Sorry, last post of the day.

I know, I know, I go on a hiatus from the blogging world and then you get a bunch all in one day. But this episode is called: I love South Africa.

Why, you ask? Well I have been walking around with this nasty, mucus-y cough... for nearly a month now. This week it only got worse as it coupled with a stuffed nose, a headache and stuffed up ears. Pretty miserable, to be honest.
So today I finally took everyone's advice and went to see the "chemist," which is what they call the pharmacist here.
I was looking for something that could fix these symptoms, until I finally just asked about my serious post-nasal drip issue.
"Well, is your mucus discolored?"
"Umm... it is the normal thick, yellow, nasty color...?"
"It is supposed to be clear. That means you have an infection. You need antibiotics."
"Oh. You need a prescription for that, don't you?"
"Well... are you allergic to anything?"
"No."
"Okay, then take these three times a day."

Voila. I have antibiotics for what it is probably a nasty sinus infection. No huge costs to visit the doctor and get the prescription. Just handed to me [at a legitimate pharmacy, too. No worries.] Thank you, Africa.

And the KwaZulu Natal Provincial Champion is....

... [drum roll please]... Brittan Smith!

This past Saturday was the KwaZulu Natal Championships for track and field. It was strange because there was hardly anyone there. Apparently all the people that do athletics in this province are under the age of 19 [this was a Seniors/Masters meet]. So I had 4 other people to compete against in long jump.... nice.

My long jump series was awful-- I was all over the place and spent the first three jumps just trying to figure out how to get on the board [I was fouling one minute, 3 feet behind the board the other... oh man]. This is a natural consequence of never actually practicing long jump and not having anyone there to at least help me guess where to approach from during the warm-ups. And I have lost all speed. All of it. I am actually mourning the loss of my speed. I miss it.
Fortunately there were only 5 of us, so we all made it to finals and I got 6 jumps. My last jump was when I was actually remembering how to long jump and I think it was pretty decent, but I fouled by about 2 centimeters. Man! But in the end, I had a 5.55m, which doesn't bother me because it is still over 18-feet, and a gold medal. Woohoo!

Umbondo

Sorry I am writing about this a few weeks late. It is because I wanted to have pictures so I had to wait until I had a the chance to go to an internet cafe.
So a few weeks ago Thabani asked me if I wanted to go with him on the 6th of February for his sister's "pre-wedding thing." That was about all the detail I had about the occasion, but I said yes nonetheless. I had no idea what I was really getting myself into, but I was ready and waiting at 7am on Saturday morning. I jumped into the front of his truck where I saw in the middle, squished between the slim Thabani and is very large wife, the stick shift between my legs. A hot and sweaty day, we drove for what seemed like hours past small towns and into rural villages with a truckload of food we had picked up before.

Thabani parked the truck load of food on the top of the hill and all the women got out of the kombis. One by one they picked up bags of beans, rice, samp, pap, butternut, and even full crates of glass-bottled soda to put on their heads. I had the cry corn kernels of samp and flour placed on my head and I joined the line of women as we walked down the dirt road to the house of the groom. Apparently you can't just drive the food down, the women have to carry the gifts over there. This ceremony comes after the father of the groom gives labola to the brides family; this time, the brides family is giving gifts to the grooms. The women I followed not only perfectly balanced these things on their heads while wearing heels, the managed to sing and dance while they were at it. Every time we got to the grooms house the gogos there would great us with ululations and take the food from us with smiles. The men sat back and watched. This ceremony, as I am told, is a "woman thing."

The bride-to-be entered the family's rondeval on her knees, holding the hand of her young son who clenched to the traditional beadwork around her waist. The women all sat on the floor against the wall as the few men that were there sat in the chairs, drinking Zulu beer out of the traditional pot. And like every Zulu occassion, there was song. There was dance. And there was food.

I spent most of the time sweating to death as I sat on the floor of that swealtering hot rondeval. I didn't really know what was going on because everyone was speaking Zulu, but I asked questions and enjoyed learning about it. At one point they brought in a sheep. "Oh dear," I thought as I watched the poor guy shake uncontrollably in fright, "he definitely knows these are these last minutes." I secretly hoped that this was a leftover part of the labola and maybe they were just presenting the terrified animal to the family. Nope. This guy was for dinner. They took him to the back, out of site from all the women [although they told me to come along for the "cultural experience"] and the sheep was so scared that they ended up having to carry him because he wouldn't move. He knew. And a few minutes later he was no more.

Now I will admit, watching this process really changed my opinion on the "barbaric slaughtering of animals in African culture." First of all, they didn't kill the sheep just for the sake of it-- he was dinner. Just... fresh dinner, as opposed to the kind you may get from the freezer in the grocery store that was, oh, 45 minutes away? Secondly, they tried to get it over as fast and painless as possible. There was no ceremonial torture-- they laid the sheep on its side, one guy held its front legs, one held its back, one held its head, and the other cut through its throat as fast as humanly possible. Pain was minimal considering the resources available. It didn't stop me from thinking that the desperating baaaing from the corn fields a few hours later was that of a sheep looking for its friend, and realizing he wasn't coming back. Call me dramatic, but I really believe that.

Anyway, after the sheep was killed, sheered, and cooked, it came back in the rondeval and the cut the meat off the bones and served it to us with steamed Zulu bread and salt. And I ate it. Didn't like it much, though. Only had a small piece.

The father of the groom later came with some part of the intestine, the "bile" or something, and pinned it to the bride's clothes with some money. Eww. Haha.

I was really happy to be able to be a part of something like this. I love learning about other cultures, and as you saw from the Valentine's Day post, the courting process into marriage is pretty elaborate. But when you go through so much trouble to get married, this process sometimes taking years, divorce is nearly unheard of and marriage is much more valued. I like that.

Here are the pictures I took from that day in slideshow form... I will warn you that some of the pictures are graphic and I advise sensitive viewers to close their eyes. :)

Mid-Year Report

Okay, so this is a very belated post... but Andrew suggested that other people might also want to see such a thing. Good luck, it is long. But here is the mid-year report that I sent into the fellowship committee!

The mid-year report. Oh dear.

I will admit, I put off writing this report for as long as I possibly could. Writing it has come slowly. For someone as talkative as I, it comes as a surprise that I am actually at a loss for words when it comes to describing my experience thus far. Trying to articulate everything in writing is a challenge. I really feel like I have little to say, yet so much to explain. So I guess I will just have to start from the beginning: What I have been doing.

It took me 41 hours to get from the States to the Pietermaritzburg airport. As soon as I got off the plane I was met by the director of Thandanani Children’s Foundation, put my luggage in the vehicle, and was off to the township of Snathing. We arrived at Malala Primary School, where a handover was taking place as the students and faculty thanked the volunteers who had painted their classrooms, giving their school a wonderful makeover. Students were dressed in beaded outfits, singing in Zulu and dancing at the front of the room. I hadn’t been here for more than an hour and I was already immersed in the culture of the people here. It was a perfect introduction.

I spent the next few months helping Thandanani with the work they were doing in the communities—home visits, community food gardens, Life Skills program, Early Learning Centers, social work, therapeutic camps, etc. I am nothing short of amazed at how much they are able to accomplish with such a small number of staff. Being their 20^th year, it was also time for a much-needed evaluation of all their beneficiaries to see how their programs were doing. This was a task that was handed to me that sounds a lot easier than it is—how do you organize something with people who don’t speak your language [and you don’t speak theirs], don’t have telephones to get in contact with them, don’t have street names and addresses for places to hold such a meeting… but fortunately I managed to pull it off. It took lots of coordination and involved many people, but it happened and I was able to present a report to them outlining the responses from all three beneficiary groups—community volunteers, caregivers and children.

During the holidays, I decided that if I could not be with my family I wanted to make it so someone else could spend some time with their families. For the three weeks around Christmas and New Years I was volunteering at Lily of the Valley Children’s Village, which houses about 130 orphans, 80% who are infected with HIV/AIDS. I helped wrap hundreds of presents and went around delivering them to the children on Christmas day. I sat on the ground with the young boys on New Years and watched fireworks. I realized that I really liked having so much interaction with the children [something I had been lacking lately at Thandanani because I was in an office writing up evaluation reports]. I enjoyed doing the chest physiology exams administered to the children recovering from TB and doing reading club with the school-age children. Although it also involved orphaned kids, the work I was doing was still drastically different.

And then January came. I spent the first few weeks finishing up the things I had started at Thandanani. It was time for me to move on… but to where? I thought about running away to a township and just building my own mud house and learning through immersion, but I knew that wasn’t safe in any manner. I thought about booking a last-minute flight to Haiti to do emergency disaster relief after the earthquake, but that wasn’t practical. I had asked around to different NGOs if they wanted my help, and fortunately I had many great options, but all of them were missing something. So I sat down and had to reevaluate why I was here and what I wanted to learn. I boiled my focus points down to these things: culture [one of the places was a baby orphanage, but I learned when you are at an orphanage the only culture you learn is that of the orphanage, not that of the South African people], community [I wanted to work in the communities], children, education, creativity… Selfishly, I wanted to find a way to combine all of those things into the last half of my time here, to optimize learning and understanding, to leave with a personal impact.

So, I decided to just go off on my own. Take what I have learned and start my own project, one that would combine all of my interests… and I had an idea. Within two weeks of this epiphany I had developed, coordinated, and started Umhlaba Wami. The Umhlaba Wami Photography Project [www.umhlabawami.webs.com] aims to instill confidence, create community, and enhance creativity in the disadvantaged children of South Africa. Right now I go into the rural township of Snathing twice a week to teach a curriculum I made that involves both photography technique [which I am teaching myself along the way] and life skills work that focuses on the self, the community, culture, and issues that these children experience. Most of these children are orphans. I am really excited about this because it touches on everything I wanted to do: it involves work in the communities, benefits and instills confidence in children, gives an opportunity for cultural exchange, and counters the lack of arts education in public schools [while also improving their English fluency]. Every lesson that I make is like a life skills, photography and English lesson all wrapped in one. I have only been teaching this for a few weeks, but the kids seem to be enjoying it, have already churned out some great pictures [like the one above], and other children have already started coming up to me and asking to join the class. The Natal Museum has even agreed to give me space to exhibit their work opening mid-March! I am having a lot of fun with this and enjoying every part of it [well, except for the expense of running this program… but it is definitely a small price to pay considering the benefits]!

            So that is basically the “work” that I have been doing since I came here. At one point I took a short road trip down the coast that ended with 4 days in Cape Town, which was a lot of fun… this trip is also where I had a sudden burst of bravery and decided to do the world’s highest bungy jump! Other than that, I haven’t done much traveling around South Africa, but plans are to go to the Free State this weekend for a wedding and to Gauteng for a week before I fly out of the Johannesburg airport [much cheaper to fly from there]… and possibly watch a World Cup match!

 I feel as if the entire first half of this year was devoted to adjusting—it was not until the beginning of 2010 that I was able to call Pietermaritzburg “home.” [I am lucky because I live in the “city” but still work in the rural areas.] I honestly still felt lost for the first few months and at times just begged for a sense of familiarity. I lived in a place where I wasn’t feeling entirely safe, by myself, with no transportation, I couldn’t go out alone after dark, because I am a woman I couldn’t go running, and for the life of me I couldn’t speak Zulu. I was lonely! [And recently I feel as if my safety has been compromised so I might be finding a new place to live soon.] But I learned a lot from these experiences. During the holidays I spent my time 40 minutes away from where I have been staying, volunteering at Lily of the Valley Children’s Village. It was when my three weeks were done, and I was packing up to go back to Pietermaritzburg, that I got incredibly excited to be in a familiar place where I know how to walk the streets and get back into my previous routine. It felt like going home—it took me months to get to that point, but it felt great and exciting. One of the biggest but most gratifying challenges of living abroad is taking a place that is completely new and unfamiliar to you, immersing yourself in its culture, and being able to call it home. It is not only learning about your surroundings and then embracing the differences, it is learning about yourself and your comfort threshold—what you can handle about your new environment and what you can accomplish there. It took leaving my place to realize the comfort I had there—I accept that I cannot walk outside after dark and cannot go running nearby, but I have also forced myself to branch out and find friends, speak the little Zulu I can, and be willing to walk an hour away to find a field to go running on. It has been fun. And as an extremely extroverted person, it is the first time in a long time I have taken the time to spend time with… myself. I couldn’t be more grateful for this experience.

I am also learning a lot about South African weather—that it is incredibly unpredictable. Today was a scorcher at 100-degrees, as it has been for the past week. Yet as I look outside my window, I see the sky dimming, the branches of the trees dancing uncontrollably and being pushed to the side with every huge gust of wind. It sounds like a wall has collapsed and the ground starts to shake—thunder. A storm is coming! Yet I am still sweating.

I came here really wanting to understand post-apartheid race relations and family dynamics during a time where many families are split due to the prevalence of HIV/AIDS. I wanted to understand an unfamiliar culture. I wanted to help to educate children. I wanted to build strong connections. As you can see, I put a lot of pressure on myself, but fortunately many of these things came to me easier than I had planned. Others had to be worked for.

The first day I arrived in South Africa we stopped on a dirt road in Snathing because a young lady, maybe my age, was carrying a feeble old woman up a hill to their home. They had just returned from a very long walk from the clinic, and there was no way to get her gogo, or grandmother] up the slippery hill except for carrying her on her back. Fortunately we came just in time to give them a ride up the very long and steep hill until our vehicle couldn’t make it up the narrow path. I was amazed. The dedication to keep a family unit strong is something I have seen a lot here, working with elderly women who have no income and live in mud houses, yet will take in 6 orphans in order to give them a “family” to grow up in. Then again, there is the other extreme where the parents who neglect and abuse their children because they simply don’t want them—but that is a conversation largely revolving around the prevalence of teenage pregnancies here that needs to be saved for another day. In short, the older generation values life, tradition and the essence of “ubuntu” much more than the younger generation. It is a very noticeable contrast and can really show some of the cultural and social effects of the apartheid.

When I said I was coming to KwaZulu Natal, people who knew the area asked, “How are you going to learn about race relations in a place that is so predominantly one race?” Sometimes I doubted my decision, and thought I should have gone somewhere a little more mixed like Johannesburg or Cape Town. But once I went to Cape Town, I knew I had made the right decision to not stay there. When I was in Cape Town I blended in—unless I spoke, I was just another “coloured.” I walked around the streets unphased, trying to pinch myself to remember that it wasn’t just a misplaced San Francisco. The sense of comfort I had found there after staying in KwaZulu Natal was astounding—for four days I was at home. People spoke English, I didn’t stick out, I recognized the food and could easily navigate the city. But I wasn’t learning nearly as much as I was in Pietermaritzburg and the communities I worked in. Granted, I could still work in township communities around Cape Town, but at some point I could hop over to Long Street and find a safe haven of comfort. Here, I don’t have that. Only in my own bedroom am I able to escape wondering eyes… and I don’t mind that anymore. I have learned a lot from this experience and also from personal accounts of those who live here, both white and black [and from the large Indian population, also]. The most obvious sentiment here is that the apartheid really messed things up—despite the years under a democratic majority rule, the sentiments and feelings towards other races are so deeply ingrained that it will take a long time before the apartheid actually becomes history. All the government can do is change the laws, but they cannot change the way people view each other.

And that is all I will say about the South African government, because it is a mess of its own.

I really wish I could put into words my experience thus far in South Africa… but I really feel like I can’t, not yet. It has been so exciting, terrifying, heart-wrenching, informative and profound. Every person I have met has their own special story that in some way touches my heart. On a daily basis I see the need of the people here, the struggle of children growing up in the “orphan generation,” and the important celebration of little victories. I have been up-close to deplorable conditions that are wrapped in an oasis of beauty. The spirit of South Africa and the delight in sharing the rich culture is absolutely amazing. I have been personally impacted ne my life is constantly being shaped in ways that I still can wrap my mind around. I have been able to connect with people here to share their fears and celebrate their triumphs—and this connection is all I can ask for. I only hope it grows stronger in these last few months.

Happy Valentines Day!

I have been saving this post for the Valentine's Day season. Since I have been here, it should come as no surprise that I really find myself interested in the nuances of the culture here-- more specifically, the romantic courting process. To say the least... it really is a process. To get from romantic interest to marriage traditionally involves many steps in the Zulu culture, and every month I am learning a little more about it.

After Heritage Day in September I wrote a post that included information on ucu/ibheqe, the "Zulu love letter." Since I already wrote a bit about it here, I will forgo explaining this one.But what I will say, is after learning about the symbolically beaded love letter, I decided I was going to make one of my own for Andrew. Yes, I could just go to a touristy store a buy one, but I got it into my head that it would mean more for me make one myself. This in itself was a huge challenge. First I researched what all the colors meant and the symbols. This involved going to the library and using the internet as a resource, and then designing my own ucu. Then I bought the string and beads and sat down for hours and hours trying to figure out how to do it. All I could make was a line of beads. There were no books in the library describing how to do it, but I then started to stare at pictures and try to see exactly how they did it. Then my string of beads just turned into a mess. At one point, I successfully made a square. Nothing inside the square, just four sides of beads. I struggled with this for about a week until I started asking people if they could find me some nice old woman that knew how to do Zulu beadwork. Unfortunately, this is a dying art and is now just used to make pendants with AIDS ribbons on it for tourists, so the only people left to ask about it are the older ones. That Sunday morning, I walked over to a woman's house and sat on her floor as she taught me how to do beadwork. I showed her my attempts and she just took pity on me. 

I worked on it every night that week. At my first attempt to Andrew's ucu, I was doing really well. About halfway through I messed up to the point of no return. And had to start all over. Fortunately I was a little faster the second time and it went a lot faster. Everyone was so impressed with my work-- not only was it pretty good, but it was made by a mlungu! Zulu people don't even know how to do it. I wouldn't say that I am a master, but I was pretty happy with myself. I learned beadwork just for the sake of making that for Andrew, and I haven't made anything since. I sent it to him for Valentine's Day. [Unfortunately, when all the pictures were deleted off my memory card, the picture that I had taken of my finished product was also deleted. Maybe Andrew will be nice and share it.Then I will post the picture up here.]

So, back the courting process [or at least what I have learned about it]. My giving Andrew ucu is basically asking him to date me. Boys used to get these "love letters" from more than one girl and wear them around their necks. I think the chances of Andrew wearing beadwork around his neck is about -6 in 1billion, so I didn't even make the necklace part big enough to go around his head. The boys would often go to their sisters or mothers and ask for a translation in the symbols and colors. I just wrote it out for Andrew, on a hunch that his mom or sister might not know.

Once the guy has chosen a girl to date, he hangs a white flag outside his home. This means he is not accepting dating proposals anymore... and I think the fact that the flag is white is kind of funny people it is like he is surrendering. I told Andrew that I expect him to at least hang a white t-shirt out his window and take a picture of it. I don't know why he thinks I am joking. I am serious. If he waits to long I am going to go bead some ucu for some other men. They like me here you know, and I get marriage proposals all the time, so Andrew needs to get on it. 

So then the ucu is given, the white flag is hung, and dating happens. Then they start talking about marriage. That is when the families start negotiating on labola, or the dowry. The practice is supposed to show the grooms commitment to his future bride, while also being compensation to her father for the loss of his girl. This is something I learned about early on, as it was mentioned the very first time I stepped into a rural community. So a woman is generally worth 10 cows, 11 if she is a virgin. After talking to some people here, we have decided that my labola is at least 13 cows. I got two extra for getting a university degree. Every time I tell people that my labola is 13 cows, the guys tell me I am too expensive. Although much of the Zulu courting tradition up to this point is an extinct practice, the practice of exchanging labola is still very much alive. People who live in the city don't have cows, so the brides family decides how much the price of a single cow would be. I, on behalf of my family, have done incredibly scientific research and realized that cows are over $1000! Because I am nice, and I am going to need a lot of cows, I am discounting it $800 per cow. This is just a warning to any future in-laws out there. 

After the grooms family pays labola for the bride, then the bride's family does umbondo, which is what I participated in last week [and still need to put a blog post up about]. This is when the bride's family gives gifts the the grooms family, which from what I saw can include anything from lots and lots and lots of food [that we, the women, had to carry on our heads down a dirt road] to furniture to a house. Blankets are given to the whole family, even the deceased. It is very expensive... but in the end I wonder if it about evens out between the families. The umbondo is the last step before the wedding. Mommy, when the time comes we are going to need to arrange a time to meet with all my female friends and practice balancing gifts on our heads... while walking... and singing... and dancing. This will be a job for the bridal party, I suppose.

And then there is a wedding. Depending on who you are, you might just have the traditional wedding or just the modern white dress wedding. It seems like many people here have both. One day you are dressed in a suit and a wedding dress, the next day wearing loin cloths and beads. I haven't been to a wedding, so I do not know much about it... yet. All I know is that Zulu weddings are characterised by joyous singing and ululating, dancing and mock fighting by warriors in traditional dress. The women wear traditional headdresses, beautiful beaded necklaces and soft leather aprons. 

No invitations are sent and the whole community can join in the celebrations [imagine the catering costs on that!]. Unlike western style weddings no vows are exchanged. In Zulu wedding tradition the marriage is only finalised when the bride is taken to be bathed and examined by her sisters the morning after the wedding... although I don't know what it is that they are examining. 

The time frame on this whole process, from labola to the icece [wedding], depends solely on how much money you have. If you come from two wealthy families, this could all get done in less than a month. Many people find that it takes years for this to happen because the families have to save up money/cows/food/whatever in order to go through with the process. No matter where in the world you go, from the American $40,000 wedding to the Indian 10-day wedding ceremony, weddings are expensive. Yikes.

So, Andrew if you want me you are going to have to put that white flag up. That's right, surrender! We are doing this Zulu style.

A Snapshot of Snathing

This week I focused on the concept of community with my students and we learned about portrait photography and peer reviewing our own photography.

When I initially asked them what was unique about Snathing, they didn't have any answers. So over the course of the week we went through some questions involving what the community smells like, sounds like, tastes like. We had questions on the who, what, when, where, and why of the community. What they would change about the community if they could. I learned a lot about Snathing, and since we are going through this adventure together I would like to share some of the questions and answers the children explained in class. We also went over their role in the communities and what they can do as individuals to improve it.
Our Snapshot of Snathing:

What sounds [umsindo] do you hear in the community? Radios, birds, kombi [taxi bus] motors, river water, dogs
What tastes [ukunambitha] can you find in the community? mealies, vegetables, and fruits
What smells [iphunga] do you associate with the community? trees, food, toilets, cow dung, wet soil, dead animals, smoke from fires
What does the community look like? What doesn’t it look like? Looks like a farm: big mountains, grass, trees, toilets, river. It does not look like a city township.

The 5-Ws
What is the community most famous for, or what should it be famous for? Soccer, crime, witches. Wish it was famous for educated people.

Who is a very well-known person in your community? Sipho Madondo [the councilor], and "the man who always walks on the street half naked called Sthu Man"
Where in the community do people go to feel good? eMpentshene [the local shabeen], or to go swimming in the river when it is hot.
When is the community most enjoyable? Most annoying? Most enjoyable during celebrations [wedding, umbondo, parties, etc.], on the weekends. Most annoying when it is hot and they are stuck in school [haha]
Why do people live here? Because their families are here and you can get water from the water pumps for free. Because they are poor and have no choice. There is lots of land.

“What if?” Question
What if the community won an award of many millions of rands? What could be done with the money to improve the community? Replace dirt roads with tar roads, reduce unemployment, get police for the community, build more schools for community children and make the current schools bigger, decrease poverty, build government houses and a rehabilitation center. Get computers for the schools and build a library. Build a photography school. :)

I think some of their answers are pretty funny, and others are insightful. It is great to understand where they are coming from and I really look forward to focusing on culture next week and learn about photography angles.

Also, their first film was developed this week! I am proud. I know a lot of them don't look like much, but you need to realize that every picture probably has a story or explanation, and because of that I appreciate every single one. Some of the best photos were accidents, but I really liked them. The assignment for this camera, which they shared with a partner, was to capture the things, places, and people that make their personal stories. You can see most of them in the gallery on the project website. The pictures they have taken are also sprinkled throughout this post!

Super Bowl Party. Super Bowl Pain.

Last night... eh, I mean early this morning I watched the Super Bowl. I asked everyone I thought of that had a TV until I found someone that actually had ESPN. I even wore my Colts shirt to what I officially declared to be my 1am Super Bowl "Party." I ordered the food earlier that day and it was as legit of a Super Bowl party as I could make it-- 6 people in Bongani's room, with two "large" pizzas [what us Americans might call a medium], wings, potato wedges, chips, nuts, cookies and soda. The boys decided it wasn't an American football game without alcohol, so they rushed off to the 24-hour grocery store as soon as midnight hit [can't sell alcohol on Sundays] and got themselves some drinks. At 1am on Monday morning, the Super Bowl commenced. 

In attendance: Bongani (who fell asleep for the last half of the game), Sphamandla [Roger] (who also fell asleep), JP (who drove an hour just to come see the game with us), Gugu (Bongani's girlfriend who was asleep before the game started), Nhlanhla (Bongani's brother who went to bed by the second quarter), Mona (who went home before the game started), Meredith (a clinic volunteer from Indianapolis... a diehard fan... who fell asleep during the game), and me (who never once fell asleep during the game, thank you very much). Needless to say, a 1am football game that lasts 4 hours is hard to full off-- especially when most of the people watching don't understand the game.

My favorite part of the night was when Bongani said, "Wait! What just happened?!" "Bongani, that is the kickoff." Haha. What really annoyed me was that ESPN didn't show any of the Supe Bowl commercials. How dare they. I heard they were hilarious. But no, I had to sit through ESPN commercials that played over and over again. Did you know ESPN is the number one channel to watch college basketball? I know, because they told me about 17 times instead of showing me Super Bowl commercials. Ugh.

So we were off to a decent start in the game. I was even able to explain the first three points to the boys that were watching. Then it got too close for comfort. I spent the last quarter rocking back and forth in the upright fetal position. And then the Saints were ahead. I continued rocking, then yelling at the screen and waving my hands. "WHY ISN'T ANYONE THERE?! GET HIM GET HIM!! UGHHHHHH!!!!" Why so many blown coverages?! I will admit, it was a good run by Tracy Porter, but I just wish I could have seen it from the Colts instead. I am sure that pass that flew into the hands of Porter, who then made like a bullet to the inzone, will probably be the most highlighted part of this game. 74-yards. That was a great play. I continued rocking back and forth, looking like a crazy person, and when the score went to 31-17 I thought I was going to cry. It was over. I knew it was over. Over! It can't be! No!!! No. No.... [[[wimper]]]

How dare you, New Orleans Saints. How dare you! I am angry. Still. Angry. This is why I am not supposed to get emotionally invested in a team. The Super Bowl was much more fun when I didn't have sides to chose, and didn't understand the game... when it was just a day to eat lots of junk food. I hate losing. Fine, New Orleans... you have worked hard to build a team and rebuild a city. I will give you this one. I accept defeat. 

Anyway, as you can see from the before and after photos above, the last half of the game involved one half of the "party" sleeping, Roger and JP arguing over who could run the fastest 400m race, and me... rocking back and forth in the red bean bag chair, nervously devouring an entire bag of sweet chili Dorritos in an attempt to calm the nerves. 

The game ended at 5am. It was already getting light outside, the roosters crowing and the town waking up to go to work, so Meredith and I were able to walk home by ourselves. Tired. Depressed. I went to bed at 5:30am, and woke up at 7am because it was already 100 degrees [not exaggerating] and I couldn't sleep through the heat. So now I am exhausted, but trying to get myself psyched to teach today. I have a headache and my eyes sting with fatigue. And I am quickly learning that it is possible to sweat out of every single pore on your body. I think my fingers are sweating. I will survive.

The heat, defeat, and lack of sleep wont get me down!!! 

I'm Married!!!

... or at least that is what I have been telling people today. [For all of you whose heart stopped upon reading the title of this blog, you can breathe now.]

Today I went with Thabani and family to a pre-wedding celebration [that I will talk about in another post]. I make myself look decent, which I rarely do here, and Thabani greets me by saying, "Oh, you are definitely getting a husband today." "I'd rather not," is my instant reply.
As I sat squashed between Thabani and his rather large wife, the stick shift between my legs, I brainstorm how to get out of this situation if it comes up. Obviously saying "Nginalo isoka [I have a boyfriend]" has yet to work, because the reply is usually about how I can have a South African boyfriend and he will never know. Maybe I should say, "I'm only 22." No... that means absolutely nothing. I could pretend that I am homosexual, but that could actually get you killed depending on who you tell. Suddenly, it dawns on me. Duh. I'm already married.Why didn't I think of this before?
"If anyone asks," I announce, "I'm married. Happily married. For the last two years."

Today I am sitting outside the rondavel, playing with 9-year old Nomcebo, when I am approached again by a stumbling man who obviously partook in the ceremonious men-drinking-until-they-can't-stand routine today. He stops to shake my hand, and for the second time today he holds on to it for nearly a minute. "Why are you so beautiful?" He asks. I just try to politely smile. "Are you married?"
"Yes."
"Where is your husband?"
"He's not here at the moment."
"Where is your husband? He isn't here?"
"No."
"Does he know how beautiful you are? He is a lucky man."
"Thank you."
"Where do you live?"
"In town. Very far away."
"I live close. Do you want to see my house?"
"No, thank you."
"Do you want to see my house? It is close. Come to my house."
"Not today."
"You know, when you talk, you sound like Mary J. Blige."
[[I have a confused look.]]
"Really. You are like Mary J. Blige."
"...Thanks?"
"I love you. I really love you."
"Thank you."
[[He looks hurt]] "But you cannot deny true love. I love you." He then stumbles over to the corn field/chicken coop/trash area in front of me, whips it out and pees, all the while looking over his shoulder winking at me. "Too bad you aren't married to me."

Was that a success? I think it was. This continued to have similar results throughout the day.

The picture above is just a teaser to a blog update about today. I am going to wait until I can get to an internet cafe so I can put pictures in properly!

Umhlaba Wami: The Kickoff!

Can you believe it?! I said I wanted to start my first photography workshop within 2 weeks of thinking of the idea and I actually had my first class as intended, on February 1st at Ingqwangele. The morning of my second class I was stressed because I discovered the day before that there were only 6 cameras in the city of Pietermaritzburg, and I needed 10. Someone said she would get me some on the way to work the next morning from her town, but what she gave me didn't have flash and the film had expired over 2 years ago... So a few hours before class I had to turn their projects into a partner project and pretend that is how I intended it to be anyway. The rest of the cameras are being ordered so I should be fine from now on!

I wanted to post here updates and what I had done with the kids thus far with pictures and whatnot, but this internet cafe's internet has decided not to cooperate. So, you can get updates on both of the days of teaching by going to the blog on the project website: http://umhlabawami.webs.com/apps/blog/

But even more importantly, I want you to meet the kids! You can see them here: http://umhlabawami.webs.com/meetthephotographers.htm

I am super excited. And I hope this all works out. Every morning I wake up incredibly scared that I have gotten myself into a mess and incredibly excited about the potential for this to be awesome. Definitely click on the two links above to get filled in on what has been going on! You don't want to miss out. :)

Problem Resolved.

The electrical problem in my house is officially no longer an issue. I can use my refrigerator again!

In other news it is really time for me to write my mid-year report to send to the Rockefeller Committee. Weird thing is, I absolutely have no idea what to write. Crazy, I know. Although I am admittedly quite loquacious and it is easy for me to write posts that are always a bit too long on this blog, I am actually at a loss for words. Really. It is strange. I need to write 5-6 pages about my experience thus far and I keep putting it off because I have no idea what to write. Help.

I Broke my House

As you can see in the photo, LA's awesomeness is universal knowledge. This is cut into the back of Syalo's hair-- he is one of my students in Umhlaba Wami. We had a successful first week! But I am saving that for another post.

Anyway, I broke my house. I don't know how I did it. Two nights ago I was making soup, trying to sort out a way to have a SuperBowl party in South Africa [go Colts!]. I hear a weird noise. Then I realize that none of my outlets work. None of them. I have lights, but no outlets. "Whatever, this is fine," I think, "I don't really need to watch TV and it will help limit my computer time." The next morning when I went to get some yogurt for breakfast I realize why this is a bad thing: my fridge isn't on. And I cannot cook anything to save the food before it spoils. Which it did, quite quickly, as I had to throw away my vegetables this morning. So, I am currently surviving off of peanut butter & jelly/honey sandwiches and keeping my yogurt in the fridge at work. Did my soup-making break the all the outlets? I even tried the "trip switch." Nothing. So I am wondering how much longer I will be working with this.

In addition to this, I have a giant metal box that hangs off my wall. Apparently, it is the geyser for heating my water. Said geyser seems to have sprung a leak and constantly drips on the floor... well, now it drips into bowls that I placed under the drips. But the room smells like drippy carpets. At one point the geyser was gushing water into the neighbor's yard. I didn't even know what it was, but now I am afraid it is going to explode and scald me with boiling water... or flood my room.

Lastly, whenever it rains my kitchen floor floods. I thought this made sense because my kitchen door opens up to the outside and there is a sizable space between the bottom of the door and the floor. So when it rains, which it often does, the wind blows the water under my door. But how does it get that wet?!?! I realized that the wall also leaks. The wall. Leaks. The bottom of my wall has green moldy stuff on it, apparently because water seeps through there. 

So yes, I managed to break the house. I don't know how I did it. But I broke it. Oops?