My Weekend Part III

The last and final part to my very active weekend (really just Friday and Saturday) was the Kaizer Chiefs soccer game. Let me just start out this piece by saying, although I had fun, I am still a little frustrated about what happened at the game, and it may come out on my paper here. We finally arrived at the game having found a taxi with some of the nicest people packed inside of it all going to the game. The driver willingly held our overnight bags for us until the end of the game where we could receive them again. So far so good, I was feeling excited about seeing the game and was ready to cheer.

Let me preface this by explaining how the seating is done in South Africa and the Peter Makaba stadium. There are two types of tickets 80 Rand tickets and 50 Rand tickets. 80 Rand gets you a seat number closer to the field and 50 Rand allows you to sit where-ever you want higher up (or so we were told). We arrived at the stadium going towards our seats when we were told to climb these stairs, when we reached the top we were told to turn around because our seats were not in that section. We finally found are section and upon trying to climb the very crowded stairs we were stopped and yelled at by a security guard. I tried to explain to him that our seats were there and show him the tickets but he yelled “I don’t care” and then proceeded to try to push us back down the stairs. Now that he had put his hands on us, my ever feisty friend Mary started yelling at him in sepedi, I was yelling in English “well if you can’t help us find our seat than find us another seat” but he continued to push us. In many ways we were lucky that the stairs were so crowded because we fell back onto people instead of down the stairs.

About 20 minutes into the first half we just decided to sit on the stairs in our section to watch the rest of the first half. While sitting there other people were like, oooh that stinks you have an 80 Rand ticket and we only paid 50. These comments just made me angrier and I said to Mary, I am going to go talk to someone and started to get up, but she pulled me back and said it wouldn’t make any difference. I was furious, and my first American instinct was to complain to whoever I could so that they would find us a seat, but the security guards there just didn’t care.

During the second half we found someone else’s empty seats, of which Mary said that we should leave because we didn’t want to get into a fight with anyone, but I kept saying just wait, to tired to move anymore. Luckily Mary happened to know one of the boys sitting in the seats and they agreed to sit somewhere else and let us have the seats. It was at this point that I had the most fun, getting into the game and singing along with everyone. The atmosphere at a South African soccer game is really something else, people sing in unison to encourage the boys to make a goal, and soon the whole stadium is singing the same song. It is truly one of the most magical things ever to experience, and apparently it helped, because they finally scored a goal and won!

We had found some seats, made it through the game, and had experienced a South African game. I had learned that “having a seat” means something different in the US than in South Africa. However, this did not keep me from complaining via email when I got back. I spoke with the head of security and the owner of the Kaizer Chiefs about what happened. The head of security is including me in discussions for changing the system next time and the Owner of the Kaizer Chiefs sent me an apology letter.
However, at the end of the day I am still rooting for the Kaizer Chiefs to kick some soccer butt. GO KAIZER CHIEFS!

My Weekend Part II

On Saturday morning, after my long journey to Mary’s village and a few hours of relaxing sleep, warmed by two women at my side, I woke up to get dressed in preparation for the ceremony that would be welcoming Mary’s niece back from initiation school. I will take a brief break from describing the day’s activity to explain what initiation school is to the best of my abilities, because I do not fully understand it all myself. Everyone is rather secretive about what goes on there but what I understand is that just before puberty boys and girls both leave home for 3 weeks. Girls learn about their periods and sex and getting older while boys go into the woods and do a bunch of stuff that no-one talk about, besides the understanding that the boys get a circumcision. As I said, no one was really open about what happened in their culture, and I think because I myself was shocked at what happened.

To attend the ceremony Mary’s mom decided that, as her new adopted daughter, she was going to dress me in the finest traditional clothes. The traditional clothes consisted of being wrapped about three times; first in a towel, then in two traditional clothes one to cover the front and one to cover the back. Despite being told that I was supposed to wear my tank top, however, I refused, too cold to willingly take off my long sleeved shirt. She then pulled my hanging hair to the sides of my face and placed a traditional beaded head piece on me. With this I clapped with joy, it was like re-living my child-hood and pretending I was a princess. She then draped my neck and arms in jewels to finish of the dress. Her mom squealed happily telling me to go show papa who laughed and said “oh nice” in his limited English. It was then time for us to go to the girls and prepare for the travels around the village.

Meeting the girls, let’s just say, I was not prepared for what I would encounter. Just a few people were around and when I went to go sit down I found two young girls with nothing but essentially a beaded kilt to cover their bottom and their bodies were painted in mud. They sat silently eating, and as a young girl from a different culture I felt embarrassed for them, which Mary quickly told me not to be because everyone has to go through the same thing. We then followed the girls walking down the road and into a truck of which we stood and sang and danced as it rolled down the road (sorry mom, I know this is horrifying to you to think of your baby unprotected in the back of a driving truck). People honked and cheered as we went by and the other women who knew the dance had handmade rattles tied around their ankles to make their own music with their movements. We arrived back at Mary’s house and danced around in a circle some more, while I was completely not in sync with the beat and then decided to sit down. Mary’s dad introduced me to all of the people there by the name that he gave me and soon everyone was calling me it.

We then went on the back of the truck again and made a trip to the next grandmothers house where we danced some more and sang some more songs. The girls were not allowed to walk into the house grounds each time until money was placed on a mat that was rolled out by the people who lived there, each time they expected about 100 Rands before entering or else they would just keep dancing at the front of the house. Hot and tired from dancing Mary and I struggled to find transport to take us to the football (soccer) match. To be continued in Part III…

My weekend part 1

This weekend was filled with so many adventures that I had to split it up into three separate blog postings. I decided to discuss transportation in my first blog because it was the most frustrating part of my weekend that I figured I should describe how it works here. Unlike Taxis in the United States you cannot call a taxi and have it come pick you up and take you wherever you want to go, instead taxi’s pick you up at a designated spot and drop you off at a designated spot. This often requires long walks and taking more than one taxi to get to your destination. The taxi will also not leave until it is full, so if you are going to an area that is remote and it will take a long time for the taxi to leave, so you should expect to sit there for a while. This has been my experiences with taxis in the past in South Africa, and it makes for a very long, and tiring travel.

Further, most people here hitch-hike to get to where they want to go because it is cheaper and often faster than waiting for a taxi. However, given my mom’s warning that I would be in big trouble with her if I ever decided to “hike” as they call it here, than I would be in big trouble with her; heading her warning, and keeping a promise I decided not to hike this weekend, much to the dismay of the people I was travelling with who didn’t have enough money for the numerous taxis that we would have to take. So on Friday, we got a ride into Polokwane late at night from someone in the office instead of deciding to hike. We reached Polokwane around 7 and then had to wait for about an hour at a taxi rank and run to the taxi and push our way through people to be sure that we got a seat. Here it really is survival of the fittest, if you want to get somewhere and a lot of people do you better be ready to push your way to the front and not apologize for it.

What is most difficult for me as a white woman going to the villages and waiting in a taxi rank is that I am often the first white person that these people have seen at the rank or going into the village and so I must often times listen to professions of love from the men. I have been proposed to, had proclamations of love, and requests for my numbers so many times since being here that I have become rather hardened to them. I often start with a smile and if they persist for my number I have to quite frankly, and multiple times, tell them “no!” The worst is when at night the men start to get drunk and a few times have found it ok to grab my arm as I walk by, of which I have to look back, give a glare, say no again, and wriggle my arm away. While, it is very flattering and sweet, and takes a lot of understanding about what this means to them to see a white person opening up to their culture, it can sometimes be frustrating.

Travelling in South Africa has taught me a lot about patience, and learning to relax. It is a very frustrating process to get to where you want to and also very tiring. When we did finally reach the village I just wanted to go to bed because it really takes a lot out of you. What I have also learned about travelling in South Africa, and South Africa in general, is that unlike the fast-pace world I come from time does not matter here. Everyone moves very slowly, and stops to talk despite needing to be somewhere. I have also had to learn, especially with my friends, to calm down and just realize that we will probably be somewhere late. The other interns over here have put the title “South African time” for this problem, because nothing and no-one runs on time.

Leaving the village was much of the same problem, finding a taxi to take us to the city where we would meet a friend who would drive us. This was the worst part of the journey however, again promising not to hike, we made sure we had a ride with a friend, but so did everyone else who knew the same friend, and this is how I found myself seated 11 in a car really meant for two people.

What I have also learned while here is that driving safety is not so much a concern here. Children do not have child seats or even wear seatbelts so you often see them standing between the two front seats looking out the window, which sends shutters through my body to watch. Further, children and people will ride in the back of a truck standing up for long distances. This is similar to our situation, 7 of us were packed into a truck with a covering over it, while two children sat up from on their mom’s lap while the father drove. Now, in South Africa there are not smooth roads, and as I have said before they are very twisty. Further, the drivers here are crazy and stop very abruptly, this tight packed truck made it difficult to be comfortable for the hour drive we had ahead of us. Further, I was seated with my back to the wheel covering of the truck, every time the truck hit a pot-hole or a bump my back bone would smash against the wheel covering. By the time I got home I was gasping for fresh air, and had a bruised back. Not wanting to spend any more time with people I reached my room and fell asleep.

Travelling in South Africa without your own car is impossible, and often times I have to mentally prepare myself if I am going to travel anywhere. Recently, because of strikes in South Africa by petrol workers, travelling even if you do have a car has become impossible with no petrol available to fill your car with. Let me just say, I will be very happy to be back in the US where I have my own car, and taxis will pick you up and drop you off where you want to be.

The language of Motherhood

The language of mothers is the same all over the world I learned yesterday. I was sent back to a pre-teen age being lectured about the dangers I would face, at an age where I thought I was un-touchable, by my Mom when an Afrikaans woman and her daughters stopped their car on the street as I was walking home after sunset with my laundry. Not having anywhere to do the laundry in my hotel, and having gotten down to the last few pieces of clothing that I had brought over with me, I decided to carry up my laundry to work yesterday morning in my suitcase so that I could wash my clothes in the SEF interns house where they have a washing machine (as I learned earlier, hand-washing was not for me). By the time my large load of laundry was completed and I had packed it all back up into my suitcase it was 6:30 and, being winter, the sun had already set. Living about a mile away from the intern house I was rolling my suitcase down the hill when a car stopped with a white woman and her two young girls. Poking her head out of the window the woman asked if I was O.K. “Yes, I am fine, I just finished my laundry” I responded. She asked if I wanted a ride and I said no I will be fine, I was almost where I needed to be, but she insisted on taking me to my hotel. While in the car I was lectured of the dangers of walking alone in the dark, that this was not the US, and I must never do it again. I responded meekly with yes ma’am, and promised I would never do it again. She deposited me at my hotel and as I walked towards my room I couldn’t help but feeling the guilt of a young girl who had disappointed her mom by making a poor life decision. I guess moms really all do speak the same language, no matter where they live.

This past weekend a colleague from work took me to see what a South African wedding is like. The wedding took place, like many of the parties that I have attended in a rural village, except that the road to this one had less pavement than the other villages I have visited. The bumpy, dirt road went for miles, and it felt as if we were entering a place that is seated in the middle of no-where. Luckily, there were signs of life in the huts that lined the road. This was the first time that I saw the thatch-roofed, rounded huts in the Villages; they are usually shaped more like western houses. My travel companion, who is originally from Zimbabwe, told me that where he is from that is all that they have, but here they have started shifting to the other forms of housing. While they were old, the craftsmanship in the thatched roofs of these huts impressed me; the straw that built these roofs was strong enough to withhold the heavy rain that we had been receiving lately in Limpopo. Their rounded shape reminded me of the famous round church that is situated in a small town in Vermont close to where I live. This round church is a popular tourist destination, and I laughed thinking what my friends here would say to that, not understanding that such a simple structure could be something of interest in the states.

The trip to the village provided one of the highlights I have had on the trip to South Africa. There are many warning signs for hippo crossings in and around Tzaneen, similar to the bright yellow deer signs that warn us Vermonters that our breaks will need to be in top-working condition. While these signs line the streets however, I have never seen a hippo, and the people of Tzaneen joke that they are a false warning because they are nowhere around. As we were riding in the car my travel partner made the same comment upon seeing the sign: “where are they?” he says “they have these signs but I never see them.” It was at that moment that I looked to my right on the side of the road, and there in the small swamp area was a family of hippos! I squealed with excitement at seeing my first exotic animal and the driver swung the car around and stopped for me to get out and take some pictures. The excitement had me jumping up-and-down as if I was a 5 year old girl running downstairs on Christmas day. The excitement continued as we sped by a monkey that was sitting on a pole by one of the orange farms and I gasped: “A monkey!” My partner laughed at the extreme excitement I showed in seeing a creature he says he saw a full field of not so many days earlier. But it was with that drive that I determined, despite the dark clouds
overhead, this was going to be a day I wouldn’t forget.

With the thoughts of hippos on my mind we finally reached the rural village where the wedding would be held. Squeezing my way into seats under the tent I was again a “celebrity” as my friends here like to say. The only white face among the crowd brought attention towards me, and away from the woman in the white dress standing at the front. I got waves from people jumping up and down so that I would see them, stares and points, handshakes, and again during the dancing in the middle of the wedding the women tried to get me to do the Tsonga dance; I knew, however, that my inability to move my waist in the traditional way would just ruin the beauty of the wedding, so I did a little move in the aisle, smiled, and walked away. The wedding as a whole was not a short, nor quiet event. The women screamed signs of praise when it was time for the man to kiss his wife, when they said their vows, and told the man that he had to lift the veil of his wife, not her made-of-honor. After the vows the bride and groom took a seat on a couch as the pastor spoke, his wife spoke, the “MC” for the wedding spoke about what was necessary for a wedding, and in between every speech a song was sung and the men and women danced around the bride and groom.

The beauty of the party and excitement however, was a bit clouded over, as the pastor spoke of what makes a “sensible wife” and that she must never question her husband, must not argue with him, and she must always be agreeable and peaceful with her husband yet there was no mention of what made a good husband. The bond that was created there at the wedding seemed to separate the negotiations and compromise that comes with all relationships, and the message was that a woman must, essentially, keep her mouth shut. This shocked me, and at home later when with Mary I asked her about this. She was as upset with this practice as me, saying they always talk about what a wife should do and never a man, it is believed that she is meant to please the husband, and therefore must take advice from any man about what she must do to do so. She told me how women advise girls that even if their husband beats them they must smile if company shows up as if nothing is wrong, they must ask permission from their husbands before they can go to bed, and when they want to turn their back from them at night, and that a man should be allowed to have sex with his wife whenever she wants without her complaints. It is these philosophies that took away from some of the beauty of the wedding for me.

However, after the preaching about a sensible woman was finished, a band was brought out to play and march around, and everyone lined up to eat the traditional pap and chicken. We left just in time for it to start raining, and upon the suggestion of other party goers to travel a different way; their suggestion was did not produce a better alternative to our path though, as we became stuck on a bumpy road that lasted for miles, and literally took us into the middle of no-where, where no houses or people were. In my mind all I could think of was the horror films where we got lost without any petrol left and the animals would attack our car. Luckily, before my imagination went too far we came across the main road, and made our way back to town with our eyes open for any more animals. We made it home with a promise of a future outing just to look for animals at one of the parks. It was an early bedtime for me that night, as my eyes heavy from the day closed in preparation for a lazy day tomorrow.

Girl Power

(The little girl on the right can speak 5 languages at the age of 7!)

I have come to observe here that it is the women who are relied on for most things. In the time of a crisis the sister or mother must make it home to take care of the situation, the girls in the family must be the moral guidance, the homemakers, the careers, the fixers, and most of anything that comes with caring for a house and its people. Not that this is much different from the United States with what the mother, or the female head of the household is expected to do, yet the sisters of the brothers, and the female girls are expected to partake and much more than most young girls born into the United States are expected to do.

What is also very shocking about the reliance on the females in the homes here is that although they are needed for most things in the families women in this country are not treated with much respect. While similar to, perhaps, the lack of respect for women in the US in South Africa they are years behind the progress made there. Women are not expected to complete school, or even get a job, further they are not expected to have a voice, or ask questions of men. If they do ask questions it is accepted that they can get abused. If they are seen spending time with a man besides their husband they can be disowned for that, even if it is her husband’s friend. When she is on her period she can be banned from going to church, cooking, or spending time with anyone outside of the house because it is seen as dirty. Women here are considered to be property to the men they marry (men here actually call them their “property”). It is the women who really keep the country running, children from going homeless if their family dies, and often keeps families from starving. Honestly, South Africa would probably be in worse position without them, yet they are treated as if they are nothing.

My concerns for how the women that I have grown to love and respect here, who have opened up their homes and hearts to me have had me concerned. These are some of the sweetest women I have met, yet their lives are often faced with hardships at home. Their desire to be something more and achieve something more is often not fostered or encouraged. They have been taught that they are property and nothing else. The things that I have witnessed here have encouraged me to look closer at what can be done. This week I have started reading the book Half the Sky by Nicholas Kristof and Sheryl Wudunn that looks at the importance of investing in women in struggling countries. It is my belief, and the belief of IMAGE, that it is women who can end the AIDS epidemic here and help heal South Africa’s wounds from history. I ask that you join me in investing in women as well, whether it be in your own community, or globally; because it is with women and their devotion to caring for others, and being sure to uplift people, as I have witnessed here in South Africa, that change can be made.

This weekend I travelled to my friend Norman’s family village to celebrate the birth of a new baby girl – it was in essence a South African baby shower. When we first got to the house it was quiet, the women were preparing food for the day while other guests sat outside drinking soda and eating. As I was starting to think that this would be a quiet afternoon in the village, I was shaken to life by an older woman dressed in traditional garb who grabbed my hand as people started running and yelling around me. Not understanding what was happening everyone just kept running towards the road with me being dragged behind. Women and girls had changed into these big skirts, someone was beeping a horn in the car, music was playing, people were yelling, and a taxi pulled up, with what I would later learn was the other side of the family to the newborn baby. We danced around the taxi as it beeped back at us and yelled and got excited. It was quite the site to see.

Once the family had emptied from the taxi I was wrapped in one of the traditional skirts that the other women were wearing and dragged into the stage that they had set up in their backyard with the other women. Traditional music was playing as the women tried to teach me the traditional dance. Essentially, the dance requires that you make the skirt jump and shimmy as you move just your stomach; let’s just say I tried to make it look as easy as the other women were making it look. Never-the-less, despite my attempts to keep up I was laughing the whole time, this was what a party should be like, dancing laughing, and everyone just being happy. My attempts at dancing, that time, ended when I got a stomach cramp from trying to shimmy the skirt.

It was at this time of relaxing that I be-friended the mother to the baby who we were celebrating, and who also explained the unfolding events that happened next. Tables, and clothes were being placed on the stage and family members were carrying out suitcases and boxes and sitting on the clothes around the area. She told me that they were welcoming her family who had come in the taxi and her family was going to present gifts to the hosting family, which was the baby’s father’s. The maternal grandmother pulled out shirts, scarfs, blankets, presents for the baby, and shoes and draped them all over the paternal grandmother who sat accepting all of her gifts. Once this tradition had ended the stage was cleared again for dancing.

During the party I made friends with a little boy named Quinton who would not let me go anywhere without his hand in mine, when I tried to leave to go to the bathroom he showed up right at my heels smiling up at me. When it was my turn to hold the baby he looked sadly at me, as if I was replacing him for this smaller child. At the end of the night, a tired Quinton fell asleep in my arms, with his arms around my waist.

Before the night was over for me though, I had danced again, or should I say attempted to, been given traditional necklaces and the traditional dress and had eaten a full plate of traditional food. At the end of the day I was tired, but filled with a feeling of love and happiness.

The power of education

I drove into the field with my boss, Lufuno, yesterday and had the opportunity to discuss her childhood with her. The conversation started as I was watching women carrying wood on their head and I turned to her and said: “I am still amazed at women who are able to do that, it must be hard.” She laughed and said “it is not hard I used to do it as a child, we would have competitions with who could carry the most wood after school.” I sat there silently, wanting to know how she became the intelligent, powerful woman she is today if she came from a town where she was required to fetch water and wood on her head, but unsure if this was appropriate to ask. Having worked with her for a few weeks now I felt comfortable enough asking her how she got to where she was today, heading-up IMAGE. She told me her mother always was interested in school and had wanted her children to be able to have the opportunity to continue education even though she was required to stop after primary. Lufuno’s mother took her eldest daughter, Lufuno’s older sister, to school, going against what people considered to be acceptable and asking her why she was spending the energy taking a girl to school. Yet she continued to be sure her children got educated, including her other two sons and Lufuno. Her husband had left her penniless for another family, and so Lufuno told me that when her brother went to school her mom would have to use two months pay to buy her son a text book and so she would work for one month and borrow the next month, essentially not getting paid for a month. She continued with this for her son who wanted to be a social worker, making sure that she paid for him to be able to receive his driver’s license because he would need to drive from village to village. Her mom worked long hours out in the fields being sure that her children got educated. Lufuno said that when it was her and her brothers turn to go to school her brother who was now a social worker and her sister who was a nurse was able to help their mother pay for their school.

What was even more surprising was how her mother also openly defied the cultural norms of sending her daughter to a “school” that prepares girls to become women and mothers. Her mother had seen how other girls went to this school and became pregnant soon after and never went on to finish their degree. She asked Lufuno if she really wanted to go, and Lufuno knowing what her mom went said no. When the time came for the girls in the village she grew up in to go to school the women who would come in and sing a song encouraging the girls to come join them she told me that they would sing a song about her, chastising her for not conforming to what the other villagers were doing. Lufuno said she just laughed because she knew that she would do better. She was very proud of her mom as she told me her story about getting out of town. Saying that despite her father leaving her mom it made her work harder to be sure her children got an education. Her sister passed this on to her children, and Lufuno plans to with hers. She said that she would not be where she is today if it was not for her mother’s encouragement. As I have learned here there are many girls who need some encouragement from someone in their community to continue with school and to not get pregnant. Lufuno hopes I will be able to start making that difference as I learn more about the culture here.

Going into the field I saw how the work that Lufuno is doing is very much shaped by her past. The second phase of the intervention – Natural Leaders – showed how the trainers push women to look past the cultural learnings that they know, such as that menstruating is dirty, or that men can hit their wives, and to question where they learned that and why they feel the need to carry on those practices. These women at this session will be able to take away new knowledge and share this with their children and their community and pass along the change, just as Lufuno’s mom passed along the importance of education to her children who will pass it to theirs.

First Lady's visit to South Africa

First Lady Michelle Obama has been here this past week, and the news has certainly covered her visit to South Africa to the area, however, most of the information that comes from the news is just of her trips is to the University and to the local youth groups. The news was also sure to make note that her speech was rather similar to speeches that she has been giving in other areas that she has visited, noting that it was not a unique message to South Africa.

However, many people around town have not been commenting on her visit, instead there has been more talk about a recent proposal that came out from the government about the need to reform the education system, address the unemployment issue and still discussing the concerns for HIV/AIDS. They have been addressing ways that such large feats can be accomplished and what the government needs to do differently than it has in the past. The community, although noticing the visit of Michelle Obama, still feel worried about the status of their country, particularly after the apartheid.

The recent deaths of members of the apartheid have made it clear to the people here that those who made the change are getting old, and that despite the 15 years since the end to the apartheid the country is still struggling. That is why there have been recent discussions among the citizens here of ways to address the concerns of the poorer people, particularly those who are struggling to find a job, and the school system that is failing them. The wide concern here seems to reverberate among everyone who can see the struggles of the people who live here. Particularly as the youth continue to drop out of school and the poverty rate continues to rise. Because of this the visit of President Obama seems to be of limited excitement the other citizens of South Africa.

Work Experiences

This week has been a rather quiet one for me. After having quite the adventure over the weekend at Mary’s home I have kept quiet. Staying in my room and working. The time is ticking at work, however, for me to put together a survey that will be short but answer all of the questions about what our clients look like.

It has become particularly imperative for finding grants to understand what the long-term impact of our intervention is. Using the survey model from the pilot program I need to look at the important questions that need to be asked especially pertaining to HIV/AIDS and domestic violence. However, what we have learned over the program is that what is sometimes just as important is their change in cultural views. As I have mentioned in earlier blogs there is a perception here that it is O.K for many men to have partners, and that it is considered wrong to ask your partner to wear a condom. However, we have noticed that through the discussions with the women it has become particularly important for them to learn that it is O.K for them to speak up and have a voice, and question why it is that they must accept men having many partners, or learn that they have the right to request that a condom is worn, etc… It is these social practices that we are trying to dismantle with our work.

My task, has therefore been to learn how we can use the pilot surveys to create a new version for us where we will be able to see, in the long-run, what our intervention has done to change these cultural perceptions and beliefs. Further, it has been a struggle to decide how we will get all of the information that we want to capture in as little time as possible. Doing so will make it more cost-effective for IMAGE, yet there doesn’t seem to be enough time for everything that we want to know. I have been learning in these past few weeks the best way to ask a lot of things in just one question. Consolidating has been key with this project. It has also been difficult to know the best way to word the questions, most of these women do not speak English, or know how to read or write; they will most likely need the questions read to them by someone else. Making sure that the questions are as clear and concise as possible has been interesting to say the least. I have been learning what it is like to cater to an audience that may be different than what you are used to. This process has certainly taught me that it is important to know who you are administering the survey to and what your long and short term goal is. Next it is onto finding the money…. We will see how that goes!

The South African Experience

“Wait, I go to the bathroom where?” was my response to the first shocking development of my trip to Mary’s home. I was surprised to find out that not only was the bathroom not inside but they did not have a sewer system. Both Mary and her brother France giggled together uncontrollably and Mary responded “yes my dear, we do not have a toilet here.” I stumbled through the darkness to find a little outdoor hut with a concrete seat and a hole dug into the ground. Taking a deep sigh, I thought: hey, this is what I came to South Africa for, to experience their world. Experience South Africa was certainly what I did that weekend.

Having forgotten that it is winter in South Africa, because in my apartment I am lucky to have heat, I did not pack as many heavy clothes as I should of. At night in their unheated rooms I piled on all of my clothes and jumped under the blankets, thinking about how unprepared I was for just how cold the winter nights could become. Mary’s house consisted of 4 separate buildings, each small and each unheated. One was the kitchen, the sitting room, and the other two were bedrooms. Travelling between each at night was a daunting task and so I tried to stay in one building as long as I could before absolutely needing to move to another one. I will also spare you the details of what we did for a bathroom at night so that we didn’t have outside in the dark.

When we first arrived at Mary’s home I stepped out of the car to completely shocked faces and speechless bodies. Mary had told only her brother that she was bringing a visitor home and had told them nothing about where I was from or what I looked like. To my surprise as well, I was really the only white visitor that the village had seen and her family was surprised and delighted to see a white face with an American accent walk into their house. We had arrived the night before the funeral the next day and so the only people in the house were two of her four brothers and her dad. Her brother France started laughing and hugging me saying that I will be the talk of the town tomorrow. Her father just laughed, not knowing much English he spoke through Mary saying he was shocked I was there, that I will bring good luck to the house, and that he didn’t want me to take Mary away to the US. Mary’s mom was at the house of the deceased staying the night to wake up at two and prepare food for the family. Needing keys to the room we would be sharing with her mom we drove over to the house and when the door opened for me to great her mom she gasped and grabbed me close, squeezing me so tight and laughing that I myself became shocked that I was there. She kept hugging me and telling Mary how happy she was, and how shocked she was. Her mother knew absolutely no English and I know limited Spedi yet, through the language barrier, we fell in love with each other that night.

Being exhausted from the trip, and knowing that we would need to leave the house at 7 tomorrow morning for the funeral Mary and I fell into bed and dozed off. However, I woke soon after falling asleep to the sound of her dogs fighting outside of the window and constantly burst awake at the sound of the rooster crowing through the night not having experienced sleeping on a farm before. Because of this restless sleep it was difficult to pull myself from the bed and into the cold morning air. Mary brought in a wash basin with some hot water in it and told me to wash myself. “What?” I responded she laughed and said “we don’t have a shower here or a bathtub; this is how we clean ourselves.” I turned to her and said “how do I use it?” There was certainly not enough room for me to sit in it, nor enough water. She told me to get a washcloth and bathe my face, my chest and then my legs. However, I had not come prepared with a washcloth and so the process of bathing became a more difficult task than Mary had explained. Finally dressed in our skirts Mary took the scarf that she had told me to bring and wrapped it around my head so that all my hair was covered. We were on our way to my first South African funeral, and walked up the dirt road to a paved road where a taxi would take us to the next dirt road we needed to travel on.
We reached the ceremony a little late and stood outside of the tent at the house where different people were preaching and women were singing. While there were people on stage I as the spectacle, all eyes turned to this white young face that they had never seen before and stared. I tried to not pay attention to the looks I was receiving, but it was difficult, I was a sight to be held. Mary and France both said, “I told you so, you are a celebrity.” At the end of the ceremony at the house we all walked, following the Hurst carrying the body to the cemetery and everyone surrounded it singing. It was honestly very beautiful to be a part of the walk. People surrounded me exclaimed “oh look, she can even tie a tuke.” The cemetery was filled with more preaching and the women sang as the men shoveled gravel onto the coffin. One of the granddaughters who were living with her grandmother was overcome with grief and had to be carried away. It was an odd feeling for me, because I could feel the sadness but also the warmth that surrounded the family and the burying of the body.

After her grave was covered it was a dash back to the house to stand in line for the food that we would be eating. Mary’s mom was introducing me to everyone as the white girl her daughter brought and was shocked that I ate all of the food that they had offered. I stuffed my plate with rice, beef, cabbage, squash, and biscuits and took a seat. The eating was interrupted however, by the constant introductions from Mary’s mom to everyone and the stares of all of the onlookers at the white girl who attended a black woman’s funeral in a black village.

I had the opportunity to meet the family at the time of the meal, and became very worried about their wellbeing. The woman who died had left behind grandchildren that she was caring for to be the responsibility of her daughter. Her daughter had just had a baby and had no job, no longer had her mother’s money she got from the state, and no husband. She told Mary’s brother, her cousin, that she was worried that they would starve. The baby was held by me, but her health worried me as she was always throwing up. I left the house feeling concerned about the future of the child, the grandchildren, and the daughter.

Mary and I went home to sleep and rest from the full morning that we had just experienced. Upon waking Mary dragged me to another farm in her village as we bought live chicken and I carried back one of the chickens that I would be having for dinner that night. I refused, however, to watch it be killed, but I did watch as Mary cooked it. Not wanting to waste any part of the chicken, everything was cooked and eaten. Her dad preferring the intestines had them in his room. It took all afternoon to kill and prepare the chicken and by the evening we had promised her brother, who owned the local pub, that we would make an appearance.

We walked into the pub and I was greeted by more hugs, everyone wanted to know where I was from and why I was there. They exclaimed that they had seen me at the funeral earlier and were so happy I had come. We sat in the back where it was warmer and me and Mary’s brother France danced to the African music. Between the back and the rest of the pub there were bars, and all of the onlookers came to see the white girl. Watching them look at me through the bars I had the odd feeling that I was similar to an animal in a zoo.

That night I slept straight through, exhausted from the day’s events and too cold to
move from under my blanket. In the morning we were leaving, and her family made us promise we would come back in July for the celebration of France’s daughter finishing her girl’s introductory school. They were already preparing the traditional clothing that I would be wearing at the ceremony. On the way home I experienced my last shocking thing. In South Africa there are these worms that they dry and cook, Mary was eating them and offered a dry worm to me. “Why not” I thought and I grabbed it and bit into it. I thought to myself as I finished the worm that tasted a bit like a nut: no one at home will believe the experiences I just had.

Education in South Africa

I came here with not much knowledge about South Africa, I knew that it had a history of struggles with the apartheid, but after seeing the World Cup in South Africa last summer I didn't really think there was much of a difference between the US and the SA. I was very wrong. I am residing in the poorest most underdeveloped part of South Africa and going into the fields and seeing the villages and townships that my friends come from I can see the struggle. The main concern is education. The schools for these villages are not much but a cement building, as are most in the area. I was lucky enough to sit in a building that at least had a roof, but I sat there shivering. Most children are expected to help out a lot at home and have no time for their school work. Further, the education that they are receiving in the worn out buildings is not something that will help them compete in the developing world. More than likely most of these kids will stay in the same village, send their children to the same school, and perpetuate the poverty.

The apartheid ravished the poor blacks, many were pushed into these villages and given little help to rebuild. Education was very sub-par and to my knowledge in many areas there has not been improvement to the system. While the apartheid is technically gone the after effects have not been considered. The lack of improvement for the poor blacks is clearly seen here. The lack of building of education is also clearly seen, the national percentage of literacy is at a staggering 86.4% in comparison to the US which is at 99% and Cuba that has a literacy rate of 99.8%. The lack of education in the villages, I have learned, leads to higher rates of AIDS, unemployment, and of course poverty. This has also, sadly lead to a high rate of infant mortality, at 62% the same that it was at during the apartheid.

The people that I have met here, and I, hope to someday be able to start our own boarding school in one of the poorest villages here. The school would provide employment for local people in the community who very much need it, and provide a safe place to study and live for the children in the area. It will take work but the people here so badly want it and need it. In the upcoming weeks I plan to take a trip with some people here to one of the poorer villages to talk with the locals about their concerns around education.

It would only be one school, and one drop in the bucket, but the people here so badly plead for help that I can't help but think what one school would do for that community. Most children drop out around 6th grade, and with encouragement and belief that these kids can go somewhere better and do something more. I believe that South Africa can be a model for the rest of Africa. Hey, it has to start somewhere right?

Laundry Day

“I’ve been doing this since primary” my friend Mary said turning to me with laughing eyes. She was in the middle of trying to teach me how to hand wash my clothes, and apparently I was looking quite like a fool as I scrubbed my clothes in the suds filled basin. Mary thought my life to be quite soft up until the moment as I had never had to experience such labor with my hands as I did on that Sunday afternoon. Her patience for teaching me the correct way eventually faded and she let me do what I was doing with my laundry as long as it was working. We sat like this laughing about my technique for about two hours in a cramped bathroom leaning over the tub and using back, arm, and leg muscles to do so that I did not even know I had. After our fourth load of laundry my fingers were bleeding, I had managed to scrub the skin off of my fingers. Mary laughed as she took over the laundering and said “you were not made to do this.” I had felt defeated, my more cushiony life that I live at home had not prepared me for the hard work that women in South Africa must attend to every day. I felt as though I was weak and at the same time had an appreciation for not having had to experience such harsh realities to everyday life as the people here in South Africa do. Looking back on how we do our laundry in the US, while it always seemed like a tedious task, all I really had to do was throw my clothes into the washer and leave it be for about half an hour. It did not require me leaning over a tub and scrubbing the clothes myself and then having to rinse them myself, a simple machine took care of this for me. However, washing machines are hard to come by here in South Africa, they are very expensive and most families cannot afford to buy one for their apartment or home. They are also not a common appliance as they are in the US so most apartments and houses do not come equipped with them. Essentially, like most things here in South Africa, including cars, if you are not white you cannot afford to have one. My respect for the people I am surrounded with, for the strength and knowledge that they have about everyday tasks, that I myself have never known about grows daily. I find myself feeling childish and unprepared for harsh realities of the world as I spend more time experiencing their tight grip on the reality of the struggles of life that they must face. I encourage everyone who is reading this blog to think of the things in your life that seem like difficult and tedious tasks and re-imagine what life could be like without all of the trappings and new gadgets that we have that makes those tasks so much easier. I certainly can’t help but think of how easy my life truly is every time I look down at my bandaged fingers.

IMAGE

Yesterday we went into the field for a meeting with the Sisters for Life trainers. These trainers are the ones who really carry out the program for IMAGE. They train a 10 session course on domestic violence, HIV education and female empowerment in the poorest communities in the Limpopo province of South Africa. The meeting was to discuss how the training was going and where everyone was at to look at opening a future branch. My role with IMAGE this summer is to come up with a survey and a way we can monitor the long term impact of the program in the communities.

On our way back from the meeting in Lebowakgomo I become deeply affected by something I realized at that meeting, these women are pioneering a change for the rights of women in South Africa. Very similar to the women in our country who have paved the way for other women including Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Betty Freidan, bell hooks, etc… Having spent a little over a week in this country it is clear that the women are treated rather unfairly in comparison to the men. The women here are expected to pick up after the men and care for them. This was made clear when at my apartment a young man spilt his drink and he waited for one of the young girls to clean up his mess for him. It is quite common here for the women to dote on the men. Further, it is acceptable for a man to be violent if a woman asks he husband to wear a condom, or questions where he has been, or even refuses to clean. As I mentioned in an earlier post women are supposed to accept that men here cheat. It is these types of beliefs that IMAGE is trying to change, and they are a population of very few. Most people respect these traditions as they have been passed down from generation to generation and believe them to be right. When the group of women question why women must accept cheating, or be the primary caretakers often people look at them as if they are odd. However, this group of women charge forward in working to provide education for a change to the power system in this country. Furthermore, they are starting at a place where these beliefs are most deeply rooted, in the villages where many elder women and men live. My respect for these women has gained immensely as I feel that I am sitting in on the beginning of a movement for respect for women in this country. Although it will take time, as I can tell from questioning people who live here, these women never give up wanting to put power into the hands of some of the poorest women; and I feel immense pride working next to them.

(Image of one of the local villages that we help)

The Human Connection

What is beautiful about this culture is that everyone relies on each other and expects that you will do something for them and they will do something in return. It is really how our world should operate with respects to every human being. It is not considered taking advantage of someone or rude to ask for help and to ask for something from someone because it is believed here that everyone must help each other, everyone must lean on each other and it is this way that everyone will make it from day-to-day. It is this culture that I am experiencing in my work environment as well. The people I work with feel compelled to help the community at large and help them understand the risks of HIV and domestic violence and teach them that it is not OK for their partner to disrespect them, they do this through the understanding that this will benefit the country of South Africa in the long run. The selflessness that many people in this country have towards helping each other is not something that I experience every day. Given, it is not everyone in the community who is this way but on a general level I have witnessed strangers talking to each other and getting together to share ideas; women lending their food, time, or money to help out someone else in the community. Myself, as an outsider, I have been given for my use peoples’ old phones, internet modems, SIM cards, and other things that are necessary for me to get by on a day-to-day basis here. This generosity from people who have only known me a few days is really beautiful. For me it has been quite a culture shock at the same time however, I am very used to living in the United States where everyone seems to be skeptical of help and assuming that someone wants something in return for helping you, I have also sometimes become concerned that people will feel I am just using them. I have still not yet quite gotten used to the generosity that I have been receiving from everyone over here but it has made me respect human connections more.

In this day in age everything is computerized, how we talk to each other is through typing words through a text message or on Facebook, yet here the people live on getting together and sharing a helping hand. They have made me realize that we are not islands all to ourselves but rather human beings who must rely on other human beings for assistance. It is this type of culture too that gives me strength to continue my pursuits in finding a job that will help people get on their feet and become active members of society. It is because of this experience that I feel next time that someone asks me why I am so interested in helping other people when everyone should really just help themselves I can answer honestly that we all rely on other human beings in our lives to help us survive, and it is through these connections that we become stronger together. It is within this past week that I have learned this lesson, that I have come to understand that without support from other people none of us will survive in this world, despite scientific breakthroughs, or new technological advances, it all really comes down to the human connections that we make and the assistance that we give and get in return.

Braai, Tzaneen Dam, and other cultural experiences

On Friday I attended my first braai in South Africa; braai is the South African version of our barbeque. We cooked some ribs, and corn on an open fire and included the local fare of paulp and chakalaka which is somewhat like rice and a spicy vegetable mix. During the braai traditional music was played and I learned the traditional sengali dance, which is one of the cultural people here. The dance consisted of moving the hips in such a way that can get this very heavy skirt to jump up and down, and the men did this movement with their legs. We danced the whole night and ate fully. It was a wonderful time for eating. The next day I decided to explore the town of Tzaneen and found many shops along the street during the weekend where people sell local fruits and vegetables and food that they cook and sell, they also will cut their hair for you on the weekends and many local people will go there for a shaving.

During the night I spend my time in the hotel lobby with two people who work at the hotel, Rantsho and Ellen who share their knowledge and time with me. That night we were visited by two Afrikaans men who wanted to spend some time talking with us, however, they were upset that Ellen did not know Afrikaans, although it is not required of her and he does not know the local language of Tzaneen. It was shocking to find that they were rather upset by her lack of knowledge of Afrikaans and shows the true nature of Afrikaans here who are not yet ready to relinquish the power that they had during the Apartheid.
On Sunday I sent with my friends Mary and Roman to the local Dam where you can host a braai and spend time relaxing by the water and taking in the beautiful nature. It was one of the first times that Mary had seen motorboats and a jetskiis and enjoyed watching the young children that were being pulled behind the boats and wanted to get a picture taken with the boat. While we were walking along the road everyone took a while to stop and stare at us and Mary and Roman told me because it is not yet normal in their country for white people to hang out with the black people who live there, so it was shocking for them to see us hanging out together.

Back at my hotel Mary and Roman and I spent some time talking about the local culture and I spent time playing Glee music for them which they loved. They also wanted to learn how to ballroom dance and so the few steps I knew I took some time to share it with them, and they tried to teach me more local dance moves. The interesting turn of the conversation was when we talked about how many men cheat on their wives in South Africa, and they told me that about 95% of the male population cheat because their grandfathers used to have many wives and so now they believe it is OK to be with many men. They said that there are not many men who are available in South Africa so the women feel that they must accept the cheating or never have a family. Mary told me that she felt that woman must just accept it instead of getting anxious about it or “having a heart attack”. Spending time talking with them gave me more insight into what it is like here in South Africa, they promised that they would take me to their local villages so that I could learn more.

My first few days in Tzaneen, South Africa

The past few days of my trip to South Africa have been very interesting. My total journey from the United States to where I am staying at Tzaneen took me two days. However, within that journey I managed to meet four South African people who already influenced my experiences. The first man I met was my travel companion for the airplane ride from the United States into South Africa and he made it clear to me that there is still racism in South Africa, which is not surprising because the apartheid ended just about 15 years ago. He was a white man residing in South Africa and told me that he thought that many of the black people where I would be travelling to would be rather stupid. The second man was working at the airport in Johannesburg as a sort of escort from gate-to-gate, and was the first to mention how the country lacked the ability to provide sufficient jobs for the people in South Africa and was therefore not shy to ask me for a tip. Finally, upon arriving in the Polokwane airport where my boss at the IMAGE program would pick me up I spoke with two women who would keep me occupied until she came to pick me up. These two women were the most influential to me, this is because they openly offered their help to me after having never met me before showing me where to find an ATM and being concerned about my well-being. Although they were older they were exciting to talk and giggle with me as though they were teenage girls, they told me that their way of life there is to be very forward and blunt with what they were thinking. These people were my introduction to the culture in South Africa.

My car ride of about two hours to the village of Tzaneen from the Polokwane airport was a world of information. We passed townships of those who are poor living in shacks where my boss informed me we would be doing sight visits to in the future, behind these small closely packed villages were large rocky mountains that seemed to jut from nowhere. The roads were extremely windy and steep where common accidents occur because there are no side rails and really no speed limit, upon climbing the hill we ourselves came across one of these car accidents. I was told that it would take an ambulance at least 45 minutes to reach the accident site and another hour and a half to get to a hospital from the location the accident occurred in. It was through this journey that I was able to see the true South Africa that was not shown in pictures on the internet while researching the trip, however, it was this South Africa that intrigued me and seemed to pull me closer to my desire to do the work.

My first full day in South Africa consisted of visiting an overcrowded grocery store where the woman who stood behind me told me that this was common every day. While eating food in the same mall I soon learned that everything closes at 5:00 pm for safety reason, so the town comes to a stand-still in the evening, as soon as the sun goes down. Therefore, it was my introduction to the importance of being in the compound of my hotel after the sun sets.

I was surprised at how friendly people were as I walked through Tzaneen with groceries and asked questions, from my friends that I had made at the hotel I later learned it is because black South Africans like English speaking white people but do not like Afrikaans speaking white people. This is because there is still deep racism between those who speak Afrikaans and black people in South Africa, this has been made clearer as I spend my time with black South Africans and get odd stares from other people in the village, or am scolded by Afrikaans for spending time with my black South African friends. This was one of the first lessons that I learned here, I also learned that the black people in the village can not find jobs beccause their skill levels do not meet what the jobs are looking for and this is because of the history of the apartheid that has kept the elder black South Africans from getting educated and the cycle of dropping out of school passes down to their children. My friend who happens to work at my hotel spent a whole evening with me discussing the cycle that occurs from the history of the Apartheid and the lack of mentoring programs to encourage the younger generation to get a job, this therefore leads to a gap in the skill levels that jobs are looking for and what the people of South Africa had. There is also a concern that Zimbabweans are stealing their jobs because they immigrate in and take the less paying jobs which leads many to feel that they will never be able to find a job at a good paying job because the Zimbabweans are bringing down the level of work. This lead into our discussion of how the United States and South Africa have similar problems with school drop-out cycles and immigration concerns, making these two countries more similar than I had expected their concerns to be.

Finally, I had the opportunity in these past few days to learn about their view of America. The number one thing that everyone had to tell me was that they did not believe that Osama Bin Laden is dead because the president just said he had killed him and didn’t show the body, and because they believe him to be a very tricky man. They also are afraid that if they travel to America that Americans will want to retaliate from the killing of Osama Bin Laden on them. However, what was most entertaining was that the few American television shows that they get are Cheaters, Maury, Tyra, and Jerry Springer. They often laughed at me saying that America is so corrupt, and they could not believe that we do not allow drinking until the age of 21. It was interesting to learn what their belief of the US is and I continue to learn more everyday as they ask more questions about what life is like in the US.