Tropical Holidays, part II

Well this is now two week old news and I should have finished writing my thoughts on this trip while they were still fresh in my head but anyway.  A brief recap of my first Christmas away from home:  Woke up really late, spent too much money on good food and mediocre beer, hung out with friends at the local casino even though I don’t gamble, then walked on the beach and amused myself several times with the notion that “hey, it’s Christmas Day!  Merry Christmas!”  Go ahead and call me Scrooge, but I didn’t miss all the glamour and commercialism of a typical American Christmas.  It was kind of surprising to see the nonchalance found in most South Africans at Christmastime; almost everybody’s crazy about Jesus but his birthday doesn’t seem to be that big of a deal.  I guess it’s really more of a western holiday.  I mean there were some festive decorations here and there, but all in all it was pretty low key.  New Years, on the other hand was ridiculous.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many people in one place.  It’s not like I had no warning though, people say Durban is the place to be on during the holidays.

Durban is a beautiful coastal city, and I certainly enjoyed a fair amount of good food and drink, but my favorite part of this trip had to have been the people I encountered.  I’m probably not supposed to use real names, and in truth I can’t remember one of them, but I’d like to talk about some of the more noteworthy characters I met on this trip.  So here goes; names have been changed to protect the innocent and amuse the guilty.  As per usual, this list is in no particular order.

Jacques Marley, the French Rasta Man:

I must’ve met this dude outside on the balcony at our backpackers.  He was staying in a room adjacent to ours and the balconies were also adjacent.  Definitely a Frenchman, very French accent, elegant gestures, smoking cigarettes, the whole nine yards.  Also very Rastafarian.  ”Jacques” has some serious dreadlocks, 20 inches or so, complete with ornamentation, as well as numerous impressive piercings.  He also plays guitar; I’d brought mine along so I asked him to play it.  First time I’d heard reggae with French lyrics!  I’m sorry to report that all I’ve retained from three years of middle school French class is how to say “Hello” and ask what time it is.  Also, I really enjoyed hearing Jacques talk about the amazed reactions some of the Zulus had when they saw his dreads; it’s very unusual to see a white guy with long hair, so decked-out dreadlocks are a real surprise.  Who’s getting culture shock now, South Africa?

Dickie, Your Friendly Neighborhood Herbalist

Another individual I encountered on the balcony, but this guy was a South African.  A Zulu to be specific.  To be even more specific he was an Inyanga.  Inyanga, loosely translated means herbalist, medicine man or witch doctor, if you want to get flavorful and possibly offend someone.  Although honestly I don’t think any stereotype or nickname could phase this guy; he was extremely friendly and personable.  Goes with the line of work I guess, because this modern Inyanga also happened to be a traveling salesman.  Having briefly dabbled in sales myself, I could see that Dickie had a solid pitch: great attitude, very likable, no discernible pressure, good pace and rhythm and of course “the show”.  Every salesman carries a selection of whatever he’s peddling, so I got a full breakdown of some of the more popular Muti (magic) products of South Africa.  It wasn’t just me of course, Dickie gave a great presentation of his wares to several of the travelers who were around.  The products included:

Herbal Detox: Ingest with tea for a complete flush of your system! Feel younger, cure what ails ya, pass drug tests and whatnot!  This was the least magical, and probably most effective of his stuff.

Protective Poultice: Introduce to bloodstream (cut yourself and rub into wound) for a magical aura to protect you from harm!  Feel safe and never fear your enemies threats again!  Blunt knives!  Repel bullets!  Ingest arsenic and laugh!  Except don’t really do that because the magic only works if you’re actually under attack!  I had some obvious doubt about this one, but I can believe the extra confidence would probably help somebody win a fight, so there might be something to be said for it’s effectiveness.

Lucky Leaf: Gobble up these herbs and go hit the blackjack tables!  This one reminded me of the “Felix Felicis” potion in Harry Potter.  You can’t lose!

Rocket Rocks: Bind a small sprinkling of this rock dust to your arm and throw a supernaturally powerful punch!  Or try it on your leg and score a goal from half field!  Dickie said he had a lot of soccer players that used this one.  Technically cheating, but it’s practically undetectable.  I’m inclined to believe the placebo effect is a big part of this one’s magic as well.

Super Sex Solution: Obviously there was a fantastic pitch for this one, but I can’t do it justice and I’m trying to keep this blog somewhat PG.  Out of the whole selection, this was the most highly demanded by far; many South Africans are crazy about sex enhancers.  I’ve got to give Dickie credit for his disclaimer: he said it would not save you from contracting HIV but it’s totally condom-friendly.  Thanks for promoting responsible mind-blowing sex, Dickie.

Since I’m poor and skeptical, I didn’t try any of these magical products, but some of the others who saw the presentation were very interested.  Anyway I always enjoy a good show, and this guy was pretty hilarious.  I asked him if he could give me a Christmas special on the ever-popular ability to smite something with lightning, but he said that one was not for sale and in truth he was still learning how to do it himself.  Oh well.  I’ve got another 20 months to learn, how hard can it be?

Jekyll and Hyde, the Contrasting Caucasians

These two friends were a pair of Afrikaans fellas who, as far as I could tell, couldn’t be more different in terms of personal beliefs and demeanor.  Unfortunately Hyde, the unpleasant one, also happened to be the more vocal of the two.  Late 20s, pretty argumentative and aggressive, and I’ll give him a sliver of credit in that he made a half-assed attempt to hide his deep rooted prejudices.  He liked talking to me and the other Americans, in fact he’d even spent some years in the states.  He had nothing nice to say about South Africa; he began by attacking it’s authenticity as an African nation.  ”If you want to see the real Africa, this is not it.  Go to Mozambique.  Go to Namibia.  Go to Botswana.  South Africa is not really Africa”.  Then of course racism reared it’s ugly head: “Black people are lazy, black people are corrupt, black people in power are going to be the death of this country”; he even made a pretty good case for why the country was better off under apartheid.  However, I could see this was a well-practiced and commonly recited rhetoric, plus I’ve heard it before.  The backbone of this argument is that the apartheid system, although unfair, was effective in keeping the country running smoothly because it put the power in the hands of people who have a background of economic and managerial experience.  All of these people being white, according to the argument, was simply a historical trend.  But I digress; the challenges of post-apartheid South Africa deserve their own post.  Actually, they deserve their own book.  Predictably, Hyde had nothing nice to say about America either.  He rambled into the offensive assumption that “Americans think people in South Africa just live with animals and wear loincloths.  How surprised were you when you found out we wear suits, and have TVs and drive cars?”  I’ve heard this one way too many times to take it seriously anymore.  My final thoughts on the subject are that ignorant people like to make incorrect racial assumptions, and the street goes both ways.  Hyde also seemed to think crime was much worse in the US than in SA, and started quoting some totally fabricated statistics which revealed that although he had the gift of gab, he was in fact very ignorant.  Incidentally, that’s exactly what he called me after I failed to differentiate the Illuminati secret handshake from a normal handshake.  South African’s obsessions with global conspiracy theories also deserve their own post.  I think you get the picture, so that’s enough about Mr. Hyde.  Oddly enough, his buddy Dr. Jekyll was a quiet, polite, reasonable guy.  Much more approachable, if you weren’t deterred by his loud and unpleasant counterpart.  I wish more of the volunteers had talked with Jekyll instead of Hyde because there’s definitely a fair bit of animosity towards the Afrikaners, which I really don’t think flows with the Peace Corps standard of being open minded and whatnot.  Or maybe I’m just the Devil’s advocate to the depths of my soul.  I mean, the animosity is not unfounded: I’ve met several others like Hyde, and many volunteers have met Afrikaners who are far worse.  The interesting part was the contrast between these two guys.

Hans, the German Volunteer Who’s Job I Envy

I was talking to Hans about what he’s doing in South Africa, and as luck would have it he’s also a volunteer!  His organization sounds akin to the German version of Peace Corps.  He’s been in country for almost a year now and his contract’s almost finished.  So I asked him what field he was in, and he’s actually been assigned a craft studio of sorts!  Woodworking tools, a welding bay, all the stuff I miss so so much from my time in America!  Super jealous.  I really wish Peace Corps had something like that for me.  Not that there aren’t things I enjoy at my schools, I can get down with computers and I just found some science kits in a dusty storeroom (WIN) but Hans sounds like he landed something I could really sink my teeth into.  Fortunately his site is fairly close to mine, so I’ll definitely be checking it out ASAP.

Well gezz, this post is getting obnoxiously lengthy and there’s still more to tell!  I’m going to have to wrap this one up for now.  To be continued, AGAIN, and I might have to interrupt this tale of travel to talk about some other stuff with the next post.  We’ll see what’s on my mind when the spirit moves me.

Tropical Holidays

Ok, this blog post is long overdue and a lot’s happened since I last wrote so I’ll do my best to hit all the highlights.  I spent the beginning of December in Pretoria for a continuation of Peace Corps training. The venue was definitely the nicest hotel I’ve stayed at in my life.  Of course that’s probably saying more about my previous accommodations than the hotel, but seriously it was really nice.  Our whole troop stayed there for 10 days, then went on to various holiday destinations.  I was with a large group (20 or so) who went to the coastal city of Durban, a popular getaway for tourists and nationals alike.  As you might surmise, the quality of my lodging and transportation went steadily downward as the trip progressed.  Of course I say this with a smile on my face; it’s my belief that an authentic experience includes shitty hostels, broke-down buses and poorly coordinated outings.  It’s fun in hindsight anyway.  I threw in with 3 other volunteers for a rental car to drive ~600 kilometers from Pretoria to Durban, which actually couldn’tve gone much better.  The guys who went to pick it up got horribly lost, but I had the good fortune of remaining behind while that happened.  I know I would’ve done the exact same thing if it were me trying to navigate around Pretoria for the first time.  When they did return, I decided to go for a little practice spin before departure.   So I immediately went to the right (incorrect) side of the road, punched the door several times with my right hand before getting used to the left side gearshift, and turned on the windshield wipers every time I tried to use a turn signal.  This is what practice runs are for, right?  Despite this sketchy start, we actually got to Durban without a hitch.  The highway system here is surprisingly intuitive and traffic was mercifully minimal.  The drop-off was a little stressful though: it was Christmas Eve and the attendant who was supposed to meet us left early (can’t really blame ‘em) and we thought they’d charge us an extra day of rental.  It all worked out though, so all’s well that ends well.

The lodging we’d originally booked is what I would describe as a hostel, although in South Africa they’re called “backpackers”.  This word on the street (i.e. volunteer rumor mill) about this particular backpackers was that it sucked and should be avoided like the plague.  After staying there for 10 days, I can see some obvious reasons for this reputation.  Here they are, in no particular order:

1. Cockroaches.  Not surprisingly, these little bastards really grossed out a lot of the Americans.  Some of them were pretty huge.  Made me want to watch Men in Black.

2. Bedbugs.  Everybody hates tiny insects that feed on human flesh. I was lucky enough to not be gnawed on by these bloodsucking parasites.  I did get stung repeatedly by jellyfish, but that’s not the hostel’s fault.

3. Minimal security.  With 12 people to a room, it’s hard to keep track of everything.  Fortunately I didn’t suffer any major losses, but  if I find out who ate my chocolate bars they’re definitely getting their kneecaps busted.

4. Uncomfortable beds.  I couldn’t care much less, but there was definitely a lot of griping about this subject.

5. First floor of the building is a brothel.  This is a bad thing……?  Oh right, for the reputation.  Yes.  Very, um, unprofessional.

6. Sketchy neighborhood.  We’ve all been warned time and time again about how crime is a huge problem, especially in cities.  Durban is no exception, and some volunteers did have a pretty serious incident on new years, but that’s another story.  For now I’ll just say that luckily no one was hurt; all’s well that ends well.

7. Loud, destructive, unsupervised kids running around everywhere.  I almost forgot to include this one because it’s a constant everywhere I go in this country.

OK now that we’ve established why the hostel sucked, I have to play devil’s advocate here and make a list of the place’s redeeming qualities:

1. Proximity to the beach.  It was a 2 block walk.  For the equivalent of 15 bucks per night, that’s tough to beat.

2. Friendly staff!  Hooray for good people!

3. Other fun loving travelers also stayed there!  Hooray for interesting people!

4. Cheap beer.  What can I say, I’m easily satisfied.

5. Balcony.  Make that “extremely easily”

5. Shitty pool table.  The best thing about this was that the balls didn’t always eject properly so sometimes we had to take the table apart and fish them out of the rails, which was totally fine with the staff.

6. Price is right.

7. Showers.  Trust me folks, after months of hauling water home just to lamely splash it over oneself and call it a “bath”, a few meters of pipe plus a pump, furnace and faucet is a glorious luxury.

Me personally, I didn’t think the accommodation was too bad, I mean what do you want out of your Peace Corps budget lodging?  Plus I didn’t plan to spend my vacation kicking around a lounge, so upon arrival I immediately wandered off down the beach.  First time in an Ocean other than the Atlantic!  And let me tell you, the coast of Kwa Zulu Natal is much warmer than Cape Cod, by at least 30 degrees.  I also had a firsthand reiteration (learning the hard way) of those geography lessons which explain why equatorial regions are hot and polar regions are cold.  [Science lesson warning! Skip to the paragraph about surfing if you're getting bored!]  Contrary to the usual guesses, it is not because the “fat middle” of the earth is closer to the sun; that distance is negligible.  The actual reason is that incident sun rays strike the earth at different angles according to it’s curvature.  As one approaches the equator, the angle of incidence approaches a right angle; a right angle provides the maximum solar energy per square meter, or mile or whatever unit of measurement you prefer.  Ergo the closer one gets to the equator, the more direct the sunlight, the more intense the heat.  In normal English: The sun in South Africa is a hell of a lot more powerful than in upstate New York.  By day three I was sufficiently lobster-ized; would have been comical if it weren’t so painful.

Despite being sunburned, sleep depraved and horribly out of shape I decided to try surfing.  It’s a bit harder than it looks, but it’s a great time if you get good conditions.  The experienced surfers among us thought it wasn’t ideal, but not too terrible either.  I had fun anyway.  The guy who rented us the boards was quite a character.  This guy went by the name of “Jay Jay”, he looked to be mid 50s but might have been only 30 something with a serious drug collection tearing through his system.  A high energy beach bum, he struck me as a California-style surfer dude with a South African accent and severe ADD.  He kept stressing the recent damage inflicted upon his boards by some British Army troops on holiday, and seemed reluctant to let a bunch of rookie foreigners take them out again for fear of a repeat.  So he waxed up some boards, took us down to the beach talking about proper surfing technique at several hundred words per minute and he wanted proof that we wouldn’t be breaking any boards or hurting anybody.  Seems like all the proof he required was our good word, because before we’d even gotten in the water he was ready to leave: “Awl righ’ then, ‘ave a great toyme, eh?” and with that he staggered on down the beach to do god knows what.  What a fella.  So trusting.

Ok, there’s more to tell but I’m just going to post this first part now and give people a chance to read it while giving myself a chance to assimilate my thoughts properly.  Stay tuned.  Now that I’m back in the village and have way too much free time again I’ll likely be posting more frequently.

Lost in Translation

This is a bit about the local language, for those of you who are interested in that sort of thing.  The language is called TshiVenda, (pronounced “Chi-Ven-Da” meaning the language of Venda people.  Venda is a region in the Limpopo province of South Africa.  The place has high temperatures, beautiful mountains, delicious fruits and some interesting traditions which I’ll talk about later.  Venda people call themselves “VhaVenda” (plural) or “MuVenda” (Singular), and they call people like me “VhaKhuwa” or “MuKhuwa”.  So the word for English, or any other whitey language like German or Afrikaans is “TshiKhuwa”.  Tshivenda is a somewhat obscure and uncommonly known language.  There are many subtleties in pronunciation and every syllable ends with a vowel.  There are no gender nouns like with romantic languages, no gender specific pronouns even.  In fact, different pronouns confuse the living hell out of Venda students learning English, so they usually just pick one and go with it for everything.  Like “he”, for example: “James, my sister, he have got a problem with car.  He [the car] is not running because battery.  He [battery] is empty, so we must have cables.  Where is he? [the jumper cables].   This is typical, but if you’re laughing keep in mind that my Tshivenda must sound 100 times more messed up than that because I’m constantly missing subtle pronunciation syntax.  Now although the pronouns for “He” and “She” are the same in Tshivenda, men and women have different greetings.  When a man says hi, he says “Ndaa” when a woman says hi she says “Aa”.  There are also different ways of addressing someone, a respectful (formal) way which you should use when speaking to someone older than you, or the casual way which is used between friends of the same age.

Contrary to my severely analytical nature, I have stopped trying to translate Tshivenda literally in an attempt to understand it.  The reasons for this are as follows:  1) For me, it’s usually impossible.  2) The literal translation is usually ridiculous.  Take this basic conversation for example:  The Bold is Tshivenda, the Italics are the literal translation.  At the end I’ve recapped the conversation using non-literal, vernacular translation.

Ndaa, Ndou.

Hello, Elephant.

Ee Ndaa.

Yes hello.

Vho vuwa hani?

How are you waking up today?

Ndo vuwa zwavhudi.  Ndi vhudzisa ngeo?

I woke up nicely.  I am inquiring about you.

Na nne ndo vuwa.  Ndi khou humbela u vhudzisa?

And me I woke up.  I am politely asking to inquire.

Kha vha vhudzise.

You may inquire.

Madi ndi gaee?

Water is where?

Nga car wash [yes, they would actually say car wash with a slight accent]

At the car wash.

O Luga.  Ndo Livhuwa.

Divine.  I have thanked you.

Ndi zwone, tshimbila zwhavhudi.

You’re welcome, walk nicely.

Ndi zwone, re do vhonana.

Goodbye, we will see each other.

So that was really just: “Hello sir.” “Well hello.” “How’s it going?” “Pretty good, and yourself?” “Just fine.  Can I please ask you something?” “Sure, ask away” “Where can I find water?” “There’s some at the car wash” “Great.  Thank you.” “You’re welcome, go well.”  ”OK bye, see you later”.

You may have noticed “Ndi Zwone” is a homonym, it means either “You’re welcome” or “Goodbye” depending on context.  It’s also interesting to note that although the literal translation sounds goofy, they were both using the polite and respectful form of addressing each other.  Make no mistake though, the informal is also goofy when translated literally.  And about that “Elephant” thing, men really do say that and it really does mean elephant.  The people of South Africa all have a different animal which designates their “clan” or something like that, and in the case of Venda it happens to be the elephant.  Even the big town in the Venda region, Thohoyandou, is literally Thoho (Head) ya (of) Ndou (Elephant).  So Thoho = head, which brings me to my next point: some words which are spelled the same have different meanings depending on pronunciation.  Thoho = head but if you give the “T” a little bit more of a plosive sound it becomes “monkey”.  Gezz!  Thoho ya mukhuwa hafta khou vhavha (This white man’s head/monkey hurts).

Praise the Lord, I’m going to Church!

I’m about to go church.  This is something which people here are absolutely crazy about.  Every Monday, the first question someone usually asks me at school is “What did you do over the weekend?   Did you go to church?????”  Well, I’ve been in the village for more than 2 months now and this will be my third time at church, so the answer to this question is usually “no, I had to [insert arbitrary excuse here]”  This answer is not met with a smile.  So last weekend I went, I wasn’t busy, figured it wouldn’t kill me, plus and I was sick of deflecting inquires on Monday.  Now let me tell you about the church scene in Dzanani:  The name of the church is “Higher Grace”, the structure is a large steel frame with a roof, probably 60,000 square feet or so.  There is a stage with a podium (or is it a lectern?), a drumset and electric instruments (WIN), as well as seating for about 500 people, 110% of which is occupied.  It’s Christian, everybody (except me) has a translated bible, but it’s also very energetic: music, dancing, loud sermons of great gusto and the like.  Then there’s the holy communion for 500 + people, which takes some doing.  Now I don’t mind a little commune with God on Sunday, Jesus is my homeboy and all that, the live music part is really fun of course and there’s even an interpreter for the sermons so I can actually understand something.  The two reasons I usually try to dodge church are:

1) Time invasion.  The ceremony lasts 4 hours, but factoring in preparation, transport and African time, it’s a total dedication of about 6 hours.  Too much.  I could get down with an hour or so, but I mean come on, this is my laundry day.

2) Fishbowl effect.  Like I said, there are more than 500 people at this thing, and I’m the only one who’s white.  Don’t get me wrong, people aren’t racist or anything, they’re thrilled to see a mukhuwa in their church.  So I immediately get flagged down by some coordinator who marches me up to the front and center, with a bajillion eyes following me all the way.   Oh please God, deliver me from humiliation, please absolve the uncouth wrinkle which doth lie upon my shirt, and the crudeish dullish spot which doth lie upon my left shoe, and the unkeptness of my hairs, which is most frightful oh Lord, for these things are surely to be seen and spoken of by every soul in this church.  OK, Sunday is one of the only days of the week which I can relax at home and not feel like a magnet for people’s eyes, but if I go to church I’m right back in the Caucasian zoo exhibit.  I’m not thrilled at the prospect, but people really don’t understand the concept of breathing room.

When I ponder this type of situation, I feel very misunderstood.  I’m not all bent out of shape about it, I accept that people think I’ll be bothered by things which I find totally fine, and yet they have no idea about some other things really irritate me.  Here are some hypothetical (but accurate) examples:

Well-meaning, but misunderstanding friend: “James, let’s take an overcrowded taxi to church where you’ll receive an uncomfortable amount of attention for several hours!  Oh wait, it’s pretty hot.  The sun will hurt your white skin, so let’s get an umbrella first”.

Me: “Actually dude, the sun is fine and I’m really enjoying the weather here.  I’m more concerned about how nonchalantly you just identified me as white and then followed up with an incorrect racial assumption”.

Or maybe a conversation like this one:

Friend: “Are you having problems with water at your home?”

Me: “Well there’s no running tap, so I have to get water from the pump across the street”

Friend: “Oh my god, what a travesty, how do you manage????”

Me: “I have a wheelbarrow and some buckets”

Friend: “I’m so sorry to hear that.  It’s terrible that you should suffer like that.”

I really don’t mind hauling the water I need. It’s actually quite satisfying, but everybody seems to think that it’s killing me.  Laundry and ironing are another thing people don’t think mukhuwa is capable of doing.  I had this one guy on my case for weeks, telling me that I mustn’t suffer by washing my own clothes and that God was not happy to see me doing so much work.  ”You teach during the week, so you must relax on the weekend.  God does not want you doing two jobs”.  Gezz dude if God didn’t want me to multitask, I’m pretty sure he would’ve given me a different work ethic.

Teacher: “James, what are you doing?”

Me: “I’m trying to finish making this review sheet for the 7^th grade.  They have a test tomorrow and I want to give them some material to study since they don’t have textbooks”

Teacher: “But it’s lunch time.”

Me: “I have to finish this now.  I won’t have time to do it after lunch because I’ve got classes.”

Teacher: “James you must eat.”

Me: “I will as soon as I’m done here.”

Teacher: “No no, you come and eat now.  Anyway those kids are lazy and they should make their own study sheets”

Yes the kids certainly are lazy.  I wonder what could’ve possibly influenced them to be that way?

Well I’m off to church.  At this point I’m dreading it, but usually once it’s over I end up thinking “well that wasn’t so bad.  I just hope I’ve got time to dry my laundry before the sun sets”.  Hopefully I’ll have a follow up report, but I’ve still got this pile of laundry and that sun’s not setting any slower.

4 Hours of churchgoing later…..

Gezz that was painful.  Not much interpretation going on this Sunday; I was bored to tears.  At least I wasn’t front and center this time.   Efforts were made to put me there but I held fast and convinced them I was fine seated in the mid rows.  I am actually exhausted; it’s too hot for this kind of thing.  Funny thing about church:  The last time, the pastor asked everyone who was single to raise their hands (so I did, oops) then asked that everyone pray for them to find a spouse.  THIS time, he asked that all the single females of age 21-24 stand up and parade/dance around the congregation, then afterwards asked the same of the single males of that age.  On that one I opted out, for reasons that I think you can surmise.  Most people think I’m a lot older than I actually am anyway so there wasn’t too much suspicion about why I didn’t get up and dance around.

I’m not doing laundry today because the place I go which has plenty of water is unavailable right now.  I’ll have to do it tomorrow, leaving me free to start working on my non-electrical refrigeration system!  It’s called a Zeer, originally from middle east and apparently it’s quite old technology.  It consists of a tin bucket inside an earthen (clay) pot with a layer of wet sand in between the two.  The theory is that the moisture in the sand takes heat energy out of the tin bucket as it evaporates (the moisture not the bucket).  Since an earthen pot is porous, this allows the evaporated water, along with the heat energy, to leave.  Now this thing isn’t going to be an ice box but hopefully it will cool my drinks at least a little bit.  If not it’s at least providing me with something to do.  I really do hope it works though, because damn.  It’s hot.

Typical thoughts on a day in my African life

Nov 8^th 2011

Since arrival I’ve been having some recurring thoughts.  At first it was “Now where the hell did I park my car this ti……Oh yeah, that’s right.  Never mind.”  Then I kept thinking “I would do horrible, horrible things for a 30 minute high-pressure shower right now”.  Now the thoughts I keep having are either “……..This is so ridiculous!” or, predictably, “Sweet Jesus, it is hot.”  The former thought usually occurs at school, like whenever I take a moment to think about what’s actually going on.  Kids running around full tilt in and out of classrooms, yelling at full volume, final exams right around the corner, and are we teachers worried?  Not as worried as we are about this scary new policy from the department of education.  Not only do we have to submit assessments in digital form (what the hell is a digital form?) but they must be formatted to the DOE’s PFECA standards (I’m so confused), reviewed by at least 2 other educators (does the American count as an educator?) and they must be in English (Yuck).  Seriously though, the department has this awful habit of sending intentionally longwinded, bureaucratic and trivial instructions around exam time.  It’s like they’re trying to challenge and test the intelligence of the school staff instead of simply being clear in what’s required.  And yes, the teachers are understandably pissed, so what happens is they take time away from class to deal with this headache.  So as I’m on my way from class, dodging uncontrollable high-speed fifth graders whilst trying not to drop my lunch, books and several stacks of boring paperwork, I’m thinking “….This is so ridiculous”.  The other time I end up having this thought is when I need to use the dreaded public taxis.  I mean damn driver, you’ve been honking at that old lady for like 5 minutes.  I’m pretty sure she doesn’t want a lift.  Maybe you’d have better luck if your vehicle wasn’t already stuffed to the gills.  I’m sorry, but I still kind of hate dealing with the transport scene.  One thing is I’ve always had a kind of claustrophobia when it comes to lack of elbow room and whatnot, and these drivers really don’t leave until every seat is taken.  And then of course I get the whole stunned silence, wide-eyed wonder, is-there-really-a-white-guy-in-this-taxi effect, which by this point has really lost its charm.  The final nail in the coffin is that no matter how hot it gets, people don’t open the windows.  This stopped frustrating me quite so much once I figured out the reason:  It’s because of the dust.  Now of course if it were my choice, I’d say “who cares about the damn dust?  It’s hot!” but folks around here see things a little differently.  It’s kind of like a vendetta against the dust or something:  People carry polishing rags so that their shoes are always shined and spotless, they’ll wash their car twice or three times a day if it’s windy, yards (which are pretty much made of dust) are swept constantly and vigorously and nobody opens their car windows unless the vehicle is stationary.  I see it as a kind of vindictive attitude: “I don’t care that we live in one of the hottest and most arid climates on the planet, I’m NOT letting this dust make me or my property dirty”.  It’s actually sort of admirable, when I’m not sweating like a hog while being squashed between two strangers during the first 5 minutes of an hour ride to Thohoyando.

It’s too hot to think of a creative title

It’s my 8^th week as a South African schoolteacher and sure enough, just as advertised, Africa is HOT.  I just put this shirt on 30 minutes ago and already it’s drenched.  Heat also has the effect of making everybody really slowwwwwwww.   Almost everyone I pass is asleep or relaxing in the shade, and by the end of school today half of the teachers were just sort of dozing under a tree.  People even talk slowly, which is a blessing because my Tshivenda is still really minimal.  But I can’t for the life of me understand how the kids have so much energy.  Insane amounts of energy really; sometimes it’s all I can do just not to get trampled.  They’re also very loud.  Somehow I’d forgotten that an unattended group of middle school students sounds like a full stadium.  Even when there’s an authority figure present, that person will have to keep suppressing the growing murmur before it turns into a storm.  As a so-called authority figure, I have failed to do just that on several occasions.  I keep feeling embarrassed because another teacher will come into my classroom, and it’s loud as hell, and we have to shout to each other just to be heard.  They still seem to have every confidence in me though, maybe because I’m helping with other things (usually petty computer-related chores) or maybe they know I’m a rookie.  Although as per Peace Corps training, I’ve avoided telling them that I’m not a professional educator.  Of course I haven’t explicitly lied and said “yeah, I was totally a teacher in America” either, but I think most of the staff just assumes that’s what I was doing.  Or maybe they’re just too nice to just say “this guy’s completely incompetent!  I thought we were getting a SKILLED American, what happened?”  In all seriousness though, I am helping a lot with the computers and administrative stuff even though I’m struggling with classroom management.  I think I’m also hindered by the fact that I really like the kids and I’m still kind of kid myself.  I keep having flashbacks to Salem Central and I can’t believe some of the things I’d forgotten.  All the ridicule students give each other, the mind numbing boredom and oh yeah, that thing called detention.  I had to hold some ne’er-do-wells for detention the other day and it hurt my soul a little bit.   I’m trying to convince the teachers that detention is more effective than corporal punishment, but it’s not easy.  For one thing, it requires a teacher to stay after as well, which very few of them want to do.  Another thing is, and I hate to say this, but it’s really not as effective in some cases.  Some kids are really badly behaved; they’ll just skip the detention and waltz on home to where there is no parental figure present.  So they obviously don’t fear a teachers’ authority or a notification to their parents, but they do fear a beating.  OK, now I’m going to disclose some really controversial stuff which I’m very nervous to do because I’ve been told that, somehow, everyone will see what I post online.  If my fellow teachers read this stuff there might be some misunderstandings, but some of these anecdotes are just too interesting to keep to myself.  If you’re one of my co workers, remember that I love you and you can always talk to me!

I’m working at two different schools and one of them (Kokwane) needs a lot more help than the other (Rabali).  The teachers at Kokwane use the rod much more frequently than those at Rabali, and in fact the students at Kokwane are much more badly behaved.  The problem is I can’t tell if this is a cause or effect, and in truth it’s probably more of a feedback loop.  Flogging a kid will prevent him or her from repeating a specific offense, but instilling that kind of fear gives the students a bad attitude.  The instrument of choice may be a stick, a length of hose or a ruler; I made the mistake of handing a teacher a ruler when he asked for it, because I thought he actually wanted to measure something.  Silly mukhuwa.  Now this might seem bad from an outside perspective, but keep in mind that most of the beatings I’ve seen are not really that heavy handed.  It wasn’t so long ago that a kid would receive serious injury at school after misbehaving.  I give one teacher a lot of credit actually; I had an awkward “let’s talk about it” conversation after school with him about corporal punishment and he explained very nicely that he wanted some alternatives, just didn’t want to see the school plummet into chaos for lack of discipline (which is definitely a legitimate concern).  Some of the teachers I’m still nervous to approach, particularly those who have this kind of sadistic glee for the whuppin’, and whose sole instrument as a schoolteacher is the rod.  These teachers scare me.  They’re usually the oldest of the bunch and are clearly burnt-out, disgruntled and deeply scarred from the apartheid years.  As a white foreigner, telling them how to do their job is not something I’m ready to do.

Kokwane is also on the verge of a transitional state right now.  The principal, a 30 year veteran of the school is planning to retire after this term, and the remainder of the staff seems to be squabbling for her position.  My host brother thinks they’re probably acting extra strange because of this.  Sometimes I can’t decide if it’s louder in the unattended classrooms or the overcrowded staffroom.  It’s not total chaos, but there are certainly a lot of different attitudes.  I really respect the teachers who are able to rise above this scene of petty power struggle and keep doing their jobs.  The deputy principal (vice principal) is a great guy, but it’s clear to me that he’s seriously overwhelmed by work right now.

One thing I’m still confused by is when people ask me “James, are you busy?” because I can’t tell if they want help with something or if they’re simply inquiring to make sure I’m not bored.  Most requests are made very indirectly, and it’s still confusing to me.  But I can confuse anyone I want by saying anything more complicated than a greeting!  Apparently I have an accent, and the extensive vocabulary which served me so well in the states is now a stumbling block of epic proportions.  I’m in Africa now, eloquence be damned!  I was very amused the other day when I started talking with some high schoolers who wanted to practice English, and then this guy chimed in saying “do not use the deep English with them, they can not understand”.  Never really thought of my English as “deep”, but there you go.  I’m trying to adapt a more South African accent but it’s not so simple.  I have so many phonetic habits which I’m not even aware of.  Elements of style, such as not ending a sentence with a preposition (like I just did) are definitely a lower priority than basic literacy.

Red pens, bureaucracy, computers, and other things I’m working with at school.

Oct. 1st

So I’ve been working at two primary schools for the past two weeks.  Primary in this case means 1^st – 7^th grade.  I thought my biggest challenge would be language, but it’s actually going to be dealing with teacher’s expectations.  So, the challenge of my entire academic life remains the same even after I’ve graduated, although the expectations are now somewhat different.  What I’m talking about is that just about everyone at the school seems to think I’m a substitute teacher.  I’ve kind of brought this upon myself because one of the first Tshivenda phrases I tried out was “I work at school”, so when people hear this they assume I’m a teacher.  It’s not that I mind teaching, but the problems start when I get teachers saying things like “I need you to mark (grade) these 100+ tests for me by tomorrow.  You’re here to help, so get crackin’!”  I’m paraphrasing of course, but that’s a true story and there are many more like it.  Now the teachers are definitely overworked, I can’t deny that, but I can’t just do all the grunt work for them.  It’s not a sustainable model; in two years I’ll be gone, and then they’ll be just as   Getting this point across is extremely difficult, because of A) Language Barrier B) It looks like I’m trying to dodge work which is not a good first impression.  Nevertheless, I’m a little worried that I’m failing to set my boundaries properly.  On the other hand, I’ve been having a great time with the schools’ neglected computer labs.  Each school has seventeen desktops (2001-2003 era windows XP machines) in various states of disrepair.  This is perfect for me because these type of computers are my bread and butter:  They break incessantly, just like the ones I had at boarding school and college, so I’m pretty familiar with all the malfunctions and how to remedy them.  I was struck by an overwhelming sense of amusement and satisfaction during my first day of tinkering around in the lab at Kokwane School; it just sort of hit me as funny, that these old computer skills which I had cataloged in the memory box of “obsolete junk”, were actually applicable, in Africa of all places.  I wish someone would have told me while I was at Hoosac struggling with computers: “James, I know it’s a grind, but in five years you’re going to be doing this same stuff in a third world country, not for money, but just because you feel like it”.  Of course I never would have believed it.  The icing on the cake is that if I’d listened to Mr. Moss and gone Macintosh, then I’d be up the river without a paddle because all the machines here are PCs.  Sweet vindication at last.

A bit about school in South Africa:  Students get a lot of time alone in the classroom.  The teachers must come to school, sure, they are under no obligation to actually be present at their classes.  They may lecture if they feel like it, but sometimes they’ll just assign class work (or a test) and then leave.  Then it’s like some kind of great mystery when the class work doesn’t get done or students copy each other’s answers????   Sheesh.  The thing is, they’re always saying that there are other things which take priority over being present in the classroom i.e. “we have an important meeting”, “I have to mark these papers”, or “I have to spend time with this white person who’s now at our school for some reason.  Hey whitey, wanna teach my class?”  The teachers have a wide range of attitudes.  Some are clearly disgruntled and unmotivated, some are frustrated but instead of giving up, they use their anger as fuel (which is surprisingly effective in some cases, disastrous in others) and then there are a few real gems who are hardworking, genuine, friendly, pro active and just generally awesome.  The principal of one of my schools comes to mind.  Also, I now fully realize why I got all those warnings about slow progress testing volunteer’s patience to breaking point.  The daily schedule is pretty disorganized, it’s extremely rare that a day will go as planned.  Classes are constantly interrupted, and there is chronic lateness of course.  Seems like every time I try to do something there are at least 2 trivial procedures which I have to observe before anything can happen.  My recurring nightmare, the dreaded bureaucracy, is alive and well in South Africa.

Oct 2^nd

This next week is school break, so I’ve got some time to kill which is actually more of a challenge than I care to think about.  It can get boring really easily, so I’m trying to set some goals that will keep me occupied and entertained.   They are, in no particular order:

1) Learn to cook pap (which is basically cornmeal porridge, the staple meal of South Africa)

2) Climb the gigantic mountain overlooking my village and take several photos.

3) Post these photos, along with the rest of my backlogged stuff on the internet.

4) Fix the outhouse door.  Repairing things is like meditation for me, plus I want some privacy while I’m on the throne.

5) Hang out with friends if they’re around.

…..Along with all the other boring stuff like: clean room, wash clothes, fetch water from the pump down the road, make lesson plans, blah blah blah.

I guess that’s about it for now.  I realize some of this content (random violence and stress at work) is not the most cheerful, but no worries I’m still alive and well and everything’s totally safe and manageable.  And since I’ve got this week off, I should finally have a chance to upload photos so stay tuned!

Petty Squabble Turns Violent

Sept 26th

This evening I saw my first act of senseless violence in South Africa; I guess it had to happen sometime.  I went down to the local store to buy a drink (not that kind) around 7:00PM, and there I see the shop owner has got his burglar-proof  reinforced steel grill down and locked, with an upset patron yelling at him from the other side.  It seems that this guy (the patron) expected to be given more airtime (cellphone minutes) than he had received.  I thought it was no big deal at first, but then this guy actually picked up a rock and started gesturing towards the store owner through the “service booth” section of the steel grill.  The owner basically told him to go stuff himself and the dude skulked off in disgust, carelessly dropping the rock which bounced down and hit the rim of a car.  THEN the owner of said car (who saw this whole incident) jumps out, simultaneously grabs the rock and the angry patrons collar, and slams the dude against a wall yelling rapidly in Tshivenda.  I managed to catch some phrases, such as “kill you” and “call the police” but at this point it was pretty chaotic.  There was a crowd of about 20 by this point, some of whom explained to me that the dude in the car knew the shop owner.  I guess someone did call the police, but of course they wouldn’t be there for at least another 40 minutes.  The shop owners’ buddy was at this point dragging the guy behind the store, rock in hand, with the crowd egging him on and I didn’t want to see what happened back there so I split.  What’s really sad is that this whole thing was over an airtime package worth less than one American dollar, and I’m not exaggerating.  Extra screwy part: the guy who got beat up had a toddler waiting for him in his car.   I don’t even know what to say about that, but there it is.

James Higby’s Top Ten Culture Clashes

Paraphrased Quotes + Explanation

10) “Aren’t you Afrikaans?”

The Afrikaans people are South Africa’s white minority, descendents of the Dutch and Portugese colonists.  Since I’m a whitey, I’m usually profiled as an Afrikaaner.  I’ve been getting incredible kicks watching people react when I respond to their Afrikaans greeting by saying “I don’t speak Afrikaans”, not in English, but in their native language.  One guy actually hugged me, it was great!

9) “So, are you from North America or South America?”

Yes, the ambiguity of just saying “America” when one means “the United States OF America” does not fail to confuse South Africans.  We take it for granted that America = USA but let me tell you, it’s not the case over here.  I can usually explain the difference to someone if they have decent English, but I’ve given up on telling people I’m from upstate New York and not the big city.  Another funny thing I was asked, on a similar note, was “So, if I want to visit you in America, which bus should I take?”  I’m guessing geography doesn’t get much attention in the South African schools’ curricula.

8)”My god, your arms are so hairy!  Wouldn’t you like to shave them?”

I’m not kidding, my host sisters were always wondering why I don’t shave my arms.  Arm hair just fascinates the kids here for some reason.

7)”You must learn at least 7 of our 11 national languages while you are here.”

I get this a lot from dyed-in-the-wool old timers.  Ok, so the suggested number isn’t really 7, but still, they tell me things like “English and Tshivenda aren’t languages I like.  Learn Zulu so we can have some deep conversation”.   It’s unbelievable how I’m expected to be a foreign language sponge just because I can say “good morning” to someone in their native tongue.

6) “If you bang the door of my Kombi any harder, I will dismember you.”

Yes, despite how ridiculously chaotic the public transportation is here, Kombi (passenger van) drivers get really steamed if you close the door hard.  This is in sharp contrast to what I learned about vehicle ettiquite in the States: Make sure the door is truly closed, and do it quickly.  Here, it’s better to try several times before getting a solid latch (quietly), thus wasting everyone’s time but saving the driver’s ears and the doors’ hardware.  The fact that half of these sliding van doors are on gummy, uncooperative hinges makes this challenge extra fun.

5) “You want to meet up at 8:00 sharp?   Sounds great, see you at 9:15.”

The notorious “African Time”.  I’d say about 60% of the arrangements one makes here will inevitably be delayed, sometimes by as much as an hour and a half.  Peace Corps training staff described it as “Polychromic Time” as opposed to the western world’s “Monochromic Time”.  The theory is that with monochromic time there is a single set schedule and people operate within it, whereas polychromic time says people are more important than the schedule, there will always be more time.  This means chronic lateness, all day every day.  Here’s how it happens:  You’re walking home, or to work, or to a “big, important meeting” or whatever and you see someone you know.  You must stop, greet each other, and ask “how’s it going?” at the very least.  And if this person actually has something relevant to tell you, take a seat and get on the African timetable!  It’s more important to show that you care about your friends and relations than it is to be punctual.  In fact, I’m writing this at 11:05 while waiting for somebody who said he’d stop by at 11:00, and I know I’ve got at least another 10 minutes.

4)”Honored guest, please eat these honorary poorly washed, half-cooked bovine entrails.  I insist.”

Ok, so this hasn’t actually happened to me yet but I’ve heard about it from some other volunteers.  I have however helped cook this special dish called Mohodu, which consists of cow intestine, lungs and stomachs (cows have 4).   It was washed and cooked properly, and no one was forced to eat it but many of the volunteers chose to do so.  The stomachs are delicious, but I’m not so big on the lungs and intestine.  Next up for exotic food is Mopane Worms.  That’s right, worms.  These adorable little grubs are a popular snack here in Limpopo.

3)”Hi, nice to meet you.  When do we get married?”

This is way more problematic for women than it is for me, although I’ve had a couple of marriage proposals and my host mum wants to set me up with a girl ASAP.  One popular icebreaker question I keep getting is “so how many kids do you have?”   Seriously though, it’s unbelievable how fast some people I encounter will try to marry an American.  This is probably because of a common misconception that all Americans are filthy rich, which brings me to this next cross-cultural instance….

2)”You should give me some money.  Just 50 rand will be fine.”

Sheesh, it’s like I’m walking around with a big sign that says “HUMAN ATM!” or something.  It’s either school kids or drunks and it never fails, they’ll hit you up for anything from pocket change to big bucks and some of them are very persistent.  I have to say, this is the single most irritating occurrence on this list.  The misunderstanding just kills me.  I say that I’m here as a volunteer to help, and I get “If you’ve come to my country to help me, you need to give me some money.”  I’ll usually try to explain the concept of helping by enabling (if the listener isn’t too drunk) but it’s not something they want to hear, they just want the dough.  What blows my mind is how casual the soliciting is, even though I’m told by most adults that it’s definitely considered rude.  Now let me tell you about something that is not considered rude (despite how offensive it seems) which happens to me literally every day:

1)”MUKHUWA!!!”

Mukhuwa of course means “white person”.  Most of the time, I hear it before I even see who’s saying it.  It’s usually little kids, some of whom have never seen a Mukhuwa before, but I get it from adults as well.  It’s a good indicator of when someone’s talking about me in Tshivenda, which most people assume I know zilch.  It’s really funny to watch them react when I respond with a Tshivenda acknowledgment.  Sometimes it can be amusing, like if a friend just jokingly calls me Mukhuwa in casual conversation, but sometimes it’s painfully annoying.  The worst is when little kids start forming a mob and chanting “khu-WA! khu-WA!”, big stadium-style.  The thing is, it’s just innocent fascination so most people don’t understand why it’s offensive.  For example, I asked a teacher at my school how to tell the kids to stop calling me mukhuwa, and he said “it’s OK James, they’re just calling you white”.  Yup, this one takes the cake.  Vocalized racial profiling in South Africa = Totally fine and politically correct.

Well, that’s pretty much the gist of it.  Don’t get me wrong I’m definitely loving it here, just thought these little anecdotes are worth sharing.  I’m officially sworn as a volunteer now and I start work on Thursday; time to try and help over a thousand gradeschool kids, many of whom don’t speak English!  Woo!  I’m going to post some pictures of my humble abode and the cooking of delicious Mohodu as soon as possible.  Peace!

Intro thoughts from early September

Dumela! Nnda! Avuxeni! (Hello! In Setswana, Tshivenda and Tsitsonga)

Hey all, I’m writing this ahead of time and saving it on a chip so I can use my limited internet time just to upload.  This way I can actually have some time to compose my thoughts and tell you how things are here.  The bad part is this will be more whatever occurs to me than a response to things you may have been sending, but I’ll respond as best I can tomorrow in the post script.

Gezz where to start? Despite never having seriously travelled anywhere I feel like I’m adjusting to life in SA better than most of the other 55 PCTs (Peace Corps Trainee; Peace Corps LOVES acroymns).  I’m still 100% healthy, still excited and curious and I’m starting to get a handle on Tshivenda even though everyone in our village speaks Setswana.  PST (Pre-Service Training), which is what I’m doing now will last until September 9th, then I get posted in Northern Limpopo where people actually speak Tshivenda and I’ll actually be teaching on a regular basis.  Until then, it’s more intensive language sessions, as well as somewhat boring “just-going-through-the-motions” introductory stuff, and once a week we visit a middle school.  The trainees are divided into 3 clusters, and the clusters are divided into groups according to post location and language.  My Tshivenda group includes me, two other fresh-out-of-college twentysomethings (Zach and Hannah) and a middle aged lady named Joni.  We’ve visited Ramoabi Middle School three times now.  Maybe you’ve heard this already, but our first visit gave me a thrilling, sink-or-swim intro to teaching.  We were individually observing (“shadowing”) some teachers as they held class, so I went to one 8th grade math class which was unimpressive, then the teacher took me to the next, which was “Natural Science”.  We go into the classroom and he says to me “Oh, the teacher for this class isn’t here today.  I guess you’re doing it”, then he immediately leaves and I’m standing there in front of 40-something 9th graders!  “So class, does anyone remember where we left off last time…..?”  Fortunately for me, this days’ subject was astronomy.  I managed to provide somewhat relevant info and answer questions for the whole period, and it was tremendous fun!  The students were really excited to have a guest teacher, and I’m positive it was just as much of a surprise for them as it was for me.  Most of them are local kids, so now I’ve got a great reputation going in my section of the village.  It kind of kills me that this isn’t my permanent site and I’ll just have to leave in 2 months.  The teachers at Ramoabi don’t seem to understand what we’re doing now, even though we met with the principal and explained that this is just training.  They think we’re here as supplimental staff; last visit I had a math teacher expecting me to supervise and grade his two 8th grade classes during exams.  A bit about schools in South Africa:  WAY understaffed, under-funded, most teachers generally do not care, teachers being absent is fairly common (hence my instant astronomy lesson), and there is a total lack of critical thinking.  This is really what kills me: the students are not given any material that encourages them to think on their own, it’s purely fact regurgitation from day one until matriculation (graduation).  This goes for the instructors too; they rarely put together a lesson plan or even prepare for class.  They will simply open the textbook and start reading aloud, which half the students can’t even follow because they can’t read English because the English teacher from last year only showed up half the time, etc. etc.  Anyway, next Thursday is my visit where I’m actually scheduled to teach a class, and I lucked out again, I’ve got a science class again and the subject material is light!  I’ve already got a lesson plan and hands-on demo set up.  Life in the villiage is really fun.  I helped my neighbor (who speaks zero English) make a chicken coop last week, I’ve been playing guitar for my host sisters and their friends, almost all the kids recognize me; they’ve given me the nickname “Uncle James”.  I have a neighbor named Hitlar (yes, pronounced just like that) who’s my age and just a hilarious, awesome dude.  He wants to take me out to party and I’m really tempted to take him up on it, but PC said if we do stuff like that it will reflect poorly, and it’s dangerous, and we shouldn’t do it.  Also, we’re never supposed to be out after dark, apparently it’s really dangerous.  South Africa is so bizarre like that; it reminds me of the Eloi and the Moorlocks from H.G. Wells’ The Time Machine.  In the day, everyone is so friendly and generous but when night falls everyone you see is scary and has the potential to hurt you.  All the buildings here are extremely secure: steel bars in all the windows, solid doors and locks, iron gates and fences with sharp tops that you cannot easily climb over.  This unforgiving, industrial, prison-like architecture is a legacy of apartheid.  So is the nightime crime and the impovershment of the education system.  It’s pretty crazy.

I’m enjoying my adventure so far, but PST can be pretty demanding.  I really can’t wait to get to post and actually start my own agendas.