A really long weekend

This is the beginning of week 3 at site, but the past weekend was incredibly long

Today is Monday, but I need to back up to Thursday to start my incredibly long weekend story.

Thursday afternoon I was finishing lunch in the staff room of the Middle School I volunteer at when I noticed a teacher come into a cabinet and get out a stick.  I've been warned that corporeal punishment still happens in schools here so I immediately set out to follow him to class and hoped he'd just use it as a pointer stick.  This teacher is the Arts & Culture teacher and since he was wearing his favorite team jersey Thursday I'll call him Sport.  Now Sport is all about the dancing, and has kids in small groups showing off the dances they've been learning.  One group of 8 kids is shy and giggling, unprepared.  Sport verbally berates them for a while, then stands up with his pointer stick and makes each learner hold out their hands.  He smacks each palm with the stick.  Hard.  I heard/saw wooosh-smack! 16 times.  It was obvious that this punishment really hurt, but learners who flinched away were hit again, harder.

I was shocked and appalled.  The school Principal had made it clear to educators that I was completely against corporeal punishment and I never imagined I'd see this much this soon.  Sport is a tall, strong man.  Can you imagine seeing someone hit a student like this?  A group of students like this?  School is supposed to be a safe haven, not a place to fear.  This corporeal punishment is completely illegal.  He could lose his job or get the school in trouble for this.  What if he had broken a child's hand or finger?  What if that child was already having a rough time and decided to quit school because of this incident?  What if a student took a picture on their cell phone and sent it in the television stations like has happened in other parts of the country?  All this passed through my mind at dizzying speed during the punishment. 

As soon as Sport was finished and sat down I turned to him and said “I'm sorry but I cannot tolerate this.”  I took his stick and left the room.  The students didn't hear what I'd said, they just saw me with The Stick, and cowered as I walked by.  That broke my heart.  I wanted to go home, but I had made plans to stay for a project with Grade 8, so I had to stay.  I walked to the bathroom to cry a minute and saw the punished students out practicing on my way back to the office.  Another educator saw me upset and ushered my into the staff room where I tried and failed to hold back my tears.  Teachers came and went, I tried to carry on normal conversations but I know it sounded fake.  One woman brought me some water.  The Principal came in to say she was sorry.  She was on her way to a meeting but we'd talk about it tomorrow.

Then Sport himself walked in.  He came over and apologized for “terrifying me” and said that those particular Grade 9 learners were naughty and making excuses.  He told me to come back tomorrow and see the Grade 8 dance, they would be wonderful.  I could not say anything to him.  I wanted to explain that I wasn't terrified, I was livid with anger, bu he wasn't even really interested anymore.  Even looking at him directly made me feel nauseous.  I couldn't explain anything to this man. 

I barely made it through the Grade 8 after school activity without bursting to tears.  I vented a little to the school's Administrative Assistant (AA) while the kids were busy.  He was on my side.  The AA said that all the teachers were frightened to punish in front of me now and he hopes they stop altogether.  I tried to explain that classroom management and discipline start way before the problem but I don't have any great ideas or magic tricks to help these teachers out just yet. 

At home, I showed the stick to my mom and sister, hoping they would be as outraged as me.  My sister kinda was, but she's been sick and not too expressive about anything.  My mom told me not to worry and brushed it off as maybe Sport was just having a bad day and took it out on the kids.  Even if that was true, he handled that stick like he'd had a lot of practice.  There's no excuse for that kind of consistent corporeal punishment.  I burst into tears again, and since that tends to make South Africans really uncomfortable I took myself out to my room to message some friends and tell them about it.  Mom sent my little brother Lebo in to sit with me, but I ran him out.  Then she sent him with dinner for me.  She came by too to check on me before bed.  And called the Primary school Principal to tell him I wasn't feeling well.  David called me to check in and I had to try and explain things over the phone.  Sheesh, South Africa, just let a girl cry.

Luckily I have some amazing friends and family both here and in the states who are more than willing to talk about my bad days.  I cannot begin to describe how much I appreciated them that night.

Friday morning I walked to the Primary School and dreaded every minute leading up to my talk with the Middle School principal and Sport.  The Primary School kept me busy in the morning and sent me over to the local library to check out the Heritage Day events.  On the walk over, my Primary Principal figured out exactly who “Sport” was.  Remember the teacher in legal trouble from my previous post?  This guy is out on bail, and I can't even talk about what for because it would allow you, reader, to figure out who he is and where he works and where I am.  That's a safety risk that Peace Corps discourages.  But hearing about the accusations literally made me feel sick.

I continued to feel ill during the festivities.  I tried to engage the lady next to me in conversation but got too creeped out by her full beard and lack of eyebrows.  Seriously weird how so many women here have chin hair but have to draw on eyebrows.  And the drawings aren't even subtle, it's super obvious when the eyebrow line is thin, perfect, and 3 times longer than a normal eyebrow would be. 

Anyway, I really did get sick and left the library early.  I had to walk by both schools on my way home and I just prayed that no one from the middle school stopped me.  I made it home without incident, told my mom I was sick and went straight to bed.  I was seriously worried I'd have to call the Peace Corps Medical Officers and get myself to a hospital.  My mom went and bought me some medicine here, some kind of magic powder that fizzed in water but made me feel much better. 

We had lots of family visiting all weekend.  As bad as I felt, I had to make several appearances.  The 2-year-old boy is fascinated by my flashlight I leave out by my bed and my 20-ish year old brother is really excited to get to know me and improve his English with me.  My attention was demanded everywhere.  I can't tell you how many games of Go Fish I played, or how much the people here love to watch me shuffle because I can do the bridge thing.  I went back and forth to play or rest all weekend.

Saturday night I'd spent several hours in my room resting.  I was also watching a movie when my mom comes in and begins her conversation with “I don't want you to worry but...” (this reassuring start again) three girls came to visit but my family ran them off since I was “sleeping.” They had bad attitudes and were from the “wrong side of the tracks” and my mom says the next time they come she'll sit them down and tell them they must not come anymore.  She lectured me about making sure I had reputable friends and that everyone who comes must meet her so she can ascertain whether they are good or bad people.  Everyone from that side of town is bad and everyone from this side is good.  She says of course I can help them with their homework at school but those girls don't need to come back here.  The first time they were here it was just to see what I had and next time they'll take my things.  She may be a little extreme, but my mom really cares about me.  And I don't care about visitors, I'm an introvert, so this suits me just fine. 

On Sunday our visiting family left with promises to come back next weekend.  I stayed a little while in the house then went back to my room.  My mom came by to borrow a plastic shopping bag.  Random.  She sends Lebo out with my dinner.

Monday morning I'm feeling strong enough to face the Middle School, so I go to their morning assembly.  They are in the middle of national exams so teachers are spread thin invigilating (proctoring or monitoring) exams and still teaching classes.  It's pathetic and obvious how little the teachers there care about teaching.  At least twice an hour I'm asked to take over a class, make up an exam, grade homework, mark grades in the grade-book, proctor an exam for a teacher, or any number of other things so that they don't have to do as much.  I say I'm willing to do whatever I can to help a teacher be in the classroom, so I've marked grades or typed exams.  But the teachers I help are not actually in the classroom, they are just taking advantage of me, of the system with no repercussions for absenteeism.  One math teacher had me writing grades in the grade-book, and out of 100 points the highest any learner made was 34.  He was the only one who passed (yeah, 30% is enough to pass any class or exam here).  Most learners earned in the SINGLE DIGITS on this exam.  The teacher keeps saying they don't want to learn or do well.  I tried to say that when this many learners are failing in America it becomes the teachers fault.  She didn't want to hear that.  It was funny to watch her fight with herself, should she give me more work to do so she doesn't have to do it or does she send me on my way so I don't criticize her anymore?  I left her thinking about it.

At the Primary school I had one major thing to finish today so the school could order supplies for next year.  What should have taken 3 minutes took me over an hour because teachers kept coming in with stupid requests.  All computer related.  I'm convinced that no adult at that school even knows how to turn a computer on.  It's so sad because they use a government issued computer program for submitting grades to the Board of Education.  The teachers wanted some of those grades printed, or a new title page made for a binder, or their picture printed or the finances put into an Excel document.  No one can do any of this by themselves.  That school has a half a dozen computers but only 1 is even plugged in to the wall.  And I'm using it for other, more pressing assignments. 

Even though I left after school was out, I felt like I came home early today.  My mom was laying down, having a rest, even though she “only cleaned Tumi's room today.”  I'm Tumi.  I'm terrified.  I open to door and find that my mom had completely rearranged my room.  She said she wanted to scrub the floors so she needed to move all the furniture.  She threw out my trash, washed ALL my clothes (even things that I had just washed this weekend), went through everything I own, rearranged my furniture, strung the laundry line over my bed, and basically moved and touched everything.  I was speechless.  She says she was only helping me, that I'm her daughter and she's protecting me and helping me out.  She did some laundry for her other kids this weekend so of course she'd do my laundry.  “So don't worry.  It's okay I think. I will only clean sometimes and you will clean sometimes.”  I couldn't make her understand that I am a grown woman, self sufficient and perfectly capable of cleaning my own room.  It wasn't even messy!!  She doesn't understand that I have this whole “violation of privacy” problem since this culture is all about sharing and what's-mine-is-yours.  I have definitely decided to buy a lock-block so she can't get in here when I'm not home. 

I sit and start to write this when 2 girls show up to visit.  Luckily they are from this side of town, the good side, so I invite them in without worry.  One of them is carrying a rooster.  She's got his feet tied together with a strip from a plastic bag and is holding him by the wings.  I think they wanted to see me freak out but I disappointed them.  I struggled through some small talk before I asked them to show me some dance moves they learn in Arts & Culture class.  They put the rooster down outside (his legs are tied, where's he gonna go?) and our rooster immediately attacks.  So one girl must hold this soon-to-be-dinner rooster and the other dances a little.  The holder also pets and strokes her rooster so feathers fly into my room through the open door.  Great.  Mom just cleaned today. 

I want this week to be more normal than this weekend was, but I'm beginning to think that the word “normal” just doesn't even apply to this village. 

Strange things I've noticed so far

Another list, sorry about any repeats

too many women have no eyebrows

lots of women choose to draw on eyebrows, and they are painfully obvious drawings

too many women have chin hair

too many people are cross-eyed

too many kids look like the products of mothers who drank a lot during pregnancy

the verb “must” is overused e.g. “must I cook?” or “you must go to the tuck shop”

the bed-to-other-pieces-of-funiture ratio is strangely high

it's no big deal to send your kid to grandma's house – and then never see him again

no one wants to be dirty or get their things dusty, kids put their bags behind them on their chairs at school so they are off the dirty floor

technology has advanced too fast since the end of Apartheid and no one in the villages knows how to effectively use a computer

they don't believe rural areas exist in America, despite my stories and pictures to convince them otherwise

if it's cold, the women will wrap a blanket around themselves like a giant towel over their work clothes and continue on with their day

pop or soda is a “cool drink” here

cool drinks are often sold in 1.25 liter glass bottles, with a deposit required at the shop

everyone loves to sing and dance, and will bust out their moves at the slightest provocation

for such a conservative society, the traditional Tswana dancing costumes are surprisingly revealing of both genders

teachers are “educators” and students are “learners”

no one knows what a “text” is, it's called a SMS

there a a LOT of bootleg Chinese DVDs and BluRays floating around, usually a disk with 6-10 movies on it

people here are scared of everything: lightning, snakes, strong winds, change, lizards, mice, and all these things have been around longer than them! So I don't understand the fear

everyone gets their mail delivered to the school and sent home with their kids

Hopefully I can get a few pictures up next time, I have a sneaky one of the bearded lady but can't figure out how to get it from my phone to my computer yet.

One week down, 103 weeks to go!

Maybe this week could have been worse, but I have an hard time imagining it.

Thursday was the Swearing In Cermony, with our Country Director, US Ambassador to SA, and the founder and CEO of Operation Hope to inspire us.  It was a really amazing day, followed by a night at the backpackers.  What should have taken 2 minutes to assign us rooms ended up in a 2-hour-visit-3-different-hostels monstrosity.  Dinner in Pretoria helped balance out the mood, and a hot shower was much appreciated.  The bus ride early the next morning gave me an up-close-and-personal interaction with a creeper guy.  A boring 6 hours later put me at a bus stop to get picked up by 2 women and a man who couldn't stop asking me for money to start his business.  He was subtle about it, so I felt good just pretending not to understand.

I moved in my new home on Friday.  My host mom, Violet, wasn't quite ready for me, and I had to call my Peace Corps Director to explain a few things to her.  My furniture isn't here yet, thank you Department of Education, so Violet loaned me a bed.  She'd bought me pink curtains and a yellow pee bucket, that was nice.  She's also loaned me bedding, a rug and some pots until I get to town to buy my own.  Her grandson, Lebogang, lives here too, and as long as I wanna watch cartoons or play cards he loves me.  Basically we get along splendidly.  He also walks with me to the Tuck Shop (small convenience store), water tap and to school.  I don't think he minds so much, but I think the other kids tease him about me. 

So I almost immediately had to try and explain that I like my personal space and I'm not sick if I don't spend my every waking minute in someone's company.  I practically have to push people out of my room, everyone is curious and everyone loves to visit. 

Saturday: Violet takes me to town, I buy a small fridge (to be delivered on Tuesday), a small stove/toaster oven, some food, flatware and buckets to hold water and wash in.  Violet would have helped me unpack, but luckily she had a meeting to go to.  But she did come home and move my empty boxes to make them into tables for me.  She knows the perfect way to arrange my room for me.  It took me an hour to convince her I wanted my box/table in this corner, yes, now and forever, this corner. 

Sunday: Violet's church is the ZCC, or Zionist Christian Church, and they are kinda kooky.  I'm not sure what to say because I haven't had to go to one yet and only heard the stories from other PCVs, but she came home all excited that the Church is coming here, to our house, next Saturday to sing and dance all night long.  Literally from like 10pm until 6am Sunday morning.  I've already told her I'll meet everyone and stay for a few songs, but I'm going to bed my midnight.  She seems okay with that. 

Monday: My Middle School Principal, Grace, picked me up for school.  I was intimidated to meet all the teachers, but I quickly figured out that my Primary school is awesome, and the Middle school is in poor shape.  At the primary, all the teachers say hello to me and seem passionate about their school and their jobs.  Not that they are always in class when they should be, but no one is in the villages.  At the middle school, it's a whole different story.  The teachers don't like or respect the principal, the buildings are run down and the learners (students) are out of control.  That's largely because of the learner-teacher ratio, 870 kids to 14 teachers (including the Principal who doesn't actually teach any classes).  So the teachers don't care so much, don't often go to class, and the kids all fail.  Literally all but 1 learner failed the national exams in June. 

I also found out that a teacher at that school is in some legal trouble, but I've been asked not to give the details because my school and village could be identified if anyone cared to check it out.  So the school has major problems. 

Tuesday: My Primary Principal, David, tells me about the possible protest tomorrow.  Last time, recall, I couldn't even get into my village because people were blocking the roads with burning tires during the toytoy.  This time they say they will hijack the educator's bus and force the teachers to go protesting to Mafikeng with them.  Also tomorrow is a big memorial service for the 9 teachers from across the Province who died in a car crash recently.  So possibly no educators will be at school, but David will call me in the morning to confirm. 

At home, some men have started to install my burglar bars, and they are painfully slow at the job.  Honestly I think it should have taken 5 or 6 hours to install bars on 1 door and 2 windows, but it took 4 whole days here. This is Africa.  And my fridge is not delivered. 

Wednesday: David sent me an SMS (a text) that it would probably be best if I didn't come to school today.  As I was doing my happy dance for a day off, Violet walks over and says we must clean.  So I help her move all my furniture, scrub the floors, and organize my things.  I had to insist she leave so I could tidy up some in peace. 

The burglar bar guy was outside working on my door bars and nearly burned down my room with the sparks from his work, I had to stomp out embers on a bag of plastic bags.  I'm terrified to not be here when he's actually working inside on the windows.  But at least my fridge came today.  Violet did have to help me make the box into a table and decide where to put it. 

Thursday: Nothing actually happened in school yesterday, I could have came, but safety first, I guess.  At the morning faculty meeting David says a 4^th grade boy has died and the funeral will be on Saturday.  He and I will go, and some of the other teachers.  I observe a 6^th grade class at the primary school in the morning and move over to the middle school in the afternoon.  The 9^th grade math teacher started her lesson, then handed me the book to ask if I knew how to solve a problem.  Of course, I said yes.  Wrong answer, she tells me to finish the lesson and leaves the room.  Somehow the bell rings early and mass chaos ensues, the kids all run around the rest of the afternoon, only about 12 of the 90 kids in my 9^th grade math lesson attend. 

A group of 8^th grade girls asked me for homework help after school and proceeded to follow me home.  Apparently they were super close to the previous PCV in this village and expect the same kind of relationship from me.  I offered them coffee, because that's the norm in South Africa, and we sat on the floor to play cards.  One girl washed the dishes even though I said she shouldn't.  I've seen the way South Africans wash dishes here.  I don't think their English is good enough to understand my OCD, so I let her wash and I washed again later.  They asked for food, I said I was a volunteer without a salary and couldn't afford to feed the children.  I ran them off at 5.

My mom had been in my room to wash the blankets.  She has spare keys, I'm considering getting a “lock block” to prevent any more surprises.  The burglar bar guy left early, and another one came to start painting.  It's not done yet, but he painted anyway.  He insisted on a cup of tea and was a little put off when I only laid out the ingredients instead of making it for him. 

Friday: The Primary school starts with an emotional hour long Setswana meeting.  The only English in the meeting is stuff like “an injury to one is an injury to all,” “it is not safe,” and “then we MUST.” I'm a little nervous at this point.  In his office, David is going to explain everything to me.  He starts off with “I don't want you to worry, Gina, I'm sure you will be completely safe.” Not at all reassuring.  He continues to explain that some small group of people in the community want him fired.  He says they are all bark and no bite, and that the Tribal Office and police already know about it.  His staff is extremely supportive of him, passionately against that group of haters.  So hopefully it will all fizzle out.  Until then, David's trying not to be found after school hours, not even sleeping in his own bed.  Are you reassured yet?  Meetings are planned all day with staff, the School Management Team and the School Governing Board.  I sit in on one.  One is enough for me.

In a 6^th grade math class that I'm supposed to be observing, the teacher starts off strong, gives the kids a few problems to work in class, and leaves.  They finish quickly so I try to keep the peace by giving more problems.  I help a couple learners but most just pretend to be doing their work.  The school “knocks off early” to let the choir and drum corps practice for the funeral tomorrow. 

I walked over to the middle school to check out a couple of classes, but they've knocked off early too.  It's barely noon and the kids are out of school.  They are preparing for a school sports trip tomorrow.  I leave.  That same gaggle of middle school girls follow me home again.  They've grown, now we're up to 6.  I try to say that I have a lot of things to do at home, that maybe my burglar bars aren't finished yet, that maybe they should go home and prepare for tomorrow, but they don't take the hint.  I thought South Africans were really indirect but these girls didn't care.  On the way home, I understand enough of their Setswana conversation to hear “I want chocolate” “cook food” and “cakes and cool drinks.” Great.  The burglar bar guys immediately send those girls with the wheelbarrow to the water tap.  I try to intervene but the painter guy stops me to explain that even though they are “done,” he'll be back Monday to finish.

I know these girls want stuff from me, so I make them sit outside.  Most don't say anything to me.  One starts petting my hair, so I take it down and let them play for a few minutes.  We spend some time playing the most complicated game of Hop Scotch I've ever heard of.  We play in the dirt with broken glass.  The ringleader has put herself forth; because of the relationship she had with the previous PCV, she thinks she's entitled.  She walked into my room to get water without asking.  Asked me to make her some food to take with her tomorrow on her sport trip.  Wanted to come visit me this weekend.  Hoped I'd let her use my laptop and give her some of the chocolate she found in my fridge.  I disappointed her in everything.  And my rules about visitation will be much more strict starting next week. 

So yeah, great week, huh?  Tomorrow I'll go to the funeral of the 4^th grade boy.  I hate funerals.  Especially one for a child.  So far week 2 isn't shaping up all that great. 

The end of August

Site Announcements!!  After 6 long weeks of intensive training and language lessons, we finally found out where we're going to spend the next 2 years.  Imagine the anxiety of waiting to hear about your village, your host family, you accommodations, your school assignments, everything.  Tensions were high the day of site announcements.

I'll be staying in a village near(ish) Vryburg and working with the local primary and middle school.  I was warned that my housing recently changed and the family was still fixing up my room for me.  I met the two schools' principals at a workshop on Tuesday,  I try not to use any names that could pinpoint people or locations on my blog for security sake, but I'll call them David and Grace.  We had a 2 day work shop at a Safari Reserve Lodge and then headed out to my village - which I'll call Pan. 

On the way to Pan, my principals tell me “Gina, we may have a problem.”  The local Rural Development Committee (RDC) was protesting.  It seems Pan doesn't have a tarred (paved) road and the RDC wanted to get the attention of the municipality.  They ran the learners (students) out of the schools and blocked the roads around the village with burning tires and throngs of people.  We drove by the edge of the village Thursday and saw lots of people and hooligans out by the road.  This kind of thing is called a toytoy, and apparently the first step that every village must take in their endeavor to get a tarred road built.  We passed on. 

So I spent the weekend at a neighboring village with Mpho and the volunteer that he's replacing, here called Kay.  We saw his village schools, met the educators, saw the clinic and police station.  A few kids came by to visit and fell in love with Mpho, it was cute.  On Friday the RDC decided they hadn't gotten enough people's attention and so they were expanding to block the roads in neighboring villages.  The schools let out at 10am and teachers caught an early bus home.  We were strongly encouraged not to leave the village.  Instead we made spaghetti and meatballs and shared stories. 

Saturday was a funeral in the village of Pan.  Because the deceased was a member of the RDC they didn't block the roads and we could enter.  Funerals in South Africa are such a different experience than in the states.  Always held on Saturdays, they start by 7am, and include lots of speeches, singing and dancing.  This was a particularly huge funeral.  As white people, Mpho, Kay and I were honored guests and given chairs near the front.  Lots of singing and dancing.  We walked behind the pall bearers to the graveyard.  Men go to one side of the grave and women to the other.  More singing and prayers.  The family was devastated and weeping.  Some school children here almost inconsolable in the back.  I watched one poor woman pass out and fall back into a barbed wire fence.  These things are intense. 

Typically, the men would take turns burring the coffin.  Since this guy was an RDC member they took care of everything, then sang some more.  The songs turned into political slogans.  They were singing political slogans over this fresh grave.  Back to the house for a little more talking, the men heard from the Chief, who pleaded for the RDC to allow the children back in school on Monday.  Finally, everyone could eat.  The food here is great, and as the honored guests we got special plates from the kitchen instead of the buffet line. 

So about 2pm we left the funeral.  By now we had groupies.  The 3 Americans, 3 Principals, 3 members of the school governing board and a couple of kids all went to my host family in Pan.  I finally met the people I'd be spending the next 2 years with.  The mom and dad seem quite but very nice, and their 9-year-old grandson is shy.  My room is out back, with a fresh coat of paint and one electrical plug.  I'll walk out back about 15 yards to the pit latrine (outhouse) and take a wheelbarrow and big buckets about 50 yards to a community tap to collect water.  Back in the house we said our goodbyes.  The visit lasted all of 30 minutes. 

Off to see the schools I'll be working with.  The middle school was locked up but we went in to see the primary school.  It's been recently painted and has an irrigation system to water the grass.  The principals office is nice and big and they have great enthusiasm for the school.  Both my schools are excited to have my help and to teach me too.  I'm ready to get started!

Back to Mpho's village for the evening, by now it's about 4pm.  Kay saw some of her students driving a donkey cart with barrels of water back to their homes.  She made them give her a turn at the reigns - and drove the donkeys straight into the bush.  But she can cross it off her Bucket List. 

Sunday Kay showed us how to get to the nearest town and the malls there.  We ate sushi for lunch.  Where else can you go from the poor villages with little food or resources to a city an hour away and eat good sushi?  Peace Corps South Africa.  We also saw huge Fruit & Veg store that sells cheetah ribs that Mpho says he'll make one day.  I invited myself over to try them.  A combi (taxi) back to the village and we were worn out for the night. 

Monday we were surprised by the school district with a “necessary” trip to their office, then quickly to Vryburg to catch the bus back to training.  It was great to meet another current volunteer and hear all the other trainees stories of their sites.  The bus was late (of course, this is Africa) and I nearly forgot my wallet in the restaurant.  Lucky for me my PC adopted dad Tshiamo was there look after me. 

On the bus I made friends with a  woman who lives in the Northern Cape, and pushed the conversation a little until she invited me to come visit her sometime.  I love making new friends.  22 Peace Corps Trainees spent the night at a backpackers (hostel) in Pretoria where we got very little sleep.  Off to training the next morning.  That day was long and I was too tired and grumpy to pay much attention. But I do remember we got another lecture about some trainees aren't taking regular bucket baths and smell bad.  It's definitely not me, don't worry. 

My story was not the MOST exciting of the weekend, but it was up there near the top.  I'm glad I got to see the neighboring village and get close to all the principals, but I still have to look forward to those awkward conversations with my host family about where I dump dirty bath water and can I wear shorts and tank tops in the house.  It's just a little over a week away now and I can't wait to get started. 

Gross generalizations about black South Africans

Ok, so I've really only been in 2 rural villages, so maybe not everybody is like this, but it's surprised me how similar the people are that I have met. In American, it's usually a local phrase or family saying, but here it seems like everybody has the same mannerisms. I'm fond of lists, so here's one to explain to you the typical rural black South African.

They take curtains and window coverings seriously. A window might only be a meter wide but the curtain covers the whole wall.
They always say 'serious?' When they mean 'seriously' or 'are you serious?'
The get scared of a problem, and usually leave it alone.
It takes 3 hours to do something that would take 45 minutes in America.
The women are super nice, the children are curious, and the men are either very polite or very creepy.
They love hot tea, with loads of sugar and milk.
All the meat and other food is very salty, maybe that accounts for the excess of sugar in the tea.
They very rarely eat breakfast. Either because they can't afford food or don't want to. I can't tell you how many times my host moms come home at 4 or 5 or 10 at night and say they are so hungry because they haven't eaten all day.
Starches are king. People here eat pap (bogobe) and bread like the world is going to run out tomorrow.
They are scared of technology, they don't want to break a computer so they won't touch it unless they have to.
They have religious enthusiasm. Everywhere I go, random strangers talk about God's grace and goodness. Which is fine, but they also expect you to have the same beliefs, and woe to the person who tries to actually discuss religion.
Kids are expendable. So have a dozen, hopefully half will survive childhood and can do all the household chores.
They lack tact. If they think you're too fat, too tall, too loud, to lazy, you are going to hear about it. From the whole village.
They are indirect. If they are hungry, they'll say 'aren't you hungry?" So I have to be careful how I phrase questions or they think I'm asking for a lot more than I actually am.

I've only been here a couple of months, I'm sure there will be more lists like these in the next 2 years. Enjoy!

my new (and improved) host family

Here in Pan, I have a mom called Violet and a 9-year-old brother named Lebohan. I love them both already. Lebo is a typical kid, he loves cartoons and soccer, does well in school and works hard at his chores. Violet is in her mid-fifties, with above-average English skills and a super nice personality. Her husband, Michael, is in Joburg working. This family has taken me into their home and hearts. In fact, I have to explain that I need to do things on my own, be self-sufficient, like collecting my own water and cooking for myself. But I love them already. Violet gave me pink curtains and a yellow pee bucket, took me to town to buy kitchen supplies and insists on giving me tea or food every time I walk in her house.

We have a dog called Bobby, chickens and sheep. There are at least 3 brand new baby lambs that are adorable. Today my middle school Principal picked me up and introduced me to her whole school. I walked over to the primary school and met all the classes there too. Then David drove me to meet the police captain, the taxi drivers, some local tuck shops and the community library staff. Busy day. I'm waiting at home now for the guys who are supposed to be installing my security bars, but so far I've been waiting in vain. I'm trying not to be the flashy American with lots of stuff, but I've had my Kindle and computer out already. I'm assured that this is a safe village, but I'm acutely aware that I am different, I stick out. I'm pretty sure that when I travel I'll have a target painted on my back.

Random updates coming soon, and hopefully pictures. Stay tuned. :)