At a party Thursday evening I sat next to a lekgoa like me. (″Lekgoa″ is a Setswana word that might originally have meant ″European,″ but nowadays means anybody who′s white.) He began telling me about his explorations in the hills around our village, and what he′s found there. Caves he says were inhabited by bushmen in prehistoric times, with paintings on the walls. Of course, he said, so many of them have been ruined, desecrated and defaced by vandals, and even though he′s tried to get the authorities to do something to protect the archeological heritage of the area, there′s little interest and less action.
″They′re hunting diamonds,″ he said.
Diamonds? I thought that was a different part of South Africa, Kimberly, away in the Northern Cape province, not around here.
″These are alluvial diamonds,″ he said, ″washed out by the rivers.″ We do live on the edge of a wide valley, obviously formed by a sizable river over the course of many thousands of years, though the river is now shrunk to insignificance.
″These were real gems, big ones,″ he said. ″The bushmen would find them, and collect them, and play with them. Their traditional healers all included a couple of alluvial diamonds in their ′bones,′ the collection of objects they cast to tell fortunes and predict futures.″
″And the healers were always buried with their bones,″ he said.
And now people, greedy people, are looking for those alluvial diamonds. ″They dig up ancient graveyards. They dig out the earth over an area a hundred meters on a side, and who knows what they do with the contents. But they leave holes with skeletons exposed, bones sticking out of the sides of the pit, that they fill in with rubbish.″
I haven′t seen any diamonds, but rubbish, at least, I′m very familiar with. It′s everywhere in South Africa. Everything that will burn casts a haze in the sky, and everything that won′t litters the environment. Bottles, cans, containers, plastic bags, construction debris deface even the most beautiful places. There′s enough trash by the side of any road to fill several pits.
Are the diamond-hunters finding anything? Who knows. But bulldozing ancient graves in search of quick riches is surely bad karma, especially in a country that places such a high value on respect for elders. Whatever the truth of alluvial diamonds, my companion′s story rang true. And on Halloween, I thought about those bones sticking out of the sides of pits. Surely those disturbed graves, filled with rubbish, won′t go unrevenged.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Events and More Events
We have spent a lot of time this past week attending special events at our schools and in our community.
The Catholic primary school experienced a tragedy last week when one of the sixth grade teachers died very suddenly. We went to a two-hour memorial service Thursday at the church. It was an uplifting ceremony. Students from the high school and primary schools sang and sang. Primary school learners played recorders and African drums. One of the teachers said after the service that one way Africans deal with their grief is to sing. Whatever motivates the singing, they do it beautifully.They sing in parts, in tune, and in time in a way that few American congregations can manage. Any gathering will include a lot of beautiful singing.
Several of the teachers and students and relatives got up and spoke about the departed teacher and the Father gave a short and fitting homily about being prepared when God calls us home. The children were incredibly well behaved. We probably fidgeted more than they did.
We Monitor an Election
We had been asked to observe a special voting day at one of our primary schools and we weren′t sure what that meant. On Thursday afternoon we walked over to the school (it was really hot – we wonder if we′ll be able to make it when summer really comes) and found out.
We arrived just as the learners were starting to vote. It was impressive. They registered, voted, turned in their ballots and then a group of learners helped count the results. The learners all brought their chairs outside and sat through the process even though it was brutally hot. We took some pictures with our cameras and the children went crazy wanting us to take their pictures.
The learners were voting on candidates for “The World’s Children’s Prize for the Rights of the Child.” Nkosi Johnson was the winning candidate our school – he was a South African child born with AIDS, who in the 12 years of his life advocated for mothers and children with AIDS (he died in 2001). Nelson Mandela and his wife Graca Machel were also on the ballot, as were 12 other people from countries around the world. The voting takes place at participating schools all over the world. The idea is to promote unity and democracy among the world’s young learners as well as instill in them the importance of voting. The worldwide winner will be given money to use in his or her children’s rights programs. Queen Silvia of Sweden will officiate.
We met the young people who manage the program in Northwest Province and they seem very dedicated. We were given a copy of “The Globe,” a magazine used in the schools as curriculum material, that describes the program and includes stories about children and their rights. Some of them are heartbreaking narratives of children sold into slavery. One of the program guys was saying how much better things are in South Africa where children are treated better than other places in Africa and Asia.
We Attend a Graduation
Friday morning we spent five hours at the Catholic Church. The first two hours were a mass for the graduating -- or “matric” -- students at our Catholic high school. (Here you don′t graduate, you matric.) Then after a short break, we went back to the church for a three hour awards program.
There was singing again, and some of it was simply outstanding. The 11th-graders did the choral part of the mass, and the awards program included several smaller groups -- a quartet of three girls and a boy were amazing.
The program was a lot a high school baccalaureate and graduation combined – only longer. Much longer. There were motivational speeches. One of the students who gave a short, impressive speech got the majority of academic awards. And awards were given out. It seemed that 12th grader was a winner at least once – if not for academic excellence, that at least for attendance, wearing the school uniform correctly, or cooperation in class.
A Birthday Party for the Chief
Saturday was our friend the chief’s 70th birthday and he had quite a nice party. About 12:30 PM we walked down to the chief’s house. The party was supposed to have begun at 11:30, then it was changed to 12:30 and it actually started about 1:30. One of the Catholic priests had been asked to give the opening prayer and he had an appointment in Ga-Rankuwa at 2, so he was getting a little nervous.
It was a gala affair in a tent. The chief entered accompanied by a group of singing and dancing older women. Later his wife, beautifully dressed, came with attendants. Many nice speeches were made (though we understood little, because they were in Setswana), and songs were sung, including one that sounded like the clan′s fight song. There were some darling children from one of our primary schools who performed traditional dances. We sat down about 1:45, and lunch was served about 4:15. This is what is meant by ″Africa time.″
The Boss Comes to Lunch
After church today we had a visit from the new Director of the Peace Corps, Aaron Williams. Williams is brand-new – was sworn in in Washington Sept. 17, the same day we were sworn in as volunteers. He is in South Africa for a conference of Country Directors (the Peace Corps is active in 30 or so countries in Africa) and his visit was part of a brief getting-to-know-you tour.
He arrived at our door with our boss, South Africa Country Director McGrath Thomas, and a crew of about eight others from Washington and the Pretoria office. Mr. Williams is an impressive guy – a former Peace Corps volunteer himself (Dominican Republic, 1967-70) he has had a long career in global development. He′s lived and worked in several countries including South Africa during the transition years after 1994, and know the issues.
He quizzed us about our experience as volunteers, and we did our best to advocate for older volunteers. McGrath had organized a nice brunch, so we didn′t have to strain the resources of the Ga-Rankuwa Shoprite (or our Peace Corps stipend), and we sat out in the yard under the canopy and had brunch and talked to Mr. Williams and the others.
Our baboons provided a floor show – they were out in full force and we had to chase them away a couple of times. They do provide a kind of perverse entertainment, but they were very bad today and got into the priests′ garden and ate some of the produce. The visitors were fascinated, though, and filled much space on digital camera cards with photos. We really should find a way to book the monkeys to show up for sure when we know we′re having visitors.
The Catholic primary school experienced a tragedy last week when one of the sixth grade teachers died very suddenly. We went to a two-hour memorial service Thursday at the church. It was an uplifting ceremony. Students from the high school and primary schools sang and sang. Primary school learners played recorders and African drums. One of the teachers said after the service that one way Africans deal with their grief is to sing. Whatever motivates the singing, they do it beautifully.They sing in parts, in tune, and in time in a way that few American congregations can manage. Any gathering will include a lot of beautiful singing.
Several of the teachers and students and relatives got up and spoke about the departed teacher and the Father gave a short and fitting homily about being prepared when God calls us home. The children were incredibly well behaved. We probably fidgeted more than they did.
We Monitor an Election
We had been asked to observe a special voting day at one of our primary schools and we weren′t sure what that meant. On Thursday afternoon we walked over to the school (it was really hot – we wonder if we′ll be able to make it when summer really comes) and found out.
We arrived just as the learners were starting to vote. It was impressive. They registered, voted, turned in their ballots and then a group of learners helped count the results. The learners all brought their chairs outside and sat through the process even though it was brutally hot. We took some pictures with our cameras and the children went crazy wanting us to take their pictures.
The learners were voting on candidates for “The World’s Children’s Prize for the Rights of the Child.” Nkosi Johnson was the winning candidate our school – he was a South African child born with AIDS, who in the 12 years of his life advocated for mothers and children with AIDS (he died in 2001). Nelson Mandela and his wife Graca Machel were also on the ballot, as were 12 other people from countries around the world. The voting takes place at participating schools all over the world. The idea is to promote unity and democracy among the world’s young learners as well as instill in them the importance of voting. The worldwide winner will be given money to use in his or her children’s rights programs. Queen Silvia of Sweden will officiate.
We met the young people who manage the program in Northwest Province and they seem very dedicated. We were given a copy of “The Globe,” a magazine used in the schools as curriculum material, that describes the program and includes stories about children and their rights. Some of them are heartbreaking narratives of children sold into slavery. One of the program guys was saying how much better things are in South Africa where children are treated better than other places in Africa and Asia.
We Attend a Graduation
Friday morning we spent five hours at the Catholic Church. The first two hours were a mass for the graduating -- or “matric” -- students at our Catholic high school. (Here you don′t graduate, you matric.) Then after a short break, we went back to the church for a three hour awards program.
There was singing again, and some of it was simply outstanding. The 11th-graders did the choral part of the mass, and the awards program included several smaller groups -- a quartet of three girls and a boy were amazing.
The program was a lot a high school baccalaureate and graduation combined – only longer. Much longer. There were motivational speeches. One of the students who gave a short, impressive speech got the majority of academic awards. And awards were given out. It seemed that 12th grader was a winner at least once – if not for academic excellence, that at least for attendance, wearing the school uniform correctly, or cooperation in class.
A Birthday Party for the Chief
Saturday was our friend the chief’s 70th birthday and he had quite a nice party. About 12:30 PM we walked down to the chief’s house. The party was supposed to have begun at 11:30, then it was changed to 12:30 and it actually started about 1:30. One of the Catholic priests had been asked to give the opening prayer and he had an appointment in Ga-Rankuwa at 2, so he was getting a little nervous.
It was a gala affair in a tent. The chief entered accompanied by a group of singing and dancing older women. Later his wife, beautifully dressed, came with attendants. Many nice speeches were made (though we understood little, because they were in Setswana), and songs were sung, including one that sounded like the clan′s fight song. There were some darling children from one of our primary schools who performed traditional dances. We sat down about 1:45, and lunch was served about 4:15. This is what is meant by ″Africa time.″
The Boss Comes to Lunch
After church today we had a visit from the new Director of the Peace Corps, Aaron Williams. Williams is brand-new – was sworn in in Washington Sept. 17, the same day we were sworn in as volunteers. He is in South Africa for a conference of Country Directors (the Peace Corps is active in 30 or so countries in Africa) and his visit was part of a brief getting-to-know-you tour.
He arrived at our door with our boss, South Africa Country Director McGrath Thomas, and a crew of about eight others from Washington and the Pretoria office. Mr. Williams is an impressive guy – a former Peace Corps volunteer himself (Dominican Republic, 1967-70) he has had a long career in global development. He′s lived and worked in several countries including South Africa during the transition years after 1994, and know the issues.
He quizzed us about our experience as volunteers, and we did our best to advocate for older volunteers. McGrath had organized a nice brunch, so we didn′t have to strain the resources of the Ga-Rankuwa Shoprite (or our Peace Corps stipend), and we sat out in the yard under the canopy and had brunch and talked to Mr. Williams and the others.
Our baboons provided a floor show – they were out in full force and we had to chase them away a couple of times. They do provide a kind of perverse entertainment, but they were very bad today and got into the priests′ garden and ate some of the produce. The visitors were fascinated, though, and filled much space on digital camera cards with photos. We really should find a way to book the monkeys to show up for sure when we know we′re having visitors.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
We Are Moved In
We got to our site, the village where we′ll spend the next two years, just in time for a week-long school holiday. We read for a week and worked on our communications infrastructure – both of us now have Internet access and cellphones. We finally moved from our temporary quarters with the local tribal chief (chief not like in a Tarzan movie, but like a small-town mayor) to our permanent home at the Catholic mission a week ago, late on Saturday night. The pick-up truck (or ″bakkie″ in South Africa) that was supposed to come transport our stuff had engine trouble and for two hours the owner and his friends tried to start it. They finally showed up about 6:30 PM – pushing the bakkie. In the meantime the principal in charge of our move had called another friend who also had a bakkie and he came and moved us even though it was dark.
The chief was sorry to see us go, and told us repeatedly “we are together” (a phrase you hear a lot here) and insisted that we come visit as often as possible. We will miss seeing him every day.
It turned out that the move wasn′t our last. We are still in temporary quarters, with a couple of more weeks to go while some arrangements are made and work is done. But the big news is that at last we have our own kitchen. As soon as we could we bought a stove and refrigerator. The stove is small by U.S. standards (narrow, and three burners rather than four, but a regular oven -- not the little countertop two-burner with a toaster oven underneath that so many people use here) We also bought a set of 6 pots and pans so we could cook on it. The refrigerator is what we′d think of as ″apartment-sized,″ not fancy (the freezer section isn′t self-defrosting), but it does have a freezer section, so we don’t have to buy all our food on a day-to-day basis.
We only moved about a kilometer away from the chief’s house but uphill – the compound where we are living is set at the foot of a ridge on one side of a wide valley. The hills are not very big but they are high enough and quite beautiful, outcroppings of reddish rock and trees that with spring well underway are blossoming and leafing out.
Right now there are lots of big blue jacaranda trees in bloom and they make the hillside look spectacular. We are blessed with a beautiful view and a gorgeous setting up here.
We are also blessed with wildlife, up close and personal. Daily a troupe of baboons comes down from the hills to forage for food. Sometimes they jump on the tin roof of our building – a sudden and unsettling sound. They go all over the compound – the clinic, the two schools, the training center, the church. The teachers at the schools assure us the monkeys won′t hurt us, but we are cautioned not to carry food outdoors, because they will grab it from our hands. We can′t leave windows and doors open when we are not around, either, because the baboons may get in and take things like food and small objects. So we have to be vigilant.
We′ve also discovered that mosquitoes are bad here. The first night we left the window open and were chewed up. We now have a bug spray called Doom and we ″doomed the room″ well the next night and it was much better—for us, not the mosquitoes. We′ve now acquired two kinds of mosquito repellant to wear to bed, and we′re planning to start using the mosquito net the Peace Corps provided for sleeping bug free.
We are beginning to feel a little more settled. We finally unpacked our suitcases and put them away. It is nice not to be living out of the suitcases.
The chief was sorry to see us go, and told us repeatedly “we are together” (a phrase you hear a lot here) and insisted that we come visit as often as possible. We will miss seeing him every day.
It turned out that the move wasn′t our last. We are still in temporary quarters, with a couple of more weeks to go while some arrangements are made and work is done. But the big news is that at last we have our own kitchen. As soon as we could we bought a stove and refrigerator. The stove is small by U.S. standards (narrow, and three burners rather than four, but a regular oven -- not the little countertop two-burner with a toaster oven underneath that so many people use here) We also bought a set of 6 pots and pans so we could cook on it. The refrigerator is what we′d think of as ″apartment-sized,″ not fancy (the freezer section isn′t self-defrosting), but it does have a freezer section, so we don’t have to buy all our food on a day-to-day basis.
We only moved about a kilometer away from the chief’s house but uphill – the compound where we are living is set at the foot of a ridge on one side of a wide valley. The hills are not very big but they are high enough and quite beautiful, outcroppings of reddish rock and trees that with spring well underway are blossoming and leafing out.
Right now there are lots of big blue jacaranda trees in bloom and they make the hillside look spectacular. We are blessed with a beautiful view and a gorgeous setting up here.
We are also blessed with wildlife, up close and personal. Daily a troupe of baboons comes down from the hills to forage for food. Sometimes they jump on the tin roof of our building – a sudden and unsettling sound. They go all over the compound – the clinic, the two schools, the training center, the church. The teachers at the schools assure us the monkeys won′t hurt us, but we are cautioned not to carry food outdoors, because they will grab it from our hands. We can′t leave windows and doors open when we are not around, either, because the baboons may get in and take things like food and small objects. So we have to be vigilant.
We′ve also discovered that mosquitoes are bad here. The first night we left the window open and were chewed up. We now have a bug spray called Doom and we ″doomed the room″ well the next night and it was much better—for us, not the mosquitoes. We′ve now acquired two kinds of mosquito repellant to wear to bed, and we′re planning to start using the mosquito net the Peace Corps provided for sleeping bug free.
We are beginning to feel a little more settled. We finally unpacked our suitcases and put them away. It is nice not to be living out of the suitcases.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
We Are Volunteers!
Today, September 17, 2009, we took the oath to become Peace Corps Volunteers.
Yesterday we traveled on a chartered bus from our training site to the casino/hotel where we were sworn in. We were sad to say goodbye to our host mother and her comfortable home. We met at the college with all our luggage. The bus was so full that the back several row of seats were stuffed with luggage and the Peace Corps also had a truck and trailer full of stuff we had bought earlier this week on our Shopping Day excursion to Pretoria.
It was a long ride. We were supposed to have arrived around 2 p.m. and it was a little after 4 when we finally arrived. The training manager, who was driving the truck, was calling David in the bus and texting him with messages updating us on what to do about our luggage. David, in turn, was relating the updates to the whole bus. It got kind of funny, especially when David announced he was impersonating the training manager.
We arrived at a lovely hotel casino with nice rooms and bathrooms.
We hauled all our stuff to our rooms and then had a session with Country Director McGrath. It covered stuff we had already discussed such as blogging and travel and leave and last minute details.
(You may have noticed the disclaimer in the upper right-hand corner of this page. The Peace Corps insists that whatever active volunteers write has to avoid controversy and respect the security of other volunteers. That's the reason we don't but place names or very many personal names in this blog. If you're really dying of curiosity about where we are, email us. We can tell you in private, just not in public.)
We had a delicious buffet dinner outside near the pool. We sat around for a long time talking with fellow trainees and then went to bed.
This morning we awoke and had a nice breakfast. Then we had to move our entire luggage out of the rooms into the same room where we had the ceremony. I was glad we had not bought a refrigerator or a big stove.
We had had our clothes pressed by the hotel housekeeper and we looked quite nice when we were dressed for the ceremony.
At a little before 11 a.m. the new U.S. ambassador-designate to South Africa, Donald Gips, arrived and we had a group picture taken with him. The school principals we will be working with were in the audience. Then the ceremony began. The first two South African speakers were from the Department of Education and both gave thoughtful speeches and expressed their appreciation for the Peace Corps. Then the Country Director spoke and administered the oath. It was quite moving. We all stood and raised our right hand and promised almost the same thing the president and other officials promise when they take the oath.
After the oath our language training staff came up and sang two African songs for us. Finally, the ambassador-designate gave a short speech encouraging us and promising to support us. (We are his first group. He has only been in South Africa for three weeks – not even time enough to present his papers for acceptance by the South African government and move from being ambassador-designate to ambassador.)
Afterward we had a buffet lunch. Our supervisor had arranged for a kombie to pick us up and bring us back to our permanent site. We are staying with the chief of the village and his wife for another week until we can move into a place near the Catholic school where we will be working.
It was sad leaving the hotel because we were parting from all the trainees we had become so close to in the past very intensive eight weeks. The next chance we'll have to see most of them will be in January, when we have an in-service training conference. Nonetheless, we're glad pre-service training is over. If we survived that two months, surely two years at our site will be easy by comparison.
Yesterday we traveled on a chartered bus from our training site to the casino/hotel where we were sworn in. We were sad to say goodbye to our host mother and her comfortable home. We met at the college with all our luggage. The bus was so full that the back several row of seats were stuffed with luggage and the Peace Corps also had a truck and trailer full of stuff we had bought earlier this week on our Shopping Day excursion to Pretoria.
It was a long ride. We were supposed to have arrived around 2 p.m. and it was a little after 4 when we finally arrived. The training manager, who was driving the truck, was calling David in the bus and texting him with messages updating us on what to do about our luggage. David, in turn, was relating the updates to the whole bus. It got kind of funny, especially when David announced he was impersonating the training manager.
We arrived at a lovely hotel casino with nice rooms and bathrooms.
We hauled all our stuff to our rooms and then had a session with Country Director McGrath. It covered stuff we had already discussed such as blogging and travel and leave and last minute details.
(You may have noticed the disclaimer in the upper right-hand corner of this page. The Peace Corps insists that whatever active volunteers write has to avoid controversy and respect the security of other volunteers. That's the reason we don't but place names or very many personal names in this blog. If you're really dying of curiosity about where we are, email us. We can tell you in private, just not in public.)
We had a delicious buffet dinner outside near the pool. We sat around for a long time talking with fellow trainees and then went to bed.
This morning we awoke and had a nice breakfast. Then we had to move our entire luggage out of the rooms into the same room where we had the ceremony. I was glad we had not bought a refrigerator or a big stove.
We had had our clothes pressed by the hotel housekeeper and we looked quite nice when we were dressed for the ceremony.
At a little before 11 a.m. the new U.S. ambassador-designate to South Africa, Donald Gips, arrived and we had a group picture taken with him. The school principals we will be working with were in the audience. Then the ceremony began. The first two South African speakers were from the Department of Education and both gave thoughtful speeches and expressed their appreciation for the Peace Corps. Then the Country Director spoke and administered the oath. It was quite moving. We all stood and raised our right hand and promised almost the same thing the president and other officials promise when they take the oath.
After the oath our language training staff came up and sang two African songs for us. Finally, the ambassador-designate gave a short speech encouraging us and promising to support us. (We are his first group. He has only been in South Africa for three weeks – not even time enough to present his papers for acceptance by the South African government and move from being ambassador-designate to ambassador.)
Afterward we had a buffet lunch. Our supervisor had arranged for a kombie to pick us up and bring us back to our permanent site. We are staying with the chief of the village and his wife for another week until we can move into a place near the Catholic school where we will be working.
It was sad leaving the hotel because we were parting from all the trainees we had become so close to in the past very intensive eight weeks. The next chance we'll have to see most of them will be in January, when we have an in-service training conference. Nonetheless, we're glad pre-service training is over. If we survived that two months, surely two years at our site will be easy by comparison.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
We Go to a Tombstone Unveiling
The day after the farewell party (see previous post) we went to a tombstone unveiling. This is a major event for South African families – and, like weddings and funerals, its the occasion for a big and expensive party for the community.
Yesterday three stones for members of our host mother's family were unveiled, and she has been cooking and preparing all week.
Saturday night and Sunday morning the house swarmed with visiting family members. We left at 8 a.m. (unveilings always occur early in the morning) and went first to the home of our mama's brother-in-law not too far away, where there was a religious service run by the ZCC (Zion Christian Church). It was conducted under a rented tent set up in the yard. The men's choir was dressed in beige military-style uniforms and they sang and danced and from time to time while they were singing they all jumped or stomped together. We caught the tail-end of that service as they choir was slowly dancing/recessing out to a waiting bus. We got in a relative’s car and drove quite a long way, over very dusty roads to a very rural cemetery. The three family tombs had lace coverings on them so they were easy to identify. Some 200 people had come out, family, friends, and church members. Our hostess said that really wasn’t a huge gathering because the persons for whom the tombstones were made had died many years ago and were not remembered by everyone. A tombstone is not necessarily carved within a year after a death. It can be erected decades later.
At each tombstone the ministers had a little service and a family member was invited to say something about the departed person. We heard poems and songs too, all in Setswana. It took about an hour and a half to get to all three tombstones. It was spiritually meaningful, even though we did not know the people being honored. When it was over we drove back to the relative's house where there was a feast.
Before we could enter the house we had to either wash our hands or submit to the substantial water spray the ZCC church performs to cleanse people. That is traditional. We chose to wash our hands in a tub near the entrance. Then we were sent down to a buffet of all kinds of home-cooked food. This was an even more lavish party than the Peace Corps thank-you event. Two cows had been slaughtered at the house (we missed that part, fortunately), and the ladies of the neighborhood had been cooking for days. There were huge pots and buckets of food to try.
By afternoon we were back at our house sitting under the trees and talking with our host mother's company. Her daughter and little grandson came, as well as her niece, who is in law school and a friend, and also our host's sister and her children. It was a most pleasant afternoon with our new family.
Yesterday three stones for members of our host mother's family were unveiled, and she has been cooking and preparing all week.
Saturday night and Sunday morning the house swarmed with visiting family members. We left at 8 a.m. (unveilings always occur early in the morning) and went first to the home of our mama's brother-in-law not too far away, where there was a religious service run by the ZCC (Zion Christian Church). It was conducted under a rented tent set up in the yard. The men's choir was dressed in beige military-style uniforms and they sang and danced and from time to time while they were singing they all jumped or stomped together. We caught the tail-end of that service as they choir was slowly dancing/recessing out to a waiting bus. We got in a relative’s car and drove quite a long way, over very dusty roads to a very rural cemetery. The three family tombs had lace coverings on them so they were easy to identify. Some 200 people had come out, family, friends, and church members. Our hostess said that really wasn’t a huge gathering because the persons for whom the tombstones were made had died many years ago and were not remembered by everyone. A tombstone is not necessarily carved within a year after a death. It can be erected decades later.
At each tombstone the ministers had a little service and a family member was invited to say something about the departed person. We heard poems and songs too, all in Setswana. It took about an hour and a half to get to all three tombstones. It was spiritually meaningful, even though we did not know the people being honored. When it was over we drove back to the relative's house where there was a feast.
Before we could enter the house we had to either wash our hands or submit to the substantial water spray the ZCC church performs to cleanse people. That is traditional. We chose to wash our hands in a tub near the entrance. Then we were sent down to a buffet of all kinds of home-cooked food. This was an even more lavish party than the Peace Corps thank-you event. Two cows had been slaughtered at the house (we missed that part, fortunately), and the ladies of the neighborhood had been cooking for days. There were huge pots and buckets of food to try.
By afternoon we were back at our house sitting under the trees and talking with our host mother's company. Her daughter and little grandson came, as well as her niece, who is in law school and a friend, and also our host's sister and her children. It was a most pleasant afternoon with our new family.
Monday, September 14, 2009
The Farewell Party for Our Hosts
Our eight weeks with our home-stay families is winding down as training nears its end, and Saturday we trainees put on a farewell-and-thank-you party for our host families. The Peace Corps bought a whole cow (slaughtered somewhere else), and village women came to cook the bogobe and several kinds of vegetables, including butternut squash, green beans, cabbage, and spinach. It was a traditional braai, with lots of grilled meat and chicken -- cooking the meat is a job that men traditionally do over an open fire. David proudly demonstrated his skill at grilled chicken.
I wore a traditional dress that my host mother had made for me. It was quite a hit, especially with the local women who came up and hugged me and told me how good I looked.
The trainees put on a show for the hosts and we gave our families certificates of thanks for hosting us for the last seven weeks. Many of the hosts got up and talked about how much they had liked having the trainees. One tall, large woman told us that her husband had died a few years ago and she was lonely now. She liked having the trainees in her home and she had a couple living with her. She had decided to give her male trainee the name of her late husband so, she said, she felt she had her husband back for a short while. The trainee in question turned bright red, but it was really very touching.
Many of the speakers began by singing a short song. The audience knew these songs and joined in. The wife of the tribal chief was present and she, too, began her talk with a song.
The trainees put on a hilarious skit. It was about an African family that takes in a trainee and all the funny things that happen. The trainee asks where the shower is and the host says the only time she will see a shower is when it rains. It went on to exaggerate the amount of the trainee's luggage and the difficulties of language training and was quite a hoot.
One trainee gave a short speech in Setswana and another read an original poem.
After the program we had a big dinner with lots of food. Besides the meat the men had cooked we had vegetables and salads that local women had made and a custard for dessert. It was all very good. We are going to miss our host mother and our neighbors.
I wore a traditional dress that my host mother had made for me. It was quite a hit, especially with the local women who came up and hugged me and told me how good I looked.
The trainees put on a show for the hosts and we gave our families certificates of thanks for hosting us for the last seven weeks. Many of the hosts got up and talked about how much they had liked having the trainees. One tall, large woman told us that her husband had died a few years ago and she was lonely now. She liked having the trainees in her home and she had a couple living with her. She had decided to give her male trainee the name of her late husband so, she said, she felt she had her husband back for a short while. The trainee in question turned bright red, but it was really very touching.
Many of the speakers began by singing a short song. The audience knew these songs and joined in. The wife of the tribal chief was present and she, too, began her talk with a song.
The trainees put on a hilarious skit. It was about an African family that takes in a trainee and all the funny things that happen. The trainee asks where the shower is and the host says the only time she will see a shower is when it rains. It went on to exaggerate the amount of the trainee's luggage and the difficulties of language training and was quite a hoot.
One trainee gave a short speech in Setswana and another read an original poem.
After the program we had a big dinner with lots of food. Besides the meat the men had cooked we had vegetables and salads that local women had made and a custard for dessert. It was all very good. We are going to miss our host mother and our neighbors.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Riding the Kumbies
Public transportation is very different in South Africa is from what we're used to in the United States. Because so few South Africans can afford cars, most people travel by public transportation, which mostly means taxis – but not the U.S. kind of taxis.
A U.S. taxi is a car that is rented by an individual to go from one specific address to another. Here that is called a ″meter taxi″ and it's found only in big cities. Out in the countryside where we are there are a couple of other kinds of taxis – ″local″ taxis that run a more or less prescribed route, picking up and dropping off people along the way, and larger vans that run longer distances from one "shopping town" to another, or between a major city like Pretoria and a smaller town or village. (In small towns there are often no large grocery stores. The small stores that exist are ″tuck shops″ that are expensive and usually have a limited supply of non-perishable goods. So people who want to shop at larger stores with less expensive food have to travel to a "shopping town" to buy their groceries and clothing and furniture and fixtures.)
The local taxis in our area are uniformly Asian-manufactured copies of American mini-SUVs with a little added headroom. They look like Jeeps with high foreheads, and hold a nominal 10 passengers – or more if they can be crowded in.
The long-range vehicles, also Asian-built look like American minivans (Toyota Sienna, etc.) but they're larger, and hold more passengers. Factory-standard they have 13 passenger seats, and most are customized to carry another three or four people. They are called "kumbies." We don't know why. Maybe because they "come by" on an irregular schedule.
The schedule is irregular because no kumbie leaves with empty seats. It has to fill up completely before it starts out. The first time we went from our village to Pretoria we stood on the side of the road and when we saw a minibus we held an index finger up. It had room so it stopped and picked us up. Then it continued to go around on local streets until it is full. When it was full we started for Pretoria.
(The taxi gesture language in South Africa is much more sophisticated than just standing on a curb and waving your hand the way it's done in New York: if you're going "local" you point down and local taxis stop for you. If you're going "to town" you point up and kumbies stop for you. And in some places you point back toward where you came from in order to get a ride home.)
Once in the outskirts of Pretoria passengers would shout ″short left″ or ″short right″ to indicate to the driver that they wanted to be dropped off at the next left-hand or right-hand street, and the driver pulls over and lets the passengers off.
We ended the first part of our journey to town in at a ″thekisi renke,″ or taxi rank. That is a where kumbies congregate. In big cities a taxi rank can be an underground garage or an open parking lot where kumbies wait for passengers. A queue marshal controls the area. He is the final arbiter if there are problems. At the taxi rank we changed to a different kumbie for the final leg of our trip back to the training college. (The kumbie left the taxi rank full – we waited for about 45 minutes for it to fill up – but once it got out of the city and into the countryside and began to drop off a passengers the driver began to pick up passengers going ″local″ to fill the vacant seats.)
These kumbies are very snug when loaded with people and their possessions. When we traveled we had two flexible suitcases that fit in the small trunk and under a seat. One fellow Peace Corps volunteer had a large, hard-bodied suitcase, and had to pay for an extra seat for it – but it is unusual to have something that large on a kombie. On our trip people got on with babies and diaper bags, lots of groceries, big bags full of clothes, and more. One of the passengers had apparently been to a vegetable market and had about 10 separate bags full of produce. He had to sit in the very back row of the kumbie and when he left he handed his produce, bag by bag, to passengers in rows in front of him who in turn passed them on over the seats of the kumbie until they were up front near the door. A person sitting in the front somehow managed to hold onto them while the fellow struggled to climb over the passengers in front of him. We were so crowded and the spaces for moving in and out so narrow that it took him a while to extricate himself. This kind of crowding – and cooperation – is the way kumbies work.
A U.S. taxi is a car that is rented by an individual to go from one specific address to another. Here that is called a ″meter taxi″ and it's found only in big cities. Out in the countryside where we are there are a couple of other kinds of taxis – ″local″ taxis that run a more or less prescribed route, picking up and dropping off people along the way, and larger vans that run longer distances from one "shopping town" to another, or between a major city like Pretoria and a smaller town or village. (In small towns there are often no large grocery stores. The small stores that exist are ″tuck shops″ that are expensive and usually have a limited supply of non-perishable goods. So people who want to shop at larger stores with less expensive food have to travel to a "shopping town" to buy their groceries and clothing and furniture and fixtures.)
The local taxis in our area are uniformly Asian-manufactured copies of American mini-SUVs with a little added headroom. They look like Jeeps with high foreheads, and hold a nominal 10 passengers – or more if they can be crowded in.
The long-range vehicles, also Asian-built look like American minivans (Toyota Sienna, etc.) but they're larger, and hold more passengers. Factory-standard they have 13 passenger seats, and most are customized to carry another three or four people. They are called "kumbies." We don't know why. Maybe because they "come by" on an irregular schedule.
The schedule is irregular because no kumbie leaves with empty seats. It has to fill up completely before it starts out. The first time we went from our village to Pretoria we stood on the side of the road and when we saw a minibus we held an index finger up. It had room so it stopped and picked us up. Then it continued to go around on local streets until it is full. When it was full we started for Pretoria.
(The taxi gesture language in South Africa is much more sophisticated than just standing on a curb and waving your hand the way it's done in New York: if you're going "local" you point down and local taxis stop for you. If you're going "to town" you point up and kumbies stop for you. And in some places you point back toward where you came from in order to get a ride home.)
Once in the outskirts of Pretoria passengers would shout ″short left″ or ″short right″ to indicate to the driver that they wanted to be dropped off at the next left-hand or right-hand street, and the driver pulls over and lets the passengers off.
We ended the first part of our journey to town in at a ″thekisi renke,″ or taxi rank. That is a where kumbies congregate. In big cities a taxi rank can be an underground garage or an open parking lot where kumbies wait for passengers. A queue marshal controls the area. He is the final arbiter if there are problems. At the taxi rank we changed to a different kumbie for the final leg of our trip back to the training college. (The kumbie left the taxi rank full – we waited for about 45 minutes for it to fill up – but once it got out of the city and into the countryside and began to drop off a passengers the driver began to pick up passengers going ″local″ to fill the vacant seats.)
These kumbies are very snug when loaded with people and their possessions. When we traveled we had two flexible suitcases that fit in the small trunk and under a seat. One fellow Peace Corps volunteer had a large, hard-bodied suitcase, and had to pay for an extra seat for it – but it is unusual to have something that large on a kombie. On our trip people got on with babies and diaper bags, lots of groceries, big bags full of clothes, and more. One of the passengers had apparently been to a vegetable market and had about 10 separate bags full of produce. He had to sit in the very back row of the kumbie and when he left he handed his produce, bag by bag, to passengers in rows in front of him who in turn passed them on over the seats of the kumbie until they were up front near the door. A person sitting in the front somehow managed to hold onto them while the fellow struggled to climb over the passengers in front of him. We were so crowded and the spaces for moving in and out so narrow that it took him a while to extricate himself. This kind of crowding – and cooperation – is the way kumbies work.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)