Hello, my friends and family.
I don’t think today’s post will be quite as long as usual. I’ve been doing a bit of thinking today; it’s always nice to step back every once in a while from what I’m experiencing to place it in a context, make it understandable and bearable.
I have all kinds of great days here in Jeppe’s Reef, which I will be telling you all about, but today wasn’t one of them. Actually, there was nothing about today that made it more difficult than my other days. I made a trip to the post office and it was as foreign and difficult as any other errand. I’ve found a very different sense of personal physical space here than what I am accustomed to in the U. S. At the post office, several people cut ahead of me, simply because they were willing to squeeze themselves into spaces I normally would never consider. After a tiresome wait in the ‘que,’ I was told by the person behind the counter that I needed some mysterious receipt to retrieve my package, so I should simply come back some other time, thank you very much, next person please. And, of course, as I waited, there were the ever-present jeers and comments: “Ngifuna mhlongo. Buyala, khulumanam./I want a whitey. Come here, talk to me.” “Hey, there’s white lady. Etha, white lady, give me rand!”
Usually, these things really don’t bother me. I’ll turn around and say something zippy in Swati if the speaker is young and can be awed into embarrassment. Or I’ll say something firm and serious if they’re around my age. Older folks, I usually ignore. And I don’t mind using these instances to start conversations in the grocery store or the taxi ranks about Americans and South Africans. Today, though, I was having none of it. My response wasn’t horribly rude, but it didn’t carry any of my typical jest or lightheartedness. I think it was that I had reached an emotional condensation point. I couldn’t take anymore.
I think, perhaps, the most difficult aspect of my stay in South Africa is the loss of my identity. Bucket baths, mosquitoes the size of rabbits, rolling dustclouds and rolling blackouts – these things are truly minor and would be for anyone. I’m no granola-eating hiker. The thing that hurts the most, more than I imagined, is no longer having others recognize the identity I’ve been given since birth or being able to express it. I’ve always theorized that folks live their lives with two identities. One, they’ve fashioned for themselves, based on many things, such as their personal history, the traditions and culture of their family, the people group they identify with, on and on. The other, the crux, impossible to ignore, is the identity people give you when they see you walking down the street. Although not all-powerful or determinative, this second identity affects everyone, whether they realize it or want to admit it or not. From where you live and work to the friends you have and the music you listen to, this second identity has a hand in it. A person could spend their whole life trying to reconcile the two. I have spent a significant chunk of time trying to do just that and, if you’ve known me long enough, you’ll have seen some of the stages of my process. We’ve all seen people working on their identities, sometimes chewing them around and around like old cud. There are angry folks with the proverbial chip on their shoulder, content folks who don’t feel a difference between their identities, folks who feel defeated, folks who feel philosophical about the whole thing, and everyone in between.
Here’s the part that really gets my goat, though. I have never spent a significant amount of time in the historical and cultural framework of a different racial paradigm than the one I was raised in. And I tried my best to envision this new set of definitions, to anticipate how I’d feel or what it would be like, but I never could have pictured this. Race is a social construct and so, outside of a particular society, certain racial constructions no longer exist or make sense. This is how a woman in the U. S. who ‘looks’ Native American can go to Ethiopia and ‘be’ white or how a man in South Africa who ‘looks’ Afrikaaner could move to Chile and ‘be’ European. Once you move out of the society that has created that second identity for you, that identity becomes null and void and you get a new one. I knew this intellectually, but to encounter it, every time I step outside, is… tiring at best. It feels as though the rug was pulled out from under me. I spent all this time adapting to that second identity, accepting its presence, and now it has been completely replaced with another one, formed inside South African history, that I like even less.
Moreover, that first identity, the one I hacked out for myself – it doesn’t even make sense here! No one gets it, and I mean No One. It’s difficult to explain what this means or just how it feels. I can point out particular little examples, but they’re only the menial side of it. No one believes that there are people in the U. S. who eat chicken feet and guts, let alone that I’ve eaten them before and know exactly what they taste like and no, actually, I don’t want to try them now, again. A photo of my White father is undeniable proof that I swim in a pool of money each morning in the U. S. (Ducktales, anyone? : ). A photo of my Black mother only confuses people more after they hear that I don’t like the word ‘nigger’ or R. Kelly. Frustration.
So, yeah… this is a shaving off the surface of a huge mountain of discussion, I know, but this is also as far as I’ve gotten. Sure, it looks all nice and pretty, typed up into a couple pages, but my poor brain goes through the ropes, calculating all this while also gauging the length of lines in the grocery store. There are days I stumble home feeling as though my brains are about to squish through my ears, like an old banana someone stepped on.
Monday, October 20, 2008
Sunday, September 28, 2008
whoo-hoo! finally another post!!
Dear Friends, Family and random Visitors,
It’s been a long time (and I shouldn’t have left you without a dope beat to step to… (love that song)). Yes, as I write this, I am sitting at my desk, in my room, in my beautiful permanent site of Jeppe’s Reef. I have only been here since September 12th, however, which was the day all the Peace Corps trainees officially swore-in. That day was wonderfully bright and a little windy and we were wandering around the campus of a teacher’s college, northeast of Pretoria by an hour or so. We had gathered at that teacher’s college nearly every day for two months and by then, we were all either deeply close or on each other’s last nerve. At night, though, we got a break from every one else because we were staying at temporary host families in the surrounding villages.
Now, when I say ‘villages’, some folks might be picturing little round mud and wattle huts with grass roofs. No, not so. Of course, I am no expert, but so far I have found South Africa to be a land of many contradictions – at least in the Mpumalanga Province. First of all, from what I understand, villages are called ‘villages’, regardless of population size. It seems to me that, in the U. S., when an area becomes more populous for whatever reason, business and industry will follow that population. True, the service industry isn’t the most stable of income generators for an area if there is no manufacturing or processing of resources as well, but it’s still something. Consumers are treated as a resource. In South Africa, however, industry will only come when a natural resource has been found. Then the government will begin paying attention, installing street lights and calling the place a town. Until then, however, thousands and thousands of people could live on top of each other and the area would still be called a ‘village.’
And in these villages, most folks live in houses. Marapyane, the group of villages surrounding the college, was a more wealthy area. The average house was on the large side, compared to the average American home, and sat on an acre or two which was provided to each family by the tribal council of the area. When a family moved to the area, they had to present their case for land to the tribal council, which held the deed on all the surrounding lands. Even though the area was wealthier than Jeppe’s Reef is, there was still a large diversity in the distribution of that wealth. Some homes were beautiful, but had no ceilings. Others had thick, lush front lawns and green, green gardens. Some were shacks of corrugated tin. Most people had electricity and sometimes running water in one or two rooms of the home. Some had pit latrines, others flush toilets. Many folks’ homes were built in front of older, smaller houses –frequently just a room or two- that they had moved out of when they could afford to build a larger, nicer house. In more wealthy households, huge front doors of carved wood that swung open on a pivot five or so inches from the edge were used as status symbols. They were gorgeous and reminded me of heavy, wide doors you’d find in a log cabin or some wealthy Colorado home.
Marapyane was also intensely dry and water shortage was a major concern. Jeppe’s Reef is a welcome change from all that dryness. Jeppe’s Reef is located (“nestled” or “tucked,” if you will) in the middle of huge tintsaba/mountains and overlooks a sprawling dam on the other side of the major road/indlela. I really and truly didn’t think I cared about that sort of thing, but, well… apparently I do. Every lilanga/day, even if there are emafu nemoya futsi liyana/clouds and wind and it is raining, I wake up smiling at the sheer beauty of this place. Every dirt road runs either up or down a hill and there’s not a single level surface to be found in the whole place. I’ve finally begun jogging lightly and every other day you can find me huffing and puffing along, past laughing bantfwana/children and open-mouthed bogogo/grandmothers, cursing those same tintsaba I’m usually raving about.
My family in Jeppe’s Reef is equally beautiful and I am incredibly blessed to have been placed with them. It is full of strong, opinionated women: two sisters in their thirties and their mother and children, both biological and otherwise. I feel right at home. What’s more, Gogo has finally stopped breaking out the best china and select meat cuts for me during each meal, thank goodness. There are ten of us all together in the home, plus all those who visit or stay for brief periods of time: a brother who lives close by and likes to eat the food, his girlfriend, some of the children’s biological parents and Mkulu/Grandfather, when he is taking the occasional weekend off. Like many men and women, Mkulu works in the large cities of Pitoli/Pretoria and Joes/Johannesburg, which are at least a six hour khumbi ride from Jeppe’s Reef. Therefore, he only comes home for about one weekend per month. One would think, with ten people in one house (and, if you’ve really been on the ball, you’ll have already made note that there are five children at least, along with a myriad of their friends), that I’d go a little bonkers. As most people know, I *really* enjoy my privacy. But no, my family gives me plenty of space and the kids are, if sometimes kinda smelly, overall and downright cute. The youngest, a five year old, has an innate sense of how to manipulate using her cuteness and folks frequently turn a corner to find her clambering over me like a jungle gym.
Sounds pretty idyllic, huh? Well, it is actually. So idyllic, I get pretty tempted each day to simply hang out, talk to people around the village, maybe wander down to the store to get a piece of feyta – deep fried sweet bread that tastes like the most amazing, artery-clogging doughtnut you’ve ever had. For the first three months, that’s sort of what I’m supposed to be doing, anyways. Each week, I have a theme as to what I’m supposed to be discovering: one week, interviewing learners, another week I’ll be developing lesson plans with teachers. I’m grateful for the pace; when I first arrived, it was lots of “What will you do for us?” and “How much money will you give us?” Telling folks I have assignments to complete is a much more effective diversionary tactic than actually explaining to everyone that I work with, not for, or that I don’t have any money, beyond that for food or the occasional khumbi somewhere.
Even so, in simply doing a little bit of discovering, I’ve already run across a few of the area’s more depressing contradictions. Yesterday, I found out that the 6th grade learners couldn’t tell me what a continent was or identify Africa, but clarified the symbols for the British pound and the euro, as well as the exchange rate for the South African rand to the U.S. dollar. Hrmm… Most school children have memorized the Lord’s Prayer in English, but have no idea what it means. Likewise, they *love* to chirp “How are you? How are you?!?” at me, but are constantly confused when I answer in Swati, “I am fine. And you?”
Bantu education is the name of the education system in place for Black South Africans under the apartheid regime. Built around the theory that Blacks are incapable of true learning, critical thinking or creative exploration, and that they have no need for these things, Bantu education instead concentrated on developing complacency through route memorization and mindless standards. Schools were seen as centers that could be used to numb a population instead of further it - about 80% of the population, in fact. Thus a child could label all the parts of a car engine, but not tell you how to change the oil or fix a flat. Children would memorize huge speeches, but be unable to read a single line of it. Corporal punishment was the only motivation behind this ‘learning’.
In 1994, of course, there was a massive change in the education system. The Department, which had been previously suffocating under 17 different offices for each of the homelands and languages, was completely overhauled and brought under one office. The government developed the National Curriculum Statement, a massive piece of standardization, and used it to totally redefine teacher requirements, educational objectives and teaching styles. When teacher colleges were shut down, considered unsalvageable, many teachers could not afford the classes taught in major cities nor the transportation to them and were thus unable to meet the new requirements. Even if they could take the courses, many teachers still did not understand such a huge, fundamental shift in teaching methodology and beliefs. If those workshops were anything like some of the meetings I’ve had to sit through, I can completely understand how that would happen. Oy. Although it is possible to teach a child wonderful things with little to no resources, lack of materials is also a huge problem. Yup.
And now, here’s Kathryn, in South Africa. … (…crickets…) *chirp, chirp* Yes, exactly. This is the definition of ‘the long haul.’ Of course, there are many perks. It’s incredible satisfying to reach a point of common understanding with a child. Perhaps I was trying to ask where they are going and they think I’m asking about where they’re coming from. I taught my little brother a trick for memorizing the ‘9’ column of his times table and, when he got it, we both whooped and hollered like he’d parted the Red Sea and won an Olympic gold all at once. There are days I want to scream and cry and choke a few folks. Then again, I have days I want to cry because I am overwhelmed by how much I’ve been given, how monumental this opportunity is, and how far life has carried me.
Of course, every time I receive mail, I am reminded of all these good things. Hint. Hint. I have a new address now, so please don’t send things to the Peace Corps office. They’ll send back letters and hold my packages until I can travel to Pretoria, which won’t be until at least December.
Kathryn Manana
P. O. Box 2085
Shongwe, Mission
1331
South Africa
Don’t forget to always write “Airmail” on your post and those religious symbols or quotes really do help. “Sister Kathryn” is also pretty effective. If you are sending packages, please don’t claim everything. Or, if you do, claim something that folks would Not want to nab, like used shoes, rosaries or second-hand Bibles.
I also have a phone number!! Whoo-hoo! It is free for me to receive calls or texts, so let it rip: 0728458828. I believe the country code is 027, but don’t quote me on that. Also, it’s pretty cheap for me to send a text, except to Metro PCS, which won’t receive my messages. Sorry, guys.
Next time you hear from me, I promise I won’t babble on and on with another history lesson. Now that we’ve covered that, next time it’ll just be straight down to the good stuff. I’ll sign off for now, then. I usually type stuff up at home, then take a khumbi about an hour into the nearest shopping town to load it online. (in case you didn’t recognize it, that was a sad excuse for an excuse about not writing sooner….)
Until we hear or see each other again, I pray you stay well and safe, whoever you are.
Sala kahle, umnganami, umndeni, boAmerica.
Kathryn
It’s been a long time (and I shouldn’t have left you without a dope beat to step to… (love that song)). Yes, as I write this, I am sitting at my desk, in my room, in my beautiful permanent site of Jeppe’s Reef. I have only been here since September 12th, however, which was the day all the Peace Corps trainees officially swore-in. That day was wonderfully bright and a little windy and we were wandering around the campus of a teacher’s college, northeast of Pretoria by an hour or so. We had gathered at that teacher’s college nearly every day for two months and by then, we were all either deeply close or on each other’s last nerve. At night, though, we got a break from every one else because we were staying at temporary host families in the surrounding villages.
Now, when I say ‘villages’, some folks might be picturing little round mud and wattle huts with grass roofs. No, not so. Of course, I am no expert, but so far I have found South Africa to be a land of many contradictions – at least in the Mpumalanga Province. First of all, from what I understand, villages are called ‘villages’, regardless of population size. It seems to me that, in the U. S., when an area becomes more populous for whatever reason, business and industry will follow that population. True, the service industry isn’t the most stable of income generators for an area if there is no manufacturing or processing of resources as well, but it’s still something. Consumers are treated as a resource. In South Africa, however, industry will only come when a natural resource has been found. Then the government will begin paying attention, installing street lights and calling the place a town. Until then, however, thousands and thousands of people could live on top of each other and the area would still be called a ‘village.’
And in these villages, most folks live in houses. Marapyane, the group of villages surrounding the college, was a more wealthy area. The average house was on the large side, compared to the average American home, and sat on an acre or two which was provided to each family by the tribal council of the area. When a family moved to the area, they had to present their case for land to the tribal council, which held the deed on all the surrounding lands. Even though the area was wealthier than Jeppe’s Reef is, there was still a large diversity in the distribution of that wealth. Some homes were beautiful, but had no ceilings. Others had thick, lush front lawns and green, green gardens. Some were shacks of corrugated tin. Most people had electricity and sometimes running water in one or two rooms of the home. Some had pit latrines, others flush toilets. Many folks’ homes were built in front of older, smaller houses –frequently just a room or two- that they had moved out of when they could afford to build a larger, nicer house. In more wealthy households, huge front doors of carved wood that swung open on a pivot five or so inches from the edge were used as status symbols. They were gorgeous and reminded me of heavy, wide doors you’d find in a log cabin or some wealthy Colorado home.
Marapyane was also intensely dry and water shortage was a major concern. Jeppe’s Reef is a welcome change from all that dryness. Jeppe’s Reef is located (“nestled” or “tucked,” if you will) in the middle of huge tintsaba/mountains and overlooks a sprawling dam on the other side of the major road/indlela. I really and truly didn’t think I cared about that sort of thing, but, well… apparently I do. Every lilanga/day, even if there are emafu nemoya futsi liyana/clouds and wind and it is raining, I wake up smiling at the sheer beauty of this place. Every dirt road runs either up or down a hill and there’s not a single level surface to be found in the whole place. I’ve finally begun jogging lightly and every other day you can find me huffing and puffing along, past laughing bantfwana/children and open-mouthed bogogo/grandmothers, cursing those same tintsaba I’m usually raving about.
My family in Jeppe’s Reef is equally beautiful and I am incredibly blessed to have been placed with them. It is full of strong, opinionated women: two sisters in their thirties and their mother and children, both biological and otherwise. I feel right at home. What’s more, Gogo has finally stopped breaking out the best china and select meat cuts for me during each meal, thank goodness. There are ten of us all together in the home, plus all those who visit or stay for brief periods of time: a brother who lives close by and likes to eat the food, his girlfriend, some of the children’s biological parents and Mkulu/Grandfather, when he is taking the occasional weekend off. Like many men and women, Mkulu works in the large cities of Pitoli/Pretoria and Joes/Johannesburg, which are at least a six hour khumbi ride from Jeppe’s Reef. Therefore, he only comes home for about one weekend per month. One would think, with ten people in one house (and, if you’ve really been on the ball, you’ll have already made note that there are five children at least, along with a myriad of their friends), that I’d go a little bonkers. As most people know, I *really* enjoy my privacy. But no, my family gives me plenty of space and the kids are, if sometimes kinda smelly, overall and downright cute. The youngest, a five year old, has an innate sense of how to manipulate using her cuteness and folks frequently turn a corner to find her clambering over me like a jungle gym.
Sounds pretty idyllic, huh? Well, it is actually. So idyllic, I get pretty tempted each day to simply hang out, talk to people around the village, maybe wander down to the store to get a piece of feyta – deep fried sweet bread that tastes like the most amazing, artery-clogging doughtnut you’ve ever had. For the first three months, that’s sort of what I’m supposed to be doing, anyways. Each week, I have a theme as to what I’m supposed to be discovering: one week, interviewing learners, another week I’ll be developing lesson plans with teachers. I’m grateful for the pace; when I first arrived, it was lots of “What will you do for us?” and “How much money will you give us?” Telling folks I have assignments to complete is a much more effective diversionary tactic than actually explaining to everyone that I work with, not for, or that I don’t have any money, beyond that for food or the occasional khumbi somewhere.
Even so, in simply doing a little bit of discovering, I’ve already run across a few of the area’s more depressing contradictions. Yesterday, I found out that the 6th grade learners couldn’t tell me what a continent was or identify Africa, but clarified the symbols for the British pound and the euro, as well as the exchange rate for the South African rand to the U.S. dollar. Hrmm… Most school children have memorized the Lord’s Prayer in English, but have no idea what it means. Likewise, they *love* to chirp “How are you? How are you?!?” at me, but are constantly confused when I answer in Swati, “I am fine. And you?”
Bantu education is the name of the education system in place for Black South Africans under the apartheid regime. Built around the theory that Blacks are incapable of true learning, critical thinking or creative exploration, and that they have no need for these things, Bantu education instead concentrated on developing complacency through route memorization and mindless standards. Schools were seen as centers that could be used to numb a population instead of further it - about 80% of the population, in fact. Thus a child could label all the parts of a car engine, but not tell you how to change the oil or fix a flat. Children would memorize huge speeches, but be unable to read a single line of it. Corporal punishment was the only motivation behind this ‘learning’.
In 1994, of course, there was a massive change in the education system. The Department, which had been previously suffocating under 17 different offices for each of the homelands and languages, was completely overhauled and brought under one office. The government developed the National Curriculum Statement, a massive piece of standardization, and used it to totally redefine teacher requirements, educational objectives and teaching styles. When teacher colleges were shut down, considered unsalvageable, many teachers could not afford the classes taught in major cities nor the transportation to them and were thus unable to meet the new requirements. Even if they could take the courses, many teachers still did not understand such a huge, fundamental shift in teaching methodology and beliefs. If those workshops were anything like some of the meetings I’ve had to sit through, I can completely understand how that would happen. Oy. Although it is possible to teach a child wonderful things with little to no resources, lack of materials is also a huge problem. Yup.
And now, here’s Kathryn, in South Africa. … (…crickets…) *chirp, chirp* Yes, exactly. This is the definition of ‘the long haul.’ Of course, there are many perks. It’s incredible satisfying to reach a point of common understanding with a child. Perhaps I was trying to ask where they are going and they think I’m asking about where they’re coming from. I taught my little brother a trick for memorizing the ‘9’ column of his times table and, when he got it, we both whooped and hollered like he’d parted the Red Sea and won an Olympic gold all at once. There are days I want to scream and cry and choke a few folks. Then again, I have days I want to cry because I am overwhelmed by how much I’ve been given, how monumental this opportunity is, and how far life has carried me.
Of course, every time I receive mail, I am reminded of all these good things. Hint. Hint. I have a new address now, so please don’t send things to the Peace Corps office. They’ll send back letters and hold my packages until I can travel to Pretoria, which won’t be until at least December.
Kathryn Manana
P. O. Box 2085
Shongwe, Mission
1331
South Africa
Don’t forget to always write “Airmail” on your post and those religious symbols or quotes really do help. “Sister Kathryn” is also pretty effective. If you are sending packages, please don’t claim everything. Or, if you do, claim something that folks would Not want to nab, like used shoes, rosaries or second-hand Bibles.
I also have a phone number!! Whoo-hoo! It is free for me to receive calls or texts, so let it rip: 0728458828. I believe the country code is 027, but don’t quote me on that. Also, it’s pretty cheap for me to send a text, except to Metro PCS, which won’t receive my messages. Sorry, guys.
Next time you hear from me, I promise I won’t babble on and on with another history lesson. Now that we’ve covered that, next time it’ll just be straight down to the good stuff. I’ll sign off for now, then. I usually type stuff up at home, then take a khumbi about an hour into the nearest shopping town to load it online. (in case you didn’t recognize it, that was a sad excuse for an excuse about not writing sooner….)
Until we hear or see each other again, I pray you stay well and safe, whoever you are.
Sala kahle, umnganami, umndeni, boAmerica.
Kathryn
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Hello, dear Family...
I write from New Hampshire, where I'm staying with my father for a few days before I head off. So much has been happening lately! I got to see my grandparents for a couple days in Tennessee (Hi, Grandma! Hello, Grandpa!), then went over to see friends and family in Massachusetts, too.
I thought these last few days would be relaxing, but each day uncovers yet another thing I've forgotten to sign, mail, purchase, call, locate, pack, or arrange. Oy! The end is in sight, though, and the beginning looms larger and larger. My father insists on plying me with gifts of engineering compasses, rechargeable flashlights, flares, emergency life rafts and GPS chips implanted under my skin. Thoughtful, but nerve-wracking, I gotta admit.
It is a relief, therefore, to finally see some details fall into place. Even when you can't do a thing, attending to the details is somewhat empowering. So, the plan so far is to leave Washington, D. C. on the 14th and fly into Johannesburg, a merely 17 some odd hours away. The whole lot of us (perhaps 40-60 volunteers in the Education sector who will be placed all over northeastern and eastern areas of South Africa) will then travel about an hour and a half to the Marapyane Education Center in Mpumalanga Province, close to Bela Bela. Read a teensy bit about Bela Bela (or "Boiling Boiling"), known for its hotsprings: http://www.southafrica.com/blog/bela-bela And if you'd like to pinpoint that sucker on a map, here are some coordinates (love giving these things): -24.887137, 28.293872.
It turns out, too, that training will technically last three months, but won't be nearly as isolated as I originally thought. We'll only be in dormitories at the education center for a couple of weeks (thank goodness. I never was very found of college residence) while we are interviewed, then we'll be placed with the host families who will have us until mid-September. After September, we will go to live with another host family in the area we'll be working and will be with them until the end of service, in late 2010.
As soon as we set foot through the door, we're going to be bashed over the head, continuously, with language training. This is definitely a good thing. As another survivor of Japanese 101 can attest, I am *horrible* with languages. We'll start off right away with Sepedi and Afrikaans, then we may add isiZulu, isiSwati, Xitsonga, or isiNdebele. I'm pretty sure I mentioned this in an earlier post, but South African sports many languages, 11 of which are official. Luckily, however, many of them are closely related and, although direct translations aren't always possible, lots of gesticulation and the 50 pounds of flash cards I'm bringing with me ensure I'll be understood. At least, I hope. I've even heard that sometimes volunteers end up in homes that don't speak the language they've been trained in for working. ! .
Let's see, what else...
Ah. My bestest friend ebah gave me a travel guide for South Africa that has all sorts of nifty photos and whatnot. More than anything, I want to save up enough vacation days and pay to visit Kruger National Park, which is (I know I've already said this; indulge me) the Size of New Jersey!! Wow! Apparently, though, I'll have a chance to see some pretty neat looking animals without going to the Park, especially if I end up getting placed even farther north or northeast when I start working. I've got a couple disposable cameras with me that I was thinking of mailing back to the States for development (hint, hint, anyone? :) I've also been given a wind-up alarm clock and a shortwave radio, two things that have completely redefined "cool" for me.
So, besides all these new toys, life continues much the same for me this week. Soon, though, gentle readers, there will be much to write about: new sounds and smells and sights, oh my! If you'd care to get a personal, handwritten, in-depth, riveting account of all these new things ("Today I ate more pap!" "This morning, I accidentally stepped in poo!"), feel free to send me your address (please, please!) and you'll get the absolute neatest, thick letter in the mail, a mere two to four weeks after it was first posted in Pretoria. As my dearest sweet can testify, I write one mean letter. Mm-hm.
One last note about mail: Letters reach Pretoria and outlying regions much faster than I was originally told (someone said three to six weeks!), but the state they may reach me in is another matter entirely. Religious symbols or sayings on the outside aid in letter and package preservation. Seriously. No joke. Also, if you do have anything large to send me (like my old motorcycle, perhaps? A German chocolate birthday cake?), please try your best to fit it into an envelope of some kind, since square hard boxes imply more valuable contents and are more readily targeted for theft. And remember: it's never too soon or too late to write Kathryn; she appreciates! (Ok, it's not Langston Hughes. But you get the idea...)
I write from New Hampshire, where I'm staying with my father for a few days before I head off. So much has been happening lately! I got to see my grandparents for a couple days in Tennessee (Hi, Grandma! Hello, Grandpa!), then went over to see friends and family in Massachusetts, too.
I thought these last few days would be relaxing, but each day uncovers yet another thing I've forgotten to sign, mail, purchase, call, locate, pack, or arrange. Oy! The end is in sight, though, and the beginning looms larger and larger. My father insists on plying me with gifts of engineering compasses, rechargeable flashlights, flares, emergency life rafts and GPS chips implanted under my skin. Thoughtful, but nerve-wracking, I gotta admit.
It is a relief, therefore, to finally see some details fall into place. Even when you can't do a thing, attending to the details is somewhat empowering. So, the plan so far is to leave Washington, D. C. on the 14th and fly into Johannesburg, a merely 17 some odd hours away. The whole lot of us (perhaps 40-60 volunteers in the Education sector who will be placed all over northeastern and eastern areas of South Africa) will then travel about an hour and a half to the Marapyane Education Center in Mpumalanga Province, close to Bela Bela. Read a teensy bit about Bela Bela (or "Boiling Boiling"), known for its hotsprings: http://www.southafrica.com/blog/bela-bela And if you'd like to pinpoint that sucker on a map, here are some coordinates (love giving these things): -24.887137, 28.293872.
It turns out, too, that training will technically last three months, but won't be nearly as isolated as I originally thought. We'll only be in dormitories at the education center for a couple of weeks (thank goodness. I never was very found of college residence) while we are interviewed, then we'll be placed with the host families who will have us until mid-September. After September, we will go to live with another host family in the area we'll be working and will be with them until the end of service, in late 2010.
As soon as we set foot through the door, we're going to be bashed over the head, continuously, with language training. This is definitely a good thing. As another survivor of Japanese 101 can attest, I am *horrible* with languages. We'll start off right away with Sepedi and Afrikaans, then we may add isiZulu, isiSwati, Xitsonga, or isiNdebele. I'm pretty sure I mentioned this in an earlier post, but South African sports many languages, 11 of which are official. Luckily, however, many of them are closely related and, although direct translations aren't always possible, lots of gesticulation and the 50 pounds of flash cards I'm bringing with me ensure I'll be understood. At least, I hope. I've even heard that sometimes volunteers end up in homes that don't speak the language they've been trained in for working. ! .
Let's see, what else...
Ah. My bestest friend ebah gave me a travel guide for South Africa that has all sorts of nifty photos and whatnot. More than anything, I want to save up enough vacation days and pay to visit Kruger National Park, which is (I know I've already said this; indulge me) the Size of New Jersey!! Wow! Apparently, though, I'll have a chance to see some pretty neat looking animals without going to the Park, especially if I end up getting placed even farther north or northeast when I start working. I've got a couple disposable cameras with me that I was thinking of mailing back to the States for development (hint, hint, anyone? :) I've also been given a wind-up alarm clock and a shortwave radio, two things that have completely redefined "cool" for me.
So, besides all these new toys, life continues much the same for me this week. Soon, though, gentle readers, there will be much to write about: new sounds and smells and sights, oh my! If you'd care to get a personal, handwritten, in-depth, riveting account of all these new things ("Today I ate more pap!" "This morning, I accidentally stepped in poo!"), feel free to send me your address (please, please!) and you'll get the absolute neatest, thick letter in the mail, a mere two to four weeks after it was first posted in Pretoria. As my dearest sweet can testify, I write one mean letter. Mm-hm.
One last note about mail: Letters reach Pretoria and outlying regions much faster than I was originally told (someone said three to six weeks!), but the state they may reach me in is another matter entirely. Religious symbols or sayings on the outside aid in letter and package preservation. Seriously. No joke. Also, if you do have anything large to send me (like my old motorcycle, perhaps? A German chocolate birthday cake?), please try your best to fit it into an envelope of some kind, since square hard boxes imply more valuable contents and are more readily targeted for theft. And remember: it's never too soon or too late to write Kathryn; she appreciates! (Ok, it's not Langston Hughes. But you get the idea...)
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Just a dollop of a post
Howdy, howdy, howdy...
I don't mean to get anyone's hopes up here. This won't be a big fat post that you can really sink your teeth into, mainly because I haven't gotten much new information myself. Except for these two things:
1. We received our language lessons last week and I'll be learning (drumroll, please) Setswana! It is similar to isiZulu and isiXhosa, although it's also one of 11 official tongues, and is one of the famous 'clicking' languages. I've been listening to the mp3 clips I was sent while I sit in traffic, walk the dog, do the dishes, eat my meals, and even fall asleep! Hopefully, something will sink in before I leave.
2. I've heard rumors that my group will spend the three month training period in a village somewhere south of Marble Hall and north of Groblersdal. This area is in the northwest corner of the Mpumalanga province, a bit northeast of the capital of Pretoria. If anyone's feeling industrious (or has nothing better to do) the coordinates, courtesy of Google Earth, are
Groblersdal: lat 25°10'4.08"S, lon 29°23'53.52"E
Marble Hall: lat 24°58'17.40"S, lon 29°17'29.04"E
I guess that's all the news from Lake Woebegone...
I don't mean to get anyone's hopes up here. This won't be a big fat post that you can really sink your teeth into, mainly because I haven't gotten much new information myself. Except for these two things:
1. We received our language lessons last week and I'll be learning (drumroll, please) Setswana! It is similar to isiZulu and isiXhosa, although it's also one of 11 official tongues, and is one of the famous 'clicking' languages. I've been listening to the mp3 clips I was sent while I sit in traffic, walk the dog, do the dishes, eat my meals, and even fall asleep! Hopefully, something will sink in before I leave.
2. I've heard rumors that my group will spend the three month training period in a village somewhere south of Marble Hall and north of Groblersdal. This area is in the northwest corner of the Mpumalanga province, a bit northeast of the capital of Pretoria. If anyone's feeling industrious (or has nothing better to do) the coordinates, courtesy of Google Earth, are
Groblersdal: lat 25°10'4.08"S, lon 29°23'53.52"E
Marble Hall: lat 24°58'17.40"S, lon 29°17'29.04"E
I guess that's all the news from Lake Woebegone...
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Paper, paper everywhere! (nor any drop to drink)
Hello, friends, family, strangers!
As my first order of duty, I'd like to welcome you and say thanks for stopping by.
I'm new to blogging, (although it's not all that much different than my scholastic career at FSU) but I'm sure there are a few of you out there saying, "Thank goodness she's doing something to communicate!" In case there's anyone who doesn't know this yet, I'm notorious about picking up a phone. Rotary, cell, or other. So, I've created this blogg as a way to casually keep in touch with everyone while I prepare to go to South Africa (fanfare!) for two years and three months. I'm pretty sure that, when I get over there, this lil' ole blogg will become more and more of a Godsend. From what I've been told, I may not have access to electricity where I'm posted and the trips to a phone will be few and far between. When I do make that trip, though, I'll also stop by a computer to put up new posts and photos and say hello again.
Just as crucial as this blogg will be... Letters!! I know, I know, who has the time? And it does seem ironic that such a request would be coming from me (grin), but getting letters from the States will be like finding gold bricks in your mailbox. I can tell already! And when you give letters, you get letters. Who wouldn't want to get a letter in the mail from a friend in South Africa? How cool would that be?!? What's more, it would have all these neat post and ink stamps, too. oh, yeah. When you send a letter, don't forget that it'll take about 6 weeks or so to get to me (and the same amount of time for them to get from me to you), so the two essential ingredients to this process are A) patience and B) early mailing! Even though I don't leave until mid-July, please think about sending off letters to me as early as the end of May or beginning of June. That way, I'll receive some letters while I'm in training.
This will be my temporary address during training:
Kathryn Welch-Goings
Peace Corps
PO Box 9536
Pretoria 0001
South Africa
If anything comes my way after training, don't worry: they'll forward it on to me at my post. And I'll post my new address here when I find out what it is, too.
I will be sent with other Volunteers in my same program to a training center in a major city in South Africa. I'll be there for three months, working through intensive language and job training. Afterwards, I will find out where my individual post will be. For both training and my individual post, I'll be staying with host families. Also, even at my individual post, I'll be located close to other volunteers.
My job -as far as I understand it now- will be to work with about 4 or 5 local schools, developing new teaching methods and curricula that can be employed with very little resources. In addition, I'll be offering as much support as I can to teachers who are being affected, directly or indirectly, by HIV and AIDs. Yup, as you may have heard, the AIDs situation in South Africa is Not Good. There are 2.2 million folks who have AIDs in South Africa, about 20% of the adult population between 20 and 60 years old. That translates to about 1 in 5 men and 1 in 4 women. On top of that, the life expectancy in the southern African region is expected to drop to about 37 years by 2010, the same year I'll be leaving there. So, many teachers will have family members to care for, have AIDs themselves, or simply won't show up sometimes because of low morale (can you blame them?).
Although I'm not really sure exactly what I'll be doing (someone from the Washington offices said something about "web-based facilitation"?), it sounds like I'll have plenty of work. Yay! Speaking of work, I'm currently creating and posting this blogg instead of doing my paperwork for the Peace Corps. I've already done the application, gone through the interviews, given a gallon of blood for the medical exam, and applied for a visa and current passport, but I have more forms to fill out and send in still (just one more form! We promise, Kathryn. oy!) So, I'm going to stop procrastinating and get back to work. Check back for updates, post comments and letters, shoot me an email if you'd like (kwelchgoings@gmail.com) and generally help me count down to departure day!
As my first order of duty, I'd like to welcome you and say thanks for stopping by.
I'm new to blogging, (although it's not all that much different than my scholastic career at FSU) but I'm sure there are a few of you out there saying, "Thank goodness she's doing something to communicate!" In case there's anyone who doesn't know this yet, I'm notorious about picking up a phone. Rotary, cell, or other. So, I've created this blogg as a way to casually keep in touch with everyone while I prepare to go to South Africa (fanfare!) for two years and three months. I'm pretty sure that, when I get over there, this lil' ole blogg will become more and more of a Godsend. From what I've been told, I may not have access to electricity where I'm posted and the trips to a phone will be few and far between. When I do make that trip, though, I'll also stop by a computer to put up new posts and photos and say hello again.
Just as crucial as this blogg will be... Letters!! I know, I know, who has the time? And it does seem ironic that such a request would be coming from me (grin), but getting letters from the States will be like finding gold bricks in your mailbox. I can tell already! And when you give letters, you get letters. Who wouldn't want to get a letter in the mail from a friend in South Africa? How cool would that be?!? What's more, it would have all these neat post and ink stamps, too. oh, yeah. When you send a letter, don't forget that it'll take about 6 weeks or so to get to me (and the same amount of time for them to get from me to you), so the two essential ingredients to this process are A) patience and B) early mailing! Even though I don't leave until mid-July, please think about sending off letters to me as early as the end of May or beginning of June. That way, I'll receive some letters while I'm in training.
This will be my temporary address during training:
Kathryn Welch-Goings
Peace Corps
PO Box 9536
Pretoria 0001
South Africa
If anything comes my way after training, don't worry: they'll forward it on to me at my post. And I'll post my new address here when I find out what it is, too.
I will be sent with other Volunteers in my same program to a training center in a major city in South Africa. I'll be there for three months, working through intensive language and job training. Afterwards, I will find out where my individual post will be. For both training and my individual post, I'll be staying with host families. Also, even at my individual post, I'll be located close to other volunteers.
My job -as far as I understand it now- will be to work with about 4 or 5 local schools, developing new teaching methods and curricula that can be employed with very little resources. In addition, I'll be offering as much support as I can to teachers who are being affected, directly or indirectly, by HIV and AIDs. Yup, as you may have heard, the AIDs situation in South Africa is Not Good. There are 2.2 million folks who have AIDs in South Africa, about 20% of the adult population between 20 and 60 years old. That translates to about 1 in 5 men and 1 in 4 women. On top of that, the life expectancy in the southern African region is expected to drop to about 37 years by 2010, the same year I'll be leaving there. So, many teachers will have family members to care for, have AIDs themselves, or simply won't show up sometimes because of low morale (can you blame them?).
Although I'm not really sure exactly what I'll be doing (someone from the Washington offices said something about "web-based facilitation"?), it sounds like I'll have plenty of work. Yay! Speaking of work, I'm currently creating and posting this blogg instead of doing my paperwork for the Peace Corps. I've already done the application, gone through the interviews, given a gallon of blood for the medical exam, and applied for a visa and current passport, but I have more forms to fill out and send in still (just one more form! We promise, Kathryn. oy!) So, I'm going to stop procrastinating and get back to work. Check back for updates, post comments and letters, shoot me an email if you'd like (kwelchgoings@gmail.com) and generally help me count down to departure day!
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