verses-isiXhosa and  isiZulu [first verse], and Sesotho [second verse] and  excluded the Afrikaaner and English verses [third and fourth verses, respectively].)  Their song was low in volume, almost a whisper, and very, very sorrowful.  It was the most beautiful hymn I’ve ever heard and its singing  so beautiful that my body ached.





oh wait!  a donkey!

The people that I live with hold very strict formalities regarding the approach and entering of a cemetery and I couldn’t help but feel I was trespassing.  It was eerily quiet, as all cemeteries are, I’m sure, and as I moved closer to the church to better photograph it, I was startled to hear quite a commotion coming from inside the abandoned, Catholic church.  I was more than a bit spooked with the unexpected noise!  Imagine my surprise at watching the resulting file of donkeys stepping delicately out of the church, one by one, ready to leave the cool interiors to munch about in the early evening dinner time.

  



Wait! More donkeys!

 My visit to the church was a quiet, solemn time, and the visit foreshadowed the coming of the South African dog days of summer, which are now arrived.


I was told by the former Peace Corps Volunteer at my site that South Africa truly has only two seasons: winter and summer, and I concur. However, if there is a fall season in South Africa, or at least in my area, I believe we’re experiencing it now. My garden, after enduring a full-growing season, is petering out. The production of my vegetable plants proved exceptional, I believe, due to my “trenched bed” digging techniques, techniques learned in our “Permagarden” training provided by Peace Corps, techniques to ensure plenty of root growth and nutrition for the growing plant. “Trenched bed” gardening is the labor-intensive practice of digging deep, then adding soil amended with compost and/or composted manure, and char to promote healthy plant production. I am still harvesting tomatoes when the community garden was locked back in December, when their gardening season (without trenched bed and other helpful gardening practices) ceased. My tomatoes, now in March, are almost harvested, the amaranth is bitter, and the blister beetles and Batman bugs are chomping my okra blossoms before than they can open. (I don’t know what the Batman bugs really are, but they are black, beetle-like, and have barbs coming off their hind-legs that remind me of Batman’s costume.) The infamous South African weed, “blackjack” is taller than I and their nasty, impossible-to-remove barbed seeds are at the ready.



Emily and I normally cross the creek bed here, but with summer rains, our crossing is detoured.



I’m seeing other changes that signal the “dog days” of summer. I’ve noticed the past couple of evenings that it isn’t broiling hot after 5:00 pm; I’ve noticed it’s becoming dark sooner—night is arriving around 7:00 pm; I’ve noticed the dramatic and frequent storms are lessoning; and I’ve noticed I’m needing a comforter by the middle of the night. My weather notes indicate that I was wearing mittens in mid-April last year and I’m watching my friend the spider make her last attempts at web repair in the evening light.

It will be very cold again, very soon, and I’ll be entering my second winter (or really the third, because it was mid-winter when we arrived in Africa in July, 2009). For some reason, I can’t imagine ever developing a love crush on the South African winter.

Soon,
Karen

PS. For more pictures of love crushes and South African Dog Days, see my public Facebook page (click on the link). You need not be a FB member to see the photos:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=113481&id=1239371142&l=5597415392





Although she is not pictured here, Ounaai loves to run and jump in the long, late-summer grasses.



Valentine’s Day event to promote HIV/AIDS awareness: blow by blow





A chaplain from the area South African Police Service opened our event.

 November, 2010
I approach the college about hosting a Valentine’s Day Event to promote HIV/AIDS awareness as a “fun” event for the college students at the start of the new school year, 2011. I have something in mind like an open-air festival, with a free-flow feel, where the students can meander about between classes, have goodies and treats from community members who have agreed to donate goods and services, and perhaps take the opportunity to learn something about HIV/AIDs and/or seek counseling and testing for HIV/AIDS. The college is excited and supportive, but when I inquire about beginning with the planning in November 2010, I’m told to “wait until school starts next year.” When I object to waiting, because that will leave me only six weeks to prepare for the event, I’m told, “It will be fine.”

December 1, 2010
The World AIDS Day event hosted by my primary school is a smashing success and I’m heartened and hopeful about doing something similar for the college students.

January 10, 2011
It’s the first day of the new school year and I’m told to “go ahead and plan” the Valentine’s Day Event to promote HIV/AIDS awareness. I have five weeks to coordinate an event that hopes to attract about 1000 students and community members. In the USA, I would never, EVER have attempted such an event without at least six months planning time. I’m told “It will be fine.”

January 11, 2011
I find colleagues at my college who will help plan the event. The former Student Support Officer, who should be my counterpart but is no longer the SSO, reluctantly agrees to help. The school’s Hospitality Program can cater the refreshments, and the Hospitality Department has an exceptional instructor who is a friend and I trust completely, advises me we need money for ingredients to prepare the refreshments. How can we raise the money? This same woman knows of someone from the University of the Free State whose passion is “to promote HIV/AIDS awareness among the youth of South Africa.” This wonderful woman from the U of Free State agrees to come, but we must pay her transportation. How can we raise the money? I’m told we can ask the college’s Corporate Center to donate money to fund these areas of our event.

I seek out the woman in charge of the college facilities, the one who will prepare the seating for 1,000 or so guests, help the vendors set up their booths, etc., and ask her to help with our Valentine’s Day Event. She says, “Sure, just remind me.”

(I will remind her weekly about our event, so much so that whenever she sees me, she playfully laughs, points to me, and says, “I know, I know, Valentine’s Day!)

  


So much for an open-air, festival-type of event.

January 12, 2011
I draft a proposal to request funds from the college’s Corporate Center to pay for our Valentine’s Day refreshments and transportation for our guest speaker. My supervisor revises, correcting all of my American English, into English English, approves proposal and I fax the request to Corporate Center. (Or, as she would correct me: Corporate Centre.)

January 13, 2011
Worried that the college’s Corporate Center may not fund our event, I travel to Vryburg to walk door-to-door to illicit participation and contributions for our event. I’m told I need to hand out a “formal letter of invitation” for requests to be considered.

I return to the college campus to draft this “formal letter of invitation,” my supervisor reviews and approves it, and I return to Vryburg to hand-deliver the “formal letter of invitation.”

January 14, 2011
I spend the whole workday scouring the phone book to find potential donors for our event. I begin, what will become in the next weeks, a routine of daily emails, faxes, and phone calls all for which I’m begging for money or donations.

January 15-February 4, 2011
I fax every community member within a 100-mile radius: Will you come to our event, help make it “fun” for our students, and/or donate goods or services that promote your product the future generation of South Africans?

It is in these weeks that I realize that people seem to not understand what I mean by a “fun event for the students” and an “open-air festival,” although the taxi ranks all over South Africa are keen examples of an “open-air festival.”

It is also in these weeks that the guest speaker from U of Free State confirms she is coming, so I feel a bit urgent about not having money yet for her transportation. Also, I have invited the local community radio station, the local mayor, a team of HIV/AIDS specialists from another city two hours away, the District Health Department, the District office of the Department of Education and I realize I’m somewhat panicked about how we will feed all of these people should they show up, and somewhat panicked about if they will ever let me know they are planning to show up.

But another bomb-shell: the woman in charge of the Hospitality Program, who is a STAR in every way, who could single-handedly make this event a great hit, will be having surgery on February 7, and unable to be on-hand for the event. I feel a dark cloud of foreboding, but forge ahead anyway.

Still no word from Corporate Center in regards to funding our event.









I am wanting to dissolve into the floor.

 Monday, January 17, 2011

I approach my college supervisor to express my concerns and suggest we “wait until we can better plan for such an event.” She waves me off and assures me, “It will be fine.”

More faxing, emailing, phoning, waiting… Still no money, still not sure who is coming…

I do this same thing of expressing my doubts on a Monday and my supervisor assuring me that “It will be fine” for two more weeks.

Wednesday, February 2, 2011, our event is a week and a half away…
My college hosts a formal program to “officially open” our school season. All of the “suits” from Corporate Center are in attendance. I find the woman in charge of doling out the funds from Corporate Center and she informs me that, a) Corporate Center did not take my request seriously, because I signed the form instead of my Campus Manager (who, at the time, seemed quite fine with me signing the form), and b) Corporate Center cannot just dole out money to anyone. I must tie this event to the curriculum: What will the students gain, academically, from such an event? If I can tie the event to the curriculum, Corporate Center will fund our refreshments and transportation for our guest speaker.

I have no idea how to do these things. We’re a week and a half out… Is there time to do such things? My supervisor assures me, “It will be fine.”

Thursday, February 3, 2011
I revise the submission request for funds for our Valentine’s Day event, tie the request to the curriculum to the best of my ability, have my supervisor sign it, and re-fax our request.

Friday, February 4, 2011
Our newly-appointed Student Support Officer, who should oversee these kinds of events (and perhaps become my counterpart), is too busy to meet with me, but suggests we meet the next day (a Saturday) with members from the Student Representative Council. I’m thrilled: finally, someone with a connection to the students is on board and finally, the students will have a voice. How can we make the fun for THEM?

Saturday, February 5, 2011, 11:00 am
I meet with the newly appointed Student Support Officer and the only one member of the SRC to show, and he is reeking of alcohol. The Student Support Officer suggests we change the day of the event, seems unconcerned that I have been circulating fliers about the event with a firm date and time for weeks now, suggests we change the style of the event (from an outdoor festival to a formal program), and worries that we have too many guest speakers and they will all feel competitive and jealous of each other. He also asks, “What are we doing for Valentine’s Day?” He doesn’t’ want it all to be about HIV/AIDS) and suggests we offer a session on the history of St. Valentine. I inwardly groan, but say nothing. How could a history lesson on St. Valentine be fun for the students?






Lighting the AIDS candle

I try to maintain composure at what feels like a rising panic setting in, apologize profusely (I don’t, after all, really know what I’m doing, and desperately need his help), and beg, “Can we please do it the way we’ve already planned and do the best we can and we can do it however you’d like the next time?” He reluctantly agrees and suggests a planning meeting for Wednesday, February 9.

I’m not terribly alarmed at holding a planning meeting at so late a date: the primary school held its planning meeting the day before World AIDS Day and pulled the event off beautifully.

I was hoping the college would similarly rise to the occasion.

Wednesday, February 9, 2011: T-minus six days and counting
We host our “planning meeting” for our Valentine’s Day event. About twenty of us show for the meeting, including fellow educators from the Hospitality Program, educators that have helped me link the event to the curriculum, members of the local police department (who have a team dedicated to HIV/AIDS related concerns within the community), people who just wanted to help, and two students (but no members of the SRC).

Again, silly me, I thought we could hold a very democratic meeting, a brain-storming session, if you will, whereby everyone felt comfortable (and perhaps excited?) to contribute to the discussion. I did not want this to be a “Karen Kaye” meeting, but a “this is our school event” meeting. Not only was this kind of meeting NOT to happen, but the men dominated the meeting, the women were mostly silent with downcast eyes, and I would later be publically upbraided for not having formally introduced everyone there. I still am a bit clueless to how to formally introduce people that stream in very late, well after the meeting has begun, and up to a half an hour late or even more. In my culture, late-comers are ignored (or even reprimanded!); in this culture, they’re revered. However, I have not yet mastered the art of revering the very special people who could barely be bothered at all to attend, and certainly not be bothered to attend on time.

The other major way I mis-stepped was that I brought the meeting back, again and again, to the students: “What would YOU GUYS like to do?” or “What do YOU GUYS think?” When I called on the students to contribute their ideas, they slumped their shoulders, lowered their eyes and heads, and apologized, “I’m sorry Mam; We’re just students. We have no voice here.”

Agrh!

The outcome of the meeting: we kept the date, changed the event time (uh oh), and still weren’t sure who was coming and when.

Long story short: I created a Valentine's Day “program” that was quite vague and could be easily manipulated on the day of, when hopefully, we’d have some idea of who was coming and when. I had relinquished my idea of an “open air festival,” because, well, no one seemed to grasp the idea of it.









Mr. S, a top-notch educator who sat in the hot-seat with me. 
He was our "Master of Ceremonies"

Friday, February 11, 2001: T-minus three days and counting.
My guest speaker from the University of Free State cancels.
I repeat: My guest speaker from the University of Free State cancels.

Nice.

I take my forlorn, defeated self to my supervisor who is thrilled: Corporate Center has finally approved the funding! I’m ready to cancel, she’s ready to proceed!

I take a bit of heart… I have invited someone else who could serve as the guest speaker. He confirms, wants too much money, but I’m moving ahead now in full-steam, and hope the college rises to the occasion, no matter what happens. I feel certain they will help me navigate the mystery of organizing/facilitating an event at their school and will rise to any occasion on our Valentine’s Day.

Sunday, February 13, 2011, 7:30 pm.
I, to woman in charge of the food for tomorrow, say: “Are we all set for tomorrow?”
She replies, to me, “No, not really.”

Not really?

It’s too late. I can’t worry now. Everything is in place. What will happen, will happen and it feels out of my hands.

Monday, February 14, 2011: Valentine’s Day
7:20 am. The gentleman from the local police station, who insisted we change the event time in the last hour, cancels. He apologizes, but he has a family matter and will not be in attendance.

7:30 am. Staff meeting: As a show of unity and school spirit, it was decided everyone wear red for our event: red for Valentine’s Day. About ten of us are wearing red out of the forty staff members present. (I had frantically searched Vryburg a few days earlier looking for something red to wear, and eventually bought a red scarf.) I invite the staff members to gather for a group photo, so “I could show everyone in America how wonderfully supportive our staff was of the event.” That was the very wrong thing to say, everyone grumbled, and filed out. (Remember, in South Africa, the education system is teacher centered, not student centered, so hosting an event or otherwise doing something supportive of the students doesn’t go over well.)

Another blow: my supervisor won’t even be coming to the college today.

8:00 am.In a panic, I ask about the food for the event, the food for feeding perhaps 800-1000 people, and am told, “We still haven’t heard from Corporate Center.” This next person in charge assures me, “I will fax them in a minute.”

I fuss with having the programs printed, which takes me about a half an hour or so.







A star student bravely reading her HIV/AIDS message

8:30: I return to inquire about the food for our students and guests. My new person in charge is busy with other matters and doesn’t seem concerned about us needing to feed so many people in a few short hours, would she mind if I send the fax to Corporate Center? She is fine that I send it, so I do. Ok, I’ve faxed Corporate Center, there is nothing more I can do. If worse comes to worst, certainly the college will do something to feed our people something.

8:40: The local radio station that I had solicited weeks earlier but had never responded calls to say they will not be coming to our event. Fine.

8:45: I go to check on the main hall that is supposed to be set to seat 800 people. It is set to seat 35 people. I go find the lovely woman in charge of the facility, the one that jokingly laughed with me the weeks prior, about readying for our Valentine’s Day event. I show up in her office, she throws up her hands and can’t be bothered. I ask about the students (we have at least 650 of them) and how will they be seated? This is, after all, their event. “Tell them to bring chairs from the classrooms,” she replies.

Great. This is supposed to be a fun event for the students and the college can’t be bothered to ready chairs for them.

8:55: Phone rings, it’s the office administrative assistant, my guests had arrived. Great. Guests already… Seems like they were counting on, surprise, surprise, our originally and highly advertised program time of 9:00-4:00.

I go to greet our guests, who happen to be 20-30 of members of the local police department, the same police department of the guy that had cancelled on me at 7:20 that morning, the same guy who had insisted we change the event time, (but apparently neglected to tell his own staff of the time change) and a chaplain that was chomping at the bit to open the program because he had other engagements.

I apologized to our guests, pleaded for them to wait, and ran about finding someone to serve the guests coffee and tea. After a lot of shoulder-shrugging and nods of “no,” my begging prompted the appearance of beverages for the guests who will be waiting two and a half hours for an 11:30 start time.

9:30: Community-service providers invited to provide free HIV/AIDS counseling and testing services begin to arrive. People from groups I hadn’t invited arrive: Where should they set up their equipment?

I return to my formerly-joking facilities lady who becomes unhappier and unhappier each time I knock on her door. She is very unhappy with our Valentine’s Day event and can’t believe the attentions I’m requiring of her.

9:30-10:30: More community-service providers show, more people needing assistance with set up.





 



Mobile unit offers HIV screening and counseling

 11:00: I’m notified that the local chapter of the Health Department, whom I had invited, were coming, but needed me to send them transportation. What? The Health Department needs me to send a car? At the same time, I’m notified that my too-early-arrived guests, who were really on time, had had their limit of waiting, and were marching to the Main Hall to begin the event.


Great. I really can’t be bothered now with the stranded Health Department and head toward the Main Hall.

11:00: We’re all in the Main Hall, I and the 20-30 members of the local police force, but there is not one other member from the college in the hall: no students and no teachers, no Master or Mistress of Ceremonies, only I and the select group of highly-irritated members of the police force.

I frantically phone the Acting Student Support Officer, my should-be-counterpart, to ask for his assistance: Could he come help me? No, he was busy with other things. Could he at least get the word to the students to come to the Main Hall? No, he was sorry, but he really was busy with other things.

I grab a student to find the gentleman that agreed to be our Master of Ceremonies. In the meantime, I try to stall and attempt to speak to our guests, attempt to explain to them who I was, why I was in South Africa, and the purpose of Peace Corps. My audience, the highly irritated and kept-too-long waiting members of the police force seem distracted and inattentive when I try to talk to them. A woman from the police force stands, approaches me, and leads me out of the room. She points out that my pants are unzipped. MY PANTS ARE UNZIPPED AND HAVE BEEN SO FOR ALL OF THE MORNING.

11:45: My Master and Mistress of Ceremonies arrive and help me with the chaos. Still, the students aren’t in the Main Hall. My colleague, familiar with student protocol, asks the girls to lead in song, all stand, and everyone begins singing. At hearing the music, students finally flood into the Main Hall, but have nowhere to sit. They stand about and sit on the floor. Our program begins. Someone informs me that Corporate Center had finally released funds and the Hospitality Team was off to Vryburg (40 minutes away) to purchase ingredients to prepare food for the 300-400 or so (as it turns out) guests that would be expecting to eat in only a couple of hours.

11:45-2:30pm. Miraculously, almost all the invited guests to speak arrive, file in, and seem to know when to “go on” for their parts of the presentations. I’m flitting about, trying to take photos and trying to figure out who is who and generally putting out fires. We are in the Main Hall, it is a hot day, there is no water to drink, and there is no water to be provided because our Hospitality Team is in Vryburg. The students are noisy and disrespectful of our guest speakers (and of me) because they are hot and have nowhere to sit (and likely can’t understand most of the English that the speakers are using). I grab and beg a fellow educator to serve as crowd control and he complies with limited success.

For the most part, I wished to dissolve into the floor.

2:00: My Department of Education supervisor arrives (I have so many supervisors!) and although I’m delighted to see her, am embarrassed at our floundering situation. I ask her to do the “Vote of Thanks” to close our program and while she initially agrees, she soon declines after seeing how the students are being so disrespectful.

I continue to want to dissolve into the floor.

2:30: The formal part of our program ends and another one of my colleagues sits in the hot seat with me and gives the “Vote of Thanks.” In her closing, she scolds the students thoroughly for being so disrespectful. We should now serve refreshments but the Hospitality Team still hasn’t arrived from their delayed shopping excursion. Everyone is encouraged to wait for the food. The team from LoveLife, the organization that had promised they would make the event “fun for the students,” show up after the program had ended. The community-service providers conducting the HIV/AIDS counseling/testing services send for their own food and tsk tsk about how the numbers (of students coming for counseling/testing) are so low.

People have been displeased with me all day, and have voiced it heartily. The former Student Support Officer, the one who was supposedly helping me in the past weeks, seems to be following me around saying, “You should have done this and you should have done that.” I flee from her admonishments as graciously as I can.

3:00: Emily, my nearly-next door neighbor Peace Corps Volunteer, shows up to support our event. At this point, I’ve not had even a sip of water since 7:30 am and have come unglued. She basically bolsters me up, provides moral support, and takes some great photos that I would be very grateful to later have (and most of the ones you see here).

4:20pm. The very angry members of the police force, who have been waiting unhappily to eat all day, are ushered back to the Hospitality Lab, where Emily and I assume the food is ready and the guests are finally being fed. Sure enough, we see them leaving and carrying “to go” box containers. The food prepared is nice, it’s a braii, with grilled meat and pap and salad. The students head toward the Hospitality Lab for their turn, and are summarily turned away. THE STUDENTS, WHO HAD WAITED ALL DAY, TO EAT THEIR PROMISED REFRESHMENTS, WERE REFUSED. The crowd of students becomes rowdy, obviously upset. I worried they would toi-toi, as their uprising is referred to, when they often do when promises to them aren’t kept, and Emily asked if I would like to spend the night with her.

The Valentine’s Day Event to promote HIV/AIDS awareness was not fine; there was no fun event for the students, invited guests were not fed, students were not fed, the college did not even provide water for the guests to drink. When I walked my very disgruntled and unhappy guests to their cars, I would see fellow-educators in the Staff Room, laughing and having tea, while our school event was limping along as a disaster.

I felt hurt, betrayed, and sabotaged by my college colleagues. The Valentine’s Day Event to promote HIV/AIDS awareness was a dismal failure and an embarrassment for me and the college.

The Aftermath:

I visited a neighbor later that evening to take her some tomatoes. She congratulated me. SHE CONGRATULATED ME. When I asked her how she could possibly, and voiced my complaints, she soothed me, “Oh, Ms. Kaye, it was not about the food today. It was about the MESSAGE. You brought some wonderful people to our campus today and the students were exposed to a wonderful message.”

I met my Peace Corps supervisor a few days later who assured me that the event had been successful, that having 50 college students receive HIV/AIDS counseling and testing was phenomenal, and that I was “being too hard on myself.”

Later that week, I would attend, as a guest, a similar event that was very well done. Many of the community-service providers that had attended our Valentine’s Day event were present, and I made my way to each of them to offer my apologies. All were more than gracious, and an area social worker said to me, “We could see that you were doing a brave and courageous thing, and that your school was not supporting you.” She further added, “If you’d like to do another event in the future, call us and we will help you organize and execute the event and we’ll bring everything you will need.”

I left my school to spend a week in Pretoria, which ended up being a very good thing, in that it allowed time and space that brought helpful perspective. On the Monday that I returned to my site, I made my way to the local grocer. As I passed the Police Station, on my way to the grocer, I heard someone calling my name: it was the Police Force Chaplain, the gentleman who arrived promptly at 9:00, waited impatiently until 11:00, then stormed the Main Hall demanding the program start, and was offended by my unzipped pants. On Valentine’s Day, he was rightly very, very angry with me and voiced it heartily. I cautiously approached him, expecting the worst. To my amazement, he was kind, gracious, and friendly. He seemed very happy to see me. I thanked him profusely for coming to our event and apologized for how badly it came off. He basically said the same thing Mrs. N had assured at the end of that awful day: That the message was the most important thing and to my concern that his staff hadn’t been fed, he replied, “It’s good for people to “go without sometimes.” He also asked me to try again and offered his help with the planning. He also invited me to his church.

When I returned to the campus from the grocer and my chat with the chaplain, someone else called me by name: “Karen, I have been looking for you. I live in a village 60K from here and want you to help me host an HIV/AIDS event just like the one you had here.” I assured him that I was happy to help and promised that this second attempt with his event would be much, much better. He replied, “No, I want the event to be exactly like yours.”

Soon,
Karen

PS. For more pictures of our Valentine’s Day Event, see my public Facebook page (click on the link). You need not be a FB member to see the photos:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=112579&id=1239371142&l=41314bec8d














  

Louisville RPCVs Lettie and Sally visit



Lettie and I in front of my "guest room."



Lettie and Sally with the college kids



Lettie with my primary school children

 Wow! What fun! My friends Lettie and Sally came to visit me this week and I had an exceptionally good time! It was fun to have friends from Louisville visit and as a bonus, friends from Louisville who happen to be Returned Peace Corps Volunteers! (RPCVs are volunteers who have previously served and have since returned to their lives in the States.) Lettie served Senegal from 2000-2003 and returns to Senegal each year. Sally served Ecuador, South America in the mid-70s.


I met these wonderful women about a year before I came to Africa. My recruiter for Peace Corps had told me that Louisville had a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer group in Louisville and I began attending their monthly dinners to meet former volunteers and hear all the Peace Corps stories. I learned very quickly that it’s great fun to be around former volunteers, as Peace Corps Volunteers share a special bond formed by our unique experiences.

And Sally happens to teach at Jefferson Community and Technical College—so we share employers as well!

Lettie and Sally are here only for a few weeks, so they could only stay a few days. However, I don’t think our visit could have been any more exciting:

• Lettie and Sally rode a bonafide Northwest Province taxi from Vryburg to my site. One asked, “Should we wait for another one?” as we spied a particularly dilapidated vehicle; I replied, “This is as good as it gets.” W were all crammed into the very back seat for our 50K ride to my site in true South African style!

• I had not before accommodated a whopping two guests at a time, but we managed beautifully and were a bit creative with sheets and towels and bed linens. Although I was worried that I had fed my guests too many eggs: fried eggs, boiled eggs, and French toast, they were very gracious and tried a lentil/rice dish and my chakalaka! I was sure to feed them fresh vegetables and fruit, and we delighted in a very ripe mango. Scrumptious!

• We visited my primary school and it was great fun to watch the kids swarm Lettie and Sally like a little hive of bees—and I remembered how it felt to be surrounded by so many school children at one time when I first arrived. There really isn’t anything quite like it! The children sang for us and the educators were very pleased to be meeting my guests from the USA.

For more pictures of our primary school visit, see my public Facebook page (click on the link). You need not be a FB member to see the photos:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=111511&id=1239371142&l=379dea3f1a

• The next day we visited my college. Sally was especially excited about my college, because she works for a technical school in the States. She has a great idea about both schools collaborating and was excited to find her very own counterpart in Mr. S to help facilitate a cross-cultural exchange between the South African college kids and the USA college kids. (I will, of course, help until I leave South Africa.)

• For more pictures of our college visit, see my public Facebook page (click on the link). You need not be a FB member to see the photos:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=111518&id=1239371142&l=789bd5d81b

• Just to add a bit of dazzle to our visit, we had rioting in a nearby town. The residents were protesting for better water services, the police came and fired rubber bullets into the crowd, and two little girls fled the scene to be later found drowned in a nearby dam (dam is the SA word for pond or lake). The drowning of the girls made the crowd even more upset, of course, and the police ended up arresting 42 citizens. We were fine, and the conflict has since resolved, but it was interesting to be hosting guests all the while receiving text messages from my PC security advisor giving me updates on the volatile situation.

• We were able to walk about the village one afternoon on a sizzling hot day. We encountered a family keeping a young Chacma baboon as a pet, a village cemetery, and a wonderful “pink apartment complex” where the landlord grows pomegranates, grapes, limes, lemons, and figs.

It was a lovely, lovely visit and my only regret is they couldn’t stay longer. Lettie and Sally were off to KwaZulu Natal to visit another Peace Corps Volunteer—another PCV from KY!  We had a blast!

Soon,
Karen

During our village walk-about we spot a donkey cart



Sally with a Gogo and baby



The sun was sweltering this day.

  

Karen, Lettie, Sally, Ounaai, and the threatening African sky