Cabbages and Quality Day

To top off the 60 mealies (corn plants), 30 tomato, 30 beet root, 10 spinach, 4 beans, pumpkin, cucumbers, radishes, lettuce, basil, thyme and parsley planted two weeks ago, Farmer Bond and his wife planted 80 cabbage seedlings this week. The pharmacist for the hospital arrived with a tray of 200 seedlings Monday that needed to be in dirt ASAP or their roots would die. We quickly dug holes in some poorly prepared furrows and went to work. After getting 80 plants into the ground before the roots died, we were done and it was time to hawk the rest of the beautiful cabbage newborns. So if you come to visit us at Mountain High you will see cabbage lurking everywhere. Cabbage and mealies are the two popular staples of the Zulu diet-they are delicious when prepared by the right Zulu cook and find their way into almost every meal.
The big event of the week was the chance to trek out the back roads to the annual “Quality Day” for the Health Department Hospitals in the Zulu region. This was my first experience with the government bureaucracy that runs the public hospitals. The event was held in the auditorium of a community college near the regional government center. Every hospital was invited to design a booth touting their quality accomplishments for the year. The day started out with 40 drum majorettes in yellow and blue satin uniforms and white fur hats marching in with drums and rock music blasting out the beat. Then a rousing choir sang a few Zulu four part harmony renditions. The two hundred attendees rose and sang and danced in rhythm. Not your typical government meeting in the US but a lot more fun. The director of Mountain High Hospital had been invited to open the meeting with a prayer and a welcome. So a few days before the big day he asked me to find a Bible verse appropriate for quality improvement-Every Day is Quality Day. Fortunately a verse in Philippians talks about not being perfect yet but striving. Coming up with words of welcome was easy as all those years working in quality systems finally paid off with many platitudes remaining on the hard drive. So don’t be surprised at the variety of tasks that you may be performing in the Peace Corps. The old cliché about reinventing the wheel should be restated that the “wheel just turns and the same old things just churn out.” We all had a great time at the event even though the awards presentations went on for hours and lunch wasn’t served until 3pm. Some of the hospitals are even more remote than Mountain High but their dedication and competitiveness was apparent as I observed one key person in each group taking charge and making their hospital come to life through the displays and interaction with passersby. South Africa is full of talented educated African professionals that are very capable. They certainly are challenged with drug resistant TB a major player in this area and at least 11 national languages to deal with.
The drive back from Quality Day was a pleasure as we took the extreme back roads that pass by the Zulu King’s compound. The Zulu King is a direct descendent of Shaka. With his Oxford education and stately bearing, he is well respected in the area. In Sept. dances are held at the compound where the public is invited. A topic of conversation in the car was whether one should take their daughters to participate as the king can select any young dancer to be his wife. Something to think about!
Today, Sunday, we were introduced to our church at the Christmas play. I brought two Zulu rag dolls and the ubuntu quilt made by Mountain High patients to show the children. The dolls are named Cindy and Cindewe, names used for twins by the Zulus. The dolls created quite a stir among the ladies and raised many offers of support for craft materials so maybe all the trips to the fabric stores with husband in tow are coming to an end. It is very gratifying to walk around the hospital and see the patients busy with their projects and wearing some of their creations. The tailor has been cutting out snappy T shirts, tank tops and clothes pin bags for hand sewing. The Quality Day event gave me more ideas for crafts including weaving pieces of colored yarn into discarded mealie bags for wall hangings with Zulu designs. A multitude of projects can be made from plastic bags which are woven into mats or baskets. The skies the limit!!

Weather Blues and Wiry Fun

19 Nov. 2006 Blog

This week before American Thanksgiving was full of wet stormy weather, a little bit of cabin fever on those stormy days, some serious farming and a few successes in starting the men on appropriate craft projects. We are deep into the rainy season which means heavy LA style rainstorms accompanied by thunder and lightning. The air temperatures are warm but the heavy mist and moisture make a beach loving So Cal Gal feel chilly in the roost in the sky. The skies brightened one day so we took advantage and made furrows in the plowed field for cabbage and planted radishes, cucumbers, eggplant and carrots. What an indulgence to be limited only by one’s energy and the seeds that are available instead of the land! However, hoeing, pulling all the clods and grass is hard work and the limitlessness of the fabulous soil only reinforces the frailties of the body. Farming is a pleasure after minding the hospital business all day while hearing the beguiling birdcalls just outside the windows of the office.
The men were a little skeptical when they were given wire, fine copper, wire cutters and pliers to start some handwork on Monday. I gave them prototypes of crafts that had been purchased in gift shops in Vryheid made from wire and beads including darling butterflies, lizards, baskets fashioned from colored telephone wire, and star-shaped key chains. The men live 8 to a ward with four beds on each side and a nurse’s stand in the middle of the room that looks down the 1000 ft drop to the valley and the ancient Zulu head formation in the rocky cliff. Some of them never look up and are so thin they can barely hold up their pajamas. However, a few were slightly interested, including the tailor, a handsome man in his twenties from Durban and a young 14 year old boy. The young man looked at the materials, quizzically turned his head and asked if he could make autos out of the wire. With this request, I was ecstatic, since the homemade wire cars with infinite details and features are the one toy that you see everywhere in Africa. He rounded up the 14 year old and they got busy bending, twisting and then scrounging the hospital grounds for the requisite wheels, mirrors, Mercedes symbols and trailer hitches in miniature. The handwork is not a two hour session in occupational therapy but a compulsion for these men. As soon as the materials are distributed, the patients begin to work and are engrossed until the craft is complete, albeit in their own way. The darling and “way too precious” objects that were for sale in the fine arts stores had little appeal to the patients, but their own ideas were original and fun for them. Likewise, some pink knit fabric that had been purchased for hats for the women was a bust, but a 16 year old girl sewed buttons and fringe unto the hat and made a bustier that suited her to a T and gave everyone a good laugh. We are all learning what works and what doesn’t. However it is gratifying to see the women throughout the hospital and grounds knitting, crocheting, sewing and chattering. Next week’s agenda includes a collage with stuffed cloth butterflies, lizard and bugs, aprons to sew and pillows from assorted African fabrics. It is interesting to note how the Peace Corps draws on skills mainly learned before the age of 10! The women were clamoring for foam stuffing for their pillows so Brendon and I were certainly a site hiking the 2 km in to the hospital on the dirt road today (our regular taxi driver did not show up for our return from Vryheid) laden with 2 large bags of foam stuffing, one meter of batting, 10 meters of fabric, groceries, perishables, books, clothes for church, backpack and laptop. We weren’t fazed a bit except about halfway through the trek home, I noticed Brendon dribbling bits of colored foam scrap out of the bag just like Hansel and Gretel. He certainly has been good natured about all of the visits to the fabric stores which may have to be curtailed until Mr. Zulu returns to the taxi run down the 2 km drive into the hospital.
On a sadder note, we attended a funeral this week for an American women who served in the Peace Corps in Liberia in the 80’s and has since worked in social projects throughout the world, especially for vulnerable children and orphans. We had lunch with her last weekend in a serendipity moment as we saw her at a lovely outdoor restaurant near our bed and breakfast and joined her. She expressed some of her ideas for teaching lifeskills to the children taking care of younger children and discussed the African idea of keeping orphans in their village. The AIDS pandemic in Africa is hitting the breadwinners and parents, leaving the children behind to fend for themselves. This problem will continue for many years and is truly a handicap to this blossoming nation. The children of Africa deserve a great deal of respect as they manage to cut the wood, chase after the cattle and goats with a stick, cook the food, fetch water that may be several kilometers away, purchase kerosene for the cookstoves and take care of babies in the family. They are not coddled like American children, have no books or toys for their entertainment, but are courteous, respectful and well behaved. (at least in the rural environments that have been our experience). Their potential is as wide as their beautiful smiles. However, AIDS and lack of access to educational facilities has shrunk their opportunities for the life that utilizes their potential. Well, Goodbye Faye and Rest Assured that your hard work will continue to make amends to the children and open up opportunities for their future!
Happy Thanksgiving to our friends and family! We are thankful for the support from all of you and for this opportunity to learn and grow. God bless you all. We do not feel deprived in any way, especially since it is Spring here and Summer is rapidly approaching. The stores are beginning to stock the plum pudding, Christmas crackers, and holiday bling but they are absent the recorded music and frenetic consumer atmosphere. So it feels like March to us with June around the corner. See you at the Beach!

Sewing Sighs

11 Nov. 2006

Tonight is Saturday night and we are spending it in our cozy flat at Mountain High with the mist hanging like pea soup and the wind whistling through the windows on three sides of our living area. We traveled to our home town, 80 km by taxi van, today, to get groceries and managed to return on the only local taxi at 1145am with packages of cheese, meat, vegetables, pasta, onions, garlic, ginger, candy (for emergencies) and loads of fabric, yarn, crochet hooks, knitting needles, wire and wire cutters for next week’s craft projects with the patients. We left the mountain at 6 am this morning, watching the village women load long bundles of cut trees onto their heads (twala) for carting down to the village for cooking and heating. Our taxi driver, Mr. Zulu, is infinitely polite but expectantly hands a lotto card to Brendon each week, hoping that the Umlungu (the whites) will provide winning numbers. Alas, although Brendon does his best at picking the lucky numbers; each week has been a bust. We leave Mountain High at its misty moisty best and travel down through the forests, rocky landforms, termite hills and hillside kraals (farms) to lower ground with sunny skies. We arrive around 7 am every Sat morning when the shops are still closed but we are country people with big eyes for the delights of the small town and hit the post office looking for mail and sometimes the lone coffee shop for a cup of real coffee and a sugar filled crepe for 1 and a half rand (ten cents). By 8 or 830 the shops open and we have a big list but small carrying capacity for the items to get us through the week and serve as recreation and therapy for the patients at Mountain View. The town looks like a small town in the San Joaquin Valley with its version of department stores, drug stores, and grocery stores but amazingly has 5 fabric stores as the local residents are excellent seamstresses. Thus I am cultivating relationships with the shopkeepers who wonder why this crazy American woman (with husband in tow) is looking for bunting, buttons, patterns and cheap cotton.
The week had some highs and lows. After the great start with the ancient blue Ganda Ganda Tractor coming to life, the sewing project had a day of isipithipithi (chaos or confusion). Tuesday started out on a very positive note as the women and men gathered to work their quilt, bootie, and tote bag crafts and were interrupted by the hospital director announcing that we had a visitor. Graham Root, a founder of the Itahla Game Preserve, former game warden, author of many South African books (including one where he adopts the mindset of a Rhino and Ostrich) and current operator of a game preserve, arrived at Mountain High to meet the Americans and proffer advice on gardening and Zulu crafts. This was an exciting event as Graham Root is a cult figure in these parts and understands Zulu. We had heard his name since our arrival in Zululand and wanted to get his advice about how best to proceed to find culturally sensitive craft projects, especially for the men. I left the sewing group to show him around the garden, have tea and pick his brain about gardening and craft ideas. He had lots of good advice about crops and crafts. By the time I returned to the TV room used for sewing, I was upset to see that almost all of the fabric had disappeared as well as the thread and scissors. This was a big blow as there were no projects for the next day and I was disturbed that the patients would not show more respect for the ownership and distribution of materials. Even the binding material for our group community quilt, which was to be hung in the maternity ward, had disappeared. I was angry and mad at myself for not safely putting the fabrics away before taking off on the tour with Graham Root. That night I was sleepless trying to think of how to make a program happen the next day and finally remembered an extra blue plaid sheet that I had brought to South Africa with our sleeping bags as bedding for the initial training. So we could at least make quilts out of old sheets just like our ancestors used to do. I have previously joked with the patients that my husband’s grandmother made quilts out of her husband’s underwear and that this was considered “Art”and hung on the wall of our home in Palos Verdes.
Wednesday morning arrived and I was in a sour mood as I arrived at 1030am in the TV room with my dirty sheet to try to make a craft program happen. I could not find the 3 meters of bunting that had been purchased to fill the quilts and immediately suspected that it had also been lifted. A nurse came in and scolded the patients for absconding with all of the fabrics, thread, bunting and scissors. To flame my anger, one of the women walked in with the green fleece fabric just wrapped around her head in twala with no sewing or any effort, just a warm fabric to ward off the chill of the day and add a little variety and fun to her life. The women sensed my anger and started bantering among themselves and talking with the nurse. The women with the green twala walked out and returned with the modest induku (head scarf) she had made the week before. My angst about materials disappearing was wrecking havoc on the budding relations that had been forming with the women and the incipient program for patient therapy. The patients were anxious, I was unhappy and the needed patient recreation therapy was hassle for everyone with many misunderstandings. After locating the bunting in my flat and apologizing to the patients, I started cutting the blue plaid sheet so that the women could continue their quilts and we finally had some enjoyable work going, albeit with a rocky start. The patient that had stashed the green fleece willingly gave it up so that another women could make booties and a patient’s secret hoard of heavy tote bag fabric was shared with a new patient who wanted to make a bag. Peace returned!
Thursday arrived with some trepidation as to where the sewing projects were headed and my realization that more support was needed from the hospital and community to keep our craft time going. I arrived in the TV room early and did my usual “Jabulele” (Happy Time). Within a few seconds, all of the angst and negative thoughts about the sewing program disappeared as Zenile, a young 16 year old girl, walked in with two folk dolls, made out hoarded fabric scraps, wrapped in the pink patchwork quilt she had made. The dolls were wonderful examples of folk art with their stitched heads, tall green Zulu hats, breasts, skirts and Zulu print leggings. Zenile will be in the hospital for 3 months; her mother is in a hospital somewhere in Durban. Zenile cuddled the dolls as if they were real babies. Maybe the best work comes from letting go and freeing others to create beauty. An additional surprise that morning was the tailor’s creation of an intricate cosmetic bag designed from scraps of the Zulu printed fabrics. The fabric with the Zulu shields, three legged pots and rondavals was matched with an African geometric print and lined in grey taffeta. His first statement was a request for a zipper to sew into the carefully made folds to close up the cosmetic case.
As you can see each day has its charms and challenges but also a huge bequest of love and kindness from the Zulu community. We are seeking ways to make the projects sustainable and representative of Zulu culture. The garden has sprouted and many hours were spent leveling the large field that was dug up by the ganda ganda. The seeds are here and it is time to plant, hoe, rake and weed!

Ganda Ganda-Let It Rip!!

6 Nov. 2006

Well, today was one of the most exiting of my Peace Corps experience and maybe one of the most gratifying of my life. Late this afternoon, the Mountain High tractor rolled down the road from its ancient burial site and charged into action on the beautiful farmland in front of our home. The driver cautiously watched every inch forward and religiously turned to clean the weeds and debris off the blades. The Zulus call the tractor the Ganda Ganda and all I could think of was Granda Granda. Brendon and I have been struggling for three weeks to plow up the one acre plot with a shovel and fork but have only a few pitiful squares to show for our efforts. Today our plan was to weed our small plot with tomatoes, beans, parsley, lettuce and delicious herbs (basil,thyme and parsley) and plant the mealy (corn) plants in the larger square. We have been given lots of advice about farming this beautiful soil which is endowed with loads of rain (plus the dramatic thunder and lightning shows here at the top of the mountain with a chaser of mist and rain) and the perfect mix of clay and sand. Our pharmacist had promised mealy for any dirt we could turn up. Low and behold a team of local men worked on the tractor and brought it to life. We started this garden project as a way of providing food and entertainment for ourselves with a small hope that it would catch on. Now comes the hard problem of what to plant, how to encourage work, how to get a governing body for the garden that will make the decisions and distribute the food. There are plenty of takers for food in the area; besides the obvious patients, employees and residents in the small village 1000ft below the hospital there are the 60 boys boarding at the high school that cook their own food and are cared for by one adult. I give them credit as they are always well dressed and appear well nourished. I don’t know how they do it without a fast food restaurant or grocery store nearby. So this has been a tentative step forward. We are testing the waters with foods that are enjoyed by the locals but have only seem limited steps that they want to jump in and make this food factory happen. They have been handicapped with the grief and subsequent mourning from the many AIDS funerals we have experienced lately among local residents and employees and are probably unsure as to our motivations.
Ironically we watched a recent video about Mountain High in the 80’s where the facility raised animals, manufactured candles, grew their own food, ran the schools, clinics and hospitals. Today the site has lost some of its self-sufficiency but is on the way back with a visionary African leader who wants to take advantage of the bountiful resources.
The last week was more productive in terms of our efforts to provide meaningful activity for the patients and contribute to the management of the hospital. Although, the patchwork quilts were a limited success as they are not part of the Zulu culture and some women complained that cutting the small squares was too time-consuming (although that was the point and this is an artistic creative endeavor) we have been sewing booties out of fleece fabric. The nights (and some days) are very cold here at Mountain High and the patients are looking for warm apparel. Thus the booties were an instant hit. We started off with fleece in a beautiful butterfly pattern where I cut sock shapes out of a cardboard pattern and examined the patient’s feet to estimate the size. The day was warm when we started so I moved the women out to the beautiful garden to sew. Lo and behold a Man showed up who said he wanted to make the booties. I was thrilled and gave him some booties to sew. I was concerned when he did not tie a knot in the thread and he indignantly responded that he was a professional couture tailor from Durban and he certainly knew how to finish and start seams. He graciously forgave my ignorance and by today he was cutting out red fleece booties for all the men that could sew as well as adorable tall green fleece hats for his buddies who have very short hair and are chilly from the cold weather and the draughty wards. By nightfall the men and women were fighting over the spools of thread. The men were claiming that they deserved at least one of the spools and the women were hoarding the thread because of the old rule of possession. I was so happy to see some activity in the hospital and some joy in everyone’s life.
Friday was cooking day so this week we made Crazy Chocolate Cake, another blast from the 50’s. Unfortunately, crazy does not translate in Zulu (it means truly mad) but I asked the women patients to each have a joke in Zulu to make each other laugh. The only real laughs I heard was when I tried to Toy Toy (picture the Rockettes with an edge) to a South African liberation song Shosolooza and they all joined in. Soon even the patient who does not have the eyes to sew joined the group who were all singing and dancing and enjoying the day. Everyone loved the moist delicious cake which requires no mixing bowl, eggs, butter or milk but disappears in an instant after baking. Blest be those frugal cooks from the 50’s who passed on the recipes to Peace Corps volunteers who pass on a little American culture, whether it is a good idea or not. Next week maybe I will try Pizza, but better still would be to get the women to describe one of their recipes or practices from their culture. We are all still learning from each other! Brendon on the other hand has been given the task of a major programming job where he will use his skills from his aerospace job. Peace Corps has many manifestations which is great for us old timers where the past can also assist the present. All is not perfect in Paradise however, as we learned this week that new credit cards in the US that replaced expired credit cards had been maxed out and South African Airlines does not do business like US airlines. Apartheid has taken its toll on business, efficiency and trust that is required in an electronic society. Plus the small business matters in rural South Africa are intensely complicated without access to reliable phones, fax, post or internet.
Missing you all as I hit all the many fabric stores in Vryheid and try to figure out how to make this sustainable! (Thanks to our neighbor in Palos Verdes (Mrs. G) who provided the seed money for the fabric and hose to water the bounteous garden.)