4 months in: Taking Stock

Africa » South Africa » Mpumalanga » Barberton
November 20th 2012

Published: November 20th 2012

After two months of training and two months of Kameelpoort residence, I know a bit more about what I’m in for as an SA26 (the 26^th group of Peace Corps volunteers in SA, even # groups are in education/community outreach and odd # groups are health) Our two week In-Service Training begins Dec 1 at a city in Kwa Zulu Natal province. I am among the 13 SA26’s in Mpumulanga province near Pretoria, and the other 22 are in KZN (pronounced “K- Zed- N”). KZN is more rural, more spread out, right now more rainy, and some of the villages have no electricity, not even in the schools. I am anxious to find out more about everyone’s sites when we have IST. Here’s my site:

Kameelpoort (or Molapoamogale) in Mpumalanga Province

AT HOME

I am rediscovering cooking and baking bread. Tips and recipes from cookbooks put together by past PCV’s are a small part of all the information loaded onto a flashdrive we received on swearing-in day.

You know I am an expert at laundry, but did you know that I step into the soapy water and stomp the clothes with my bare feet? (A tip from an SA22) I fill my wash basins next to the tap in the yard and wash my clothes there. Once Zanele offered to help me move it all into the shade. I still would have had to refill and carry the rinse water, which I didn’t want to do. I am determined to find a way to do things like this myself. I told her that as long as I start my wash early in the day, I won’t get too hot.

With thundershowers almost every night, people have been commenting on my African name, NoZulu or Mapule, the isiNdebele or Sepedi words for Mother Rain. For some reason, this was the name Lina’s son gave me in July when I moved to my first homestay. The showers brought mosquitoes, so I put up mosquito net, provided by PC. Zanele hadn’t seen one before, she had been telling me to keep my windows and door shut. It was too hot for that. Besides, the net also keeps out the other flying insects which touch down on my lighted Kindle screen and make the pages turn. Some nights I can’t read as fast as the bugs do!

I am aware of being under scrutiny. People wonder what “lakoa” (the white person) is doing now. Less so from Martha, who has seen so much in her 73 years that she isn’t surprised by what I do or say. Zanele will spot something in my room and ask “What’s that?” and shake her head. Martha and Zanele constantly worry over me, reminding me to lock my door even if I can see it from where I’m standing in the yard. So what if I am regarded as somewhat of an oddity who is naive about life in SA? I can get used to that. And as you can see, my host family is doing their best to take care of me.

SHOPPING TOWN

I have grown accustomed to standing out on the tar road (20 min walk from my house) and holding out my hand for a taxi to stop and take me to KwaMhlanga. (another flashback experience -- hitch-hiking in ND in my college years) The taxi ride is 20 mins. and costs 14 rand ($1.75). At the KwaM. taxi rank other taxis arrive and depart for places in all directions and it’s relatively easy to find the right taxi. In the morning it’s fast getting an incoming taxi to KwaM., but if I need a 2^nd taxi to take me OUT of KwaM. I have waited almost 2 hours for that taxi to fill up (15 or so passengers). After school, I can catch a ride with one of the teachers who lives or drives by KwaM. and save R14. PC sets our living allowance so that volunteers live in a style in accordance with our host communities and you have to be thrifty. (I figure the first few months have more expenses). When I moved to site I received an allowance for purchasing bed linen, cooking utensils, small appliances, cell phone, etc. You can’t afford to get everything; if you want the best phone you will have to use your own funds or do without a refrigerator for a few months. SA’s Dept. of Education pays a small amount of rent to the host family and provides PCV’s furniture. Well, they are supposed to do this...no rent paid yet, and no furniture yet. (My family had an extra bed for me, and I am using school tables to cook on.)

I avoid shopping in KwaM on the first wknd of the month. Pension checks have gone out and the lines in ShopRite for groceries are horrendous. I would guess the wait is close to an hour, and moving a cart down the aisles is crazy. People stand quietly and move when you bump into them. It’s a South African “bump”, not really a nudge and I feel rude doing it, because there’s always the thought; “Are they being nice to me because I’m the only white person in the store?” Every time I’m in town I go to the Internet cafe because it’s much faster to type on a keyboard than my internet phone, and because my phone won’t download attachments, or to print something. (Like my ballot....tomorrow is Election Day..how will it turn out?)

Then I go to the petrol station around 4 pm which is 7am Pacific time. I use a calling card for the public phone there. Every time I’m there, I see at least one car being pushed into the station; maybe it’s out of gas or broke down, who knows? It’s a loud and crazy place, and I’ve become familiar to the women who sell eggs on the steps, or collect rand from people who use the toilet. One woman cautioned me about keeping my cell phone in the back pocket of my jeans.

Taxis pour through there. I try to imagine how congested the roads would be if so many people didn’t use public transport. The towns are small, but they dot the landscape; I don’t know the population density. I like to tell people about North Dakota and how few cars you see on the highways there. It surprises them to hear that parts of the US are so rural.

Now is the time for the word “ubiquitous.” -- to describe KFC restaurants in SA. When I tell classes about my favorite food (pizza!) and then I ask them what is theirs, KFC is first! When I meet up with other PCV’s in town, we usually choose KFC. If I go to Kwagga, where George (a PCV friend) lives, there are more stores AND a Roman’s Pizza.

JOB AT THE SCHOOL

What I’ve been doing so far, the school conditions here (primary and secondary), and the SA education system in general, are topics for another blog, or two, or three... I am the third PCV here which is the maximum for a site. The previous PCV, Shilpa, will leave Dec. 4 and I have appreciated having her as a sounding board. It’s not usual for the previous PCV to be around when a new one arrives. But Shilpa wanted to see her Gr 12 Pure Maths class through the end of year exams. Why “Maths” and not “Math”, you ask....until you recall that it is a shortened name for mathematics -- a plural noun for all the types of “Maths” we study in school. PC is beginning a program focusing on improving English teaching in Gr 4-6, and I could have been doing that, but secondary schools struggle with maths and science teaching here, as they do in the States, so I was placed to teach math. My community project will be after-school art clubs for Grades 4-6 and 7-9. Two young women in the village are helping with this.

Time is zipping by until IST (In-Service Training). In PST (Pre-Service Training) we discussed our expectations for bringing about change. I have talked with Shilpa and other PCV’s--will 2 years of service change the way teachers teach in SA? Americans have an urge to fix everything. (I saw this in the election campaign. Romney claimed he could fix things faster.) And I like to barge in and fix things. But we are told in PC training that our efforts will result in improved understanding if we focus on the relationships we are building in our communities and workplace. And I am getting a better feel for that the longer I’m here; it feels like the right way to approach my service. (so I won’t become too impatient with others, too disillusioned with bureaucracy, too despairing of getting things to work out right)

CULTURE

Let’s start out with food. Traditional SA food is pap, meat, and salads. (cabbage, carrot, potato) And at one of the weddings our group was served a plate of tripe. (cow stomach) It’s the smell that I recall; it was really unpleasant. I took about 5 bites which didn’t taste bad. But I didn’t like the look of it, and again, the smell. Flies found our tripe dish within two minutes. Each time I raised my hand to my mouth the flies descended upon my plate and the person sitting next to me had to help shoo them away. So, I won’t be able to eat tripe again. Driving home that night, one of the teachers said she wanted me to try some type of worm. It lives in a tree, is the size of your index finger, and you eat the whole thing from end to end. Somehow that doesn’t sound as bad as the tripe experience.. it was all about the smell. I don’t think worms smell, but I will find out.

So I served a meal to the two women who are helping with the art club. They liked my fruit salad and cheese and tomato sandwiches. A PCV friend and I had split a jar of pickles, so I asked if they’d like to try some. Neither one of them liked the pickles. They use them in salads, and have thin pickles on McDonald’s burgers, but a plain pickle is too sour!

My language skills are going downhill. I’ve become complacent and don’t use isiNdebele often, and I feel bad that I can’t speak with Martha, my host Mama, very well. (Her daughter, Zanele, helps with translating) I met a young woman, another Zanele, who offered to tutor me once a week, and we’ll start next week. Over at Ndayi, the primary school, two of the staff greet me and then give me mini-lessons in isiNdebele, while I get impatient and just want to communicate in English.

At weddings, there’s all that music. At the last wedding, I went along with the other teachers tagging onto the wedding party processional, processing their way (no, processing is not right!) they are jiving! their way through the yard and back again, and again...So I’m jiving my way too, and the teacher next to me says, “It’s easy..Just watch their feet.” She is one of the sweetest ladies..and she was sure I had no sense of rhythm. I wanted to say, “Look at my feet, they are doing just fine, Thank you!” But, I didn’t, I just nodded my head. Later, I just had to tell her that I had taken tap dancing lessons in my 40’s.

As you would expect, I had a turn-around experience. I was teaching myself how to create shelf labels for the library on the school computer and feeling proud of myself for figuring it out, with the help of the admin asstnt. That same teacher came in with her laptop to print something, and while she was waiting for me to finish, I explained to her what I was doing. Some of it maybe she didn’t know, but I think I sounded just as condescending, or presumptuous, about her computer skills as she had about my dancing skills.

Last is the story of the man at the Internet Cafe. I thought he worked there because he was behind the counter, but he works at the bank and was just visiting. He was behind me looking at my computer screen when I had the blog up about the Friday night with no power that was the quietest night ever because music wasn’t blaring over the whole neigborhood. This man asked me, “Do you think South Africans are loud?” First, I was surprised he was reading over my shoulder, and then, what did he expect me to say? I don’t know what I said, but then he went on to explain, “We’re loud because we’re happy.” And I think he nailed it.... I’ve told you how South Africans holler at each other, across the yard, or out the classroom door. When I write my blog post about churches here, it will be about the expression of joy I find there. It’s loud, it’s free, it’s natural...to them...but I don’t know if I’ll ever become a SA hollerer...you’ll have to see what I’m like in two years.

4 months in: Taking Stock

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