PNGC 2009 Award Ceremony and Our Farewell

Last Wednesday, August 12th, was a big day. Combined into one large event, held at the Seleka Community Hall, was the PNGC 2009 Awards Ceremony and a community farewell function for Jessica and I. We could not have asked for a better day to mark the beginning of our final days in Seleka. Despite a mountain of preparation, last minute details and communication across a number of different organizations in Seleka and the surrounding area, the event not only went smoothly, but was truly a celebration of all the achievements this community has had over the past two years.

Our morning started at 5:30am, when a local tailor named Adam and his assistant stopped by to fit Jessica for her traditional dress. Seleka Higher Primary school had organized this dress as a gift for her. She had been measured only once and when she donned her new wardrobe for the first time, it fit perfectly. Adam is a truly exceptional tailor. He found out that I did not have a traditional shirt to wear for the ceremony, took a glance at me and said 'I know your size'. Unexpectedly, a couple hours later I was met by Mma Motshegwa and presented with a brand new, excellently fit, traditional shirt to match Jessica's dress. Truly incredible and a wonderful gift.

Jessica, Adam, and his assistant

After our early start and a strongly brewed cup of coffee, we made our way to school. Upon arrival and after many oohs and aahs at how beautiful Jessica looked in her dress, she was quickly ushered into Mma Modipa's classroom where a second traditional dress awaited, much to her surprise! The teachers shooed out all the men, helped Jess out of the first dress and into the second. We men were then called back in to admire the new look, which again was beautiful. A number of photos were taken, and then the men were again shooed away as the women decided which dress Jessica should wear for the day. They decided on the first.

Jessica (dress #2) and Mma Kgang

The ceremony was scheduled to begin at 10:00am. Knowing that it would not start on time (its the way of any event in Seleka) and having completed all our preparations in the previous few days, we were able to spend the morning on a few last details with the teachers and community members; setting up the PNGC Craft Sales table, making copies of the program for the day, setting up and testing the DVD player, etc.

PNGC Craft Sales Table - Business was good!

At the community hall, people began to trickle in around 10:30am. By 10:45am it was suggested we should begin, but then quickly postponed when it was realized that over half the honored guests, including all the PNGC Leaders and Jessica, had gone back to school to collect a few last items. Finally, at 11:15am the program started. For the next couple hours people continued to filter in as they arrived from different parts of the Seleka, neighboring villages and Lephalale. We were honored to have a couple representatives from Peace Corps join us for the day. Margaret Shebe is the Small Grants Coordinator and has been instrumental in assisting PNGC and Palala Clubs to get their funding and also to promote apron sales. Hendrik Matseke, Jessica's Peace Corps supervisor was also able to attend.

Hendrik Matseke and Margaret Shebe, Peace Corps

The first half of the ceremony was dedicated to honoring the work for Palala North Girls Club 2009. A few of the leaders spoke about the achievements of the girls throughout the year and explained the essence of club to the community. A dozen PNGC girls performed two poems centered on HIV/AIDS awareness, and Junitah Maphoto, the PNGC winner of this year's essay contest, read her essay on 'How she will work to prevent HIV/AIDS in her life and in the community'. It was great to see everyone in the audience so supportive of PNGC, the leaders, the girls, and all the work they have done. To know that the entirety of Seleka is behind the club lets us know that there will be encouragement to hold club again in 2010.

Mma Motsoko, PNGC Leader

Junitah Maphoto, PNGC Essay Contest Winner

Towards the end of the PNGC part of the program, we had the privilege of presenting the HIV/AIDS ribbon quilts from 2008 and 2009 to the community. It was decided by the PNGC leaders that the quilt of 2008 should be donated to Kgosi (Chief) Seleka, to be displayed at the Tribal Office. Kgosi Seleka had arrived shortly before and his entrance was heralded with singing and dancing. The presentation process was very unique. When addressing a Kgosi in Tswana culture it is appropriate to work through his main councilor, who will then relay the message to the Kgosi, even though the Kgosi is standing next to his councilor and can hear everything that is being said. This tradition is a sign of respect towards the Kgosi. Graciously Kgosi Seleka received the gift of the quilt and then rose to address the crowd. He spoke highly of the work that Palala Clubs has done, not only here, but in Klipspruit Primary where it began with our good friends Brandon and Rachel Johnson and their leaders Mma Ditsela, Mma Tema, and Mma Khalo. All three of those ladies were in attendance and were able to be recognized in person, a great thrill for them! We were also deeply touched when Kgosi Seleka thanked us for our time in Seleka. He made a point of telling us, and the community, that we are no longer visitors, but we are part of the Seleka family, with the name of Seleka . This makes us brother and sister to Kgosi Seleka, a truly incredible honor. It has been so much fun to meet with Kgosi Seleka over the last couple years and his welcome has been wholehearted. To have him speak about Palala Clubs so fondly and to thank us for our time was a wonderful part of our day.

Kgosi Seleka

Andrew Mocheko, Kgosi's Councilor and Kgosi Seleka
Quilt for Kgosi Seleka

After presenting Kgosi Seleka with his quilt, it was time to present the quilt from this year. For this quilt, the PNGC leaders decided to have a communitywide raffle to raise money for PNGC 2010. In the week leading up to the ceremony, all the PNGC leaders and girls had been selling raffle tickets. Anyone could buy one, and the winner would receive the quilt. The quilt was unfolded and displayed before the hall and our emcee for the day, Grace Masalesa (also a PNGC leader) explained the process. People young and old were digging into their bags and pockets to remove their ticket(s), glancing at the number, and eagerly awaiting the drawing. Mma Tema, from Klipspruit, was our guest raffle drawer. She dug around in the box, stirring the tickets for a few seconds, and then removed one and handed it to Grace. Grace, ever an entertainer, proceeded to ask the crowd in Setswana 'Who is it?!' 'What name is in my hand?!', while the crowd began to call out 'Bua! Bua!' (Speak! Speak!). This went back and forth for almost a full minute until the name Martjie Manyako was finally called out. Jessica and I had a hard time distinguishing the name, but out of the crowd popped a very surprised young girl, who happened to be a PNGC member from this year! As she walked up front she initially looked completely overwhelmed and not sure what to do. The crowd was cheering; the PNGC leaders were excitedly singing and dancing as they presented her with her brand new quilt. After about 30 seconds it all set in and Martjie broke out into a large grin as the PNGC leaders wrapped her up in the quilt. For Jessica and me, it was such treat knowing that one of the girls who helped to sew the quilt had won. Not only that, but the next day we got an even bigger thrill. We found out that after the ceremony, Martjie had gone home with her quilt. Upon seeing this incredible prize that she won, her gogo (grandmother) sent someone out with R45 to buy a live chicken and a two litres of Coke so that they could have a big celebratory dinner to honor Martjie. For a gogo to do something like this, and spend that kind of money on her granddaughter (gogo's small income comes from selling sweets to school kids during lunch break) is a big deal and might have been an even bigger event than winning the quilt itself!!

Quilt for the raffle

Grace Masalesa, PNGC Leader, teasing the crowd
Martjie Manyako, PNGC member and raffle winner

With the quilt presentations completed, I then presented the PNGC girls with a short photo slideshow from the year. They laughed and pointed and celebrated as they watched a review of all their lessons and crafts. It was an exciting to watch them revel in this video that was all about them. Unfortunately Jess was not able to see the girls view their video because she was taken out quickly with Mma Motshegwa to change into a third (yes, third!) traditional outfit of the day!

Mma Modipa, Jessica (dress #3) and Nancy

The video marked the end of the PNGC section of the ceremony and we moved into our farewell that had been organized by the various organizations in the community that we have worked with. It was marked by numerous singing and dancing pieces, a variety of speakers from each organization and throughout all of this there was a hearty traditional lunch served in take-away Styrofoam containers to each adult in the room (children ate outside in the shade). Needless to say it was very moving for us. Mr. Motsoko, a retired principal from Seleka Higher Primary, related the story of how when we first arrived, we refused to type documents for people, but were very happy to sit down with someone and show them how to type a document. His metaphor of choice was 'Give a man a fish and he eats for a day. Teach him to fish and he eats for a lifetime.' We were very impressed by his relating these stories, and also found it hilarious that they had grasped so early on the way that we wanted to work with the community just by the way we addressed requests to type! Other speeches included a touching farewell poem written by one of our grade R (kindergarten) teachers, a rousing speech from Mma Motshegwa, and a celebratory speech by the Itsoseng Elderly Group showing off all of the bead work they had created under Jessica's instruction.

Mr. Motsoko, retired principal from Seleka Higher Primary

Mma Chipana, Grade R teacher and poet
Itsotseng Elderly Group dancing

As the speeches wound down and the food was being finished we were presented with a few small gifts from the community. They are some very unique pieces of art from South Africa that we will be able to take with us. It was such a generous thing to do on top of throwing such a large celebration for us. In response, Jessica and I proceeded to give our prepared speech (in English and Setswana!) to thank everyone and each organization individually, for welcoming us into their lives and their community. Without such a welcome we could never had succeed as much as we did over the last two years. As our gift to the community we purchased a mango tree for each organization that has played an important role in our service in Seleka. We have now planted seven trees around Seleka that will hopefully remind people of us once we leave!

Mma Seleka, Paul, Mma Motshegwa, and Nancy showing off Bahoting's mango tree

After our speech there was a closing dance and singing before people dispersed. We lingered, enjoying the laughter and conversation that always follows a jubilant celebration, despite everyone being rather exhausted. Noticing the sunlight casting long shadows across the floor of the hall, I glanced at my phone to see that the whole event had lasted for over five and a half hours! No wonder we were tired. We finished collecting our things and assisting with cleanup, arriving home at around 6:00pm, over 12 hours after we started our day! I think we were asleep within an hour or two.

This celebration for us was such a grand event and so special for us. It was difficult knowing that this truly marks the end of our service. We are now in the closing days and weeks of our time in Seleka. Other than organizing our supplies and passing them all on to people to use here, we need to pack our bags and head to Pretoria. Each moment we have left is being spent with friends and colleagues. Many cups of tea and coffee, lots of laughs, reminiscing about an incredible two years together and dreading the inevitable last goodbye.

Tuesday in the Village

It was midday and I was preparing for my afternoon computer class. As I was working on one of the computers, it just switched off. No power. I figured it was the same problem I had last week when the school was out of electricity so I hopped over the to principals office to check on the electrical box. Unfortunately I found it to be off as well, which means that the power was out for our entire area of the village. As I was discussing the power outage with fellow teachers, Jessica sent a message letting me know that the power was out at home as well, where she had been busy on the sewing machine with a Palala Clubs Apron Project order. Losing power is a regular occurrence here, though usually it comes with a storm or high winds. To the contrary, this day was a moderate, cloudless, beautiful winter day; a day you would choose if you could wake up in the morning and select the weather. As I went around to the teachers who are in the afternoon computer class to discuss rescheduling for a later day when electricity is available, it filtered in through a few students that there had been an accident. A baakie (pickup truck) had hit an electrical pole and knocked out power to our section of the village. Questions answered. Yet as I made my way home I saw ahead of me on the dirt road a large gathering of school children and adults from the neighborhood surrounding what I could only imagine was the fated baakie. I could see the power lines swaying low in the soft afternoon breeze and knew this was the site of the accident. Detouring through the crowd I asked a few students about the what transpired and this is where it gets interesting. Turns out the baakie belongs to the principal at the secondary school. Following the norms and standards of accepted practices at school, he had sent two boys on an errand (personal, not school related of course). This errand involved tossing them the keys to his baakie and directing them across the village to a local person who was going to repair his spare tire. Unfortunately, after the boys, giddy with the freedom of having the Principal's keys in their hands, careened down the first half kilometer of road they apparently lost control on the gravel and grated the passenger side of the baakie across the electrical pole. The boys were taken to the local hospital for treatment, but were found to have no injuries and are back in school today. The baakie, with half of the bed torn away and a punctured rear tire, looked like a casualty of urban warfare that you see in the news. After snapping a few photos and hanging out with the school kids to watch as they towed the baakie away, and Eskom (the electrical company) showed up to start repairs, I made my way home.

The remainder of our Tuesday night was taken up with a cheese and cracker dinner and strawberries for dessert by candlelight, all because a couple of high school boys went joy riding in the Principal's baakie and knocked out power to half the village.

Time Goes By

For those of you who continue to check up on this page regularly, it may seem as if we have fallen off the face of the earth! It has been quite a while since our last post and since then much has happened. The pace of life at school and work has picked up, we have had a few visitors, and now we are looking ahead to the end of our service; a time that is quickly approaching. In the last five months we have had two fantastic holidays with members of our family, PNGC 2009 has been meeting weekly with a wonderful new group of girls and a few new leaders, computer training has taken off at the schools, we have been involved in a number of Peace Corps related trainings and we have really been enjoying the transition into South Africa winter. We have posted a number of pictures from our holidays to our web albums, which illustrate our travels more than we can in words, but here is a short list of highlights:

Megan and Kevin flew in for the Christmas holiday in December. We took a gruelling, harrowing, long, yet rather amusing overland trip via public transportation to make our way to Vilanculos, Mozambique for a week on the beach. Despite a few days of rain we were still able to enjoy time in and on the ocean. We spent a day snorkeling a reef out near one of the islands that makes up the Bazaruto Archipelago and topped the afternoon off with a lunch of fresh crab, mango, and assorted island treats. That pretty much sums up our daily agenda for our time on the beach. Relaxing, enjoying the water, and eating great food. After realizing we would get rained out if we stayed longer, we hopped our way back (this time by air) to South Africa where we spent time with friends, explored a few more areas of the country, Megan and Kevin jumped off a cliff (literally), we spent a few warm summer days in Seleka, and had one of the best safari adventures you could imagine when Megan spotted a leopard in a tree that proceeded to come down from his perch to see what we were doing in his park.

In mid-January Megan and Kevin departed and that ushered in the 2009 school year. PNGC started up and work at the schools took over our lives. Between weekly club meetings, running workshops, attending other workshops, and assisting individual teachers with different aspects of their days, our time clipped along. Throughout February and March we were also planning two big events. Firstly, our next holiday was approaching and that meant Dad and Mom (Barry and Pam) were on their way over for another three week family adventure! The other big event was the annual Longtom half marathon that Peace Corps participates in and that we were helping to organize. Days and weeks flew by and before we knew it we had collected Dad and Mom from the airport and made our way to the starting line of the race on the last Saturday morning in March. When the gun went off to signal the beginning of the run, we felt as though we had been already been running for much too long! Race day was a hit and we really enjoyed it, though the few weeks directly following it were a much needed holiday.

After Dad and Mom met us at the finish line with some homemade chocolate chip cookies and spent a couple days meeting our fellow PCVs we were on the road and ready to relax. We enjoyed a beautiful few days in the Graskop area eating wonderful food and resting (us from our hectic schedule, Dad and Mom from their long flight over). From there we took a leisurely safari through Kruger National Park, had some great sightings, including a pride of seven lioness out hunting, and finished each night in the park with a sundowner overlooking the Olifants river. Next it was on to Seleka. Introducing our parents to our friends and neighbors was a wonderful treat and we were thrilled to have them see where we live and work. However, that was just the first week of holiday! Following the village we headed for Cape Town. It was a beautiful week of exploring that brought us to vineyards, gardens, Table Mountain, Cape Point, and more. We awoke each morning in our flat to a view of the ocean and ended each night with a lovely meal at one the cities many excellent and varied restaurants. The final leg of our trip was a short jaunt up to Livingstone, Zambia to see Victoria Falls. With the water levels at their highest in over 40 years, we got few pictures of the falls, but we enjoyed a thorough soaking as we hiked the trails and bridges around the area. Mom leaped off the bridge that spans the Zambezi river, Dad took a flight over the falls in a microlight, and we enjoyed an exquisite sunset river cruise. Just as with the all the holidays we have taken, the time went much too quickly, though we enjoyed each and every minute of it.

Upon our return to the village mid-April we were now in the midst of PNGC, computer classes had started and we suddenly looked to the calendar and saw that our COS (Close of Service) conference was at hand in a matter of weeks! By the time the conference arrived, South Africa had elected, on April 22nd, Jacob Zuma as its new president with relative smoothness and predictability. As the conference came and went in the matter of a few days. We had the pleasure of reconnecting with other PCVs that we had not seen in almost a year, discussing the implications of the new government that the country now had and wondering what it would be like to watch things unfold from abroad instead from within. Our COS sessions revolved around the technical side of returning home (i.e. paperwork), reflecting on our service thus far and also thinking about how to transition back to life in the States.

This brings us back to present day life in Seleka. We now have a few short months left in South Africa with much work to do and many people to see. The coming weeks will be extraordinarily busy as we continue to work in the present, but start to plan further into the future for life beyond Peace Corps. Looking back on the past five months to write this is a great reminder of all the wonderful things that we have been able to do here and how much we have come to enjoy our life in Seleka. It is difficult to think about leaving, yet exciting to look ahead to a new chapter in life, despite at this point not know what that chapter holds! It is alarming, the speed with which almost two years has past. We know now how quickly our remaining time will go by and we hope to make the most out of each day.

Rain!

The first rains of the season arrived this week! It was a very welcomed relief from the intense heat that has been scorching the area for weeks. Not that it has completely cooled down, because we do still have hot days that are a bit more humid now, but there is now a chance each night for a cool and refreshing rain to wash away the heat of the day. The morning clouds that used to melt into flat, thin wisps of white and then burn away by late morning now remain large billowing cumulus bubbles that tell us the start of the rainy season has come. With moistened ground to walk on the dust has abated and we no long fear getting swept up in whirlwinds of red sand and trash that were daily occurrences only weeks ago. As we move further into the season our hope is that temperatures will drop slightly, at least into December. Never have we been so happy to see rain. We stood out on the front stoop with our cat and watched the storm roll onto the village. When the downpour came Jess tried hopelessly to chase the goats from our garage, but it was a losing battle. In the end, I would rather have to shovel a bit of crap out off the garage floor in exchange for the arrival of the rains.

Organized Chaos

We have now officially passed the one year mark and are quickly approaching the time when we no longer count how long we have been here, but how much longer we have left. In the first year we have gotten used to doing a number of things we once thought new and strange. Based on an informal survey of things I do on a regular basis around the house and extrapolating for the remainder of our service, I expect that by the end of our two years in Seleka the following can be added to my resume:

300 bags of trash burned
650 chamber pots emptied
700 baths taken using small red wash basin
1460 buckets of water hauled from the tap at the church next door
2190 articles of clothing hand washed
4380 litres of water boiled
13000 ants sent to their doom with DOOM

This is a short list of accomplishments that only begin to describe one aspect of my life here, but I like to think they are an intergral part of 'building character'. With all this to do on almost daily, it is a wonder where I find the time to do much else!

Truly, in the last month or so, the pace of life has sped up dramatically. After completing the fourth month of full-time teaching, the new teacher was finally hired for Seleka Higher Primary School's grade 5 Math and Technology position. I had just recently resigned myself to the fact that I would end up teaching the remainder of the school year because of the snail's pace at which the paperwork was moving for this new teacher. Of course, as soon as you make a decision here, something happens that completely upends your plan. The arrival of the new teacher happened right in the middle of a number of trainings and meetings that Jessica and I attended for Peace Corps in Pretoria and elsewhere. Between traveling back and forth from these meetings, orientating the new teacher to our students and our curriculum and be inundated with requests for help in other areas now that our schedule has opened up I feel a bit overwhelmed. Unlike the first year of our service when we were trying to figure out what to do, where to work and how to fit into our communities, we are now established in the schools and in the village. Therefore, when all these new opportunities arrive, we are in a better position to be able to start in right away. This leads to constant work in all sorts of areas. In the two weeks since we have stopped teaching, I have been asked to help start computer classes, work one on one with teachers in their classrooms, lead a team of teachers to organize a solution to the watering issues we are having at our new school garden, work with the school Surroundings committee to design a layout for their proposed landscaping and paving projects, assist in the creation and maintainence of the school budgets, and photograph the entire student population for portfolios and train the teachers on how to use their camera in conjunction with the computer to store their information. Each of these activities is not only possible in the next months or year, but they are all projects that I want to take part in and are areas where I can be productive in training our teachers. Yet having them all drop on my lap at once, just when I felt I was getting settled into the classroom, has caught me off guard.

We are just over 12 months away from closing out our service and previous volunteers have frequently said how their second year of service was much busier and went by much faster than their first. Clearly this seems to be the way our service is shaping up to be and because of that, we also must start to think about life after South Africa. This adds a whole new dimension to our plans that seems so far away, but in reality is just around the corner. There is an anxious feeling about the next few months and being able to get things reorganized so that we can continue to be productive in our village but also to feel prepared to move beyond South Africa after our service. Time here seems to have only two speeds, slow and relaxed (agonizingly so some days) or lightning fast, and the speed changes in the snap of a finger so that one day you wake up and realize a few months have gone by and tomorrow is today. Knowing that this will be the case for the rest of our service I need to continually remind myself to be taking in the small pleasures of each day, each sunrise and sunset, time spent with our friends and colleagues, and sometimes even finding pleasure in such things as hauling water or taking down laundry from the line after a labourious yet satisfying handwashing.

My Birthday, Seleka Style

Yep, I'm one year older today. I read a passage from a book today titled "Somebody's Heart is Burning....A Woman Wanderer in Africa" by Tanya Shaffer that sums up my birthday here in our dusty, dry village beautifully. I wanted to share it with all of you.

If traveling has given me anything, it's given me this: the ability to float gently down the river of events--to relinquish control. In Africa, the boat leaves when it's full. You might wait an hour; you might wait two weeks. If you spend that time tipping forward into the future, you sink. The best thing to do is just to sit on the boat and look around at the other humans who are sitting there with you. You might discover you like the view.

My birthday consisted of small, magical wonders. Wonders that might not look like much to others, but to me, they have been a realization that 'I like the view' here in Seleka. I went into today expecting nothing out of the ordinary. However, I woke up to a wonderful cookbook Paul found for me (I've been searching for months to find it), a great cup of coffee from Superior, Wisconsin, a chalkboard decorated in my honor, cake, seventh grade girls looking for a little help with their homework, and a barrage of phone calls, emails, and sms from Peace Corps Volunteers, South African and American friends and family. It has been a day filled with an appreciation of what our life here is, and an acceptance that we have had to relinquish control of a number of things---special birthday dinners at a restaurant that serves more than chicken, etc., but I've come to take joy in the here and now. Often times back home we try so hard to do something special or extraordinary on occasions like birthdays, but today I was able to enjoy the ordinary routines of my life here, through the lens of greater appreciation we tend to put with birthdays, and see just how special they truly are.

Creativity

On Tuesday of last week, I was at the Seleka Drop In Center helping the 10 carers hired to cook and provide activities for the 115 orphans and vulnerable children we serve. I admire these women immensely. Although it has taken a year, I think they finally trust and respect Paul and I as their own. Their job is daunting. We all volunteer for an organization which has little funding, and the money seems to 'disappear' regularly. This leads to weeks on end where there is nothing to cook for the children, even though we receive funding yearly from the government specifically earmarked for food. The women try their best to make ends meet by piecing together small donations and occasionally even give some of their own meager stipends to purchase mealies, beans, or vegetables. When first arriving in Seleka, Paul and I had high hopes of being able to help the drop in center financially in some way. However, after extensive discussion with the carers, we've decided that it is best to wait until the political landscape of our organization has changed before trying to make any steps forward. In the meantime, we still go after school on days when we don't have girl’s club commitments, to be with the carers and OVC's and help with the cooking and cleaning.
On this particular Tuesday, I happened to be wearing one of the crafts we did for girls club; a chain bracelet. One of the carers was admiring it and asked if I'd be willing to teach them how to do it? Of course! They all brought a few Rand and over the weekend I purchased some beads for them to make their own bracelets.
Arriving at the drop in center, supplies in hand, I had no idea that this small activity would bring out the sparkle, smiles, and girlish giggles of six women already in their adult years. Having put together a small bag of different beads for each one, they dumped them out on a piece of fleece, laid out on the table to diminish the number of beads rolling onto the floor. Eyes shining, they started making patterns--their own, creative, unique patterns, for their bracelets. Although the small holes in the beads were hard to see for a few (you hardly see anyone with glasses in our community, although I've noticed many of my learners and PNGC leaders squinting..), by the end of the morning they all had their own bracelets on, and were admiring each others.
Creativity expressed through art is not something that is encouraged, cultivated, or sought after in Seleka in the form I know it. Usually the resources needed are just not available. I remember when we were young, having ample opportunities to make things with crayons, markers, fabric, blocks, etc. You name the material; it probably was made into a Christmas ornament and hung from our tree at some point (except for the bird tree--Adam and Ness, you know exactly what I mean). Here in our village, art comes in the form of a crown made from sweet wrappers, a made up song, or drawing in the sand. Wonderful expressions of creativity, but sometimes just a few crayola would add the missing piece between a picture being lost in the next dust storm and being able to bring it home for grandma. Not that I'm advocating that we bring Target to Seleka; however sometimes dust, wrappers, tires, and leftover wire can only get you so far. Seeing the carers work with pretty, shiny objects brought out the young girls in all of them; the young girls that look at a necklace, bracelet, or earrings and say 'ohh'. I realized that morning that I was raised in a country where freedom of creativity is not only encouraged, but where most people have the financial means to achieve it. I guess I had never realized that even the most basic supplies that help young people to express their creativity are still out of reach for so many people in the world. My hope is that through our time here we can create new and sustainable ways to encourage the creativity of as many people as possible. The smiles and laughter on the faces of my friends here should be the norm, not the exception.

Father's Day

With all the children running around our village, over 1000 of them alone attending the two schools we work with, 160 of whom have been our wonderful 5th graders for the last term, there are certainly a number of fathers who need to be celebrated today in Seleka. Monday is Youth Day in South Africa, a public holiday, so families also have a long weekend to celebrate together. As I stretched my legs down our dirt road Friday morning and held a warm cup of coffee in my hands to abate the crisp winter air I ran into one of our grade 5 girls. We fell in step together (about three of hers for every one of mine) and started chatting. She is an adorable girl who loves to talk to us whenever we have free time. Very articulate and to the point, she is never afraid to speak her mind. That day is was just excitement that was pouring from her. I had asked about her plans for the long weekend and the up coming three week school holiday. 'Toropong!' she exclaimed, which means 'town' in Setswana. She went on to explain that for father's day weekend she, her father, mother and two siblings were heading into town for the day on Saturday to shop, eat lunch at her favorite restaurant, KFC, and 'ipshina fela' (just enjoy). To top it off, the following weekend they all planned to travel to a nearby city to visit her mother's family for the entire three week school break. Apparently it is an annual excursion. All this joy and happiness was let out in a matter of a few minutes that it took to get from the corner where we met up to the school gate where she promptly sprinted off to meet up with some of her friends hanging out against the side of the school building facing the sun, trying to warm up a bit before having to sit down in a chilly classroom for the morning.

I smiled as I walked up the path to our classroom to prepare for the day. This little girl was doing exactly what our family would do on Father's Day growing up. We would pile into the car and head up to the city for the day, go out to lunch, usually at one of our favorite restaurants as kids, not Dad's favorite restaurant (because we did not really have a taste for choice prime rib and a glass of wine in our middle school years) and just enjoy the day together. I decided to continue asking other students about their plans for the weekend and school break, quickly finding out that my companion for my morning walk was more of an exception than the norm. Most students that I spoke with talked about how their father works in the city, usually meaning Johannesburg, and that they usually only seem him a couple times each year. Others do not have a father figure in their lives. Many are never able to come home from the city because it is so expensive to travel. They send money home each month to the family and that is all they are able to do. Many have passed away at a young age from HIV/AIDS or other illnesses. Some children have neither father nor mother at home due to all of these reasons.

Each face that I looked at that morning I tried to see beyond the personality that comes into the classroom each day. Do they live in the few nice homes in the village or one of the many one room tin homes lining the dirt roads. Is it a family in the traditional sense at home, or just one mother, one father, one grandparent, an older sibling or is this young 5th grade child the head of the house? Unfortunately the latter options are the most prevalent here.

This is just one small village that suffers from the same concerns that hundreds of thousands of people in every corner of the world face. We have had the privilege of getting to know some of these children who may not get to celebrate this weekend with a father, or have someone celebrate them on Youth Day. We hope that in our short time here we can celebrate them each day for the fun kids they are. It is easy to get caught up in our work and see just students in the classroom from day to day. Friday I was reminded again that all these bright faces are not just students but kids in the midst of what for many is a difficult childhood, one that is too short when you are forced to grow up so fast.

So today, on Father's Day, Jess and I are thankful for the blessing of such wonderful fathers and families of our own. Ones that gave us the opportunities that allowed us to be here now. Fathers that taught use the importance of family, friends, and being together. I cannot be a father for every child that walks through the school gate each morning, but maybe I can be a positive male role model many of them want and need. We do not have to go on weekend trips to the city with them or out to lunch, but as long as we are in Seleka we can gather together and just enjoy.

Happy Father's Day.

Easter

Today is Easter Sunday and usually we are at home with family. If it is a year where we are with Vig family we would be spending the day walking the family dogs down the roads and around the walking paths and man made ponds near my parents home after church and before a mid afternoon Easter lunch. Lunch is preceded by a ‘little lunch’ consisting of cheese, crackers, mixed nuts, potato chips and soda while we prepare the main courses. We eat well and play well, filling our time after our meal with more grazing from the ‘little lunch’ spread while we section off into pinochle teams. A few rounds of Grandpa and Kevin trading victories in a fierce bidding wars we then move on to more games. Loaded Questions, What’s Wild, Phase 10 and more.

Should Easter be in Iowa with the Harty family, our weekends are quite similar. Instead of walking the dog (Loki seems to prefer sporadic sprints from person to person and a foray to the creek behind the house) we spend our time getting lost on the way to church (my fault, though my young cousins could improve their navigator skills a bit!) followed by an afternoon of catching up over wine and cold beer as we prepare for an evening feast. A few games of hearts will break out with frequent and fantastic accusations of games past in which the queen of spades was unfairly dumped on someone the entire weekend. Post dinner entertainment is always provided by our innately talented and always delightful cousins performing a recently created and perhaps once rehearsed stage number. Choreographed to one of the latest top 20 hits and delivered with conviction and star power, Casey Casem would be proud. I look forward to it every time.

This year’s Easter is a tad different. A morning spent over coffee and strawberry pancakes coupled with good books and a plan homemade pizza as our main course for dinner (Safiri chose a freshly caught gecko for his entrée) take the place of ham, potatoes, lefse, pie, squash buns, bars, cookies and cheese platters. We miss the tastes of home, but enjoy the tastes of Africa. Gone are the chocolate bunnies, green shredded plastic, new sundresses, pressed khakis and pastel decorations. Found are the comforts of hymns from the next door church in the morning, quickly replaced by the subtle yet steady thumping of African house music streaming from multiple locations around the village. School holiday now in full swing, kids are free to continue their sandlot soccer matches in the street from dawn till dusk. Dodging broken glass and rusty chain link/barbed wire fencing in bare feet to chase a homemade plastic bag soccer ball for eight hours a day. Local shops are closed, though our yard is apparently still open for grazing by the neighborhood goats. People are with family and friend and they wave as they pass us on our front porch with our books and special holiday treat, a two liter bottle of 7up. We smile. To us it feels like any other day in South Africa. Villagers did not go to church today because it was a special day, they went because the go every Sunday and more each week. The pastor at the church my family attends back home once referred to the existence of religious submarines; people who surface at church only twice a year on Christmas and Easter but otherwise stay submerged. Those people do not exist here. Our neighbors did not get together with family just for the holiday. People either live with their extended family, see them every weekend, every month or every quarter, whenever jobs and available money allow for leave and/or travel. The same bogobe, merogo and chicken are served as the main meal, only larger portions denote a celebration of holiday. That seems to be the guideline for measuring the importance of events here, proportion. Whether it is Easter Sunday, the funeral we attended for a grade 6 boy on Friday morning, the wedding on the far side of town or monthly pension day sales. Life is pretty much the same, just more of it. Two helpings of bogobe for each at the table, adding the one tie in a wardrobe to the daily frayed, off-white shirt and plaid blazer, polish on the shoes, lipstick, hair extensions, nail polish, glassware replacing plastic, coke and biscuit appetizers, etc. These are not huge changes and difficult to see at first. After eight months here, we are seeing them more clearly and recognizing the significance of small changes. They are not extravagant in price, the way we like to associate positive change with higher cost back home. Instead they are extravagant in the detail of simplicity. People here (at least still in the villages) do not need to impress anyone so much with cost or brand or status, but work to make it known their efforts are to show their family, friends and guests that their presence is important and they value that presence in their lives, a presence they strive to acknowledge every day. Life is short here and people spend it doing what they love with those they love.

It seems that the story of the religious submarines can be extended to include other categories we are often concerned with back home: social submarines, familial, academic, political, activist, environmental, the list goes on. Obviously we cannot shed our submarine tendencies on every issue and every group that we follow or belong to, but there are some that can be given up much more easily than others and some that people sink into without ever knowing that they do it. Spend a few months in a village in rural Africa and it is easy to see what has been just above the surface in life if we only stopped to come up for air once in a while. Makes you want to sell the submarine and buy a sailboat.

Camp Fire

My grandfather once told me a story about when he led my uncle and a group of his friends on a Boy Scout camping trip. This was before the days of GPS, Kevlar canoes, gore-tex jackets, thinsulate boots, Nalgene bottles and Clif bars. These were the good old days of military issue canvas tents, heavy aluminum cots, and green polyester sleeping bags with a red plaid interior stuffed with cotton. Wool was the gore-tex/thinsulate/dry-fit rolled into one. Instead of vacuum sealed space age trail mix in lightweight packs, scouts were toting 60 pound aluminum exterior framed packs filled with canned goods and perhaps a small amount of frozen food to be cooked the first night out from base. No weather.com reports were printed out along with a Google Earth shot to help plan ahead for the week. No burning a quick MP3 CD for the ride or charging the IPod for the hike. Simply bid the city goodbye, load up in a yellow school bus towing a trailer, and do not forget the deck of cards.

On this particular trip, the boys were gathered around the fire after using it to cook up their meal in the full set of pots and pans brought along more to add weight to the boy’s packs I think, than as a cooking essential. They talked of their day’s activities as they burned paper plates, napkins, and packaging in their fire pit, causing the occasional purple or green flame to leap up amid the orange before disappearing into a crumple of grey ash. As they sorted, cleaned and packed up their epicurean tools, my grandfather grabbed a can of unopened baked beans and sat down with all the boys around the fire. “What do you think would happen if we tossed this in there?” he mused. I can see my uncle and his friends exchanging sideways glances of smirks and half smiles of fear and intrigue. Receiving a few ‘let’s find out’ and ‘not sure’ responses he casually tossed the can into the flames. Being prepared, as all good scouts are, the boys and my grandfather leapt behind trees and bushes to hide from an impending explosion. It never came. Despite the anxious looks and quick ducking whenever a branch crackled and broke, nothing happened. Everyone finished packing up the makeshift kitchen, faced downwind when using the nearest bush and retired to their heavy canvas tents with their stiff cots. That’s when it happened. A loud explosion erupted from beneath the embers of the dying fire that had everyone sitting up in bed. One piece long johns with only one working button on the backside flap scrambled from tents and fumbled with large flashlights powered by half a dozen size C batteries. To the amazement an amusement of all, the baked beans had not only exploded and nearly put out the entire fire, but flaming hot beans had shot out like shrapnel burning dime sized holes through the heavy canvas tents and nearby foliage. Even sleeping bags inside bore marks where bean had melted into the cotton/polyester blend. Luckily no one was standing next to the fire at the time and everyone could laugh about the story, also understanding not to include this part of the week when relating tales to mothers back home.
I’ve always enjoyed those types of stories from my grandfather and always learn some life lesson from the telling. Those types of trips and others like them taken by my father have always been a fun filled way to guide my life. Perhaps it is what drove me to seek out remote parts of Africa instead of the comforts of Western Europe when traveling. These stories have always come in handy when on the road and the other day I learned what happens when you forget to heed the moral of the story.

Like camping expeditions 30 years ago, here we have no other way to dispose of our trash than to burn it in a large pit we dig in the back yard. Not the most environmentally friendly thing to do with plastic bottles and packaging, but better than strewing it across the lawn and leaving it to the wind. Hopefully someday soon communities will organize more efficient and effective ways of waste management here. Until then it is a box of matches and some dried grass for kindling before the rainbow of colored flames erupt from the components of our trash bags. The other night I was out after dark disposing of the last couple days of accumulated waste. We burn after dark because often times kids like to come put out our fires during the day to see what we are throwing away, wanting to take anything that looks valuable or interesting. It is only trash, but still, I am not excited about people digging through our stuff, even what we are throwing out. With a full moon beginning to rise I did not need to bring a flashlight with me. One match got the bag going and I sat adding a few scraps of old paper to the fire to make sure the entire bag was consumed. A few times I had been standing near the fire when an old milk carton or plastic bottle had popped and sent a few sparks up in the air, so I was now on the lookout for such things. Having tossed in all my extra paper and seen that the plastic had burned up sufficiently I stood back to watch some bright green flames move over a candy wrapper. No sooner had I taken a step back than a huge explosion sent me reeling back twenty yards, covering my face and expunging a few choice words. I whipped back around to look at the fire, feeling my face and body at the same time to make sure nothing was smoldering. I was fine. Jessica came quickly from the front side of the house asking if I was alright, wondering what had just happened. She had been washing dishes at the kitchen sink and came running when she saw the explosion through the window. Assuring her I was fine, we made our way back towards the trash pit to ascertain what had just happened.

A large, flaming mass of melted plastic and paper had been propelled onto a nearby pile of brush which was now growing into a mound of flames. I quickly scraped a thick line around the pile with my sandal to make sure the fire would not spread to the entire yard. We stamped out a couple more pieces of burning debris in the vicinity and then turned our attention to inspecting the blast site. At first we could not think of what could have caused such a big bang. Milk carton? 7up bottle? Glass jar? None of these were the culprit. Then Jess spotted globs of white foam scattered around. “What is that?” she asked and then she said it as I spotted it. “Did you put your shaving cream can to burn in the trash pit?!” Indeed I had. Picking up the charred remains of my Edge shaving cream I noticed the bottom of the can had blown out and what had remained of the shaving cream had been shot out like silly string all over the ground. I began to laugh as my grandfather’s story flooded back into my mind. There were no holes in canvas tents or sleeping bags, only small white spots of shaving gel that looked like remnants of snow in a March thaw on the ground. I tossed the now exploded can back into the fire, knowing the fireworks were over for the night and we made our way back into the house, joking that it was good I still had eyebrows. It was not quite as amusing as deliberately throwing a can of baked beans into the fire, but I could not help but laugh out loud. As I went to bed that night I ran my hands through my hair and the front of my bangs felt crinkly, like I had extra hair gel stuck there. It took me two seconds of wondering to realize that I had not escaped my night completely unscathed. My hair was a bit singed but not gone, or even noticeably different in the mirror the next morning. I smiled as I drifted off to sleep with the inevitable words of my grandfather ringing in my head. “If you play with fire, your gonna…” I know, grandpa, no need to rub it in.

Ga-Seleka Home Based Care

With the New Year, came changes in my work life---all for the better. As many of you know, I have been struggling to find my way in an NGO facing internal struggles. Ga Seleka Home Based Community Care is currently being housed out of the local clinic’s garage. Amidst filing cases and one table, I spent most of my first three months working on improving my Setswana and trying to find a place where I could make a contribution. Peace Corps had pegged those months from observation; a time to determine areas we could work on within our NGO’s and the community at large.

The NGO oversees two parts; a team of 27 home based health care workers visit ill patients in Seleka, and thirteen surrounding villages, known here as “Seleka Trusts”. As we have an in-resident chief in the village, he is responsible for all of these villages. The second part of the NGO, a drop in center, is located not five minutes from the clinic. Here, we serve about 115 orphans and vulnerable children. They receive two meals per day, one in the morning before breakfast, and one in the afternoon before heading home for the evening. These meals are sustaining children that may be going home to grannies caring for five others. Or, maybe they at the young age of 15 are watching over siblings, making sure they do their homework, wash their clothes, and have a bed to sleep in at night. Either way, the nourishment and care these children receive from the drop in center is essential in their daily lives. A group of ten female carers work here, cooking, washing clothes, bathing young children, and organizing activities. Paul and I have been truly honored to become a part of their lives.

After Christmas break, we worked out a schedule where I would be at the drop in center 2-3 days a week, and the other days I would be helping out at the schools. Paul is currently spending one full day at the drop in center and many afternoons. One of the activities we have taken on is a Tuesday afternoon ‘Life Skills’ lesson. Working with Sello, a young man from a national organization called Love Life, we have now covered teenage pregnancy, nutrition, and puberty with the children. Normally, our days start with working with two carers and Sello, determining what information will be covered in our presentations and who will present what. I have come to look forward to these times as a time and place where the carers feel comfortable asking us health questions. Some issues that we consider common place, as we’re learned them in school, from family, church groups, etc. are not understood here. In our first presentation, one of the carers turned to us and asked “Boipelo, what is menopause?” Paul and I silently exchanged a glance realizing that she, an educated woman in her early 40’s, had never been taught what menopause is.

These days are not just an opportunity for us to teach. It is also an opportunity to be learners. During our nutrition lesson, we were discussing why it is important not to eat too many sweets. I mentioned that eating too many sweets, dizimba (a version of Cheetos here), and cold drink could make you feel sick, cause weight gain, rot your teeth……one of the carers interrupted me and said, “but Boipelo, here we want to become fat.” Of course, I had forgotten that in Tswana culture it is a sign of beauty for a woman to be round. She is then considered healthy, and well cared for by her husband. We quickly changed our tune, asking the carers if they knew about obesity. Yes, and decided that no, they indeed did not want to be obese. They later conveyed this message to the children by emphasizing that by becoming obese, you would be as big as a balloon; not being able to walk or even get out of a chair. This generated giggles from the children, and a realization by Boipelo and Thato that they had just received another lesson in Tswana culture.

At the schools, Paul and I spent one week working on a photo fundraiser. Between both Seleka Higher Primary School (grades 5-7) and Baphoting Lower Primary School (grades R-4) we took 452 photos. These photos look nothing like a school photo in the US. Children here are taught a different definition of what’s ‘cool’, and a photo is a prime time to show that they’ve learned their lesson well. Most of the boys wanted to cross their arms, definitely not smile, perhaps flex their well tone muscles, and certainly not stand up straight. Girls would prefer to wear sunglasses, again no smiles, with hips thrust out, generating laughs from all their classmates still in line waiting their turn.

Photos here are special. A family may have one small album containing every photo they’ve had taken in their lives. The day of handing out the photos was worth ever ounce of work that had gone into the fundraiser. From grade R, all the way up to the 7th graders, we could hear their squeals, laughter, and running from room to room to show friends. We were thrilled that out of the fundraiser, Baphoting made R1700 (around $250.00) and Seleka made R600 (almost $100.00). Baphoting will be putting the money towards purchasing their own digital camera, so that when we leave they will be able to continue an annual photo fundraiser. Seleka’s money is going toward buckets to help with their school lunch program. Who knew that our digital camera, a gift from dear friends and family, could be a tool to bring such joy to our community? Without even knowing it, you all have added a special photo to the family photo album of the majority of Seleka children. Thank you!