Hello all! I'm so behind I don't know where to start! How about about with a review in numbers for old time's sake?
(1) Number of Giraffe's spotted while WALKING in Ithala National Park
(2) Days spent surfing in the Indian Ocean in Durban
(3) Visitors who joined me in the last few weeks (Richard, Beth and Kevin)
(countless) Number of snowflakes - that's right, SNOWFLAKES, that fell on my last day in Nkandla.
If you don't believe me, see the attached pictures. I almost don't believe it myself! I should also mention, the day before it snowed it was 90+ degrees - easily the hottest day since I'd arrived in South Africa. I'm going to paste below the update I started before I left Nkandla to meet up with Richard, Beth and Kevin - and I'll send more recent news in a few days so I don't overwhelm you!
May 13, 2007
The past few days are a bit of a blur, but they haven't necessarily been rushed. I've been trying to visit with as many people as possible, not spend too much time on my to-do list and make as much time for the kids as possible. I haven't always succeeded in this but I am feeling as prepared as I can to depart for Durban and then return to Nkandla for my last few days.
Last week I had the majority of my final meetings with my Sonke Outreach team. It's been a bit of a challenge to manage a group of new staff, navigate the terms of an MOU with a relatively new organization (Sonke is less than a year old) and get to know the ways of Sizanani and how we operate at the same time. Last week I really enjoyed having a full group of eight trainers, four men and four women, who I can tell have bonded and know how to run these trainings start to finish. I also received the final report from an American student who visited Nkandla a few weeks ago as part of an independent study project looking at the Men As Partners training we've been conducting (see attached – pages 21 and 37 reference Nkandla specifically) which was neat to read and see how significant this work is in the greater cultural context.
Friday day was a whirlwind with multiple trips to town – the first of which took me to the pharmacy. I fear I must be gaining a bit of a reputation as I keep buying female condoms at the pharmacy for my trainers to use in their workshops. Later in the day I returned to town to mail a box of souvenirs and gifts home, and marveled at the consistent friendliness of the people around me. A group of three young women walked with me, carried one of my bags and chatted with the little English they had all the way to the post office where they departed with a "Go well" (hamba kahle – tradiational Zulu form of saying goodbye). Later as I walked back down the hill and slipped I received the token "sorry, sorry" from an older gentleman I hadn't even had a chance to greet.
I also had some interesting run ins the day before – the first with a very intoxicated Gogo (granny) who was on her way to see Sr. Sola for some food (which I am sure Sr. Sola denied unless the Gogo took some work to do with her – she's very strict about only helping people interested in helping themselves). The Gogo talked to me the entire way up the hill, in Zulu of course, until a gentleman interrupted and started to ask me about where I'm from and what I think of Nkandla. This led to a really interesting conversation about what the challenges here are, and he offered some very insightful comments about the lack of job opportunities, and most importantly, the lack of land available to native people. His words echoed a quote I read, I think it was in 'Cry the Beloved Country,' – "When the Europeans came they had the Bible and we had the land. Now, we have the Bible and they have the land." I am paraphrasing, but the point is made. This gentleman, Sam, shared that he does have a piece of land that has been in the family for ages, but he has no title papers or deed that would let him use it to his advantage in gaining a personal or business loan.
There are so many things like this that make looking at the big picture here challenging. How can we expect people's health to improve, when people have no incomes? How can we expect people to seek work when there are no jobs? How can we expect job production when people can't get loans to start businesses?
A few nights ago I marveled as I went to bed at the fact that the hillside adjoining the center where I stay was on fire, and yet no one seemed particularly concerned (was this because we'd acclimated to life as locals, or were we just being stupid?). In the following days we spotted fires on every side of the valley, and there are now great expanses of charred fields in each direction. A fire near the convent on Friday refused to go out and Benjamin, the Dutch Doctors, a number of my Sonke trainers and some of the Center and Convent staff were cutting down thin-trunked trees and clearing the area of burnable material. I honestly don't know how these fires start – we haven't had any lightning but somehow or other at this time of year they become a frequent occurrence. (I now know this has to do with certain seeds requiring fire to help them germinate - so they're set on purpose, and only sometimes get out of hand...)
Last night we stayed late a the convent practicing songs for Mother's Day with Sr. Rose. There was a fair amount of hilarity as I tried to teach a popular praise song and sing the harmony at the same time, and as we all encouraged Ryan to play a percussion shaker-type instrument which he attempted with great gusto, but little by way of results. Still, this morning our "special music" was well received, and it was nice to be able to participate in Mass with songs I know from home. After mass the church hosted a huge gathering to celebrate local moms and we celebrated with the sisters, for whom mother's day has a special meaning.
Tonight after dinner we looked at one of the candidate's photo albums from home, and giggled as she showed us pictures of herself in traditional Zulu dress – which means a beaded skirt, and little else. I told Ryan and Benjamin that they must be amongst a small percentage of men in the world who have seen a future sister with her top off. Of course this is just yet another reminder of how different cultural norms can be, and I was actually quite touched by her willingness to share such a special part of her cultural ceremonies with us (she's relatively new to the convent and still quite homesick).
Unfortunately, though I have three+ weeks of travel left to go, real life (or my real life, at least) is starting to creep back in. I received notification today that my application for health insurance was denied – a development I'm not thrilled about given the prevalence of such diseases as TB (which is said to travel at 900 kilometers a minute) in my surrounding community. This is the kind of thing that in the past has kept me taking the safe route – and I have to remind myself that some risks are worth the reward – in this case, finding a path I will be able to commit to and work I feel best utilizes my abilities and interests.
Per usual though, when I need a dose of true reality I only have to look around me. We have another child in the hospital – she seems to be doing well with a dose of antibioitics but if you look at her diagnosis (HIV+, Pneumonia and signs of a return of TB which has already caused chronic lung issues) it's a bleak prospect. I think she'll be fine for now – but it's heartbreaking to think of what the future holds.
For now, I continue to thank my lucky stars for my own health and the opportunity to be here.
Love to all,
Megan
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Week 7
Hello all!
After seven weeks in Nkandla, 'these are a few of my favorite things' (a fitting tribute to life in a convent, eh?)*:
1) In Nkandla when you make a mistake, trip or drop something, everyone else says "sorry." It's so cute and polite – and takes the responsibility for whatever blunder you've made completely off your hands. For someone who stumbles quite a bit, this is fantastic. I'm not sure what this traces to but I love it.
2) In order to answer in the negative, people here say yes. If I say to the boys, "You don't have any homework?" they respond, "Yes." This means they don't, in fact, have any homework. Or if I say to my trainers, "You didn't take the taxi to work?" they say "Yes." As in "yes, we didn't."
This has been an amazing week – due mostly to a last minute driving trip I took up the N2 (a major highway that runs North/South the length of Kwa Zulu Natal) by Swaziland to visit Igwavuma, which is where Fancy Stitch (www.fancy.org.za) is run. As I've mentioned before, one of my main objectives in Nkandla has been to research opportunities for supporting women's craft development in the hopes of providing sustainable income opportunities. Fancy Stitch does just that – and produces absolutely gorgeous embroidered tapestries, greeting cards, Christmas ornaments and custom pieces by request. Oprah Winfrey herself bought and commissioned a number of tapestries to decorate her new school – and you know that lady has taste!
Last Friday after a horrendous visit to the bank to purchase my plane tickets for Capetown and Nairobi (Wells Fargo put my card on hold 4 days after it had last been used for no real reason – they had been notified I was in South Africa but somehow the falafel I purchased in Jo'burg struck them as suspicious), I set off in one of the sisters' VW Golf's for Igwavuma. It was a gorgeous day and I arrived in the mountains just around sunset to find myself skirting the edge of the huge and utterly stunning Pongolapoort Dam. I stopped to take the attached photo and received my second proposal from someone in the midst of a group of guys sitting on the opposite side of the road. Clearly, proposing is a serious business here.
I drove on in the increasing darkness, winding my way past cows much larger than those we have in Nkandla until I finally arrived at the beautiful home of Maryna Heese, who founded and runs Fancy Stitch. Maryna and her husband are Afrikaaners who have lived in Igwavuma for the past 18 years. Her husband, Daniel, is a doctor at the hospital and they have four children – the older two are at boarding school and university, and they have two adopted children still at home. It was a real joy to spend the weekend with their family and learn about the work they do. On Friday night we were joined by their neighbor Bridget and her two adopted children, Muzi and Zaza. They live in another amazing house that Maryna also designed that is a short path's walk away from the Heese's. Both houses have an incredible view of the valley behind Igwavuma which I discovered in the morning as the kids pointed out their schools in the distance. On Friday night I was thankful for a few moments to talk with Daniel and get his perspective on treating HIV/AIDS patients – and the special challenges faced with treating children. The same factors that come up over and over here were discussed – people are resistant to getting tested and treatment is often started too late. Daniel also emphasized the current crisis in that AIDS has become what is called an "income-generating" disease. I think I've mentioned this in the past – but this made me realize that there are honestly people who are not taking precautions because they consider the government grants available to people with AIDS to be an almost positive opportunity. This is a terrifying reality, and I can't imagine what it must be like for a doctor who is committed to preventing and treating this disease.
On Saturday I accompanied Maryna and an American volunteer staying with her to Embhatisa – the workshop they built a little over a year ago to house Fancy Stitch's operations. Embhatisa means, "to share one's blanket" in Zulu, and also serves as a central point for missions work the Heese's do to in the local community. It's a breathtaking building and practically glows with the opportunity and community it fosters inside. I went crazy picking out cards and gifts – some for TAP to use in fundraising, some for myself and to share when I return in the hopes of providing an expanded market for their goods and the story they tell in the U.S.
What is most exciting and I feel an affirmation of why I needed to take this trip is that while in Igwavuma I shared the sample children's book I've made (I actually finished it there) and gained Maryna's support in working to create them with local women in Nkandla. If I can identify start-up funding, she will provide the training for our initial group of women – and also hopes to start making books in Igwavuma as well. Her expertise would be invaluable in this effort – and I'm really thankful for the opportunity to share my ideas with her. My focus now is on identifying start up funding for materials, training and a communal gathering space – and then looking for markets when I return to the states. I'm not sure how this will unfold – but whether it happens immediately or not, the pieces are coming together and I'm excited and humbled by it all.
I ended my weekend in Igwavuma by attending a prayer meeting on Sunday with some of the local "settlers" and then headed down the hill. I was blessed with another gorgeous driving day and was in good spirits as I reached the N2 and kept my eye out for the colorful birds and monkeys I'd seen along the road on my way up. What I failed to see until the last moment was a wooden box sitting in the middle of the road – which when I did register it in my line of vision, I misjudged as cardboard. Running squarely over it my tire went instantly flat and I hobbled to the side of the road and considered my options. I wasn't worried as I was on a fairly populated stretch of highway, but I have never in my life changed a flat tire and thus knew I would have to rely on the generosity of a stranger to help me out. I ended up more or less using my body to block a guy going by on a bike who ended up speaking absolutely no English (fairly rare here), but who I managed to make my case for with a lot of pointing, exaggerated smiles and "giyabongas" (singular form of 'thank you', most likely not spelled right – my Zulu is dreadful). He was wonderful and dutifully climbed under my car as the big rigs whizzed by, helped me get the tire iron in place and got most of the thing changed before a local Afrikaaner farmer stopped and finished the job. I gave the first guy some money which was the only way I could make up for having practically forced him to stop – and he happily went on his way. The whole thing took roughly 20 minutes – it couldn't have been easier (well at least for me – I didn't do anything!).
The whole trip was a really nice experience in that it helped me to let go of my final apprehensions about travel and crime and feeling like you are limited in what you do here because of the risks. The thing is, there is a lot of crime in this country – but it's no different than anywhere else in the world. Violent crime is frequently connected to impoverished areas, and people with limited access to education and opportunities. While there are random acts of violence (again, like anywhere else in the world) that can't be predicted – with proper precaution most places are truly friendly, and even being stranded on the side of the road I didn't feel threatened in the least.
I'm now in the midst of my last full week in Nkandla, tying up loose ends, finalizing travel plans and trying to spend as much time with the kids as possible. Today Siyabonga ran around with my camera and took some 200 pictures of life around the center. His images capture the spirit of this place – both the happy and the sad as for some reason a lot of the kids were in tears at various times today (I think an unwillingness to share "barroons" was partially to blame). Next week I head to Durban to meet up with Richard and then pick up Beth and Kevin to return to Nkandla and then head north for some quick safari and sightseeing before I go to Capetown on my own.
I should get at least one more update out before I leave this wondrous place – thanks for sticking with me and I hope everyone is doing well in their own adventures!
Much love,
Megan
*Ryan watched The Sound of Music with some of the sisters this weekend and said it was quite surreal which made me giggle.
After seven weeks in Nkandla, 'these are a few of my favorite things' (a fitting tribute to life in a convent, eh?)*:
1) In Nkandla when you make a mistake, trip or drop something, everyone else says "sorry." It's so cute and polite – and takes the responsibility for whatever blunder you've made completely off your hands. For someone who stumbles quite a bit, this is fantastic. I'm not sure what this traces to but I love it.
2) In order to answer in the negative, people here say yes. If I say to the boys, "You don't have any homework?" they respond, "Yes." This means they don't, in fact, have any homework. Or if I say to my trainers, "You didn't take the taxi to work?" they say "Yes." As in "yes, we didn't."
This has been an amazing week – due mostly to a last minute driving trip I took up the N2 (a major highway that runs North/South the length of Kwa Zulu Natal) by Swaziland to visit Igwavuma, which is where Fancy Stitch (www.fancy.org.za) is run. As I've mentioned before, one of my main objectives in Nkandla has been to research opportunities for supporting women's craft development in the hopes of providing sustainable income opportunities. Fancy Stitch does just that – and produces absolutely gorgeous embroidered tapestries, greeting cards, Christmas ornaments and custom pieces by request. Oprah Winfrey herself bought and commissioned a number of tapestries to decorate her new school – and you know that lady has taste!
Last Friday after a horrendous visit to the bank to purchase my plane tickets for Capetown and Nairobi (Wells Fargo put my card on hold 4 days after it had last been used for no real reason – they had been notified I was in South Africa but somehow the falafel I purchased in Jo'burg struck them as suspicious), I set off in one of the sisters' VW Golf's for Igwavuma. It was a gorgeous day and I arrived in the mountains just around sunset to find myself skirting the edge of the huge and utterly stunning Pongolapoort Dam. I stopped to take the attached photo and received my second proposal from someone in the midst of a group of guys sitting on the opposite side of the road. Clearly, proposing is a serious business here.
I drove on in the increasing darkness, winding my way past cows much larger than those we have in Nkandla until I finally arrived at the beautiful home of Maryna Heese, who founded and runs Fancy Stitch. Maryna and her husband are Afrikaaners who have lived in Igwavuma for the past 18 years. Her husband, Daniel, is a doctor at the hospital and they have four children – the older two are at boarding school and university, and they have two adopted children still at home. It was a real joy to spend the weekend with their family and learn about the work they do. On Friday night we were joined by their neighbor Bridget and her two adopted children, Muzi and Zaza. They live in another amazing house that Maryna also designed that is a short path's walk away from the Heese's. Both houses have an incredible view of the valley behind Igwavuma which I discovered in the morning as the kids pointed out their schools in the distance. On Friday night I was thankful for a few moments to talk with Daniel and get his perspective on treating HIV/AIDS patients – and the special challenges faced with treating children. The same factors that come up over and over here were discussed – people are resistant to getting tested and treatment is often started too late. Daniel also emphasized the current crisis in that AIDS has become what is called an "income-generating" disease. I think I've mentioned this in the past – but this made me realize that there are honestly people who are not taking precautions because they consider the government grants available to people with AIDS to be an almost positive opportunity. This is a terrifying reality, and I can't imagine what it must be like for a doctor who is committed to preventing and treating this disease.
On Saturday I accompanied Maryna and an American volunteer staying with her to Embhatisa – the workshop they built a little over a year ago to house Fancy Stitch's operations. Embhatisa means, "to share one's blanket" in Zulu, and also serves as a central point for missions work the Heese's do to in the local community. It's a breathtaking building and practically glows with the opportunity and community it fosters inside. I went crazy picking out cards and gifts – some for TAP to use in fundraising, some for myself and to share when I return in the hopes of providing an expanded market for their goods and the story they tell in the U.S.
What is most exciting and I feel an affirmation of why I needed to take this trip is that while in Igwavuma I shared the sample children's book I've made (I actually finished it there) and gained Maryna's support in working to create them with local women in Nkandla. If I can identify start-up funding, she will provide the training for our initial group of women – and also hopes to start making books in Igwavuma as well. Her expertise would be invaluable in this effort – and I'm really thankful for the opportunity to share my ideas with her. My focus now is on identifying start up funding for materials, training and a communal gathering space – and then looking for markets when I return to the states. I'm not sure how this will unfold – but whether it happens immediately or not, the pieces are coming together and I'm excited and humbled by it all.
I ended my weekend in Igwavuma by attending a prayer meeting on Sunday with some of the local "settlers" and then headed down the hill. I was blessed with another gorgeous driving day and was in good spirits as I reached the N2 and kept my eye out for the colorful birds and monkeys I'd seen along the road on my way up. What I failed to see until the last moment was a wooden box sitting in the middle of the road – which when I did register it in my line of vision, I misjudged as cardboard. Running squarely over it my tire went instantly flat and I hobbled to the side of the road and considered my options. I wasn't worried as I was on a fairly populated stretch of highway, but I have never in my life changed a flat tire and thus knew I would have to rely on the generosity of a stranger to help me out. I ended up more or less using my body to block a guy going by on a bike who ended up speaking absolutely no English (fairly rare here), but who I managed to make my case for with a lot of pointing, exaggerated smiles and "giyabongas" (singular form of 'thank you', most likely not spelled right – my Zulu is dreadful). He was wonderful and dutifully climbed under my car as the big rigs whizzed by, helped me get the tire iron in place and got most of the thing changed before a local Afrikaaner farmer stopped and finished the job. I gave the first guy some money which was the only way I could make up for having practically forced him to stop – and he happily went on his way. The whole thing took roughly 20 minutes – it couldn't have been easier (well at least for me – I didn't do anything!).
The whole trip was a really nice experience in that it helped me to let go of my final apprehensions about travel and crime and feeling like you are limited in what you do here because of the risks. The thing is, there is a lot of crime in this country – but it's no different than anywhere else in the world. Violent crime is frequently connected to impoverished areas, and people with limited access to education and opportunities. While there are random acts of violence (again, like anywhere else in the world) that can't be predicted – with proper precaution most places are truly friendly, and even being stranded on the side of the road I didn't feel threatened in the least.
I'm now in the midst of my last full week in Nkandla, tying up loose ends, finalizing travel plans and trying to spend as much time with the kids as possible. Today Siyabonga ran around with my camera and took some 200 pictures of life around the center. His images capture the spirit of this place – both the happy and the sad as for some reason a lot of the kids were in tears at various times today (I think an unwillingness to share "barroons" was partially to blame). Next week I head to Durban to meet up with Richard and then pick up Beth and Kevin to return to Nkandla and then head north for some quick safari and sightseeing before I go to Capetown on my own.
I should get at least one more update out before I leave this wondrous place – thanks for sticking with me and I hope everyone is doing well in their own adventures!
Much love,
Megan
*Ryan watched The Sound of Music with some of the sisters this weekend and said it was quite surreal which made me giggle.
Week 6
Hello all! The following was constructed throughout the week - enjoy!
Today I went to the post office as I'd received notification that I had a package waiting. I tried to get a few people to go with me, as being one of only two women in the entire area in my demographic tends to draw a lot of attention. I went to the post, got my humongous box (thank you Caitie!!!) and then headed to Pep store (the local clothing/cell phone/dishwashing detergent etc. depot). On the way I passed a large cow head, looking rather forlorn having been abandoned on the side of the taxi rink. I should say I hope it was abandoned, as it was covered in flies and partially black, as if it had either started to rot or had been in a fire. I was somewhat surprised though because I thought a cow's head might be a hot commodity – and yet there it sat. Just as I passed it, yielding my big box, I ran into the guy who professes love to me every time I go to Pep store to buy airtime for my phone. I think after our first three interactions and my repeated unwillingness to give him my number, we have found a happy medium and I no longer dread running into him. After getting my airtime I started the walk home, and realized as I passed a number of Gogos (grandmas) with various items on their head – blankets, boxes, wash tubs etc. – just how much sense that makes! When I got to a flat spot I carefully put the box on my head, and while I couldn't manage without using my hands to balance it, I walked most of the rest of the way as such. I also ran into one of my outreach workers who went back to his nursing job a few weeks ago after a local strike ended, and it was nice to feel like I was running into a neighbor around town.
Other "local" like activities this week included trying a local root vegetable that looks like a little ball of dirt before you peel the outside off and discover the not unpleasant taste somewhat like a cross between a potato and a turnip. I also finally found out what the dime-sized red mark on my right arm is. At first I thought it was a spider bite – but it was kind of peeling a little and it wasn't going away. Today Sr. Ellen told me with a twinkle in her eye that it's ring worm. Enter Mike Meyers and Coffee Talk, "I'll give you a topic, Ring Worm – it's neither a ring, nor a worm – Discuss." Thank God it's NOT in fact a worm – it's just called that because around the edge of the circle (the "ring" if you will) it kind of puffs up the first few days. It's actually a fungus, so I'm applying fungicide 3x a day. I figure I can deal as long as there are no actual worms involved, and it kind of makes me feel like I've been initiated into the craziness of the health situation here. Sr. Ellen says I've gotten it from one of the kids (which makes sense as it's on my arm which is frequently tugged on and grabbed by any number of little people) but not to worry about anything else having been transmitted with it (big sigh of relief).
This past weekend I went to Jo'burg with Ryan (the social worker) and absolutely loved the city. Jo'burg has a reputation for being an extremely dangerous city, so imagine my surprise when we pulled into an absolutely lovely suburb of tree-lined streets and beautiful houses. Of course safety is an issue, so all the houses have protective "walls" out front and many have bars on the windows – but the architecture is gorgeous and there are some really beautiful areas. I never felt unsafe – but I of course took many precautions, and was being shown around with someone who grew up in Jo'burg and knew what areas to avoid. Regardless, it was nice to get past the tourist warnings and experience all that the city had to offer. We had a marathon visit to the Apartheid museum before and even longer marathon watching of the cricket world cup. The most poignant part of the Apartheid museum for me came at the end, when after seeing picture upon picture of human brutality at its worst, reading about the injustices only humans seem able to inflict on each other and tracing the ongoing struggle for equality, the final signage says something along the lines of, "Take a moment to contemplate what you have seen, then walk away free."
Regarding the cricket. Good lord I am thankful this isn't popular in the U.S. I have barely got a grip on baseball, and throw something into the mix with sticky wickets, LBW's (leg before wicket), 4 and 6 point shots and OH YAH – the "short" version of the game being 5 and a half hours (!?) and you've lost me completely. Thankfully our world cup viewing party also included a Braai (traditional South African barbecue) and some of my first exposure to high speed internet in this country. You can thank that for some actual pictures posted on my Flickr account here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/64116215@N00/ . I didn't get all the pics I'd hoped uploaded but this should give you a better idea of what Nkandla is like!
We rounded out our time in Jo'burg with a trip to Soweto and the Hector Peterson Memorial. Hector Peterson was a 13 year old boy who was shot during student protests against mandated curriculum changes to teach in Afrikaans in 1973. Students were facing the requirement to learn two languages simultaneously (English and Afrikaans) – some already years into their schooling. Failing grades and an inability to engage in their education led black students to protest, and as a byproduct of such actions, it was children who ended up playing major activist roles in years to come. The profound reality you walk away with after visiting such museums and learning about the history is just how much is still left to be done, and how very recent these struggles were. In Soweto, most residents still know of someone killed during the riots in the 70's, 80's and 90's – many of whom were children. At the Apartheid museum, every time you thought things were getting better, a whole new range of policies would be put into affect, and more fighting would ensue.
I had a fantastic opportunity to discuss the effects of such history and the ongoing struggle for true equality when I met with a former journalist and current spokesperson for the Minister of the Department of Arts and Culture, Sandile Memela. I was put in touch with Sandile by a friend of a friend who did a two-year Peace Corps stint in South Africa. It was great to meet with an individual who can trace his family history through the struggle years of apartheid, and who has achieved great success despite the prejudices faced in those years (and unfortunately to this day). Sandile has put me in touch with some of his co-workers who I will be hoping to meet with in a few weeks en route to Nairobi, where I'll fly out from. I will be submitting to them a proposal for a new women's initiative in Nkandla which is very exciting. This weekend I'll further my research on such initiatives with a visit to Ingwavuma on the border of Swaziland where a woman named Maryna Heese directs a project of 300 women producing beadwork, weaving and stitched pictures. I can't wait!
Thank you all for sharing this trip with me in my weekly updates (my form of journaling) and for those of you who have sent goodies for both me and the kids. I got an amazing box of holographic mobiles, stickers and sparkly wands from my sister-in-law's aunt a couple of days ago – I absolutely can't wait to decorate the kids' rooms. Caitie's box today was chock full of puzzles, games and cards – things the kids will absolutely love (a few actually dug into the puzzles in my room tonight after dinner). And the tips and contacts provided by Aliona, Megan Scott, Kevin Smith and Lilian Were (to name only a few!) have been invaluable. It makes the whole experience so much richer for me to know that it doesn't end with me - that I get to share it with all of you.
Until next week,
Megan
P.S. Additional Kudos go to Ryan and his family for hosting me this weekend (and treating me to my very first hot crossed buns)!
Today I went to the post office as I'd received notification that I had a package waiting. I tried to get a few people to go with me, as being one of only two women in the entire area in my demographic tends to draw a lot of attention. I went to the post, got my humongous box (thank you Caitie!!!) and then headed to Pep store (the local clothing/cell phone/dishwashing detergent etc. depot). On the way I passed a large cow head, looking rather forlorn having been abandoned on the side of the taxi rink. I should say I hope it was abandoned, as it was covered in flies and partially black, as if it had either started to rot or had been in a fire. I was somewhat surprised though because I thought a cow's head might be a hot commodity – and yet there it sat. Just as I passed it, yielding my big box, I ran into the guy who professes love to me every time I go to Pep store to buy airtime for my phone. I think after our first three interactions and my repeated unwillingness to give him my number, we have found a happy medium and I no longer dread running into him. After getting my airtime I started the walk home, and realized as I passed a number of Gogos (grandmas) with various items on their head – blankets, boxes, wash tubs etc. – just how much sense that makes! When I got to a flat spot I carefully put the box on my head, and while I couldn't manage without using my hands to balance it, I walked most of the rest of the way as such. I also ran into one of my outreach workers who went back to his nursing job a few weeks ago after a local strike ended, and it was nice to feel like I was running into a neighbor around town.
Other "local" like activities this week included trying a local root vegetable that looks like a little ball of dirt before you peel the outside off and discover the not unpleasant taste somewhat like a cross between a potato and a turnip. I also finally found out what the dime-sized red mark on my right arm is. At first I thought it was a spider bite – but it was kind of peeling a little and it wasn't going away. Today Sr. Ellen told me with a twinkle in her eye that it's ring worm. Enter Mike Meyers and Coffee Talk, "I'll give you a topic, Ring Worm – it's neither a ring, nor a worm – Discuss." Thank God it's NOT in fact a worm – it's just called that because around the edge of the circle (the "ring" if you will) it kind of puffs up the first few days. It's actually a fungus, so I'm applying fungicide 3x a day. I figure I can deal as long as there are no actual worms involved, and it kind of makes me feel like I've been initiated into the craziness of the health situation here. Sr. Ellen says I've gotten it from one of the kids (which makes sense as it's on my arm which is frequently tugged on and grabbed by any number of little people) but not to worry about anything else having been transmitted with it (big sigh of relief).
This past weekend I went to Jo'burg with Ryan (the social worker) and absolutely loved the city. Jo'burg has a reputation for being an extremely dangerous city, so imagine my surprise when we pulled into an absolutely lovely suburb of tree-lined streets and beautiful houses. Of course safety is an issue, so all the houses have protective "walls" out front and many have bars on the windows – but the architecture is gorgeous and there are some really beautiful areas. I never felt unsafe – but I of course took many precautions, and was being shown around with someone who grew up in Jo'burg and knew what areas to avoid. Regardless, it was nice to get past the tourist warnings and experience all that the city had to offer. We had a marathon visit to the Apartheid museum before and even longer marathon watching of the cricket world cup. The most poignant part of the Apartheid museum for me came at the end, when after seeing picture upon picture of human brutality at its worst, reading about the injustices only humans seem able to inflict on each other and tracing the ongoing struggle for equality, the final signage says something along the lines of, "Take a moment to contemplate what you have seen, then walk away free."
Regarding the cricket. Good lord I am thankful this isn't popular in the U.S. I have barely got a grip on baseball, and throw something into the mix with sticky wickets, LBW's (leg before wicket), 4 and 6 point shots and OH YAH – the "short" version of the game being 5 and a half hours (!?) and you've lost me completely. Thankfully our world cup viewing party also included a Braai (traditional South African barbecue) and some of my first exposure to high speed internet in this country. You can thank that for some actual pictures posted on my Flickr account here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/64116215@N00/ . I didn't get all the pics I'd hoped uploaded but this should give you a better idea of what Nkandla is like!
We rounded out our time in Jo'burg with a trip to Soweto and the Hector Peterson Memorial. Hector Peterson was a 13 year old boy who was shot during student protests against mandated curriculum changes to teach in Afrikaans in 1973. Students were facing the requirement to learn two languages simultaneously (English and Afrikaans) – some already years into their schooling. Failing grades and an inability to engage in their education led black students to protest, and as a byproduct of such actions, it was children who ended up playing major activist roles in years to come. The profound reality you walk away with after visiting such museums and learning about the history is just how much is still left to be done, and how very recent these struggles were. In Soweto, most residents still know of someone killed during the riots in the 70's, 80's and 90's – many of whom were children. At the Apartheid museum, every time you thought things were getting better, a whole new range of policies would be put into affect, and more fighting would ensue.
I had a fantastic opportunity to discuss the effects of such history and the ongoing struggle for true equality when I met with a former journalist and current spokesperson for the Minister of the Department of Arts and Culture, Sandile Memela. I was put in touch with Sandile by a friend of a friend who did a two-year Peace Corps stint in South Africa. It was great to meet with an individual who can trace his family history through the struggle years of apartheid, and who has achieved great success despite the prejudices faced in those years (and unfortunately to this day). Sandile has put me in touch with some of his co-workers who I will be hoping to meet with in a few weeks en route to Nairobi, where I'll fly out from. I will be submitting to them a proposal for a new women's initiative in Nkandla which is very exciting. This weekend I'll further my research on such initiatives with a visit to Ingwavuma on the border of Swaziland where a woman named Maryna Heese directs a project of 300 women producing beadwork, weaving and stitched pictures. I can't wait!
Thank you all for sharing this trip with me in my weekly updates (my form of journaling) and for those of you who have sent goodies for both me and the kids. I got an amazing box of holographic mobiles, stickers and sparkly wands from my sister-in-law's aunt a couple of days ago – I absolutely can't wait to decorate the kids' rooms. Caitie's box today was chock full of puzzles, games and cards – things the kids will absolutely love (a few actually dug into the puzzles in my room tonight after dinner). And the tips and contacts provided by Aliona, Megan Scott, Kevin Smith and Lilian Were (to name only a few!) have been invaluable. It makes the whole experience so much richer for me to know that it doesn't end with me - that I get to share it with all of you.
Until next week,
Megan
P.S. Additional Kudos go to Ryan and his family for hosting me this weekend (and treating me to my very first hot crossed buns)!
Week 5
Dear ones,
Sorry for the delay in last week's update, email has been challenging but I am hoping to remedy this soon by getting a cell phone for our organization that will allow volunteers to access internet via our lap top. This week has been a week of work mostly – along with a number of visitors that have come to Nkandla to help with trainings (for the administrators and leading staff at the Center) as well as a visit from ARCK – one of the main funders of our outreach programs (it's a Capetown-based non-profit). One of the points that ARCK emphasized while they were here is the importance of Nkandla finding ways to be self sufficient – meaning their support won't last forever – which reinforced in me my commitment to identifying some way of getting sustainable income generation in place for women who are homebound due to their health or the health of their children.
Which brings me to Sr. Sola – who, as my grandfather would have said, "Invented the God damn thing." She actually started Sizanani Center – which originally served as a place to train people in sewing, animal husbandry, gardening and raising chickens. Over the years, as new opportunities arose and the surrounding environment shifted, this work was not as necessary and/or drawing the same amount of interest – and the need for a children's center and a base for home healthcare and outreach work became the priority. Sr. Sola – one of the founding sisters and now 87 years old – moved her operations to the convent, where she now operates out of a little bungalow next to the garden (there's a sign on the front of the convent that says "Kwa Magogo" – which means "Grandma this way" – so cute! Among other things, she sells basic supplies (pens, sewing material, rosaries etc.) – but also seeds, beads and materials to make crafts which she buys back with money and small food parcels. The main things she has women and men working on are Zulu baskets, Nkandla beaded stars, beaded felt coasters and beaded necklaces and jewelry. The majority of these goods are then given to the Mother Superior who arranges for them to be shipped to Germany and sold. It is a very small operation on the external front – I don't believe they are focusing as much on the selling as they are the buying and providing income.
I've had a few ideas for additional crafts that I think would be easy to transport and have slightly wider marketability on an international scale since I've been here. I am working with Sister Sola to draft a plan for pursuing their development – it includes finding a start-up grant to do training and gather supplies, as well as developing prototypes and exploring the various costs involved – including management, shipping etc. This is really what I came to Nkandla to do, and while I don't think I'll come near to finishing this work while I'm here – I feel like after ARCK's visit I had the real impetus I needed to get it going. So stay tuned!
It's important to have things like this to focus on as this week the reality of the situation here really set in. I have attached something I wrote in response to the first loss I've experienced here. I will warn you, it's heavy – but it's reality. When you first come to a place where death is so constant, so frequent – it catches you by surprise. Then adaptation sets in, and you think, "so this is what it means to be surrounded by death." But you cannot know, you will not know until you experience it – until you trace its course and go from seeing someone so innocent and childlike in front of you one day, and having them gone the next. And even then you will know nothing of the reality of a mother having lost her child (or perhaps more than one), or the loss of one's parents or siblings – the people that make your own life have meaning. How can a community be expected to survive? How can a people be expected to persevere when the fibers that bind them together are breaking, one by one? These thoughts have permeated my week.
In healthcare we speak of the safety net – the system that catches the children whose parents have died or can't provide for them, who are affected by the state of society or the community around them. Here, the safety net needs a safety net. I have just learned that roughly half of our caregivers, all young professionals between the ages of 20 and 35 more or less are HIV+. One is on leave with full blown Aids, his girlfriend still at work each day with a job that takes her to homes where people are dying, whether on treatment or not. And then there are the stories about people who are so impoverished that they'd literally choose to go off life-saving medication, rather than lose the grants they receive when their CD4 counts drop. Sr. Ellen told us of a woman with a child who lost her child support grant due to the child's age, and her grant (because her health had improved) in the same month. It was her entire source of income – what was she to do? She literally had to ask herself if she'd stay on medication and starve, or go off, and face certain death?
I realize that such things may sound strange to us in a country where public assistance isn't so freely given (I'm sure many would beg to differ, of course). But when you're in a community where there are no jobs, or where your health prevents you from working – this assistance is critical. I am still trying to understand how all these factors come together and influence the state of being the community finds itself in – where is the help most needed? What factor, if changed, could set off a chain reaction and improve the situation as a whole?
I know this email is heavy, so I want to end on some positive things – the things that make up my daily life here and have me counting my blessings throughout the day. Among them: Waking in the morning to children's voices and laughter, hearing them down the hall as they take their meals and say their well rehearsed prayer with a loud "Ah-men" at the end, watching them play in the afternoon sun – the older boys kicking around a soccer ball and taking frequent breaks to dog pile each other with laughter and silliness, the younger kids playing with the "barroon" I've blown up for them, a pile of three sitting on the world's smallest skateboard and wheeling crazily down the path, little Nophiwa putting her arms around Sinzhle (who is blind) and helping her to stand up – such moments I know I will revisit in my mind a thousand times once I've left this place.
Tonight as we walked back from dinner it was as if the night had captured the heat of the day and thrown in just the perfect amount of breeze. There was a crystal clear toenail moon to accompany the vast smattering of stars which were our only light. As we turned up the hill towards the Center the Southern Cross hung prominent and in the distance a few flashes of lightning illuminated the horizon to our left.
Then I kicked off the top of one of the day's dung heaps with my flip-flopped foot in the darkness. Such is life in Nkandla!
Much love,
Megan
Sorry for the delay in last week's update, email has been challenging but I am hoping to remedy this soon by getting a cell phone for our organization that will allow volunteers to access internet via our lap top. This week has been a week of work mostly – along with a number of visitors that have come to Nkandla to help with trainings (for the administrators and leading staff at the Center) as well as a visit from ARCK – one of the main funders of our outreach programs (it's a Capetown-based non-profit). One of the points that ARCK emphasized while they were here is the importance of Nkandla finding ways to be self sufficient – meaning their support won't last forever – which reinforced in me my commitment to identifying some way of getting sustainable income generation in place for women who are homebound due to their health or the health of their children.
Which brings me to Sr. Sola – who, as my grandfather would have said, "Invented the God damn thing." She actually started Sizanani Center – which originally served as a place to train people in sewing, animal husbandry, gardening and raising chickens. Over the years, as new opportunities arose and the surrounding environment shifted, this work was not as necessary and/or drawing the same amount of interest – and the need for a children's center and a base for home healthcare and outreach work became the priority. Sr. Sola – one of the founding sisters and now 87 years old – moved her operations to the convent, where she now operates out of a little bungalow next to the garden (there's a sign on the front of the convent that says "Kwa Magogo" – which means "Grandma this way" – so cute! Among other things, she sells basic supplies (pens, sewing material, rosaries etc.) – but also seeds, beads and materials to make crafts which she buys back with money and small food parcels. The main things she has women and men working on are Zulu baskets, Nkandla beaded stars, beaded felt coasters and beaded necklaces and jewelry. The majority of these goods are then given to the Mother Superior who arranges for them to be shipped to Germany and sold. It is a very small operation on the external front – I don't believe they are focusing as much on the selling as they are the buying and providing income.
I've had a few ideas for additional crafts that I think would be easy to transport and have slightly wider marketability on an international scale since I've been here. I am working with Sister Sola to draft a plan for pursuing their development – it includes finding a start-up grant to do training and gather supplies, as well as developing prototypes and exploring the various costs involved – including management, shipping etc. This is really what I came to Nkandla to do, and while I don't think I'll come near to finishing this work while I'm here – I feel like after ARCK's visit I had the real impetus I needed to get it going. So stay tuned!
It's important to have things like this to focus on as this week the reality of the situation here really set in. I have attached something I wrote in response to the first loss I've experienced here. I will warn you, it's heavy – but it's reality. When you first come to a place where death is so constant, so frequent – it catches you by surprise. Then adaptation sets in, and you think, "so this is what it means to be surrounded by death." But you cannot know, you will not know until you experience it – until you trace its course and go from seeing someone so innocent and childlike in front of you one day, and having them gone the next. And even then you will know nothing of the reality of a mother having lost her child (or perhaps more than one), or the loss of one's parents or siblings – the people that make your own life have meaning. How can a community be expected to survive? How can a people be expected to persevere when the fibers that bind them together are breaking, one by one? These thoughts have permeated my week.
In healthcare we speak of the safety net – the system that catches the children whose parents have died or can't provide for them, who are affected by the state of society or the community around them. Here, the safety net needs a safety net. I have just learned that roughly half of our caregivers, all young professionals between the ages of 20 and 35 more or less are HIV+. One is on leave with full blown Aids, his girlfriend still at work each day with a job that takes her to homes where people are dying, whether on treatment or not. And then there are the stories about people who are so impoverished that they'd literally choose to go off life-saving medication, rather than lose the grants they receive when their CD4 counts drop. Sr. Ellen told us of a woman with a child who lost her child support grant due to the child's age, and her grant (because her health had improved) in the same month. It was her entire source of income – what was she to do? She literally had to ask herself if she'd stay on medication and starve, or go off, and face certain death?
I realize that such things may sound strange to us in a country where public assistance isn't so freely given (I'm sure many would beg to differ, of course). But when you're in a community where there are no jobs, or where your health prevents you from working – this assistance is critical. I am still trying to understand how all these factors come together and influence the state of being the community finds itself in – where is the help most needed? What factor, if changed, could set off a chain reaction and improve the situation as a whole?
I know this email is heavy, so I want to end on some positive things – the things that make up my daily life here and have me counting my blessings throughout the day. Among them: Waking in the morning to children's voices and laughter, hearing them down the hall as they take their meals and say their well rehearsed prayer with a loud "Ah-men" at the end, watching them play in the afternoon sun – the older boys kicking around a soccer ball and taking frequent breaks to dog pile each other with laughter and silliness, the younger kids playing with the "barroon" I've blown up for them, a pile of three sitting on the world's smallest skateboard and wheeling crazily down the path, little Nophiwa putting her arms around Sinzhle (who is blind) and helping her to stand up – such moments I know I will revisit in my mind a thousand times once I've left this place.
Tonight as we walked back from dinner it was as if the night had captured the heat of the day and thrown in just the perfect amount of breeze. There was a crystal clear toenail moon to accompany the vast smattering of stars which were our only light. As we turned up the hill towards the Center the Southern Cross hung prominent and in the distance a few flashes of lightning illuminated the horizon to our left.
Then I kicked off the top of one of the day's dung heaps with my flip-flopped foot in the darkness. Such is life in Nkandla!
Much love,
Megan
Week 4
This week in numbers:
(1): Number of dead mambas - this time shot(!) by the police.
(5): Number of hours sat through the Zulu Easter mass between 8 and 1 in the morning on Saturday night…and we left early…
(11): Number of rhinos spotted while visiting Hluhluwe-Imfolozi game park on Sunday
(Countless): It's a tie between the number of chocolate eggs I've eaten this week and the hours during which the local Shembe* music (a distinct sound that I've isolated as a cross between a bagpipe, a didgeridoo and a vacuum cleaner), played at the all-weekend prayer service in honor of Easter weekend held at the local high school.
That's the thing about Nkandla – if anyone, anywhere in the valley is listening to music, playing music or carrying about in anyway, you know. Someone should really study the acoustics of this village – when they're playing soccer (as they were last weekend), it's like you're in the stands when you're 100s of meters away on the trail between the center and the convent. And when the local Tuckshop (which until recently had a bit of tape manipulating the first letter) is playing music, you KNOW it - whether you're in bed, on a walk, in church – wherever – you can hear it!
A quick Easter recap: Yes, a five and a half hour mass was celebrated Saturday before last. Three of our children were baptized – though they had to sit through four hours of service before it was time, at midnight, for them to become full-fledged Catholics. They were absolute troopers and I was amazed at their patience – especially given that they are three of our sickest girls. At one a.m. I finally gave up guessing when the mass would end and insisted it was time to take the girls to bed – which thankfully everyone agreed with. The next day I went to a birthday party for one of our caregiver's daughters with a cake the size of the four year old it celebrated and 15 or so of the happiest kids I think I've ever come across. We sang birthday songs, ate, opened presents and then had a total dance off before I was asked to say a closing prayer. One thing that I've learned about South Africa is it is an incredibly religious place – though not necessarily in the way you might associate religion in the states. Prayer is incorporated into just about every social or group setting – whether at work or at home – and it's really a way of life. Back to the party: I was picked up afterwards by the caregiver's father for a ride home. It ended up being one of the most entertaining/terrifying rides of my life – for as we exited the house down the mud driveway, I noticed the car listing to the left, and was a bit shocked to see the driver turning the steering wheel frantically to the right. Then, as the car slowly drifted to the right, he started violently turning the wheel to the left – and the car continued to the right. This process was repeated as we went down the driveway, and it occurred to me that the steering column seemed to have very little to do with the direction of the car, and yet there we were somehow turning left, onto a different road than that which we'd arrived on, meaning we were taking the so-called "shortcut" the driver who'd brought me to the party (in a fully functioning truck) had avoided due to recent rain. For the next 15 minutes my driver continued with what reminded me of video-game driving (you know, where it seems as if what you do on your controller has nothing to do with the car you see on the screen?) and I tried as much as I could to make small talk while praying my heart out (like a true local!) – and of course trying to admire the scenery (though the steep slopes to my left were more nerve-wracking than pretty, and don't get me started on the cows - one of which was at one point directly in front of me, staring me in the eye as if to challenge us to hit him – it's like he knew the crazy vehicle we were in didn't have the slightest chance of continuing in a straight line). I finally arrived at the convent just in time for dinner, clutching a plastic bag full of remains of the world's largest birthday cake and thanking my lucky stars for the expertise of a driver who has clearly had his truck for a long, long time.
The gender training teams I'm working with had their first trainings last week and I was able to visit both locations. It's really exciting to see young people feel empowered to share such a positive message and they're really doing a great job. Both locations managed to get over 30 people, and they all felt good about the trainings as a whole (though challenges like rain, transit and pension day interceded to cut one training short). Next week they'll be breaking into teams of two and each will outreach to another target of 30-40 men. Today (Monday) I traveled to one of the sites which is in Mandaba – an extremely rural area past Nkandla with horrible roads but absolutely breathtaking views. On our way back I had a chance to visit a couple of our families as we dropped off extra food, one of which is a child-headed family of four – the oldest of which can't be older than 14. I think the attached picture can say more about the reality of child-headed families than I could possibly convey with words.
This past weekend was great fun as on Saturday we finally went at the one of the Easter Pinatas (much hilarity ensued!) and then Benjamin, Ryan and I headed off to Hluhluwe to celebrate my birthday at a great back packers lodge where I had my first proper South African Braais ( a.k.a. BBQ) and the world's largest cocktail-refered-to-as a Mai Tai but which in reality tasted more like Red Bull and tonic. On Sunday we visited our first craft market and promptly made plans to return as it was too big to take on and we needed to get to the game park. The game parks in South Africa are quite neat – many cost a reasonable fee to enter (as a resident/volunteers in South Africa we paid 40 rand – about $6) and then you simply drive around in your own vehicle looking for animals. We didn't see much at first, but as the day continued we managed to rack up the sightings, and the final count was the afore mentioned 11 rhinos (this is the best spot in the world to see rhinos and responsible for removing the white rhino from the conservation lists), 3 elephants, numerous giraffe/zebra/warthogs/impalas/wildebeest/buffalo/baboons/vervet monkeys and one antelope I forget the name of. So no great cats yet, but I have at least one safari to go once my friends arrive – so I'm in good shape!
Today I had my first big group tutoring session with the 4-6 graders. It's a challenge to keep them focused, but some of them are really bright (we were going through the alphabet today and everyone had to say a word that started with the letters in sequence and one of them came up with "Economics" – I was impressed!). I am really driven to get their brains going and see if I can get the more advanced English speakers to take an interest in those that are struggling to learn. Teaching has always been really challenging and intimidating for me but I'm enjoying an opportunity to take it on with children I have a truly vested interest in.
On that note, one of our kids is back in the hospital with pretty bleak prospects and her case has opened my eyes to some of the policy issues that can mean life or death for some of the most vulnerable children here. In order to start ARV treatment people need to have CD4 counts of 200 or below – and while we know this child is positive, we don't know her CD4 count. One of the doctors who has recently left the hospital, however, advised me today that a CD4 count isn't necessary if a child has been in the hospital 3 or more times in a given amount of time – which this child has. So she should be on treatment already, but the doctors who have attended to her have not pushed it as they wait for the CD4 count. While I attempt to balance my observations here and the knowledge that I'm just catching a sliver of what's going on and what the challenges are – I can't help but have my blood boil at something like this. I think that's party of why this experience is so valuable for me – the reminder of the sanctity of all human life – no matter how big, or how small – becomes so easy to overlook in widespread crises like the HIV/AIDS situation here. I am reminded of the example set by Sister Theresa, and more recently by the Sr. Ann, the nun we lost a few weeks ago in a local convent who entered a burning building to save hospice patients who were struggling with terminal illnesses. All life is sacred – there's simply no way to fight this if you don't believe that.
Of course when I do get down, someone comes along to cheer me up or make me laugh. Today it was one of the older boys who came into my room and saw one of my drawers opened. He picked up a bag of tampons and said, "My mom used to have these at home. I thought they were candy and tried to eat one once." I just about lost it as he sat there holding the bag up at face level – clearly still in the dark as to what the funny little cotton things are for. I decided to let things lie as I'm sure I would have had the bag hurled at me had I explained their actual purpose and he realized what he had in his hand.
I think I thought as my time went on my updates would get shorter, that I'd have gradually filled everyone in on the basics and would just mention the fun or unique things I was doing. The more I'm here the more I realize that I could write page upon page about what I'm seeing – each day amazes me with the stories that unfold, the people that enter in and the perspective it brings. I had a feeling before I came that this trip would simply be a first visit – and this is confirmed daily as I recognize work I would like to do, places I would like to visit – things I would like to follow up on. I've applied for a Rotary scholarship to return for a year in 2008 – it's a long shot but I'm throwing whatever opportunities I can out there.
Until next week, with much much love from the heart of Nkandla,
Megan
*Shembe is a widely popular religion that started when the Zulus wanted to embrace Christianity but also wanted to hold on to various Zulu traditions. It's a sort of Zulu Christianity, one could say.
(1): Number of dead mambas - this time shot(!) by the police.
(5): Number of hours sat through the Zulu Easter mass between 8 and 1 in the morning on Saturday night…and we left early…
(11): Number of rhinos spotted while visiting Hluhluwe-Imfolozi game park on Sunday
(Countless): It's a tie between the number of chocolate eggs I've eaten this week and the hours during which the local Shembe* music (a distinct sound that I've isolated as a cross between a bagpipe, a didgeridoo and a vacuum cleaner), played at the all-weekend prayer service in honor of Easter weekend held at the local high school.
That's the thing about Nkandla – if anyone, anywhere in the valley is listening to music, playing music or carrying about in anyway, you know. Someone should really study the acoustics of this village – when they're playing soccer (as they were last weekend), it's like you're in the stands when you're 100s of meters away on the trail between the center and the convent. And when the local Tuckshop (which until recently had a bit of tape manipulating the first letter) is playing music, you KNOW it - whether you're in bed, on a walk, in church – wherever – you can hear it!
A quick Easter recap: Yes, a five and a half hour mass was celebrated Saturday before last. Three of our children were baptized – though they had to sit through four hours of service before it was time, at midnight, for them to become full-fledged Catholics. They were absolute troopers and I was amazed at their patience – especially given that they are three of our sickest girls. At one a.m. I finally gave up guessing when the mass would end and insisted it was time to take the girls to bed – which thankfully everyone agreed with. The next day I went to a birthday party for one of our caregiver's daughters with a cake the size of the four year old it celebrated and 15 or so of the happiest kids I think I've ever come across. We sang birthday songs, ate, opened presents and then had a total dance off before I was asked to say a closing prayer. One thing that I've learned about South Africa is it is an incredibly religious place – though not necessarily in the way you might associate religion in the states. Prayer is incorporated into just about every social or group setting – whether at work or at home – and it's really a way of life. Back to the party: I was picked up afterwards by the caregiver's father for a ride home. It ended up being one of the most entertaining/terrifying rides of my life – for as we exited the house down the mud driveway, I noticed the car listing to the left, and was a bit shocked to see the driver turning the steering wheel frantically to the right. Then, as the car slowly drifted to the right, he started violently turning the wheel to the left – and the car continued to the right. This process was repeated as we went down the driveway, and it occurred to me that the steering column seemed to have very little to do with the direction of the car, and yet there we were somehow turning left, onto a different road than that which we'd arrived on, meaning we were taking the so-called "shortcut" the driver who'd brought me to the party (in a fully functioning truck) had avoided due to recent rain. For the next 15 minutes my driver continued with what reminded me of video-game driving (you know, where it seems as if what you do on your controller has nothing to do with the car you see on the screen?) and I tried as much as I could to make small talk while praying my heart out (like a true local!) – and of course trying to admire the scenery (though the steep slopes to my left were more nerve-wracking than pretty, and don't get me started on the cows - one of which was at one point directly in front of me, staring me in the eye as if to challenge us to hit him – it's like he knew the crazy vehicle we were in didn't have the slightest chance of continuing in a straight line). I finally arrived at the convent just in time for dinner, clutching a plastic bag full of remains of the world's largest birthday cake and thanking my lucky stars for the expertise of a driver who has clearly had his truck for a long, long time.
The gender training teams I'm working with had their first trainings last week and I was able to visit both locations. It's really exciting to see young people feel empowered to share such a positive message and they're really doing a great job. Both locations managed to get over 30 people, and they all felt good about the trainings as a whole (though challenges like rain, transit and pension day interceded to cut one training short). Next week they'll be breaking into teams of two and each will outreach to another target of 30-40 men. Today (Monday) I traveled to one of the sites which is in Mandaba – an extremely rural area past Nkandla with horrible roads but absolutely breathtaking views. On our way back I had a chance to visit a couple of our families as we dropped off extra food, one of which is a child-headed family of four – the oldest of which can't be older than 14. I think the attached picture can say more about the reality of child-headed families than I could possibly convey with words.
This past weekend was great fun as on Saturday we finally went at the one of the Easter Pinatas (much hilarity ensued!) and then Benjamin, Ryan and I headed off to Hluhluwe to celebrate my birthday at a great back packers lodge where I had my first proper South African Braais ( a.k.a. BBQ) and the world's largest cocktail-refered-to-as a Mai Tai but which in reality tasted more like Red Bull and tonic. On Sunday we visited our first craft market and promptly made plans to return as it was too big to take on and we needed to get to the game park. The game parks in South Africa are quite neat – many cost a reasonable fee to enter (as a resident/volunteers in South Africa we paid 40 rand – about $6) and then you simply drive around in your own vehicle looking for animals. We didn't see much at first, but as the day continued we managed to rack up the sightings, and the final count was the afore mentioned 11 rhinos (this is the best spot in the world to see rhinos and responsible for removing the white rhino from the conservation lists), 3 elephants, numerous giraffe/zebra/warthogs/impalas/wildebeest/buffalo/baboons/vervet monkeys and one antelope I forget the name of. So no great cats yet, but I have at least one safari to go once my friends arrive – so I'm in good shape!
Today I had my first big group tutoring session with the 4-6 graders. It's a challenge to keep them focused, but some of them are really bright (we were going through the alphabet today and everyone had to say a word that started with the letters in sequence and one of them came up with "Economics" – I was impressed!). I am really driven to get their brains going and see if I can get the more advanced English speakers to take an interest in those that are struggling to learn. Teaching has always been really challenging and intimidating for me but I'm enjoying an opportunity to take it on with children I have a truly vested interest in.
On that note, one of our kids is back in the hospital with pretty bleak prospects and her case has opened my eyes to some of the policy issues that can mean life or death for some of the most vulnerable children here. In order to start ARV treatment people need to have CD4 counts of 200 or below – and while we know this child is positive, we don't know her CD4 count. One of the doctors who has recently left the hospital, however, advised me today that a CD4 count isn't necessary if a child has been in the hospital 3 or more times in a given amount of time – which this child has. So she should be on treatment already, but the doctors who have attended to her have not pushed it as they wait for the CD4 count. While I attempt to balance my observations here and the knowledge that I'm just catching a sliver of what's going on and what the challenges are – I can't help but have my blood boil at something like this. I think that's party of why this experience is so valuable for me – the reminder of the sanctity of all human life – no matter how big, or how small – becomes so easy to overlook in widespread crises like the HIV/AIDS situation here. I am reminded of the example set by Sister Theresa, and more recently by the Sr. Ann, the nun we lost a few weeks ago in a local convent who entered a burning building to save hospice patients who were struggling with terminal illnesses. All life is sacred – there's simply no way to fight this if you don't believe that.
Of course when I do get down, someone comes along to cheer me up or make me laugh. Today it was one of the older boys who came into my room and saw one of my drawers opened. He picked up a bag of tampons and said, "My mom used to have these at home. I thought they were candy and tried to eat one once." I just about lost it as he sat there holding the bag up at face level – clearly still in the dark as to what the funny little cotton things are for. I decided to let things lie as I'm sure I would have had the bag hurled at me had I explained their actual purpose and he realized what he had in his hand.
I think I thought as my time went on my updates would get shorter, that I'd have gradually filled everyone in on the basics and would just mention the fun or unique things I was doing. The more I'm here the more I realize that I could write page upon page about what I'm seeing – each day amazes me with the stories that unfold, the people that enter in and the perspective it brings. I had a feeling before I came that this trip would simply be a first visit – and this is confirmed daily as I recognize work I would like to do, places I would like to visit – things I would like to follow up on. I've applied for a Rotary scholarship to return for a year in 2008 – it's a long shot but I'm throwing whatever opportunities I can out there.
Until next week, with much much love from the heart of Nkandla,
Megan
*Shembe is a widely popular religion that started when the Zulus wanted to embrace Christianity but also wanted to hold on to various Zulu traditions. It's a sort of Zulu Christianity, one could say.
Week 3
Dear ones,
This week, in numbers:
(3) # of poisonous snakes come across by my co-workers*
(2) # of artificial penis' I had to track down (and the number of nuns with which I had to discuss this, "Artificial what? Pains? What? OH!")**
(1) # of zulu discussions, complete with hand signals, I listened to regarding the importance of adult circumcision, and just exactly how it's done***
Let me explain. Last week I attended a short portion of a training being given by the Sonke Gender Justice Network in relation to a Unicef-sponsored grant the Sizanani Center is participating in. Sonke has trained an 8-person staff that will join us for two months to do outreach and training to men in Nkandla to address issues of gender inequality and violence, and their relationship to HIV and Aids. Now that the trainers have been trained, I am overseeing their preparations for a series of workshops (the first is next week) which will each target 40 men. Topics include gender roles, sexual rights and responsibilities, condom education and negotiations (enter the artificial penis – I suggested a banana as that's what was used my freshman year in sex-ed with Father Malo, but they didn't seem to think the men would take it seriously. Come to think of it, I'm not sure my classmates did either…) and culture and race issues as related to the issues being discussed. The training is quite thorough, with lots of exercises and "games" to help illustrate their points, and I can see how valuable it will be in challenging local men to rethink the things they've been led to believe about what it means to be a man, the nature of power and how these things relate to their health and the health of the women they love (not only their own wives/girlfriends – but their mothers, daughters etc.). I am enjoying working with my team, though it's putting me face to face with the Zulu work ethic – which if I had to describe it, I would call a work in progress.
My fellow volunteer, Benjamin, thinks that for the most part Zulus are just "lazy" – and this isn't the first time I've come across this sentiment. I have been thinking about it a lot – because I would never categorize an entire people group in such a way, and I have to believe there is more to it than that (and I can't believe the people who have descended from Shaka, who built up the Zulu state into the greatest power in southeast Africa by uniting tribal leaders during his rule could be all that lazy). What I've come up with is that being in as rural an area as we are, in a country that is still piecing itself together at the seams after years of fighting between cultural groups and then the absolute brutality of apartheid – things simply don't work the way they do in more developed areas. To expect people to be comfortable immediately with a "9-5" work day, and a management structure that stands completely outside of their culture and rural practices, isn't very realistic. I appreciate seeing how the sisters acknowledge this – but also try and challenge their workers (our caregivers who do community outreach are all young professionals, more or less) to adopt more productive work habits, hold a schedule and be responsible for the work they do. While I can understand how it might appear shocking to someone from the outside, I recognize that the systems we have in place are very different from traditional practices, so it's important to take baby steps. On that note I've introduced team evaluations so that my team can evaluate themselves and their co-workers and know that if they don't show up – it doesn't go unnoticed – and their compensation will likely be affected. We'll see where that gets us!
On a major side note, the sisters here faced a serious tragedy last week when one of their fellow Nardini sisters, Sr. Anne, was killed along with three of her hospice patients when the hospital at Maria Ratchitz (a community a few hours away) burned down. Sister Anne was well known and loved in Nkandla and died trying to save her patients. Please keep the sisters and her family in your prayers.
Tomorrow I'm going to attempt to use the piñatas the kids and I made this week (see attached picture). We're also going to do an Easter egg hunt if it stops raining – though the dogs (the incredibly annoying, over-achievers in the barking department that like to hang out outside my window) might make that especially challenging. Speaking of the kids – as I've been getting to know them better I thought I'd introduce a few. I will also be starting formal tutoring next week for the kids who are struggling in school along with Sr. Rose, the youngest sister who just returned from visiting her family and works here at the center. She's 25, plays guitar and sings and so of course, I adore her.
Lungisani: when he gets excited, he does this little dance move that is adorable. He's also quite wise – today when I was trying to bring balloons out and the kids were so excited that one got knocked over and was moved to tears, he wisely counseled me with a serious shake of his head that perhaps balloons were not a good idea right now.
Noluvo – She's often very quiet but has a radiating smile and she'll often edge in next to me so that she's suddenly just there by my side. She likes to repeat words I say in English – and her pronunciation is often right on which can be startling when I realize that she doesn't know what she's saying. It's so cute!
Lunga – She was the first child I remember meeting on my first day. She's got heaps of energy and reminds me of one of my favorite little kids, Juliet. She's not doing very well in school because I think she has trouble focusing, but she's the first one there when you need help, especially picking up and putting things away.
Lindilani – Fast becoming one of my favorites. He's just so dang huggable! And he loves affection, he's always grabbing my hand, standing right by my side. He's very quiet but has the most charming smile (I have a feeling he's going to look like Taye Diggs when he grows up) and his sweetness really gets to me.
I'm sorry these updates are so long – I realize with the amount of email people get that a two page letter isn't the easiest to take on – but I just can't seem to cut them down – and I'm leaving so much out! In closing, as I continue to settle in, I find there are moments when I think of home and how blessed I am to come from where I do, and moments when I worry this will all end too soon, and I won't be ready to go.
Until next week – the happiest of Easters to all of you,
Megan
*one dead mamba, one puff adder that ended up dead once one of the gardeners found it and another puff adder that Sister Colette thinks she ran over.
**Alas, there were none to be found. Apparently every time the hospital lends out their "dildos" for educational purposes, they go missing…
***I WISH you could see the "diagram" that got drawn. If I were a man and contemplating this as a means of lowering my risk of getting and transmitting HIV, the hand drawn diagram alone would have sent me running in the other direction!
This week, in numbers:
(3) # of poisonous snakes come across by my co-workers*
(2) # of artificial penis' I had to track down (and the number of nuns with which I had to discuss this, "Artificial what? Pains? What? OH!")**
(1) # of zulu discussions, complete with hand signals, I listened to regarding the importance of adult circumcision, and just exactly how it's done***
Let me explain. Last week I attended a short portion of a training being given by the Sonke Gender Justice Network in relation to a Unicef-sponsored grant the Sizanani Center is participating in. Sonke has trained an 8-person staff that will join us for two months to do outreach and training to men in Nkandla to address issues of gender inequality and violence, and their relationship to HIV and Aids. Now that the trainers have been trained, I am overseeing their preparations for a series of workshops (the first is next week) which will each target 40 men. Topics include gender roles, sexual rights and responsibilities, condom education and negotiations (enter the artificial penis – I suggested a banana as that's what was used my freshman year in sex-ed with Father Malo, but they didn't seem to think the men would take it seriously. Come to think of it, I'm not sure my classmates did either…) and culture and race issues as related to the issues being discussed. The training is quite thorough, with lots of exercises and "games" to help illustrate their points, and I can see how valuable it will be in challenging local men to rethink the things they've been led to believe about what it means to be a man, the nature of power and how these things relate to their health and the health of the women they love (not only their own wives/girlfriends – but their mothers, daughters etc.). I am enjoying working with my team, though it's putting me face to face with the Zulu work ethic – which if I had to describe it, I would call a work in progress.
My fellow volunteer, Benjamin, thinks that for the most part Zulus are just "lazy" – and this isn't the first time I've come across this sentiment. I have been thinking about it a lot – because I would never categorize an entire people group in such a way, and I have to believe there is more to it than that (and I can't believe the people who have descended from Shaka, who built up the Zulu state into the greatest power in southeast Africa by uniting tribal leaders during his rule could be all that lazy). What I've come up with is that being in as rural an area as we are, in a country that is still piecing itself together at the seams after years of fighting between cultural groups and then the absolute brutality of apartheid – things simply don't work the way they do in more developed areas. To expect people to be comfortable immediately with a "9-5" work day, and a management structure that stands completely outside of their culture and rural practices, isn't very realistic. I appreciate seeing how the sisters acknowledge this – but also try and challenge their workers (our caregivers who do community outreach are all young professionals, more or less) to adopt more productive work habits, hold a schedule and be responsible for the work they do. While I can understand how it might appear shocking to someone from the outside, I recognize that the systems we have in place are very different from traditional practices, so it's important to take baby steps. On that note I've introduced team evaluations so that my team can evaluate themselves and their co-workers and know that if they don't show up – it doesn't go unnoticed – and their compensation will likely be affected. We'll see where that gets us!
On a major side note, the sisters here faced a serious tragedy last week when one of their fellow Nardini sisters, Sr. Anne, was killed along with three of her hospice patients when the hospital at Maria Ratchitz (a community a few hours away) burned down. Sister Anne was well known and loved in Nkandla and died trying to save her patients. Please keep the sisters and her family in your prayers.
Tomorrow I'm going to attempt to use the piñatas the kids and I made this week (see attached picture). We're also going to do an Easter egg hunt if it stops raining – though the dogs (the incredibly annoying, over-achievers in the barking department that like to hang out outside my window) might make that especially challenging. Speaking of the kids – as I've been getting to know them better I thought I'd introduce a few. I will also be starting formal tutoring next week for the kids who are struggling in school along with Sr. Rose, the youngest sister who just returned from visiting her family and works here at the center. She's 25, plays guitar and sings and so of course, I adore her.
Lungisani: when he gets excited, he does this little dance move that is adorable. He's also quite wise – today when I was trying to bring balloons out and the kids were so excited that one got knocked over and was moved to tears, he wisely counseled me with a serious shake of his head that perhaps balloons were not a good idea right now.
Noluvo – She's often very quiet but has a radiating smile and she'll often edge in next to me so that she's suddenly just there by my side. She likes to repeat words I say in English – and her pronunciation is often right on which can be startling when I realize that she doesn't know what she's saying. It's so cute!
Lunga – She was the first child I remember meeting on my first day. She's got heaps of energy and reminds me of one of my favorite little kids, Juliet. She's not doing very well in school because I think she has trouble focusing, but she's the first one there when you need help, especially picking up and putting things away.
Lindilani – Fast becoming one of my favorites. He's just so dang huggable! And he loves affection, he's always grabbing my hand, standing right by my side. He's very quiet but has the most charming smile (I have a feeling he's going to look like Taye Diggs when he grows up) and his sweetness really gets to me.
I'm sorry these updates are so long – I realize with the amount of email people get that a two page letter isn't the easiest to take on – but I just can't seem to cut them down – and I'm leaving so much out! In closing, as I continue to settle in, I find there are moments when I think of home and how blessed I am to come from where I do, and moments when I worry this will all end too soon, and I won't be ready to go.
Until next week – the happiest of Easters to all of you,
Megan
*one dead mamba, one puff adder that ended up dead once one of the gardeners found it and another puff adder that Sister Colette thinks she ran over.
**Alas, there were none to be found. Apparently every time the hospital lends out their "dildos" for educational purposes, they go missing…
***I WISH you could see the "diagram" that got drawn. If I were a man and contemplating this as a means of lowering my risk of getting and transmitting HIV, the hand drawn diagram alone would have sent me running in the other direction!
Week 2
Recovered from jet lag: CHECK.
Developed a borderline addiction to guava off the tree: CHECK.
Been out-knowledged in all things sports related (with special attention given to cricket and rugby) by a group of nuns: CHECK.
I think I have more or less settled into life in Nkandla. It's the middle of my second week here, and already I've had a sunburn that left a small portion of my back peeling, as well as gotten soaked walking to lunch yesterday in a heavy mist/light rain. In more exciting news, I've started driving (mostly between the convent and the center, much to the enjoyment of the kids who think it's hilarious to see me lurching into the driveway as I try and familiarize myself with each of the vehicles (mostly trucks) temperament and shifting sensitivity. Driving on the left is not quite as hard as I'd imagined, but I do have to remind myself to look both ways and to signal, rather than turn on the windshield wiper when I'm about to turn.
Last Friday I accompanied the social worker, Ryan, and Sisters Hedwig and Carola on a home visit to see a grandmother who claimed she had 16 children at home. We accounted for only 12 (only 12!?) and recorded their various levels of documentation – most children who are under grandparents or older siblings care are eligible for child welfare grants, but require birth certificates and ID cards to get them. I think the lion's share of Ryan, the caregivers and the sisters work is helping families navigate through the office of home affairs and get their documents in check. One of the youngest in the family we visited is now staying with us at the center (I mentioned him in my last email) – his mother passed away and he just got out of the hospital. Normally he's very outgoing and seems quite at home here, but today he was a bit listless and spent most of the morning sitting on my lap and dozing before he went off for a nap. The other little one is now at home with her family, preparing to live with her Aunt who will need to take a number of courses in ARV (anti-retro-viral) treatment before she can care for her full time. The children (not to mention Benjamin, Ryan and myself) have been quite entertained the last few days by the addition of three very small kittens to the center. I don't know where they came from but they've adopted the toy room as their home and in the morning they come trotting down one after the other looking for breakfast left overs – it's quite cute.
Speaking of toys – if anyone is interested in supporting the kids here at the center, I have some requests that would really help. I'm spending the majority of my days with them and will start more formal tutoring in English and other subjects (we just got a report of which kids aren't doing well in school and in what subjects) next week, and we've already exhausted the puzzle selection (and we have some serious puzzlers here!). Puzzles of all levels would be fantastic. Also – basic playing cards would be great.
On to the nuns: Sr. Hedwig – what can I say, if anyone was in the running for Sainthood, it would be her. Today I was given the task of photographing all our kids and entering their case histories into the computer in preparation for updating them. Time after time as I read these horrifying stories of children struggling to survive on their own, or suffering from gross neglect or worse, here comes Sr. Hedwig – petitioning the police to remove the child when necessary, getting the families enrolled in grants and food aid, and ultimately bringing the child to the Center where no matter what their histories hold, I see smiling children every day. She also managed to single-handedly impress Elton John so much when he visited in Nkandla (he saw the documentary and arranged a trip but refused any press coverage which I really admire) that he bought her a truck to do her home visits with. I had a funny moment with one of the other sisters while recounting the story when she reminded me that Sir Elton is "gay now," as if this was a recent revelation and she just wanted to make sure I was in the loop (there was no judgement implied).
I also work daily with Sr. Carola who oversees the children's center. Yesterday was her birthday and we celebrated last night with Amarula (thankfully I resisted the urge to take it as a shot, considering it was served in a shot glass. I think that would have been frowned upon, so I just sipped it) and a smorgasbord of great proportions – chocolate, nuts, chips, all sorts of candies. I felt like I was at a slumber party or something (although it was a bit more mellow, and instead of games and gossip there were just a lot of nuns).
I'm starting to learn all the kid's names, though I still can't make any of the clicking sounds that give Zulu such a great sound all around, but I entertain the kids trying so it's worth it. This afternoon I'm meeting with Ryan to plan activities for next week as all the kids are off for Spring break. We'll be doing lots of crafts, outdoor games and hopefully an Easter Egg hunt.
I hope everyone is well and want to truly thank you all for your love, support and prayers. This week the reality of the situation around me really hit me, and I had some down days – but like the rain that filled much of the week but finally ended last night, this morning I was greeted with bright sun, the sound of children playing, and a beautiful view of the village that is Nkandla, and my heart was once again lifted.
With much love,
Megan
Developed a borderline addiction to guava off the tree: CHECK.
Been out-knowledged in all things sports related (with special attention given to cricket and rugby) by a group of nuns: CHECK.
I think I have more or less settled into life in Nkandla. It's the middle of my second week here, and already I've had a sunburn that left a small portion of my back peeling, as well as gotten soaked walking to lunch yesterday in a heavy mist/light rain. In more exciting news, I've started driving (mostly between the convent and the center, much to the enjoyment of the kids who think it's hilarious to see me lurching into the driveway as I try and familiarize myself with each of the vehicles (mostly trucks) temperament and shifting sensitivity. Driving on the left is not quite as hard as I'd imagined, but I do have to remind myself to look both ways and to signal, rather than turn on the windshield wiper when I'm about to turn.
Last Friday I accompanied the social worker, Ryan, and Sisters Hedwig and Carola on a home visit to see a grandmother who claimed she had 16 children at home. We accounted for only 12 (only 12!?) and recorded their various levels of documentation – most children who are under grandparents or older siblings care are eligible for child welfare grants, but require birth certificates and ID cards to get them. I think the lion's share of Ryan, the caregivers and the sisters work is helping families navigate through the office of home affairs and get their documents in check. One of the youngest in the family we visited is now staying with us at the center (I mentioned him in my last email) – his mother passed away and he just got out of the hospital. Normally he's very outgoing and seems quite at home here, but today he was a bit listless and spent most of the morning sitting on my lap and dozing before he went off for a nap. The other little one is now at home with her family, preparing to live with her Aunt who will need to take a number of courses in ARV (anti-retro-viral) treatment before she can care for her full time. The children (not to mention Benjamin, Ryan and myself) have been quite entertained the last few days by the addition of three very small kittens to the center. I don't know where they came from but they've adopted the toy room as their home and in the morning they come trotting down one after the other looking for breakfast left overs – it's quite cute.
Speaking of toys – if anyone is interested in supporting the kids here at the center, I have some requests that would really help. I'm spending the majority of my days with them and will start more formal tutoring in English and other subjects (we just got a report of which kids aren't doing well in school and in what subjects) next week, and we've already exhausted the puzzle selection (and we have some serious puzzlers here!). Puzzles of all levels would be fantastic. Also – basic playing cards would be great.
On to the nuns: Sr. Hedwig – what can I say, if anyone was in the running for Sainthood, it would be her. Today I was given the task of photographing all our kids and entering their case histories into the computer in preparation for updating them. Time after time as I read these horrifying stories of children struggling to survive on their own, or suffering from gross neglect or worse, here comes Sr. Hedwig – petitioning the police to remove the child when necessary, getting the families enrolled in grants and food aid, and ultimately bringing the child to the Center where no matter what their histories hold, I see smiling children every day. She also managed to single-handedly impress Elton John so much when he visited in Nkandla (he saw the documentary and arranged a trip but refused any press coverage which I really admire) that he bought her a truck to do her home visits with. I had a funny moment with one of the other sisters while recounting the story when she reminded me that Sir Elton is "gay now," as if this was a recent revelation and she just wanted to make sure I was in the loop (there was no judgement implied).
I also work daily with Sr. Carola who oversees the children's center. Yesterday was her birthday and we celebrated last night with Amarula (thankfully I resisted the urge to take it as a shot, considering it was served in a shot glass. I think that would have been frowned upon, so I just sipped it) and a smorgasbord of great proportions – chocolate, nuts, chips, all sorts of candies. I felt like I was at a slumber party or something (although it was a bit more mellow, and instead of games and gossip there were just a lot of nuns).
I'm starting to learn all the kid's names, though I still can't make any of the clicking sounds that give Zulu such a great sound all around, but I entertain the kids trying so it's worth it. This afternoon I'm meeting with Ryan to plan activities for next week as all the kids are off for Spring break. We'll be doing lots of crafts, outdoor games and hopefully an Easter Egg hunt.
I hope everyone is well and want to truly thank you all for your love, support and prayers. This week the reality of the situation around me really hit me, and I had some down days – but like the rain that filled much of the week but finally ended last night, this morning I was greeted with bright sun, the sound of children playing, and a beautiful view of the village that is Nkandla, and my heart was once again lifted.
With much love,
Megan
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