We are now on the downward half of our two years of service; around July 2007 we will be heading home to resume our lives in Palos Verdes. The next year we will be making plans for our future lives-Will we go back to work? Will we find meaning in middle class life? Can we relearn how to drive on the right and look left when crossing the street? Will we get lost in our suburban house? Has the neighborhood changed? More important than our readjustment back to American is the sustainability of the work we have done. Will the hospital continue with the Occupational Therapy program? Are additional camps for AIDS orphans and vulnerable children in the wings for this beautiful site? Many returned Peace Corps volunteers say that as soon as they left their host country, their projects withered on the vine.
In that effort, thoughts are directed toward how the occupational therapy program can continue and flourish after our service is complete. One step has been accomplished to assist in the task- an assistant occupational therapy organizer came to work as a volunteer this month. Since the program started last Dec. I have been looking for someone to help with the daily program, learn to teach the beading, sewing and shoemaking skills and later manage the program. An added plus is that the volunteer assistant is a sorely needed job in this community. After talking with many candidates who showed initial interest but did not come to work, a 27 year old man came forward and is up to the task. He helps me set up the daily activities with Monday sewing projects, Tuesday bingo, Wednesday beading, Thursday shoemaking and leather work and Friday cooking instruction. He is also very good with the patients and is learning all of the skills. Plus he can translate when hand motions and pointing are not effective.
The plan for sustainability arose from the requests and demands from the patients for fleece hats and scarves. Initially the Jabule (happiness and blessings) Occupational Therapy drew mainly women together to sew and have a time of sharing. As soon as the weather turned cold, I introduced patterned fleece (plaids, geometrics, Ferrari cars) that could be sewn into hats and slippers. The fleece was a big hit with the women and each sewing day the fleece was the first fabric to run out. One morning 8 male patients came to the business office and requested that they be given fleece to sew warm hats. Thus their program began in earnest with the men meeting together before the women. One enterprising man asked to make a fringed scarf out of the fleece. After that almost every ambulatory male arrived requesting fleece to sew into hats and scarves. A meter of fleece can make 9 hats or 6 scarves. Thus the idea has taken hold that before next winter hats and scarves could be made in bulk and sold in local towns and at pension points. The profits could then be channeled into a stipend for the volunteer manager and purchase of materials to keep the program going.
Even if our projects are not sustainable, a few people will remember us after we go, namely our Zulu teach Gobese. For six months after we arrived at Mountain High we sought a Zulu teacher to improve our effectiveness. Teachers at the local high school and primary school were approached but they could not be motivated by the wage of $1.50 per hour and the difficulty of dealing with foreigners. Nurses and staff were approached but there were no takers. Finally while waiting for the bus to our shopping town I approached a high school student who had a big smile, confidence and perfect English. He agreed to teach us Zulu but like the others, did not arrive on the appointed day. (He later said he thought we were kidding and that hospital managers from America did not usually want a high school student to teach them English). I saw him on the road several weeks later and told him we were serious about learning Zulu and that he could help us. So in February we began tutoring sessions with an 11th grade high school student. He comes to our flat two days a week and teaches, cajoles, teases, jokes, reprimands, charms, entertains and goes to the utmost extremes to drive the Zulu into the heads of two old people. He doesn’t understand that repetition is the name of the game and tries to introduce new vocabulary and scenarios to students that promptly forgot the previous lesson. Zulu has 16 noun classes; all verbs, adjectives and pronouns must be in concord with the noun. Progress is very slow but he never gives up. He started bringing his chemistry homework for assistance and the reality of education in South Africa hit us hard. (Ironically the local high school is one of the best with 100% passing rate). He does not have a text book, only a worksheet for chemistry lab. However there is no chemistry lab (nor library nor computers/internet) so the results of the lab sheet must be worked out on paper (we used to call this dry labbing). He never gets discouraged at the lack of resources-he just plunges ahead, tried his best and asks for help from any resource. He was the star on the debate team but had to research his topic by asking questions and opinions of those around him. These new ambitious and energetic students are the hope for South Africa. They have seen the destruction of AIDS and apartheid in their parents lives and they are determined to have better lives and build this new nation.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Face of AIDS in South Africa
KZN (province of KwaZuluNatal) is a gorgeous region for Peace Corps Service-beaches, Zulu culture, fantastic mountain ranges and sunsets, mild climate, and several World Heritage Sights. This week we returned from a long weekend in St. Lucia where AIDS in Africa did not enter our minds. However the return to the Hospital on Monday brought the AIDS epidemic close and jarring.
On Monday two boys that are both twelve years of age and have been patients for 3 months were discharged. They have participated in the Jabule handcrafts program and made wire cars, beading projects and shoes. Initially they were silent but after several weeks started speaking in lucid English. They were always big winners at Bingo on Tuesdays. I was elated that they were cured of their TB and could go back home and resume schooling. One of the boys came to me and told me that he was going home. I told him that I was so happy that he could go back to his village and be with his parents. He started to get very emotional and stated that he loved being at Mountain High Hospital and that he was very sad to go home. His father is very sick with AIDS and his mother cannot take care of the family. I initially had difficulty understanding how two boys could be sent to an adult hospital but changed my views when I saw how the staff and patients cared for the boys, who appeared much younger than their 12 years. The two boys became great pals over the course of their treatment and never whined about their confinement. AIDS is a social disease in Africa and affects every family member.
A ward assistant (nurse’s aide) in her thirties died this week and a spokesperson for the ward assistants collected money from all staff to pay for taxi rides to the funeral. No one would speak of the cause of death or the circumstances. Friends, relatives and coworkers “Pass Away” and people grieve.
A staff member who is HIV positive announced that she is pregnant. She is having a baby to leave something “Behind” when she gets sick.
A patient that has been crocheting squares for Afghans for the hospital beds as part of the Handcrafts project died. Each week as she came to the Jabule group she was weaker and thinner with the last week showing up in a wheel chair as one of the male patients wheeled her in to participate. She asked for more yarn to complete the Afghans a few days before she died. She was a beautiful young woman in her 20’s with determination and courage but the disease sapped her strength and being. At the end she just wanted to crochet the beautiful squares for the beds.
Bingo is a big hit here on Tuesdays with 10 men and 20 women participating. This week a nursing instructor wheeled three patients into the bingo melee to take their minds off their illness and have some fun. One of the women arrived leaning on a cane and the nursing instructor’s arm but grabbed a bingo card and won the first round. A few minutes later another patient was arrived in a wheel chair and also had beginner’s luck and won on the first round.
Friday is Cooking Lessons for the patients and this weeks menu was American pizza with groans when the garlic burned in the olive oil but rave reviews at the final product. Zulus love slapstick humor and enjoyed seeing the pizza dough stetched “Luci” style to fit the pan.
No Opportunity for silliness or entertainment goes wasted here at Mountain High. Bingo Games need break times and laughter which was provided by teaching the patients the Hokey Pokey and the B I N G O song this week. Of Course “See You Later Alligator, After While Crocodile” is also a big hit and especially appropriate after seeing crocs more than 140 years old in St. Lucia last weekend. Wish I could take the patients out for a weekend!
On Monday two boys that are both twelve years of age and have been patients for 3 months were discharged. They have participated in the Jabule handcrafts program and made wire cars, beading projects and shoes. Initially they were silent but after several weeks started speaking in lucid English. They were always big winners at Bingo on Tuesdays. I was elated that they were cured of their TB and could go back home and resume schooling. One of the boys came to me and told me that he was going home. I told him that I was so happy that he could go back to his village and be with his parents. He started to get very emotional and stated that he loved being at Mountain High Hospital and that he was very sad to go home. His father is very sick with AIDS and his mother cannot take care of the family. I initially had difficulty understanding how two boys could be sent to an adult hospital but changed my views when I saw how the staff and patients cared for the boys, who appeared much younger than their 12 years. The two boys became great pals over the course of their treatment and never whined about their confinement. AIDS is a social disease in Africa and affects every family member.
A ward assistant (nurse’s aide) in her thirties died this week and a spokesperson for the ward assistants collected money from all staff to pay for taxi rides to the funeral. No one would speak of the cause of death or the circumstances. Friends, relatives and coworkers “Pass Away” and people grieve.
A staff member who is HIV positive announced that she is pregnant. She is having a baby to leave something “Behind” when she gets sick.
A patient that has been crocheting squares for Afghans for the hospital beds as part of the Handcrafts project died. Each week as she came to the Jabule group she was weaker and thinner with the last week showing up in a wheel chair as one of the male patients wheeled her in to participate. She asked for more yarn to complete the Afghans a few days before she died. She was a beautiful young woman in her 20’s with determination and courage but the disease sapped her strength and being. At the end she just wanted to crochet the beautiful squares for the beds.
Bingo is a big hit here on Tuesdays with 10 men and 20 women participating. This week a nursing instructor wheeled three patients into the bingo melee to take their minds off their illness and have some fun. One of the women arrived leaning on a cane and the nursing instructor’s arm but grabbed a bingo card and won the first round. A few minutes later another patient was arrived in a wheel chair and also had beginner’s luck and won on the first round.
Friday is Cooking Lessons for the patients and this weeks menu was American pizza with groans when the garlic burned in the olive oil but rave reviews at the final product. Zulus love slapstick humor and enjoyed seeing the pizza dough stetched “Luci” style to fit the pan.
No Opportunity for silliness or entertainment goes wasted here at Mountain High. Bingo Games need break times and laughter which was provided by teaching the patients the Hokey Pokey and the B I N G O song this week. Of Course “See You Later Alligator, After While Crocodile” is also a big hit and especially appropriate after seeing crocs more than 140 years old in St. Lucia last weekend. Wish I could take the patients out for a weekend!
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
St. Lucia Weekend
Last week’s blog recounted my embarrassment when I was alarmed at the fire along the dirt road leading to my home in Kwa Zulu Natal, Mountain High Hospital. Ironically, the fires and wind were in fact true menaces that destroyed thousands of cattle and trees while we were gone during our trip to the Northwest Province last week. For three days the Hospital was without power as the wind blew down trees, power and telephone lines and the fire raged through Zululand. Fortunately the Hospital buildings and land were not harmed but the staff was worn out by the ordeal and told of their frustrations living without power or phones for three days when we returned. This week has been an effort and exercise in creating fire breaks around the property.
This weekend we are in St. Lucia, a UN World Heritage Site, to celebrate Women’s Day August 8. By taking one leave day on Friday, we are able to have a four day weekend in this wetland which encompasses five ecosystems including estuary, ocean beach, Game Park, sand dune and river. The small town of St. Lucia is situated on a narrow peninsula between the Indian Ocean and Lake St. Lucia, an estuary with hippos and crocodiles its native inhabitants. One can view the hippos from the shore or take a boat ride to their favorite hideouts along the mangrove estuary. Hippos take shelter in the water by day and run ashore at night to feed on grass. Reportedly, hippos have been seen running down the streets of this small tourist town and are unstoppable in their chosen path. Baby hippos will ride on their mothers back in the water. Crocodiles as old as 140 years lounge along the sides of the estuary, content in their place in this grand ecosystem.
The game preserve is a fantastic site with palm and acacia studded hillsides sheltering impalas, zebras, nyala, and waterbuck. Our game drive through the preserve was rewarded with a sighting of a new rhino mother and baby tagging behind. The baby grew impatient with the mother’s speed and leapt ahead, splashing mud at her mother. Just before exiting a herd of Cape buffalo was spotted near the road grazing on the new green grass. They are magnificent animals with broad curled horns and huge black bodies.
St. Lucia is a tourist town like Carmel in California but on a much smaller scale. It can only be reached by crossing one bridge so it is somewhat cut off from the rest of Africa. From the water it is invisible as it has no tall buildings and the estuary and ocean have no commercial buildings. The guide on the boat stated that a study was done to determine whether to develop titanium or tourism in the area and the outcome was that tourism would be more profitable and create more jobs. The town has a bird preserve and many parks with tropical vegetation. An African pleasure is to walk through the bird preserve, listen for the bird calls and quietly look for the bird lodged in the tree above the trail.
In town I gained a personalized Beading class as a kind Zulu woman at the Crafts shelter took the time to teach me the more intricate beading stitches. She demonstrated the beautiful lattice work in black, gold, off white and brown small beads and then watched as I tried to recreate her stitches. Both of us beamed up in delight when the student caught on to the master’s instruction and true learning had occurred.
We left St. Lucia by way of the famous Umfolozi Game Park and were rewarded with close game viewing of White Rhinos, a herd of Cape Buffalos, Waterbuck, families of Giraffes, Nyala, assorted buck and warthog-bush pig but who can tell the difference? The game were as frequent and familiar as the wildlife in a zoo in a major city but how can one ever imagine viewing animals behind protective structures after this extraordinary experience in Africa?
This weekend we are in St. Lucia, a UN World Heritage Site, to celebrate Women’s Day August 8. By taking one leave day on Friday, we are able to have a four day weekend in this wetland which encompasses five ecosystems including estuary, ocean beach, Game Park, sand dune and river. The small town of St. Lucia is situated on a narrow peninsula between the Indian Ocean and Lake St. Lucia, an estuary with hippos and crocodiles its native inhabitants. One can view the hippos from the shore or take a boat ride to their favorite hideouts along the mangrove estuary. Hippos take shelter in the water by day and run ashore at night to feed on grass. Reportedly, hippos have been seen running down the streets of this small tourist town and are unstoppable in their chosen path. Baby hippos will ride on their mothers back in the water. Crocodiles as old as 140 years lounge along the sides of the estuary, content in their place in this grand ecosystem.
The game preserve is a fantastic site with palm and acacia studded hillsides sheltering impalas, zebras, nyala, and waterbuck. Our game drive through the preserve was rewarded with a sighting of a new rhino mother and baby tagging behind. The baby grew impatient with the mother’s speed and leapt ahead, splashing mud at her mother. Just before exiting a herd of Cape buffalo was spotted near the road grazing on the new green grass. They are magnificent animals with broad curled horns and huge black bodies.
St. Lucia is a tourist town like Carmel in California but on a much smaller scale. It can only be reached by crossing one bridge so it is somewhat cut off from the rest of Africa. From the water it is invisible as it has no tall buildings and the estuary and ocean have no commercial buildings. The guide on the boat stated that a study was done to determine whether to develop titanium or tourism in the area and the outcome was that tourism would be more profitable and create more jobs. The town has a bird preserve and many parks with tropical vegetation. An African pleasure is to walk through the bird preserve, listen for the bird calls and quietly look for the bird lodged in the tree above the trail.
In town I gained a personalized Beading class as a kind Zulu woman at the Crafts shelter took the time to teach me the more intricate beading stitches. She demonstrated the beautiful lattice work in black, gold, off white and brown small beads and then watched as I tried to recreate her stitches. Both of us beamed up in delight when the student caught on to the master’s instruction and true learning had occurred.
We left St. Lucia by way of the famous Umfolozi Game Park and were rewarded with close game viewing of White Rhinos, a herd of Cape Buffalos, Waterbuck, families of Giraffes, Nyala, assorted buck and warthog-bush pig but who can tell the difference? The game were as frequent and familiar as the wildlife in a zoo in a major city but how can one ever imagine viewing animals behind protective structures after this extraordinary experience in Africa?
Saturday, August 04, 2007
New PC Recruits Hit the Northwest
This week brought us full circle as we traveled to a remote village in the Northwest province to assist the Peace Corps training program for the 90 new recruits (including four over 70 years of age) that landed in South Africa on 24 July. The journey back to the village took three days- a trip down the mountain by taxi, an 8 hour greyhound bus ride to Pretoria, and a four ride in a Peace Corps van to the training site. Although our original training village was in Mpumalanga and this year’s center is in the Northwest Province, the villages share similar topography and the same problems-poverty, lack of water, dirt roads, no infrastructure, and remote location. Perfect for Americans who want to learn how to get along in rural South Africa.
The villages in the Northwest had some dissimilar features as several donkey carts with two donkeys pulling the cart chariot-style were noted hauling water. The kraals (small ranches) had fences made of thick tree stumps rather than the thin sticks in the south. Some of the fences were layered with heavy thorn bushes for added protection.
The new Peace Corps Trainees were a serious group of volunteers who voiced intelligent opinions and seemed committed to the task ahead, whatever that might be. They had the same concerns that we had a year ago-Can the language classes be mastered? Can one live on the Peace Corps stipend? What about loneliness and the isolation? How does an American cope with all of the changes and inputs from the Peace Corps trainers? What about Food-Do Peace Corps volunteers really live on Pap and porridge? By the end of our stay, 6 of the new recruits had decided that Peace Corps was not for them and were on their way home. The decision was very hard for them as they worried about facing their friends and family but the prospect of spending two years living with new faces, customs and separation from the familiar was overwhelming.
I am not sure that I could have handled Peace Corps without my husband and my faith in God. The job is 24-7 and requires diplomacy, tact, kindness, and discretion all of those waking hours. The new recruits include 11 married couples- having a spouse may be the best thing that they brought to their Peace Corps experience. I admire the young singles who can decipher how to get from A to B, handle unwanted attention, fit in with their host family with little privacy or down time, and perform in an excellent capacity at their work site. Older persons (the Peace Corps now refers to us seniors as OPs (old people) are given a measure of respect in the local communities. Of course being an older man is even more advantageous, but being seen as a Gogo (grandmother) carries some weight.
We tried to encourage the new recruits and allay their fears. The adventure, travel opportunities and sense of fulfillment more than compensate for the uncertainties, discomforts, and sacrifices. However, even after one year living as a rural citizen, I continue to misunderstand the culture, customs and rythmns of life. Just before we left for Pretoria, I took a walk after dinner down the dirt road leading away from the Hospital. Smoke and fire raged across the fields from the controlled burn conducted on the neighboring farmer’s grazing land. (When we arrived at the Hospital last year we were amazed to see Burn Schedules and Maps for the KZN province). After one year we have learned that controlled burning of grazing land is part of the agricultural plan to increase nutrients in the soil and retain water, a scarce resource. The burns ignite the old grasses and within a few weeks new sprouts of grass create fodder for the livestock and reinvigorate the land. By burning the land is made new and the rain water is stored in the ground. Driving across South Africa at night is an amazing sight with tall flames outlining the horizon, stretching out across the land.
After walking about one mile I had to turn back on the dirt road as the grass fire had cranked up now reaching the dirt road with flames 10 feet high next to the road below the telephone wires. The fire started heading toward the indigenous forest in the direction of the Hospital. I was alarmed at the speed of the flames and the fact that no one was around to monitor the course and fury of the fire. I hurried back to the Hospital and contacted the Security Guard about the fire on the dirt road. He seemed unconcerned but contacted a driver to inspect the situation. I asked about calling the fire department but that option does not exist in our remote location. Out of control fires are dealt with by borrowing a water tank truck from the timber mill, 6 miles away. The driver finally arrived and we went down the road to inspect the fire. Boy was I embarrassed when we arrived at the danger point where 30 minutes previously, the flames were leaping back to the hospital and up toward the power line. The area was black char with the indigenous trees untouched from the blaze. (I later learned that the indigenous trees are flame resistant). I apologized to the driver for my concern and he graciously told me not to worry. Such is the reaction from a So. Cal Gal coming from a fire zone in the hills of Palos Verdes. After one year here there is still so much to learn!
The villages in the Northwest had some dissimilar features as several donkey carts with two donkeys pulling the cart chariot-style were noted hauling water. The kraals (small ranches) had fences made of thick tree stumps rather than the thin sticks in the south. Some of the fences were layered with heavy thorn bushes for added protection.
The new Peace Corps Trainees were a serious group of volunteers who voiced intelligent opinions and seemed committed to the task ahead, whatever that might be. They had the same concerns that we had a year ago-Can the language classes be mastered? Can one live on the Peace Corps stipend? What about loneliness and the isolation? How does an American cope with all of the changes and inputs from the Peace Corps trainers? What about Food-Do Peace Corps volunteers really live on Pap and porridge? By the end of our stay, 6 of the new recruits had decided that Peace Corps was not for them and were on their way home. The decision was very hard for them as they worried about facing their friends and family but the prospect of spending two years living with new faces, customs and separation from the familiar was overwhelming.
I am not sure that I could have handled Peace Corps without my husband and my faith in God. The job is 24-7 and requires diplomacy, tact, kindness, and discretion all of those waking hours. The new recruits include 11 married couples- having a spouse may be the best thing that they brought to their Peace Corps experience. I admire the young singles who can decipher how to get from A to B, handle unwanted attention, fit in with their host family with little privacy or down time, and perform in an excellent capacity at their work site. Older persons (the Peace Corps now refers to us seniors as OPs (old people) are given a measure of respect in the local communities. Of course being an older man is even more advantageous, but being seen as a Gogo (grandmother) carries some weight.
We tried to encourage the new recruits and allay their fears. The adventure, travel opportunities and sense of fulfillment more than compensate for the uncertainties, discomforts, and sacrifices. However, even after one year living as a rural citizen, I continue to misunderstand the culture, customs and rythmns of life. Just before we left for Pretoria, I took a walk after dinner down the dirt road leading away from the Hospital. Smoke and fire raged across the fields from the controlled burn conducted on the neighboring farmer’s grazing land. (When we arrived at the Hospital last year we were amazed to see Burn Schedules and Maps for the KZN province). After one year we have learned that controlled burning of grazing land is part of the agricultural plan to increase nutrients in the soil and retain water, a scarce resource. The burns ignite the old grasses and within a few weeks new sprouts of grass create fodder for the livestock and reinvigorate the land. By burning the land is made new and the rain water is stored in the ground. Driving across South Africa at night is an amazing sight with tall flames outlining the horizon, stretching out across the land.
After walking about one mile I had to turn back on the dirt road as the grass fire had cranked up now reaching the dirt road with flames 10 feet high next to the road below the telephone wires. The fire started heading toward the indigenous forest in the direction of the Hospital. I was alarmed at the speed of the flames and the fact that no one was around to monitor the course and fury of the fire. I hurried back to the Hospital and contacted the Security Guard about the fire on the dirt road. He seemed unconcerned but contacted a driver to inspect the situation. I asked about calling the fire department but that option does not exist in our remote location. Out of control fires are dealt with by borrowing a water tank truck from the timber mill, 6 miles away. The driver finally arrived and we went down the road to inspect the fire. Boy was I embarrassed when we arrived at the danger point where 30 minutes previously, the flames were leaping back to the hospital and up toward the power line. The area was black char with the indigenous trees untouched from the blaze. (I later learned that the indigenous trees are flame resistant). I apologized to the driver for my concern and he graciously told me not to worry. Such is the reaction from a So. Cal Gal coming from a fire zone in the hills of Palos Verdes. After one year here there is still so much to learn!
Friday, July 27, 2007
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Zesty Zanzibar
To mark the halfway point in our Peace Corps Service, Brendon and I hustled off to Zanzibar (Spice Island) for some fun in the sun at a beach resort on the Indian Ocean. Travel from South Africa to Tanzania was only 4 hours but the countries seem like world’s apart.
We flew from Johannesburg to Zanzibar via Dar Es Salaam, arriving at night to an airport right out of “Casablanca”, with old lettered signage and a few tired government types to issue visas. Our checked luggage was hauled off the airplane and hand carried unto some flat benches so in minutes we were on our way to our beach hotel, one hour north of the airport. Zanzibar, an island about 40 miles long and 15 miles wide, is a UN World Heritage Site famous for the palaces in its capital of Stone Town, built 150 years ago from the riches of the Sultan’s slave trade. Zanzibar is reportedly one of the safest places in Africa and a winner for travel because of the gorgeous beaches, the warm water and the historical treasures of Stone Town.
The Oman Arabs and British colonial rule have both left their imprints with many of the Victorian-Arabic monumental buildings designed by a British architect (Sinclair) who “went native” and increasing used Arabic themes and appointments in his designs. Since a revolution against the sultans in 1964, the numerous palaces and government edifices have fallen into disrepair but philanthropic groups are beginning to restore the grand old dames. The impressive government buildings and waterfront palaces are jettisoned with tiny alleys, making shopping in the byways interesting, albeit a bit touristy. The island is flat, verdant, and fertile with spices grown on small farms in the interior.
For two weary soles coming from a country where everyone is home at night due to worries about crime, our after dark trip from the airport was a delight watching the locals hang out on the street shopping, gossiping, meeting friends and enjoying the warm air. The streets reminded me of islands in the Caribbean with small stalls and restaurants facing directly onto the road. Piles of fruit, curries, bicycle tires, mealie and household staples were offered to passerbys. The women create a mélange of color and movement in their colorful geometric two piece kanga skirt and veil, which often has a Muslim proverb on the facing.
Zanzibar is situated on the equator and has year round warm temperatures, welcome to folks from winter in South Africa. The resort seemed to be in harmony with the local villagers as they both benefit from the sea and the hotel provides employment for the village. Although the beach resort had an international flavor with water sports, beach lounges, pools and amenities including tea at four attended by a cheerful woman making crepes with chocolate sauce, it shares the beach with the neighboring fishing village. When the tide is out the local woman tend their seaweed crops, which cling to small sticks imbedded in the sand. The men fish from the reef with traps, spears, and line. When the tide comes in all evidence of the seaweed farms disappears under the surf and the hotel residents swim in the warm water. A walk out to the reef at low tide gives great pleasure from tidepools with colorful small fish, starfish, coral, the dhow (handmade boats) sitting still on the sand and perfectly clear water. The seaweed industry is nonpolluting and an added interest to the amazing visual scene of swaying palms, perfect white sand, turquoise water, beautifully dressed Muslim women sitting in the shallow surf harvesting their crops, marine blue skies studded with billowy clouds. In short fashion the white billows turn to black storm clouds and light rain passes over the island.
The resort is international land in one of Africa’s poorest countries. For folks in the Peace Corps, the high prices catch one off guard. The dollar is king and it is ironic that our first job here was to change rand into dollars. A second shock came when the posted price for a cab to historic Stone Town was $60 one way. This is where Peace Corps experience came in handy as a 4 km walk down the road to the local village produced a ride to town for less than one dollar in a Daladala. The Daladala leaves every 10 minutes and is always full. An open air truck is converted to convenient, economical transportation by decorating the sides with wrought iron, adding a canopy with floral designs and horseshoe benches for the passengers. Passengers greet one another and slide together to make room for the trip to town. A young conductor stands at the back on the fender and bangs the truck three times when it is safe for the driver to proceed. Interesting to note that most countries of the world provide cheap, efficient transportation for local residents whether it be jitneys, tuk tuks, combies, or DalaDalas and are available for adventurous tourists to connect with the locals.
No trip to Zanzibar is complete without a tour of the spice farms. The spices grow in the jungle and are harvested for cash crops. Nutmeg is king but annatto, cinnamon, garlic, vanilla, ginger, and cloves thrive in the humid climate. The tour consists of a guide leading one through the forest to a stand of trees, breaking off a fruit, vine, flower or bark and crushing the substance with the question as to what spice was in his hand. One surprise was cinnamon where the bark, root and leaf all have uses and distinctive smells. Prickly annatto flowers were crushed producing a beautiful red powder used for cosmetics and hair dye.
Zanzibar contrasts with South Africa in that there are no industries on this island and the residents are much poorer than SA’s. Prices for food are very high. The village people live in mud and rock huts with thatched roofs. The Country has developed tourism as a quick fix for its poverty but the development has caused deforestation of many areas. . As in most Muslim countries in Africa, the HIV infection rate is lower than the non-Muslim countries but HIV and Malaria are serious health problems. No vaccine is available for malaria although it is one of Africa’s biggest killers. Prevention of malaria requires sleeping under mosquito nets, spraying, prophylactic medicine and insect repellents. All of these measures are available to affluent tourists, but the locals do not have these preventive measures at the ready. Malaria can be eradicated from a country with a will to stop this killer disease- better yet, drug manufacturer’s could develop a vaccine. As it is, Malaria debilitates the working poor and is a frequent killer of the population at large.
Zanzibar is a pleasure for tourists as the local residents are very kind to tourists and the mix of the exotic plus the familiar is welcome. Beaches and cities seem very safe and one quickly stops looking around for unsavory characters who might want your bag or cell phone. A beautiful island getaway!
We flew from Johannesburg to Zanzibar via Dar Es Salaam, arriving at night to an airport right out of “Casablanca”, with old lettered signage and a few tired government types to issue visas. Our checked luggage was hauled off the airplane and hand carried unto some flat benches so in minutes we were on our way to our beach hotel, one hour north of the airport. Zanzibar, an island about 40 miles long and 15 miles wide, is a UN World Heritage Site famous for the palaces in its capital of Stone Town, built 150 years ago from the riches of the Sultan’s slave trade. Zanzibar is reportedly one of the safest places in Africa and a winner for travel because of the gorgeous beaches, the warm water and the historical treasures of Stone Town.
The Oman Arabs and British colonial rule have both left their imprints with many of the Victorian-Arabic monumental buildings designed by a British architect (Sinclair) who “went native” and increasing used Arabic themes and appointments in his designs. Since a revolution against the sultans in 1964, the numerous palaces and government edifices have fallen into disrepair but philanthropic groups are beginning to restore the grand old dames. The impressive government buildings and waterfront palaces are jettisoned with tiny alleys, making shopping in the byways interesting, albeit a bit touristy. The island is flat, verdant, and fertile with spices grown on small farms in the interior.
For two weary soles coming from a country where everyone is home at night due to worries about crime, our after dark trip from the airport was a delight watching the locals hang out on the street shopping, gossiping, meeting friends and enjoying the warm air. The streets reminded me of islands in the Caribbean with small stalls and restaurants facing directly onto the road. Piles of fruit, curries, bicycle tires, mealie and household staples were offered to passerbys. The women create a mélange of color and movement in their colorful geometric two piece kanga skirt and veil, which often has a Muslim proverb on the facing.
Zanzibar is situated on the equator and has year round warm temperatures, welcome to folks from winter in South Africa. The resort seemed to be in harmony with the local villagers as they both benefit from the sea and the hotel provides employment for the village. Although the beach resort had an international flavor with water sports, beach lounges, pools and amenities including tea at four attended by a cheerful woman making crepes with chocolate sauce, it shares the beach with the neighboring fishing village. When the tide is out the local woman tend their seaweed crops, which cling to small sticks imbedded in the sand. The men fish from the reef with traps, spears, and line. When the tide comes in all evidence of the seaweed farms disappears under the surf and the hotel residents swim in the warm water. A walk out to the reef at low tide gives great pleasure from tidepools with colorful small fish, starfish, coral, the dhow (handmade boats) sitting still on the sand and perfectly clear water. The seaweed industry is nonpolluting and an added interest to the amazing visual scene of swaying palms, perfect white sand, turquoise water, beautifully dressed Muslim women sitting in the shallow surf harvesting their crops, marine blue skies studded with billowy clouds. In short fashion the white billows turn to black storm clouds and light rain passes over the island.
The resort is international land in one of Africa’s poorest countries. For folks in the Peace Corps, the high prices catch one off guard. The dollar is king and it is ironic that our first job here was to change rand into dollars. A second shock came when the posted price for a cab to historic Stone Town was $60 one way. This is where Peace Corps experience came in handy as a 4 km walk down the road to the local village produced a ride to town for less than one dollar in a Daladala. The Daladala leaves every 10 minutes and is always full. An open air truck is converted to convenient, economical transportation by decorating the sides with wrought iron, adding a canopy with floral designs and horseshoe benches for the passengers. Passengers greet one another and slide together to make room for the trip to town. A young conductor stands at the back on the fender and bangs the truck three times when it is safe for the driver to proceed. Interesting to note that most countries of the world provide cheap, efficient transportation for local residents whether it be jitneys, tuk tuks, combies, or DalaDalas and are available for adventurous tourists to connect with the locals.
No trip to Zanzibar is complete without a tour of the spice farms. The spices grow in the jungle and are harvested for cash crops. Nutmeg is king but annatto, cinnamon, garlic, vanilla, ginger, and cloves thrive in the humid climate. The tour consists of a guide leading one through the forest to a stand of trees, breaking off a fruit, vine, flower or bark and crushing the substance with the question as to what spice was in his hand. One surprise was cinnamon where the bark, root and leaf all have uses and distinctive smells. Prickly annatto flowers were crushed producing a beautiful red powder used for cosmetics and hair dye.
Zanzibar contrasts with South Africa in that there are no industries on this island and the residents are much poorer than SA’s. Prices for food are very high. The village people live in mud and rock huts with thatched roofs. The Country has developed tourism as a quick fix for its poverty but the development has caused deforestation of many areas. . As in most Muslim countries in Africa, the HIV infection rate is lower than the non-Muslim countries but HIV and Malaria are serious health problems. No vaccine is available for malaria although it is one of Africa’s biggest killers. Prevention of malaria requires sleeping under mosquito nets, spraying, prophylactic medicine and insect repellents. All of these measures are available to affluent tourists, but the locals do not have these preventive measures at the ready. Malaria can be eradicated from a country with a will to stop this killer disease- better yet, drug manufacturer’s could develop a vaccine. As it is, Malaria debilitates the working poor and is a frequent killer of the population at large.
Zanzibar is a pleasure for tourists as the local residents are very kind to tourists and the mix of the exotic plus the familiar is welcome. Beaches and cities seem very safe and one quickly stops looking around for unsavory characters who might want your bag or cell phone. A beautiful island getaway!
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Halftime!
One year ago on July 10, 2006 we vacated our home of 20 years to join the US Peace Corps as NGO Capacity Builders for AIDS in South Africa. Time has passed quickly with enjoyable experiences but many days are challenging with annoyances, frustrations and inconveniences. At the beginning of the training, we were somewhat incredulous that we could survive two years living in poverty conditions in a complex country. However, after reaching the half way mark and four seasons it looks like we are on our way to finishing our two years of service. Now is a good time to take stock and see what has been accomplished, where we have failed and how we have changed.
During our last days of training we were asked to write down our expectations for our service and then were told to take the paper, put it in a trash can and light a match. So many of us volunteers aspired to “Help the poor”, “Make a Difference”, “Use our Skills” or even in jest “Save the World.” In fact Capacity Building has often been a series of failed attempts at new projects or improved processes/procedures. Sometimes our presence has been a nuisance for the NGO as we do not understand many South African business, employee, or social customs, not to mention the language difficulties. Our style of attacking problems is different than the NGO and our attempts to create Tables with Itemized list of Improvements, Repairs, Purchases and Prioritization have not been embraced.
An attempt to grow food was a failure in spite of countless hours shoveling the hard sod, hoeing, and weeding. Travels and an invasion of goats wiped out all of our efforts. However the hospital manager took notice of the potential for food production and properly plowed the land, amended the soil, hired workers, repaired the fence and planted cabbage and spinach which are growing beautifully. Is a failed gardening attempt Capacity Building? Maybe in a small way
Our attempts at organizing the renovation projects in the hospital with prioritization and work schedules were met with sigh and silence but slowly the improvements have been made, with a different timetable and sequence of events than we envisioned but progress becoming apparent.
The two successful projects at the Hospital, the AIDS Orphans and Vulnerable Children’s camp held last week and the Occupational Therapy Program for patients were not conceivable as activities that might be the work of Capacity Builders or work that we might do. However these two projects (funded by US PEPFAR) have been the most satisfying part of our service, with tangible results. The compelling need for a way of dealing with the psycho-social problems of AIDS orphans and the lack of any activity for confined patients drove the projects to success. Although the seed money for these projects came from the US, the style of the outcome was distinctively African with a rolling, zigzag motion rather than a conscripted detailed Gann diagram.
The OVCs camp was a lesson in the goodwill of the Zulu community and their care for each other. Most of the labor was donated; the counselors committed to 5 days of training before the camp began. This was the first camp for OVCs in our area but the need is great. 51 out of thousands of children were able to attend and benefit from the life skills and empowerment. Our NGO has a history of helping the needy around the world so this job of helping young people find their way in life without parents is not a new story. The NGO does not believe in coddling the children. Rather they are given practical lessons in life, presented with physical challenges they can succeed at, joined with each other through team building, and empowered with the knowledge they are not alone in this task. Many others are in the same situation or even worse circumstances.
So if this sounds dry and like social babble, the camp was NOT! The kids were fun, enthusiastic and bonded with each other in a remarkable way. The older children helped the younger children. Not one child went home with even a bandaid on his finger. No complaints and No Behavior Problems! Hopefully this will be the start of an ongoing support program for the local OVCs. A drop in center with food and adult supervision is sorely needed. One hundred years ago Christian organizations provided schools and hospitals to remote communities in South Africa. Today the need is for care and empowerment for a new generation of children who will grow up without parents due to the AIDS crisis.
So, after one year how has our life changed? We are living a much simpler life and lifestyle. For example:
· We do not have insurance, car repairs or gas bills to pay
· When we travel we do not have to stop the mail, newspapers or worry about the yard
· We do not spend time in traffic jams or commuting. Our home is the back room of the office.
· We have no utility bills to worry about and our trash is burned
· Our trash is limited to two small plastic bags per week. In Palos Verdes we used to fill up three large cans per week plus one recycle container.
· In the last year we have used only 3 rolls of paper towels and one roll of plastic wrap and aluminum foil.
· Our one room flat can be cleaned in one hour. At home it was an all days job with four bedrooms, three baths and numerous knick knacks to dust
· We have one set of sheets for the bed and two towels rather than a linen closet full of sheets, towels and blankets. Guests are on their own
· We seldom work past 4 pm and have time to take beautiful walks through the mountain and forest trails surrounding our new home
· Homeowner jobs are not on the agenda. The only project we tackled was sealing the rotting windows with duct tape for the winter.
· Grocery shopping is a snap as we are limited to what we can carry down the dirt road and very simple cooking on the two burner hot plate
· Medical and dental care. Not an issue as we have not had a sick day since our arrival.
· Entertainment is simple and plentiful as we are plowing through the two boxes of books we shipped from the US
· Although Palos Verdes is a very quiet place to live it cannot compare to our new home with no telephones, television, stereo, UPS trucks or racing cars. (Of course PV does not have the 2am roosters that are the fly in the ointment)
What is the new worry? Many returned Peace Corps Volunteers state the return to the US is a big adjustment. We will see!
During our last days of training we were asked to write down our expectations for our service and then were told to take the paper, put it in a trash can and light a match. So many of us volunteers aspired to “Help the poor”, “Make a Difference”, “Use our Skills” or even in jest “Save the World.” In fact Capacity Building has often been a series of failed attempts at new projects or improved processes/procedures. Sometimes our presence has been a nuisance for the NGO as we do not understand many South African business, employee, or social customs, not to mention the language difficulties. Our style of attacking problems is different than the NGO and our attempts to create Tables with Itemized list of Improvements, Repairs, Purchases and Prioritization have not been embraced.
An attempt to grow food was a failure in spite of countless hours shoveling the hard sod, hoeing, and weeding. Travels and an invasion of goats wiped out all of our efforts. However the hospital manager took notice of the potential for food production and properly plowed the land, amended the soil, hired workers, repaired the fence and planted cabbage and spinach which are growing beautifully. Is a failed gardening attempt Capacity Building? Maybe in a small way
Our attempts at organizing the renovation projects in the hospital with prioritization and work schedules were met with sigh and silence but slowly the improvements have been made, with a different timetable and sequence of events than we envisioned but progress becoming apparent.
The two successful projects at the Hospital, the AIDS Orphans and Vulnerable Children’s camp held last week and the Occupational Therapy Program for patients were not conceivable as activities that might be the work of Capacity Builders or work that we might do. However these two projects (funded by US PEPFAR) have been the most satisfying part of our service, with tangible results. The compelling need for a way of dealing with the psycho-social problems of AIDS orphans and the lack of any activity for confined patients drove the projects to success. Although the seed money for these projects came from the US, the style of the outcome was distinctively African with a rolling, zigzag motion rather than a conscripted detailed Gann diagram.
The OVCs camp was a lesson in the goodwill of the Zulu community and their care for each other. Most of the labor was donated; the counselors committed to 5 days of training before the camp began. This was the first camp for OVCs in our area but the need is great. 51 out of thousands of children were able to attend and benefit from the life skills and empowerment. Our NGO has a history of helping the needy around the world so this job of helping young people find their way in life without parents is not a new story. The NGO does not believe in coddling the children. Rather they are given practical lessons in life, presented with physical challenges they can succeed at, joined with each other through team building, and empowered with the knowledge they are not alone in this task. Many others are in the same situation or even worse circumstances.
So if this sounds dry and like social babble, the camp was NOT! The kids were fun, enthusiastic and bonded with each other in a remarkable way. The older children helped the younger children. Not one child went home with even a bandaid on his finger. No complaints and No Behavior Problems! Hopefully this will be the start of an ongoing support program for the local OVCs. A drop in center with food and adult supervision is sorely needed. One hundred years ago Christian organizations provided schools and hospitals to remote communities in South Africa. Today the need is for care and empowerment for a new generation of children who will grow up without parents due to the AIDS crisis.
So, after one year how has our life changed? We are living a much simpler life and lifestyle. For example:
· We do not have insurance, car repairs or gas bills to pay
· When we travel we do not have to stop the mail, newspapers or worry about the yard
· We do not spend time in traffic jams or commuting. Our home is the back room of the office.
· We have no utility bills to worry about and our trash is burned
· Our trash is limited to two small plastic bags per week. In Palos Verdes we used to fill up three large cans per week plus one recycle container.
· In the last year we have used only 3 rolls of paper towels and one roll of plastic wrap and aluminum foil.
· Our one room flat can be cleaned in one hour. At home it was an all days job with four bedrooms, three baths and numerous knick knacks to dust
· We have one set of sheets for the bed and two towels rather than a linen closet full of sheets, towels and blankets. Guests are on their own
· We seldom work past 4 pm and have time to take beautiful walks through the mountain and forest trails surrounding our new home
· Homeowner jobs are not on the agenda. The only project we tackled was sealing the rotting windows with duct tape for the winter.
· Grocery shopping is a snap as we are limited to what we can carry down the dirt road and very simple cooking on the two burner hot plate
· Medical and dental care. Not an issue as we have not had a sick day since our arrival.
· Entertainment is simple and plentiful as we are plowing through the two boxes of books we shipped from the US
· Although Palos Verdes is a very quiet place to live it cannot compare to our new home with no telephones, television, stereo, UPS trucks or racing cars. (Of course PV does not have the 2am roosters that are the fly in the ointment)
What is the new worry? Many returned Peace Corps Volunteers state the return to the US is a big adjustment. We will see!
Sunday, July 01, 2007
Beached Pleasures
This weekend was an experience in Patience and Flexibility and Serendipity and Joy as the escape to the coast turned sour but the discovery of what is underfoot was explored and embraced. This is an allegory for life as oftentimes the Promised Land is delayed and the manna at arms length is available for the willing and able.
After a week of work at the hospital and facilitating the OVC (Aids orphans and vulnerable children) camp at our doorstep, we were ready for a break plus grocery shopping. Our plan was to catch the only bus out of town to the coast and hole up in Richards Bay for the weekend to get some warmer weather and civilization. After an hour of waiting for the Greyhound we were sorely disappointed to discover that the bus was fully booked and our escape from Vryheid was not going to happen. What to do for the weekend? A look at the local paper to determine the status of the government worker’s, teachers and nurses national strike brought an advertisement to our attention- Mpofini Game Preserve- Lodge 5 km from Vryheid plus lodging and hiking trails. A call to the Preserve landed us a booking (reservation). Transport to this lodge embodied the pleasure and burden of the Peace Corps. No car or private transportation was available but our site is in close proximity to amazing natural wonders. A call to the only local taxi company in our town brought some language and geographical confusion but within 30 minutes a taxi showed and we traveled the short distance to a remarkable and amazing game preserve/lodge. Plus the added benefit is that it met Peace Corps budget restrictions (R420 a night for two including breakfast - $60).
We arrived at this guarded, gated (electrical fences for the 12,000 hectares of private game park) and somewhat isolated game park by taxi to find an amazing collection of game, geology, and terrain. A family has held the property for 80 years but has recently developed it into a game preserve with rhinos, hippos, giraffes, impalas, warthogs, nyalas, and bok. In South Africa one can check into a hotel room at 8 am so we got out of the taxi and walked up through the thatched gate to the reception station. The clerk at the desk welcomed us but stated that there were two problems with the lodge accommodations and preserve- first, if we wanted to hike through the huge preserve we must be careful about the rhino couple as Mrs. R had just had a baby and she was very protective. The second problem was the Bush Wedding scheduled for 11am in the Wild Bush which would entail much of the staff. She also added that the Preserve would provide game drives if desired.
We walked the short distance from the Reception to our chalet, one of four perched on a hilltop high above the huge expanse of crater, rocky hilltops, plain, and acacia/succulent hillsides. This was the sounds of Africa-bird calls, brush and quiet. After leaving our Beach belongings (shorts, swimming attire, t-shirts) in the beautiful African decorated chalet (full bath, bed, deck overlooking the savannah) we traveled down the road to the bottom of the crater. Numerous impala and nyala jumped away in surprise. In the field many game were feeding without regard to our presence. We hiked up the side of the crater finding herds of zebras, which are skittish, shy and will run off together. Wart hogs chomped on the grass and were very fast on their feet as we approached. A trip though the wilds produced many herd of game. A herd of 12 adult and baby giraffes turned up at one road bend. The giraffes defend themselves by become motionless large bush trees that stared at us the intruders. We trudged back through the side roads and came upon the vehicles for the wedding. We did not want to intrude upon the wedding but could not help but take a peak as we spotted the site with a huge termite mound decorated with flowers as the altar, a pathway for the bride strewn with fall leaves, seating for the guests consisting of hay stacks, and the brides young attendants adorned in orange net fairy skirts. A Great Fall Celebration!
What could top this amazing hike through the preserve? At two pm the prospective son-in-law of the owner of the property showed up a jeep to take us to the back reaches of the property to see the newly acquired hippos. Game drive for R180 ($20). He explained his family’s plans to develop the property so that the property could be sustained in a natural and historical way as a place where game and man live in coexistence. (Game preserves are also a way of preserving land ownership). He drove us to the back reaches of the preserve where a family of three hippos live in a deep pond and appear to thrive with no natural enemies. They were enjoying themselves sunning on the bank of the pond and paid the vehicle no notice. Hippos actually kill more humans in Africa each year than lions but this family grouping seemed very benign. Their footprints around the pond were as big as soccer balls- the driver stated that they weigh 2.5 tons.
The high veld (higher ground) on the preserve also presented the corps of marching ostriches as 8 ostriches descended on the jeep in V formation. They danced in front on the jeep with their small heads held high and large bodies rambling along.
On the last part of the drive, the lookout was for Mrs. R and her baby. The driver explained that the rhinos cannot see very well but if they catch sight of an enemy, they can be very aggressive and dangerous. (This park has 3 white rhinos which are much less aggressive than the black rhinos). On the drive back we searched up and down and high and low for the rhino, but she was hiding for the day. Perhaps the wedding in the bush was too much for her.
Back in our chalet we perched on the deck and watched the night unfold. A full moon in the bush with the sounds of Africa providing the entertainment. A question came up-What if we had caught the bus to the promised land of civilization, warmth, shopping malls and first world conveniences. Do we often miss the most exotic and rewarding opportunity for the promise of comfort and entertainment?
The trip back to town today was also scary and challenging to determine if the private taxi would come a short distance and take us back to town. A call produced an almost unintelligible answer but in short order a taxi arrived and drove us to town in time to get Mr. Zulu’s taxi back to Mountain High before the rainstorm hit. (this week has been record cold and snow in SA).
What to think of private game parks and lodges? The land is preserved and the ecosystem is brought into balance (albeit an absence of predators). The animals are free to live in their habitat and appear to prosper. Opponents of the private game preserves stated that they are tax dodges for the landowners or ways of avoiding land distribution. On this weekend we enjoyed the beautiful scenery, the hiking opportunities and the low cost convenient way to enjoy nature so close to our shopping town.
After a week of work at the hospital and facilitating the OVC (Aids orphans and vulnerable children) camp at our doorstep, we were ready for a break plus grocery shopping. Our plan was to catch the only bus out of town to the coast and hole up in Richards Bay for the weekend to get some warmer weather and civilization. After an hour of waiting for the Greyhound we were sorely disappointed to discover that the bus was fully booked and our escape from Vryheid was not going to happen. What to do for the weekend? A look at the local paper to determine the status of the government worker’s, teachers and nurses national strike brought an advertisement to our attention- Mpofini Game Preserve- Lodge 5 km from Vryheid plus lodging and hiking trails. A call to the Preserve landed us a booking (reservation). Transport to this lodge embodied the pleasure and burden of the Peace Corps. No car or private transportation was available but our site is in close proximity to amazing natural wonders. A call to the only local taxi company in our town brought some language and geographical confusion but within 30 minutes a taxi showed and we traveled the short distance to a remarkable and amazing game preserve/lodge. Plus the added benefit is that it met Peace Corps budget restrictions (R420 a night for two including breakfast - $60).
We arrived at this guarded, gated (electrical fences for the 12,000 hectares of private game park) and somewhat isolated game park by taxi to find an amazing collection of game, geology, and terrain. A family has held the property for 80 years but has recently developed it into a game preserve with rhinos, hippos, giraffes, impalas, warthogs, nyalas, and bok. In South Africa one can check into a hotel room at 8 am so we got out of the taxi and walked up through the thatched gate to the reception station. The clerk at the desk welcomed us but stated that there were two problems with the lodge accommodations and preserve- first, if we wanted to hike through the huge preserve we must be careful about the rhino couple as Mrs. R had just had a baby and she was very protective. The second problem was the Bush Wedding scheduled for 11am in the Wild Bush which would entail much of the staff. She also added that the Preserve would provide game drives if desired.
We walked the short distance from the Reception to our chalet, one of four perched on a hilltop high above the huge expanse of crater, rocky hilltops, plain, and acacia/succulent hillsides. This was the sounds of Africa-bird calls, brush and quiet. After leaving our Beach belongings (shorts, swimming attire, t-shirts) in the beautiful African decorated chalet (full bath, bed, deck overlooking the savannah) we traveled down the road to the bottom of the crater. Numerous impala and nyala jumped away in surprise. In the field many game were feeding without regard to our presence. We hiked up the side of the crater finding herds of zebras, which are skittish, shy and will run off together. Wart hogs chomped on the grass and were very fast on their feet as we approached. A trip though the wilds produced many herd of game. A herd of 12 adult and baby giraffes turned up at one road bend. The giraffes defend themselves by become motionless large bush trees that stared at us the intruders. We trudged back through the side roads and came upon the vehicles for the wedding. We did not want to intrude upon the wedding but could not help but take a peak as we spotted the site with a huge termite mound decorated with flowers as the altar, a pathway for the bride strewn with fall leaves, seating for the guests consisting of hay stacks, and the brides young attendants adorned in orange net fairy skirts. A Great Fall Celebration!
What could top this amazing hike through the preserve? At two pm the prospective son-in-law of the owner of the property showed up a jeep to take us to the back reaches of the property to see the newly acquired hippos. Game drive for R180 ($20). He explained his family’s plans to develop the property so that the property could be sustained in a natural and historical way as a place where game and man live in coexistence. (Game preserves are also a way of preserving land ownership). He drove us to the back reaches of the preserve where a family of three hippos live in a deep pond and appear to thrive with no natural enemies. They were enjoying themselves sunning on the bank of the pond and paid the vehicle no notice. Hippos actually kill more humans in Africa each year than lions but this family grouping seemed very benign. Their footprints around the pond were as big as soccer balls- the driver stated that they weigh 2.5 tons.
The high veld (higher ground) on the preserve also presented the corps of marching ostriches as 8 ostriches descended on the jeep in V formation. They danced in front on the jeep with their small heads held high and large bodies rambling along.
On the last part of the drive, the lookout was for Mrs. R and her baby. The driver explained that the rhinos cannot see very well but if they catch sight of an enemy, they can be very aggressive and dangerous. (This park has 3 white rhinos which are much less aggressive than the black rhinos). On the drive back we searched up and down and high and low for the rhino, but she was hiding for the day. Perhaps the wedding in the bush was too much for her.
Back in our chalet we perched on the deck and watched the night unfold. A full moon in the bush with the sounds of Africa providing the entertainment. A question came up-What if we had caught the bus to the promised land of civilization, warmth, shopping malls and first world conveniences. Do we often miss the most exotic and rewarding opportunity for the promise of comfort and entertainment?
The trip back to town today was also scary and challenging to determine if the private taxi would come a short distance and take us back to town. A call produced an almost unintelligible answer but in short order a taxi arrived and drove us to town in time to get Mr. Zulu’s taxi back to Mountain High before the rainstorm hit. (this week has been record cold and snow in SA).
What to think of private game parks and lodges? The land is preserved and the ecosystem is brought into balance (albeit an absence of predators). The animals are free to live in their habitat and appear to prosper. Opponents of the private game preserves stated that they are tax dodges for the landowners or ways of avoiding land distribution. On this weekend we enjoyed the beautiful scenery, the hiking opportunities and the low cost convenient way to enjoy nature so close to our shopping town.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
The Campers Are Coming! The Americans Came!
This week was a flurry of activity and fun as preparations began in earnest for the 50 AIDS orphans and vulnerable children that will arrive at Mountain High this week for “Camp Be a Hero”. The children are coming from 5 local villages for psycho-social support, group bonding and recreation. The camp is free to the children and has been financed by a grant from the US (PEPFAR), community volunteer contributions, and the NGO backing the Hospital. The children will participate in workshops dealing with lifeskills and their social needs in the morning; handcrafts, team building and recreation in the afternoon. One week of support seems like a band-aid approach to the problem of losing one’s parents to AIDS but the intent is to empower the children and follow-up after the camp.
South Africa is home to 500 new AIDS orphans every day. Over 2 million men and women have died of AIDS in South Africa with most being in their prime parenting and working years. This problem will continue to plague the country until a cure or vaccine is found. ARV therapy is starting to become available which would prolong productive life but access to the drugs requires an HIV test. Many adults are in denial and worry about stigma if they are tested so they refuse.
The Ubuntu spirit in Africa (community caring) mandates that the orphans remain in the village with the grandmothers (gogos) or other relatives stepping in to provide care. The unfortunate problem is that in many households only the gogos remain and the children become the head of household with the entire family dependent on the gogo’s pension. AIDS is truly a social problem as well as medical tragedy.
The plan for the camp involves moving the OVCS into the boy’s boarding school dormitory, which has been vacated due to the teacher’s strike. We worried last week about the boys returning to the dorm if the strike was settled, leaving the campers homeless. The news this week is that no settlement is eminent and the students will not return until the new term starts in July. The next problem was constructing recreation and challenge equipment for the campers. Brendon and I had an interesting shopping trip to town to buy poles and ropes for the challenge course with the tall poles attached to the roof of the pickup for the trip back up the mountain. The truck was loaded with soccer balls, nets, crayons, craft supplies, and liters of catsup for games. (Who knows what the camp director has planned)!
After one year of living on the mountain with only Zulus for company, two groups of Americans arrived this week. On Monday the NGO that runs the hospital sent 8 American college students to Mountain High to assist with preparations for the camp and get a whiff of life in a mission hospital. On Monday night the Bonds went to the chapel to meet the American students. My heart welled with emotion as I entered and saw their distinctly American faces. They laughed and joked as we introduced ourselves. “How about them Dodgers?” (I thought to myself) as here were people who could understand my humor and accent. Although they were from the Midwest and I am a Californian, I felt this intense bond and familiarity with the kids. They looked, talked and acted like home and I am homesick for my kids. These kids had a work ethic and volunteer spirit. By the next day they had put together the craft program for the camp and were busy learning Zulu beading. They participated in Tuesday Bingo which was hilarious with a crowd of 40 Zulu patients and American college students. Both groups were keen on winning and the stakes were high. Each group presented a song and joined in bingo silliness.
Ironically, a group of 6 Peace Corps volunteers arrived the next day for a pajama party at the Bond’s. Almost 20 Americans in this obscure corner of the universe-what to think? The PC volunteers stopped by on their way to the game preserves and St. Lucia on the coast. It was fun to exchange stories and hear about their sites and experiences. I compared the two groups of Americans in my mind and realized that the Peace Corps volunteers had changed in the course of a year. The idealism of our first weeks together had mellowed into realism about their impact and discussion of more mundane issues such as how to live and travel on the Peace Corps budget. The warts of NGO’s and government programs become apparent after working inside of them for a year. The loneliness, discomforts, sacrifices and isolations of the posts take their toll on the enthusiasm and altruistic spirit that we knew during our initial training. However, the giddy volunteer spirit has given way to a more mature stance and a commitment to complete the task, whatever that is or might become over the next year. Although I feel an intense bond with the PC volunteers, they did not move my emotions like the college students. Perhaps the college students represented the place where I was at one time or the Americans that I would like to know. Perhaps they stand for what is good about America- the willingness to go 12,000 miles on a plane, jump off and immediately start helping with a positive can do spirit. We offered one girl a chance to use the internet but she declined saying that she could not accept a privilege that her friends could not access.
The 6 Peace Corps volunteers had dinner and spent the night in our flat. It was challenging (and fun) to cook for 8 people (plus 3 local residents who turned out for the party). Guacamole, (made by a PCV) Homemade Pizza, Spaghetti, Salad and Chocolate Chip cookies for desert. (The chocolate chips were a unique find in Durban). Then the shuffle to find floor space for the bodies and breakfast the next morning. Dishes and utensils just barely made the grade. Not the same evening as dinner parties at home but very special and memorable. At 7 am the hospital workers showed up at the office door so all bodies had to be neatly stored away and order returned. It was a great evening and a true pleasure to communicate with people that have had this unique experience.
South Africa is home to 500 new AIDS orphans every day. Over 2 million men and women have died of AIDS in South Africa with most being in their prime parenting and working years. This problem will continue to plague the country until a cure or vaccine is found. ARV therapy is starting to become available which would prolong productive life but access to the drugs requires an HIV test. Many adults are in denial and worry about stigma if they are tested so they refuse.
The Ubuntu spirit in Africa (community caring) mandates that the orphans remain in the village with the grandmothers (gogos) or other relatives stepping in to provide care. The unfortunate problem is that in many households only the gogos remain and the children become the head of household with the entire family dependent on the gogo’s pension. AIDS is truly a social problem as well as medical tragedy.
The plan for the camp involves moving the OVCS into the boy’s boarding school dormitory, which has been vacated due to the teacher’s strike. We worried last week about the boys returning to the dorm if the strike was settled, leaving the campers homeless. The news this week is that no settlement is eminent and the students will not return until the new term starts in July. The next problem was constructing recreation and challenge equipment for the campers. Brendon and I had an interesting shopping trip to town to buy poles and ropes for the challenge course with the tall poles attached to the roof of the pickup for the trip back up the mountain. The truck was loaded with soccer balls, nets, crayons, craft supplies, and liters of catsup for games. (Who knows what the camp director has planned)!
After one year of living on the mountain with only Zulus for company, two groups of Americans arrived this week. On Monday the NGO that runs the hospital sent 8 American college students to Mountain High to assist with preparations for the camp and get a whiff of life in a mission hospital. On Monday night the Bonds went to the chapel to meet the American students. My heart welled with emotion as I entered and saw their distinctly American faces. They laughed and joked as we introduced ourselves. “How about them Dodgers?” (I thought to myself) as here were people who could understand my humor and accent. Although they were from the Midwest and I am a Californian, I felt this intense bond and familiarity with the kids. They looked, talked and acted like home and I am homesick for my kids. These kids had a work ethic and volunteer spirit. By the next day they had put together the craft program for the camp and were busy learning Zulu beading. They participated in Tuesday Bingo which was hilarious with a crowd of 40 Zulu patients and American college students. Both groups were keen on winning and the stakes were high. Each group presented a song and joined in bingo silliness.
Ironically, a group of 6 Peace Corps volunteers arrived the next day for a pajama party at the Bond’s. Almost 20 Americans in this obscure corner of the universe-what to think? The PC volunteers stopped by on their way to the game preserves and St. Lucia on the coast. It was fun to exchange stories and hear about their sites and experiences. I compared the two groups of Americans in my mind and realized that the Peace Corps volunteers had changed in the course of a year. The idealism of our first weeks together had mellowed into realism about their impact and discussion of more mundane issues such as how to live and travel on the Peace Corps budget. The warts of NGO’s and government programs become apparent after working inside of them for a year. The loneliness, discomforts, sacrifices and isolations of the posts take their toll on the enthusiasm and altruistic spirit that we knew during our initial training. However, the giddy volunteer spirit has given way to a more mature stance and a commitment to complete the task, whatever that is or might become over the next year. Although I feel an intense bond with the PC volunteers, they did not move my emotions like the college students. Perhaps the college students represented the place where I was at one time or the Americans that I would like to know. Perhaps they stand for what is good about America- the willingness to go 12,000 miles on a plane, jump off and immediately start helping with a positive can do spirit. We offered one girl a chance to use the internet but she declined saying that she could not accept a privilege that her friends could not access.
The 6 Peace Corps volunteers had dinner and spent the night in our flat. It was challenging (and fun) to cook for 8 people (plus 3 local residents who turned out for the party). Guacamole, (made by a PCV) Homemade Pizza, Spaghetti, Salad and Chocolate Chip cookies for desert. (The chocolate chips were a unique find in Durban). Then the shuffle to find floor space for the bodies and breakfast the next morning. Dishes and utensils just barely made the grade. Not the same evening as dinner parties at home but very special and memorable. At 7 am the hospital workers showed up at the office door so all bodies had to be neatly stored away and order returned. It was a great evening and a true pleasure to communicate with people that have had this unique experience.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Mountain High Pics
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Saturday in KwaZuluNatal
After a shopping trip to Durban for patient handcraft supplies last weekend and an unexpected trip to Richards’s Bay on Tuesday due to the government worker’s strike, the Bonds were happy to stay at our Mountain High hospital home for the weekend. Today was a beautiful fall day with warm blue skies, the red aloes and coral trees in bloom and the birds abundant and full of song.
Today seemed like a special treat to be able to sleep past our normal 5 am when our taxi driver Mr. Zulu heads out and just enjoy the beauty of this unique natural setting. During Peace Corps training we were told that the usual Sat routine for South Africans is to get up early on Sat. Morning and clean the house from top to bottom with sweeping, dusting, mopping and heavy doses of Handy Andy. (Ironically this was the mandatory program when I was growing up like so many customs in South Africa). We reversed the program and stayed in bed till 9, made delicious filter coffee and toast with Umsoba (berry) jam and headed out to hike the Mountain to Valley road. The hike goes from the hospital, through the grove of cypress trees that line the dirt road to the boy’s boarding school. The boys have all gone home due to the teacher’s strike so the dilapidated buildings were eerily quiet. From the boarding school the dirt road heads straight up through the indigenous forest. Unfortunately the trees closest to the trek have been butchered for firewood by the local citizens without thought for replanting or future generations. At the top of the ridge the road levels with nonnative trees for about a half km until the road opens up with a view to the entire Zulu kingdom – layers of silhouetted rounded hills one after the other with deep canyons, interesting red and grey rock geological formations and tiny, scattered villages on the sides of the hills. From here the trek becomes downwardly very steep and enters into the Valley where my nearest neighbors and coworkers live.
The valley is not exactly a village but a series of very small farms or Kraals as they are called. The kraal contains several mud hut dwellings with at least one rondoval with a thatched roof. The kraal is surrounded by a fence composed of barbed wire and wood branches. Usually there are some stalls for goats or cows made of tree branches. Roofs for the square mud dwellings are made of tin with rocks or tires on top of the tin to protect from lightning. Multi generational families live in the buildings and share cooking, wood and water gathering responsibilities. The houses have no electricity, indoor plumbing, immediate access to water (there are outdoor faucets every 500 ft or so but the supply is unreliable), radio or TV. Clothing is washed by hand outdoors and hung on the barbed wire to dry. Some homes do use car batteries for charging cell phones and energizing boom boxes. A few of the Kraals have mealy (corn) and other crops but the Zulus primarily raise cattle and goats for their existence and the land is very dry and arid. The residents of this village are my neighbors and coworkers. To get to work they don their smart, stylish clothing (which is always ironed and immaculate) and hike up the cement path (shortcut with 20 % grade straight up to the hospital). They venture from a difficult, rough life, with no conveniences, up a steep path to the hospital where they work all day with electricity, running water, telephones, high tech computers and medical equipment. I thought my life was confusing jumping between first and third world on a weekly basis. My coworkers are intelligent and reliable and can speak at least three languages. I respect them for their commitment to Batho Pele (patient’s first) philosophy of the hospital but moreso to their ability to go into the forest with their machete, cut down trees so that they can cook food and stay warm, haul the trees on their heads, keep track of their animals, haul water from distant springs in wheelbarrows when the taps are dry, enjoy endless daily banter and camaraderie with their fellow Zulus and also fufill their first world duties in a hospital subsidized by the government with numerous regulations and data requirements.
The hike through the valley is a rewarding special experience. Someone calls out to us at each Kraal and asks how we are. About halfway through the hike three cars venture down the steep almost inaccessible road. They are hooting (honking) their horns and laughing. The wedding party is arriving. The bride is decked out in white gown and veil with orange bows and streamers decorating the fancy black car. Everyone is glad to greet us and we are glad to see such an amazing parade on this stretch of almost impassable road. What a great sight! Marriages and life continue in this Valley in spite of life’s difficulty and the curse of AIDS.
We spent the afternoon sitting in the warm African sun looking out at the Valley that is our home. The rock formations make a face of a Zulu and are contrasted by the series of hills, acacia trees, aloes, forests and the birds with their choruses. A perfect afternoon in Zululand!
Today seemed like a special treat to be able to sleep past our normal 5 am when our taxi driver Mr. Zulu heads out and just enjoy the beauty of this unique natural setting. During Peace Corps training we were told that the usual Sat routine for South Africans is to get up early on Sat. Morning and clean the house from top to bottom with sweeping, dusting, mopping and heavy doses of Handy Andy. (Ironically this was the mandatory program when I was growing up like so many customs in South Africa). We reversed the program and stayed in bed till 9, made delicious filter coffee and toast with Umsoba (berry) jam and headed out to hike the Mountain to Valley road. The hike goes from the hospital, through the grove of cypress trees that line the dirt road to the boy’s boarding school. The boys have all gone home due to the teacher’s strike so the dilapidated buildings were eerily quiet. From the boarding school the dirt road heads straight up through the indigenous forest. Unfortunately the trees closest to the trek have been butchered for firewood by the local citizens without thought for replanting or future generations. At the top of the ridge the road levels with nonnative trees for about a half km until the road opens up with a view to the entire Zulu kingdom – layers of silhouetted rounded hills one after the other with deep canyons, interesting red and grey rock geological formations and tiny, scattered villages on the sides of the hills. From here the trek becomes downwardly very steep and enters into the Valley where my nearest neighbors and coworkers live.
The valley is not exactly a village but a series of very small farms or Kraals as they are called. The kraal contains several mud hut dwellings with at least one rondoval with a thatched roof. The kraal is surrounded by a fence composed of barbed wire and wood branches. Usually there are some stalls for goats or cows made of tree branches. Roofs for the square mud dwellings are made of tin with rocks or tires on top of the tin to protect from lightning. Multi generational families live in the buildings and share cooking, wood and water gathering responsibilities. The houses have no electricity, indoor plumbing, immediate access to water (there are outdoor faucets every 500 ft or so but the supply is unreliable), radio or TV. Clothing is washed by hand outdoors and hung on the barbed wire to dry. Some homes do use car batteries for charging cell phones and energizing boom boxes. A few of the Kraals have mealy (corn) and other crops but the Zulus primarily raise cattle and goats for their existence and the land is very dry and arid. The residents of this village are my neighbors and coworkers. To get to work they don their smart, stylish clothing (which is always ironed and immaculate) and hike up the cement path (shortcut with 20 % grade straight up to the hospital). They venture from a difficult, rough life, with no conveniences, up a steep path to the hospital where they work all day with electricity, running water, telephones, high tech computers and medical equipment. I thought my life was confusing jumping between first and third world on a weekly basis. My coworkers are intelligent and reliable and can speak at least three languages. I respect them for their commitment to Batho Pele (patient’s first) philosophy of the hospital but moreso to their ability to go into the forest with their machete, cut down trees so that they can cook food and stay warm, haul the trees on their heads, keep track of their animals, haul water from distant springs in wheelbarrows when the taps are dry, enjoy endless daily banter and camaraderie with their fellow Zulus and also fufill their first world duties in a hospital subsidized by the government with numerous regulations and data requirements.
The hike through the valley is a rewarding special experience. Someone calls out to us at each Kraal and asks how we are. About halfway through the hike three cars venture down the steep almost inaccessible road. They are hooting (honking) their horns and laughing. The wedding party is arriving. The bride is decked out in white gown and veil with orange bows and streamers decorating the fancy black car. Everyone is glad to greet us and we are glad to see such an amazing parade on this stretch of almost impassable road. What a great sight! Marriages and life continue in this Valley in spite of life’s difficulty and the curse of AIDS.
We spent the afternoon sitting in the warm African sun looking out at the Valley that is our home. The rock formations make a face of a Zulu and are contrasted by the series of hills, acacia trees, aloes, forests and the birds with their choruses. A perfect afternoon in Zululand!
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Bingo Fun
Teacher's, government worker's and public hospital employee’s strikes have hit South Africa-Today is the “Big Push” with marches and demonstrations (here called Toyi Toyi) in every city. This is the first nationwide strike since the end of Apartheid 14 years ago. Peace Corps policy requires that volunteers avoid any political demonstration or activism for personal safety and to prevent the appearance of taking sides. So yesterday we took the Greyhound bus to a quiet b and b to sit out the Big Push Day and attempt to recover my dead laptop from the computer service center. (Mountain High Hospital is not affiliated with the same union as the government strikers, however this week the employees came to work in street attire rather than uniforms). We packed in a hurry yesterday, not knowing how long we would be gone from the Hospital we now call home. The patients were unhappy to see us go as the promised “Bingo” game with new prizes had to be postponed until another day. We were able to go to a movie in our hole up town and enjoyed seeing “Amazing Grace”, the story of William Wilberforce, the abolitionist who worked for 25 years to accomplish his goal of eliminating British slave ships. The movie is beautifully produced, a pleasure to watch and a lesson in how spiritual activism and commitment to purpose can change society.
With a combined men and women Jabule group, Bingo was introduced for Tuesday fun a few weeks ago. No patient or staff was familiar with the game but they caught on fast and enjoyed the action. For some time I have been trying to find a social activity that didn’t require complex language skills but would occupy time and entertain the fun- loving men and women. Bingo is played by 5 year olds to 85 year olds and uses numbers rather than words. The 30 patients got excited about the prospect for winning and managed to keep track of the numbers called. The concept of yelling "Bingo" when one had a winning card took a few games, but they heartily uttered the coveted word in their Zulu accents. They looked longingly at the chocolate bars and soaps that I had cadged for prizes. They had laughs and cheers when one of their friends won big. Brendon created the game boards from an internet site and used excel to produce random numbers. (Of course part of the Bingo thrill is the roll out of the balls but patients here have never had this thrill so they were not disappointed by simple read out of numbers). The Peace Corps is ambivalent about bringing laptops and high tech gizmos to third world sites but their usefulness is invaluable and has enriched our volunteer experience/contribution. Better that we could present adult literacy classes or Zulu culture but lacking knowledge or helpers to coordinate this type of enrichment, I am happy to create diversion and fun for a few hours with Bingo.
After a shopping trip last weekend to Durban to obtain Zulu beads, fabric and shoe making supplies the men (and 6 women) showed up on Monday to make sandals from tires. In Durban we located an industrial cobbler supply shop with rubber soles, goat skins, leather, and glue at wholesale prices. Beading supplies were replenished as men and women have been prodigiously making beaded jewelry and trinkets. Best of all was the discovery of a fabric store closeout with many bolts of beautiful fabric for 4 rand (60 cents) a meter. The women love to make skirts and will sew or bead in their beds long after the Jabule group has disbanded for the day.
Sad news, after taking my Compaq computer to the only authorized HP service center in KWA ZuluNatal, it has been officially declared dead, both hard drive and main board. So as they say in South Africa, “Borrow Me your computer” will be the mantra.
With a combined men and women Jabule group, Bingo was introduced for Tuesday fun a few weeks ago. No patient or staff was familiar with the game but they caught on fast and enjoyed the action. For some time I have been trying to find a social activity that didn’t require complex language skills but would occupy time and entertain the fun- loving men and women. Bingo is played by 5 year olds to 85 year olds and uses numbers rather than words. The 30 patients got excited about the prospect for winning and managed to keep track of the numbers called. The concept of yelling "Bingo" when one had a winning card took a few games, but they heartily uttered the coveted word in their Zulu accents. They looked longingly at the chocolate bars and soaps that I had cadged for prizes. They had laughs and cheers when one of their friends won big. Brendon created the game boards from an internet site and used excel to produce random numbers. (Of course part of the Bingo thrill is the roll out of the balls but patients here have never had this thrill so they were not disappointed by simple read out of numbers). The Peace Corps is ambivalent about bringing laptops and high tech gizmos to third world sites but their usefulness is invaluable and has enriched our volunteer experience/contribution. Better that we could present adult literacy classes or Zulu culture but lacking knowledge or helpers to coordinate this type of enrichment, I am happy to create diversion and fun for a few hours with Bingo.
After a shopping trip last weekend to Durban to obtain Zulu beads, fabric and shoe making supplies the men (and 6 women) showed up on Monday to make sandals from tires. In Durban we located an industrial cobbler supply shop with rubber soles, goat skins, leather, and glue at wholesale prices. Beading supplies were replenished as men and women have been prodigiously making beaded jewelry and trinkets. Best of all was the discovery of a fabric store closeout with many bolts of beautiful fabric for 4 rand (60 cents) a meter. The women love to make skirts and will sew or bead in their beds long after the Jabule group has disbanded for the day.
Sad news, after taking my Compaq computer to the only authorized HP service center in KWA ZuluNatal, it has been officially declared dead, both hard drive and main board. So as they say in South Africa, “Borrow Me your computer” will be the mantra.
Saturday, June 02, 2007
Two Weddings and a PC Death
So, what are some of the downsides to Peace Corps service other than the discomforts and communication frustrations? This weekend is cold, grey and miserable as we are huddled in our bed at a B and B in our shopping town. Our thoughts are centered 12,000 miles away in California where our niece is getting married tomorrow and we will not be there. My sisters have been writing and calling with all of the details, plans and excitement about the wedding. I am missing my family and two sons. The obvious sacrifices in the Peace Corps are easy to adjust to but the intimate family parties and events cannot be replaced and weigh heavily at this point in time. Travel to the US for a wedding is nearly impossible as it is a 3 day trip each way and Volunteers are allowed only 2 days off a month. So we are thinking of Debbie and David and their families and wishing them the very best wedding and a wonderful life full of joy and discovery, and happiness.
Ironically, today a driver from the hospital is also getting married, no easy feat in South Africa. He paid the 11 cow dowry (called lobola) and finally is able to tie the knot. The wedding will go on all day but like the wedding in California, there is no transportation to the small village so we cannot attend. (In addition, Saturdays require travel by taxi the 80km to our shopping town for groceries and by the end of the week we are sorely in need of food, a change of scenery from the hospital, and a break from our own cooking.) Lobola may contribute to the AIDs problem in South Africa as it is a hindrance to marriage and causes many men to travel to distant work sites to earn the money for the cows thus creating havoc in relationships.
On Monday the hard drive died on my laptop computer so I am now a PC volunteer without a PC. The boot up was getting slower and slower. Monday brought only the cursor light with a dim blink. Total vegetative state! All of those admonitions about Back Up are now ringing in my ears as I am a computer dependent spouse and have lost a year's worth of photos and docs. Repair of a Compaq hard drive in a remote rural town is no easy task. After many emails, Compaq has directed us to a repair site in Durban, an 8 hour bus trip from our town. Further bad news was that the warranty ran out two months ago so we must navigate the repair and trip to Durban. Might as well make lemonade out of the lemons so next week looks like a trip to Durban with shopping for the patient’s handcraft program and laptop repair. Maybe we will venture into GAME (the South Africa version of Target) to look for the two sewing machines included in the Occupational Therapy grant.
A bright spot on Friday was Vusi’s return, the cobbler guru strikes again. This week he taught the patients how to make sandals out of impala skin and fur. Impala fur is part of the Zulu culture and clothing/shoes are made out of the soft skin which is white, tan and brown. He demonstrated cutting strips of the fur and gluing them to vinyl, then nailing them to the soles made of discarded tires. Old whitewall tires were cut into strips and separated so that an interesting white strip bounded the tire sole. Another style of sandal was made from tire strips covered with white vinyl. Interesting geometric designs were cut into the white vinyl, revealing black underneath. Vusi was a true craftsman and took great pains with his astute skills to make the sandals sturdy and lovely. Next week the patients will give sandal making a try. I worry about accidents from the matte knives but the men (and women) have strong capable hands and know their way around knives as they must venture into the forest and cut wood for their stoves at home.
Ironically, today a driver from the hospital is also getting married, no easy feat in South Africa. He paid the 11 cow dowry (called lobola) and finally is able to tie the knot. The wedding will go on all day but like the wedding in California, there is no transportation to the small village so we cannot attend. (In addition, Saturdays require travel by taxi the 80km to our shopping town for groceries and by the end of the week we are sorely in need of food, a change of scenery from the hospital, and a break from our own cooking.) Lobola may contribute to the AIDs problem in South Africa as it is a hindrance to marriage and causes many men to travel to distant work sites to earn the money for the cows thus creating havoc in relationships.
On Monday the hard drive died on my laptop computer so I am now a PC volunteer without a PC. The boot up was getting slower and slower. Monday brought only the cursor light with a dim blink. Total vegetative state! All of those admonitions about Back Up are now ringing in my ears as I am a computer dependent spouse and have lost a year's worth of photos and docs. Repair of a Compaq hard drive in a remote rural town is no easy task. After many emails, Compaq has directed us to a repair site in Durban, an 8 hour bus trip from our town. Further bad news was that the warranty ran out two months ago so we must navigate the repair and trip to Durban. Might as well make lemonade out of the lemons so next week looks like a trip to Durban with shopping for the patient’s handcraft program and laptop repair. Maybe we will venture into GAME (the South Africa version of Target) to look for the two sewing machines included in the Occupational Therapy grant.
A bright spot on Friday was Vusi’s return, the cobbler guru strikes again. This week he taught the patients how to make sandals out of impala skin and fur. Impala fur is part of the Zulu culture and clothing/shoes are made out of the soft skin which is white, tan and brown. He demonstrated cutting strips of the fur and gluing them to vinyl, then nailing them to the soles made of discarded tires. Old whitewall tires were cut into strips and separated so that an interesting white strip bounded the tire sole. Another style of sandal was made from tire strips covered with white vinyl. Interesting geometric designs were cut into the white vinyl, revealing black underneath. Vusi was a true craftsman and took great pains with his astute skills to make the sandals sturdy and lovely. Next week the patients will give sandal making a try. I worry about accidents from the matte knives but the men (and women) have strong capable hands and know their way around knives as they must venture into the forest and cut wood for their stoves at home.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Coot Fun
Attention is being paid by the US Peace Corps Director and South Africa County Director to the huge pool of potential volunteers represented by the over 50-year-old baby boomers. Brendon and I often tease each other about what class of late middle aged folks we fit into – Are we coots, codgers, geezers, or just plain Old Farts! Likewise for old ladies we have the old bags, dowagers, old bittys and old bats. Some days all categories may fit the wearer. However, whatever our label, the Old Folks (as we are known in the Peace Corps) have numerous skills and resources that may compensate for the lack of energy and enthusiasm manifested by the young. At the beginning of our Peace Corps service the age difference between the more populous 20 year olds and the over 50 year olds created cliques and some separation but as time has gone one the similarities in our experience and hardships have mollified the age differences.
Last week was truly a Coot experience as we joined a trained Bird Watching guide for a hike through the country side near the Natal Spa. We showed up woefully unprepared without binoculars, Sasol’s Birds of South Africa and notebook for recording the sightings. Simon is a Zulu of short stocky build wearing the South African trekker’s togs of two tone khaki shirt and pants, neatly pressed and creased. He discussed the available trails and the common types of birds found in the area. South Africa is home to over 400 species of birds, with many fabulous coloring and shapes that are new to Americans. We set off on the Red Trail which meandered through an exotic gum tree forest to a ridge of the rolling hills around the spa with sightings of the famous river formed from the spring. Simon led us slowly and quietly, looking up at the trees and listening for calls. “Work Harder, Work Harder, Work Harder” was one bird’s call. The Ha De Da Ibis’s swooped above us with their urgent shrieking. The story is that they are afraid of heights, so when flying scream at an alarming pitch. They are quiet when picking for grubs on the ground and beautiful in their large elegant form and beautiful grey and reddish feathers. The guide spotted a Jackie Hangman on a telephone line with white chest and black back. His name comes from his habit of collecting tasty worms and storing them on the sharp barbs of the barbed wire fences. We spotted several weaver birds nests but alas the beautiful yellow weaver birds have flown NORTH for the winter. A true pleasure in South Africa is watching the flocks of black and white martins as they turn in formation against the sun, making beautiful patterns of black and white triangular forms.
The onslaught of winter creeps into all conversations, blogs and center of thought these days. There is nothing that can be done about the cold (except to turn on the ineffective electric space heaters) and dress warmly. The air is clear and dry. The leaves are beginning to turn color. It feels like Thanksgiving in Los Angeles. The local residents walk around and sit in offices with gloves, hats and scarves even though the temperature is only in the low sixties during the day and down into the 30’s at night. We went for a walk in the forest late Friday afternoon and saw nary a goat, cow or child tending the animals-all had been tucked away for the night. During the summer the trail was a parade of children herding the animals or skinny dipping in the pond on the side of the mountain.
I guess I am finally falling into wifely submission as this weekend I agreed to cut Brendon’s hair, a task he has begged me to do for years. We have been in Africa for almost a year and he has faithfully frequented the corner barber shop to get his Number 2 every 2 weeks. The corner barber shop is literal- Bongi sets up a plastic tarp booth on the corner near the taxi rank of our shopping town, hooks up his clippers to a car battery and Voila he is in business. A great hair cut for 6 rand (90 cents). Brendon has been a little squeamish about head lice, in spite of the pink cleaning solution that Bongi dips his combs in prior to each new client. South Africans are very well groomed and this includes frequent hair cuts. However it is not apparent where actual licensed barber shops are located. The last trip to town Brendon invested in clippers and began goading the wife to try hair cutting. Today was the day! He asked me in a very affirmative voice if I would go outside and try out the clippers. If you are wondering about the results remember the admonition-you get what you pay for!
Our trip back from town was uneventful except for gaining insight into the knowledge that all Zulus possess regarding handcrafts and their culture. While waiting for the taxi to leave town, I showed Mr. Zulu (our driver) a straw frame for a beaded bangle bracelet and asked him if he knew where to get the reeds for make the circular frame. He disappeared for a short time and came back with 8 strands of green field grass that he began to weave into rope. Bend one strand a quarter turn and turn-Repeat until a beautiful 8 strand braid is formed. He passed the piece onto me and I finished out the rope. He then started a more complicated pattern with interwoven strands which was too much of a challenge.
We loaded into the taxi and journeyed the beautiful 80 km drive to the Hospital. Near the end of the trip a small boy ran out onto the road with a bag. Mr. Zulu looked at me as asked if I liked birds (izinyoni). I responded in my best Zulu that I like birds. He handed me the plastic bag. I looked inside not understanding what the package had to do with birds and found beautiful layers of honeycomb (izinyosi). Such are the daily misunderstandings with new language and the kindness of drivers. The delicious honeycomb was passed through the taxi with a small treat for all. My painful experience with the bees was forgiven as I tasted the delicious smoky honey right out of the honeycomb and chewed on the beeswax like it was chewing gum. It became clear why the Hospital staff was consumed with retrieving the honey from the roof of the ward last month and putting themselves in danger. What a treat!
Last week was truly a Coot experience as we joined a trained Bird Watching guide for a hike through the country side near the Natal Spa. We showed up woefully unprepared without binoculars, Sasol’s Birds of South Africa and notebook for recording the sightings. Simon is a Zulu of short stocky build wearing the South African trekker’s togs of two tone khaki shirt and pants, neatly pressed and creased. He discussed the available trails and the common types of birds found in the area. South Africa is home to over 400 species of birds, with many fabulous coloring and shapes that are new to Americans. We set off on the Red Trail which meandered through an exotic gum tree forest to a ridge of the rolling hills around the spa with sightings of the famous river formed from the spring. Simon led us slowly and quietly, looking up at the trees and listening for calls. “Work Harder, Work Harder, Work Harder” was one bird’s call. The Ha De Da Ibis’s swooped above us with their urgent shrieking. The story is that they are afraid of heights, so when flying scream at an alarming pitch. They are quiet when picking for grubs on the ground and beautiful in their large elegant form and beautiful grey and reddish feathers. The guide spotted a Jackie Hangman on a telephone line with white chest and black back. His name comes from his habit of collecting tasty worms and storing them on the sharp barbs of the barbed wire fences. We spotted several weaver birds nests but alas the beautiful yellow weaver birds have flown NORTH for the winter. A true pleasure in South Africa is watching the flocks of black and white martins as they turn in formation against the sun, making beautiful patterns of black and white triangular forms.
The onslaught of winter creeps into all conversations, blogs and center of thought these days. There is nothing that can be done about the cold (except to turn on the ineffective electric space heaters) and dress warmly. The air is clear and dry. The leaves are beginning to turn color. It feels like Thanksgiving in Los Angeles. The local residents walk around and sit in offices with gloves, hats and scarves even though the temperature is only in the low sixties during the day and down into the 30’s at night. We went for a walk in the forest late Friday afternoon and saw nary a goat, cow or child tending the animals-all had been tucked away for the night. During the summer the trail was a parade of children herding the animals or skinny dipping in the pond on the side of the mountain.
I guess I am finally falling into wifely submission as this weekend I agreed to cut Brendon’s hair, a task he has begged me to do for years. We have been in Africa for almost a year and he has faithfully frequented the corner barber shop to get his Number 2 every 2 weeks. The corner barber shop is literal- Bongi sets up a plastic tarp booth on the corner near the taxi rank of our shopping town, hooks up his clippers to a car battery and Voila he is in business. A great hair cut for 6 rand (90 cents). Brendon has been a little squeamish about head lice, in spite of the pink cleaning solution that Bongi dips his combs in prior to each new client. South Africans are very well groomed and this includes frequent hair cuts. However it is not apparent where actual licensed barber shops are located. The last trip to town Brendon invested in clippers and began goading the wife to try hair cutting. Today was the day! He asked me in a very affirmative voice if I would go outside and try out the clippers. If you are wondering about the results remember the admonition-you get what you pay for!
Our trip back from town was uneventful except for gaining insight into the knowledge that all Zulus possess regarding handcrafts and their culture. While waiting for the taxi to leave town, I showed Mr. Zulu (our driver) a straw frame for a beaded bangle bracelet and asked him if he knew where to get the reeds for make the circular frame. He disappeared for a short time and came back with 8 strands of green field grass that he began to weave into rope. Bend one strand a quarter turn and turn-Repeat until a beautiful 8 strand braid is formed. He passed the piece onto me and I finished out the rope. He then started a more complicated pattern with interwoven strands which was too much of a challenge.
We loaded into the taxi and journeyed the beautiful 80 km drive to the Hospital. Near the end of the trip a small boy ran out onto the road with a bag. Mr. Zulu looked at me as asked if I liked birds (izinyoni). I responded in my best Zulu that I like birds. He handed me the plastic bag. I looked inside not understanding what the package had to do with birds and found beautiful layers of honeycomb (izinyosi). Such are the daily misunderstandings with new language and the kindness of drivers. The delicious honeycomb was passed through the taxi with a small treat for all. My painful experience with the bees was forgiven as I tasted the delicious smoky honey right out of the honeycomb and chewed on the beeswax like it was chewing gum. It became clear why the Hospital staff was consumed with retrieving the honey from the roof of the ward last month and putting themselves in danger. What a treat!
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Cobbler School and Fashion Show Pics
Fashion Models making their Grand Entrance into Fashion Show May 2007
Shopping Town of Vryheid from Game Preserve on Vryheid Hill
Fashion Show Models and Their Creations-Hats, scarves and Tshirts
Vusi, Mountain High Cobbler Instructor and Students
Patient Models Holding Their Heads High and Seizing the MomentZulu Fashion Show and Cobbler School
The second Mountain High Fashion Show was a big hit with the men and women patient models Dressed to the Nines with their handsewn creations and beadwork. Fifteen of the women planned a grand entrance and danced in two by two led by the queen of the parade, a woman clad in a bright yellow dress leaning on her cane for support. The audience cheered as they watched the women dance in. The Jabule men and women then gathered in front and began to sing. Individual soloists and dancers did their numbers with high kicks and a stomp for drama. Each solo attempt was more inventive than the one before. The theme was Celebrate the Abundant Life-Love Life! For a couple of hours the patients had energy, excitement and smiles on their faces. Most are in their 20’s and 30’s, a time for enjoying parties and fun rather than confinement to a hospital. Their spirit was bright and entertainment great!
This weekend we are at the Natal Spa, a natural hot spring outside our shopping town of Vryheid. This is a great place to visit for those that enjoy soaking in very warm water (only a slight whiff of sulfur rising from the hottest pools.) The irony is the fact that three mornings this week we had no water for showers. On Monday I injured my back carrying heavy bags of fabric and could not bend over. One hour of soaking in the hot water got the kink out-So be careful what you say about health frauds and spas. A few months ago a codirector of an NGO in Ladysmith told us the history of the spa. Her grandmother was herding sheep and stumbled on a natural pool of the warm water. Shortly afterward, the Afrikaans fenced off the spring and prohibited the Zulus from using entering the water. (The spa has a different story of the discovery of the spring, however).
The Men’s Jabule Group has been going well with a consistent core group showing up every day to make fleece hats, scarves, bags, and T shirts to ward of the chill. However, from the start the men have wanted to learn how to make and repair shoes. A hospital employee and I hitched a ride to Nongoma, the headquarters for the Zulu Kingdom and allegedly a great place to buy supplies for making shoes. Our tip was to find Mr. Bond’s dry goods store which would have soles, leather, impala skins, glue and rope. I introduced myself to Mr. Bond himself, an eighty year old patriarch who owns most of the property in town and teased him about being his niece from America. His store was a journey back in time, with shelves of shoes and clothing behind the counter and metal bars protecting the owner. His store had no cobbler supplies but in front of his shop a man was making sandals from old tires. Just the skill the hospital needed! Vusi was eager to chat (wonderful characteristic of all South Africans) and showed us the tires, soles he cut from the tires, and the white wall strips for straps. He agreed to come to the Hospital and teach his craft.
On Monday morning he called and said he was on his way and asked for directions to the Hospital. He had misunderstood that the Hospital was an hour away by taxi and that the last 4 km was a long walk down the dirt road. Vusi was a good sport and arrived just as he promised. Thirty men (and women) plus staff onlookers gathered in the Chapel to learn the tricks of turning throwaway tires into sturdy shoes. First step was to cut the tire apart and make the forms for the soles. He prepared patterns for the sole and leather top, cut the inner sole, glued and tacked the sandal together. Next week he is coming back to teach vinyl straps, impala and whitewall. A trip to the shopping town produced a source for the tires, which cannot be steel belted and need to be very thin so that they can be easily cut by the patients. The owner of a tire shop had a stash behind the store and offered them for free for the taking. Amazing how a stash of discarded tires can make one feel so good!
Shoes are very important to South Africans and no tuck shop (equivalent of 7-11 on a very small scale) is without shoe polish. The Peace Crops training advised that South Africans look at your shoes first and determine your character by the cleanliness and care of your shoes. Peace Corps volunteers were chided for their dirty sneakers and scuffed sandals. The streets have many shoe repair stalls with instant shoe repair. New heel blanks are put on shoes and cut to fit. Hopefully, the men will learn cobbler skills and find a way of using those skills when then go back to their village. Several of the men are enterprising and planning to make fleece hats or scarves for sale.
This weekend we are at the Natal Spa, a natural hot spring outside our shopping town of Vryheid. This is a great place to visit for those that enjoy soaking in very warm water (only a slight whiff of sulfur rising from the hottest pools.) The irony is the fact that three mornings this week we had no water for showers. On Monday I injured my back carrying heavy bags of fabric and could not bend over. One hour of soaking in the hot water got the kink out-So be careful what you say about health frauds and spas. A few months ago a codirector of an NGO in Ladysmith told us the history of the spa. Her grandmother was herding sheep and stumbled on a natural pool of the warm water. Shortly afterward, the Afrikaans fenced off the spring and prohibited the Zulus from using entering the water. (The spa has a different story of the discovery of the spring, however).
The Men’s Jabule Group has been going well with a consistent core group showing up every day to make fleece hats, scarves, bags, and T shirts to ward of the chill. However, from the start the men have wanted to learn how to make and repair shoes. A hospital employee and I hitched a ride to Nongoma, the headquarters for the Zulu Kingdom and allegedly a great place to buy supplies for making shoes. Our tip was to find Mr. Bond’s dry goods store which would have soles, leather, impala skins, glue and rope. I introduced myself to Mr. Bond himself, an eighty year old patriarch who owns most of the property in town and teased him about being his niece from America. His store was a journey back in time, with shelves of shoes and clothing behind the counter and metal bars protecting the owner. His store had no cobbler supplies but in front of his shop a man was making sandals from old tires. Just the skill the hospital needed! Vusi was eager to chat (wonderful characteristic of all South Africans) and showed us the tires, soles he cut from the tires, and the white wall strips for straps. He agreed to come to the Hospital and teach his craft.
On Monday morning he called and said he was on his way and asked for directions to the Hospital. He had misunderstood that the Hospital was an hour away by taxi and that the last 4 km was a long walk down the dirt road. Vusi was a good sport and arrived just as he promised. Thirty men (and women) plus staff onlookers gathered in the Chapel to learn the tricks of turning throwaway tires into sturdy shoes. First step was to cut the tire apart and make the forms for the soles. He prepared patterns for the sole and leather top, cut the inner sole, glued and tacked the sandal together. Next week he is coming back to teach vinyl straps, impala and whitewall. A trip to the shopping town produced a source for the tires, which cannot be steel belted and need to be very thin so that they can be easily cut by the patients. The owner of a tire shop had a stash behind the store and offered them for free for the taking. Amazing how a stash of discarded tires can make one feel so good!
Shoes are very important to South Africans and no tuck shop (equivalent of 7-11 on a very small scale) is without shoe polish. The Peace Crops training advised that South Africans look at your shoes first and determine your character by the cleanliness and care of your shoes. Peace Corps volunteers were chided for their dirty sneakers and scuffed sandals. The streets have many shoe repair stalls with instant shoe repair. New heel blanks are put on shoes and cut to fit. Hopefully, the men will learn cobbler skills and find a way of using those skills when then go back to their village. Several of the men are enterprising and planning to make fleece hats or scarves for sale.
Saturday, May 12, 2007
Ubabas (Adult Men) and their Creations in the Occupational Therapy Program
The men at Mountain High Hospital have been turning out to sew fleece hats and scarves for the cold nights. Here are some of their creations. Each design is unique and they find ways to make them look smart with tassels, fringe, pompoms and a jaunty slant.Durban Beach
Rickshaw drivers are true artists with unique, over the top decor for their carts
North Beach on a quiet day. Reminded me of Santa Monica Bay.
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