Monday, December 31, 2012

In-Service Training

 At the end of November we were finally able to leave site and head back into society for two weeks of in-service training. You better believe that all I wanted to do was take about a million showers and eat some food that I didn’t have to cook on my two burner hot plate. While that did happen, I also had to attend about eight hours of training each day, which was not all that exciting at times. A large part of the training was focused toward our school and community counterparts that were to accompany us for specific parts of the training sessions. The first few days were to be spent with our principals, then a few days with a teacher, then a few days with our HIV/AIDS education counterpart, and finally a few days with just our fellow volunteers.

Of course all of my counterparts had been informed weeks in advance about the dates and times that they needed to be at the different venues, but here it is apparently socially acceptable to have a change of plans the day before a prepaid event. Like my Thanksgiving experience, my principal decided the day before we were to leave for the principal’s workshop that he “just didn’t want to go”. Not only was I now out of a ride to the hotel that was two hours away, but the whole point of the workshop was to have the volunteers and the principals together to discuss issues the volunteers were having, and to sit down and plan the first term of school. However, that obviously wasn’t high on my principal’s priority list, so he had made arrangements earlier in the week to send the head of the department instead. Of course no one could tell me this until the day before, so I spent most of the time I was supposed to be packing on the phone with Peace Corps staff trying to figure out how to change reservations. To say I was pissed would be a huge understatement!

My mood drastically increased when we finally made it to the hotel the next day and I realized we were basically staying on the beach in the nicest three bedroom flats that I had ever seen, and we were right next to a real coffee shop. Score!!! Three vanilla lattes later, I was prepared to hang out with people who spoke fluent English, and who understood the struggles of transitioning to a village life. The stories that first night were epic. In some villages people were being stabbed, other schools had teachers that would leave in the middle of the day and never come back. Basically we decided that nothing in South Africa made any sense, and all of us were dealing with the same crap in a different village. Surprisingly this made me feel a lot better, and a lot less alone. However, I did learn that I was the only one at the workshop who didn’t have their principal, which made me feel a little awkward. Fortunately we all spent as little time with our supervisors as possible, so that worked in my favor.

After day one it became very apparent that our counterparts were not used to nine hour work days. We were usually in sessions starting at 8am and went until 3pm or 4pm with an hour break for lunch. There were also two 30 minute tea breaks throughout the day, so compared to an American work schedule it wasn’t that bad. However, you could slowly see the teachers start to fall asleep around 10am. Once the majority of the counterparts were asleep it was lunch time, and after lunch many of them seemed to disappear altogether. It was crazy. You could tell that many of them saw this as an opportunity to go to a nice hotel for a few days and enjoy some free food and place to stay. Unfortunately this made both the volunteers and the session leaders extremely angry, but what are you going to do?

For the most part the sessions were about different projects that we can do in our villages. We had sessions on Grassroot Soccer that combines soccer skills with HIV education, which I am planning on doing in my village. We also had sessions that pertained to the areas that we will be teaching in less than a month. Since I am focusing on teaching math I was able to attend sessions on things like how to teach fractions (something that kids here really struggle with), how to start mathletes, and how to use soccer (Africa’s favorite sport) to teach basic math skills. Those sessions were all very helpful and a valuable use of our time. Then there were the sessions on harassment and corporal punishment. These sessions were extremely stressful to sit through with our counterparts. For the most part they would just laugh at us when we talked about why sexual harassment and corporal punishment bothered us. When we discussed different ways to discipline kids the teachers would just shake their heads and act like they weren’t listening. When the female volunteers, including myself, talked about the issues we are having with sexual harassment even in our schools counterparts would make comments about how we just needed to deal with it, and that there was nothing they could do to help us. These sessions seemed to just make everyone mad and extremely annoyed, which seemed to make for good conversation once the volunteers were alone without the counterparts.

Overall it was just nice to be able to have some time with Americans, and to complain to people that could really understand what we are going through in our villages and school. To be honest we spent most of the time bitching about things that we have no control over, but that make our service harder. After three months at site it was very therapeutic to have a two week bitch fest!  

Sunday, December 30, 2012

An African Thanksgiving


Thanksgiving in Africa, not exactly the same as it is at home, but it was a fun experience. This year my area leader, Chad, decided that it would be fun to invite all of our principals to his site for a traditional American Thanksgiving feast. Being away from home during the holidays can be tough, so all of the volunteers were excited to be able to have a little taste of home, and to spend some quality time with people that actually spoke fluent English. Inviting our principals to experience an American holiday was a nice idea, but really it was just a ruse to get our principals to drive us all out to Chad’s site so we wouldn’t have to navigate the taxi situation. Chad’s site is in a beautiful mountain location, but from my site you have to take three different taxis to get there, which becomes a serious problem when you are traveling after school. So the principals were invited to share our turkey extravaganza, and then were expected to head home so that the Americans could hang out and head to the beach the next day for the Kwa-Zulu Natal Provincial Conference put on by the Volunteer Support Network. In theory it was a great plan, but this is Africa, and nothing here seems to go the way that you want it to.

The first blunder on my way to African Thanksgiving was that my principal didn’t really want to go. This has been a reoccurring problem for me, but we will talk more about that issue later. So the Wednesday before Thanksgiving I was called into his office to discuss the logistics of making the hour car ride to the dinner. It took some time, but finally I convinced him that I needed him to take me because I probably wouldn’t make it before the taxis stopped running, and that it would look bad because he would be the only principal not there. This last part was of course a lie, but appearances here mean everything, so he couldn’t have it look like he doesn’t care about his volunteer. The next day I was packed and ready to go see some other white people, but of course we had to make a little stop in town at the local gas station. Little did I know we were picking up more than a full tank of gas. Turns out that my principal decided to invite a friend to our little dinner party so that he “wouldn’t have to drive back alone”. The already awkward car ride just got a whole lot weirder since I had to try and explain what Thanksgiving was to a complete stranger while at the same time texting my fellow volunteers to let them know there would be a random guest at dinner. Once we got to dinner I was hoping things would be a little less awkward, but they weren’t. My principal and his friend sat in the parking lot for the majority of the time they were there talking and smoking while I went inside to escape. They did finally make it inside right before dinner was being served, because no one in Africa would ever pass up a free meal.

Things got a little weird again when it came time to serve the food. In order to make sure that there was enough food for everyone, the volunteers served their guests. In South Africa men are always served first, and the women do not sit down until everyone else is eating. Being a female and having two male guests it seemed like I was playing right into the gender roles that are common here, and the ‘friend’ decided that since I served him once, that meant I was his personal server for the rest of the night. When he wanted more meat he told me, when he wanted pie he told me, when he wanted a drink he told me, and by the end of the night I was not having it anymore. Of course since I had no idea who this random person was I didn’t not feel that I was in any position to tell him no, so eventually I just stopped coming back to the table. Luckily for me they decided to leave right after they had finished all of their food, so I was finally able to relax and enjoy some delicious American food with friends. It still wasn’t the same as spending the holiday with my family, but for Africa it was more than I expected. 

Monday, November 19, 2012

Observations from the Staff Room


As a child I always wondered what it would be like if life was like a musical. Wouldn’t it be great if people just randomly broke out into songs that everyone around them somehow knew? Everyone in Disney movies always looks like they are having so much fun as they run around town singing and dancing their cheery little songs. What Disney failed to show were all the people standing on the streets that had to listen to them singing for hours on end while all they wanted to do was get some work done. My staff room is like a musical sometimes, and it makes me want to bash my head against the table until I can’t hear the singing any more. When I first arrived at site I thought it was so cool when they stared singing, mostly because I thought they were doing it for me to show some of their culture. Now I realize that it is their way of putting off their paperwork for a few…hours. You can’t grade papers when you are singing and dancing around the room. While I am still impressed that everyone in the room, besides me, knows the words to every song that someone starts, and the same dance moves, I have realized that 15 people singing at the top of their lungs in a room just big enough to seat said 15 people my ears want to burst after the first song. This past week my school started their end of the year exams. They do it a little different than we do back in the US, and it turns out that here they end up having a lot of down time, that is therefore filled by song and dance. Each day the learners take one exam between 9am and 11am. After that they are free to go while the teachers remain at school until the end of the day. Apparently as long as the teachers are at school for the full day, it still counts as a full day of school even though the learners aren’t there. So the hours between 11am and 2:35pm have turned from a time to grade papers to a time to sing until you can’t sing anymore. To say I am a bit annoyed would be putting it lightly. As much as I love a good Glee episode, I will probably kill someone if I come home to find that it is now appropriate to break out in song and dance back in the US.

In my endless hours hanging out in the staff room over the last few weeks I have also discovered that we have a very different view of food in the United States than here is South Africa. I cannot count the number of times that I have been told I don’t eat enough. On Thursday I brought a container of scrambled eggs with mushrooms, onions, and zucchini, as well as two apples for lunch. I usually eat an apple around 10am, my main lunch at 11:30am, and another apple close to 2pm. After being told the previous day that I need to eat more, I tried to take note of what the other teachers are throughout the day. This is what I observed of one teacher, but the others were all pretty similar. 8:30am, tea (with 3 HUGE spoons of sugar!) with 8 slices of bread with butter. No joke, she ate 8 slices of white bread like it was nothing. 10am, a serving size bowl of rice topped with a mystery meat stew with a side of creamed spinach. The schools make lunch for all the learners every day, and most of the teachers end up eating a serving that is about triple the size of what the learners get. Noon: more tea with lots of sugar and 4 fat cakes. Fat cakes are a favorite of the teachers at my school, and are basically deep fried dough balls. They are about the size of my fist and are pretty similar to elephant ears but without the sugar and cinnamon. 2pm: more tea and sugar and one apple. To say I was shocked would be an understatement. I had noticed that people here ate way more than I did, but I never realized exactly how much more, and how much of what they were eating was carbs until I really watched. I now see how they thing my egg scramble and two apples isn’t very much food, but watching someone eat basically the whole loaf of bread in one sitting makes me want to throw up rather than eat more.

For the most part, the staff room is where people go to either eat, or sing, sometimes eat and sing at the same time. There are a few teachers that seem to use their free periods to actually grade homework and exams, but they are few and far between. This week I offered to help grade the math exams that the learners just took so that I could get an idea of where they were at before I start teaching in January. I graded what I could while at school and trying to focus over the Congo line that was taking place around the table, and then I took what I didn’t finish home. The next day teachers were shocked that I not only took work home with me, but that I had finished grading 54 exams by the next day (to be honest it wasn’t that hard seeing as the majority of every exam was blank, but it still took a few hours). When I explained that in the US it is very common for people to take work home with them, one of my teachers asked me if we ever sleep. Apparently it is unheard of for someone to grade their exams by the next day, and no one seemed all that pleased that I was able to complete the impossible. My first reaction was to make a snarky comment about how they would be amazed how much you can get done when you shut up and focus, but luckily I was able to hold my tongue. I have noticed that my sarcastic sense of humor isn’t understood here so I am betting that my snarky comments would just get me in trouble. As much as I really like most of the staff here, I have a feeling over the next two years I am going to become really good at smiling but tuning people out at the same time.  

Random Learning Experiences


Random things I have learned in South Africa.

11.      Cockroaches might possibly be the creepiest bugs on the planet. They are huge for a bug, they are ridiculously fast, they can crawl up walls, and it is basically impossible to kill them. I sprayed on with Doom (the most powerful bug spray I have ever seen) and then smashed it with my flip flop and the next morning it was trying to escape the trash bag! I never understood why people always said cockroaches will be the only things to survive nuclear war, but now I get it.

22.      Doing laundry by hand totally sucks. One, it takes forever. Two, how are your clothes ever supposed to dry when it rains for three weeks straight? It doesn't matter if you hang them randomly all over your room, when it is cold they start smelling like mildew before they ever dry and then you just have to wash them all over again. Three, it hurts. By the time you are done scrubbing all your clothes in a bucket you have no skin left on your knuckles. By the time I leave in two years I am going to have super scary old lady looking hands, and the only way to prevent it is to wear dirty clothes for two years.

Random side note: the first time I did laundry in my rural village my host mom told me that it was not appropriate for me to wash my underwear all at once. Apparently I’m supposed to wash each pair every morning after my bucket bath. I’m not gonna lie, I am way too lazy to do that seeing as I already wake up at 5:30 am to take my bucket bath, so I now have to wash all my underwear in my room in secret, which makes me feel strangely scandalous.

33.      Public transportation in a 3rd world country is the scariest thing I have ever experienced. The cars that we are crammed in are so old that I’m worried they will fall apart if we hit a bump. Even if there are seat belts  there are so many people shoved into one seat that you wouldn't possible be able to use them, and all the gogos (grandmothers) would look at you like you are crazy. On my last taxi ride I was stuffed in the back between two very very large women, who were both enjoying a meal of fried chicken and fries while we were waiting for the taxi to fill. By the time they driver got enough people in the back to be satisfied I was basically buried between peoples bags and the arms of the ladies next to me. Honestly riding on these taxis makes me want to go on a serious diet, because maybe if I was thinner I would have a little more breathing room. Then when I really think about it, it probably wouldn't help, because the gogos here are sadly extremely overweight, and even if I lost 20lbs I would still come out of the taxi feeling like I had been crushed.

44.      Being able to saw is an extremely useful skill. Hand washing clothes is not a gentle process, and eventually they start to fall apart at the seams. Luckily, if you had an amazing mom growing up who taught you the basics of sawing (thanks mom!!!) you don’t have to spend your small Peace Corps allowance on new clothes! I ripped my favorite pair of yoga pants my fist week at site and almost started crying. Then I remembered I had black thread in my little sawing kit and I stitched those yoga pants right up. I only brought one pair, so I would have not been a happy camper if they were ruined.

55.      Fridays will forever be renamed Fat Fridays in my book. Fridays are the only day that I get to go into town and go grocery shopping. It is also the only day that I am able to meet up with the closest volunteer to me. When you only go to the store once a week, and you have to be able to carry all of your groceries back home on the taxis, you really narrow down what you buy. This basically means that I have gotten really good at buying only the essentials, and forgo the snack foods I used to buy back home. I have my weekly shopping list, and I never buy anything that is not on that list. For someone who loves having snack foods, this has made for a rough transition during the week. So my friend Krista and I have decided that when we meet in town every Friday we are going to indulge on the things we don’t have during the week before we get all of our groceries. This has translated into going to KFC (the only restaurant in town) and getting milkshakes and fries, and then getting a bar of chocolate at the store. I think that if we are pretty much eating rice, oats, and vegetables 6 days a week, going all out one day won’t kill us. We have also become friends with the people working at the local KFC, and they always seem very excited to see us, so we wouldn't want to disappoint our new friends by eliminating Fat Friday. 

Thursday, October 25, 2012

Heritage Day Pictures

For all of you who aren't friends with my on Facebook, here is a belated post of the pictures from my welcome celebration and Heritage Day celebration.

























A gold star


Over the last few weeks I have been feeling kind of down. For the most part I spend my days sitting in the staff room doing nothing, or sitting in the classrooms also doing nothing. As an active person all this sitting around doing nothing has made me feel a little worthless. I didn’t come all the way to Africa to not do anything, so it has been frustrating to say the least. After talking to other volunteers it became apparent that they are having similar experiences and feeling about this integration period. Our schools are on their last term and are obviously anxious for break in December, which seems to mean they don’t want to do a lot of work with us. This is understandable on some level, but at the same time it is discouraging.

So today I was just hanging out in my room being bored and lazy when my grade 4 host sister came for some math help. To be honest I was not all that excited to see her and her younger sister at my door, but I can’t say no to these kids when they want help, especially Amanda. Amanda and her sister Snalo are orphans that were taken in by my host mother. Although they are treated very well, you can tell that they are seen as a little bit lower than the other kids in the family. Amanda does most of the laundry and cleaning for the whole family, while Snalo helps where she can because she is younger. It kind of breaks my heart, so no matter how I am feeling, I never turn Amanda away when she wants help, and her sister always seems to tag along. Today was no different, and even though I really didn’t feel like tutoring, I opened the door wide so they could come on in.

Today the topic was multiplication of multiple digit numbers, which I have yet to see be taught in her class. I have sat in on the grade 4 math class for the last two weeks, and the closest thing I have seen to teaching multiplication was having the learners count by 3s, 5s, and 10s. So multiplying 20 x 40 would be a challenge to say the least. We started slow. I drew out the problems in a grid, stacking the numbers on top of each other, and then asking her what each number times the other number was. After some finger counting she could usually tell me the right answer of 4 x 5 or 3 x 6, but she had no idea where to put those numbers, especially when it came to multiplying 40 by the 2 in 20. After a million examples of me showing her how to carry numbers, and what row to put the answers in, she did every single one of her homework problems right!! Two hours and a whole lot of encouragement later and she could multiply multiple digit numbers by herself, and I couldn’t have been more proud. I decided that now would be the perfect time to break out the gold stars!

I have never seen a little girl so excited to get a sticker and a high five, and it completely lifted my mood. For the first time in a few weeks I actually feel like I am doing something and that I have something to offer the kids here. It is amazing what a little time and encouragement can do. Since I was in such a good mood I decided that I would reward both Amanda and her sister by letting them color in my room away from the rest of the kids in the house. So I broke out the crayons that have so kindly been sent by my friends and family and drew them both beach pictures with a palm tree in the center (for those of you who don’t know, that is the absolute only thing I can draw besides lopsided stick figures). An hour later they are still using every color crayon in the box to fill in their pictures, and I couldn’t be happier sitting here watching them. Who knew one gold star and a box of crayons could make such a difference to me, as well as them. 

Saturday, October 20, 2012

Things the make me look back and laugh


Today I wanted to write down some of the funny things I’ve experienced here in South Africa. Sometimes it’s the little things that get you through the day, or make you look back and laugh. Most of my experience so far have been the kind that suck in the moment, but thinking back make me laugh like crazy, so I wanted to share some of those random moments that I have experienced so far.

First off, I have a new hatred of turkeys. Before coming to South Africa the only time I thought about turkeys was when I was thinking how delicious my turkey sandwich was. They were just the animal that was sacrificed so that I could enjoy a delicious Thanksgiving dinner, but now my views of this seemingly innocent animal has drastically changed. My host family happens to own the most evil turkey in the world. Everything is afraid of this giant white bird, including me. When I first arrived I noticed the smaller children running from the bird, but thought they were just playing. Now I understand that the bird owns the yard, and we are trespassing on its turf. If anything gets too close it will puff up its feathers and chase you down. If you don’t run fast enough you will end up with little gashes down your legs from the turkey’s evil little beak. Even the dogs run from this devil animal. The best part about this not so fun game of chase is that the outhouse seems to fall right in the middle of the turkey’s hunting ground. I can usually make it there without incident, it’s getting out that seems to be the challenge. I am pretty sure that it hides in waiting while you make the trek to the toilet, plotting its attack, and then once you’re inside it moves into striking distance. Sometimes it will even stick its creepy little head through a small hole in the door trying to get to you. This is when I like to throw open the door really fast, smacking it in the face, and then make a run for it. How sad is it that I am being bullied by a turkey?

Along with learning to play dodge the turkey, I am now playing dodge the marriage proposals. Apparently being tall and blond in this country means that you would make the perfect wife. I’m pretty sure that half my teachers are already planning the wedding between me and one of their sons/cousins/brothers. I mean I understand that I am an exceptionally awesome person, but I feel like people should want to meet me before they decide they want to marry me. Going shopping has now become a test of my negotiation and communication skills. Word seems to have gotten around that I am living in a village close by, and that I would make an excellent partner, because people seem to just know me in the stores. People who I have never met will call me by name, and then spend the next ten minutes trying to convince me to give them my number, or marry their random relative. I always thought that I was pretty good when it came to persuading people or communicating my opinions, but no matter how I tell these people that I am not interested, they just don’t seem to give up. In any other situation I might be impressed by their tenacity, but now it’s just annoying. So when telling them no seemed to fail, I did what any good person would do, I started lying. The minute I get off the taxi in my shopping town I become Mrs. Kelsey Lynch, and I have a very handsome husband working back home in America. The small sliver band that I normally wear on my thumb moves to my ring finger, and I like to talk with my hands as much as possible so that people might catch a glimpse of my fake wedding ring. It is amazing how much easier it is to convince people that I am married than convince them I’m not interested in marrying a random guy who approached me by the frozen chicken. Nothing says romance like a bunch of frozen chicken heads and feet. I’m not going to lie, if anyone asks to see a picture of my imaginary husband, you better believe that I’m going to show them a picture of Johnny Depp. If I’m going to have a fake marriage it might as well be to the man of my dreams, right?

Aside from avoiding devil birds and random marriages, I have finally mastered the public transportations, well almost mastered. When I first arrived in my little village, the taxis scared the crap out of me. One; no one speaks English, two; the cars look like they might fall apart if you kicked it too hard, and three; they stack you in the back like sardines. However, it is the only way to get anywhere in this country, so I sucked it up, and I figured out where to get the taxi to my village, and even made friends with some of the drivers so they would let me sit in front if I got their early enough. Well today I did not get there early enough, so it was either wait who knows how long for another taxi to come and fill up, or cram in the back with everyone else. Now, when you try to imagine a taxi here, think about a Ford Ranger truck with a small camper on the back. There are small wooden benches along the edges over the wheel wells, and then they cram at least 12 people along with all of their groceries in before closing up the truck bed and heading home. In the best situation it is uncomfortable, and in the worst situation it is extremely painful. Today was one of those worst situations. First off, I am way taller than most women in this country, so I am usually the only one hunched over trying to avoid smashing my head into the roof when we hit pot holes. It also means that I am the only one with my knees pushed up into my chest in order to make room for the 5 kg bag or rice the lady across from me wants to put on the floor. Today it was packed more than usual with huge bags of rice and corn meal, so I ended up having to twist my left leg under my right and pinch it between a bag of rice and a box of who knows what. By the time we got to the village, which is only about 15 minutes away, my whole leg was numb. When the driver lowered the hatch I was flooded with relief at the chance to get out and walk the rest of the way home. Unfortunately I was not prepared to move when I wanted to. When I stepped down with my right leg I figured I would just walk off the numbness of my left and turned to make my way home. I then stepped with my left leg, shifted all my weight on to it, and went straight down. I totally ate it right next to a taxi full of people who already looked at me like I was a crazy person. Luckily the driver helped me up before he started laughing, and it took at least a full two minutes of swinging my leg around before I could even limp home. It was embarrassing to say the least, and I guarantee it will only be a matter of hours before the whole village knows that the white girl fell on her face in the middle of the road. On the bright side, I’m sure it will be a great conversation starter over the next few weeks.  

Tuesday, October 9, 2012

A little clarity


Today I had a very interesting conversation with a few of my teachers. I finally got into the classrooms today at my permanent school to observe some of the grade 4, 5, and 6 teachers. After spending some quality time in the staff room over these past few weeks it was nice to have a change of scenery, even if it was just into a dirty classroom. I sat through four difference classes, with four different teachers, and it took each one less than ten minutes before they made a comment about how lazy or naughty the learners here are. From my observation the learners weren’t acting any different than students in the US do, but there was a pretty obvious different in knowledge and skill compared to US students in the same grades. Learners in the back would chat occasionally, but other than that there were no outrageous behavior problems, but if you talked to the teachers you would think that they were running wild like Lord of the Flies.

The differences became obvious when the teacher started asking questions, or asked the learners to read aloud. The majority of the grade 5 English class could hardly read, and learners in the grade 6 math class were still using their fingers to count out 3 x 4. When teachers asked comprehension questions about a short story that was just read in the grade 4 English class, it was pretty obvious the learners had no idea what they were even being asked let alone what the answer was. All of these problems the teachers contribute to the laziness of the students, and that they aren’t serious about school. This bothered me, but as the newcomer, and with my lack of teaching experience I didn’t feel that I was in a place to argue.

Later, in the staff room, a few of the teachers, who either weren’t going to their classes or who had a break period, asked me how teachers in the US get learners to not be lazy and to be respectful. I tried to think back to my many years in school and think about what teachers did to contain a class. Besides a few class clowns and those few students that didn’t want to do their homework no matter what, I don’t remember ever having really bad behavior problems in classes. When I told them that they asked how we did it. Without really thinking about it I told them that’s how we were raised. They of course all looked at me like they were confused, which gave me a moment to really think about it before I tried to explain. I told them that from a pretty young age we are told what is right and wrong, and we hear the word no pretty often. Our parents teach us to respect ourselves and each other and that when we screw up they are the ones we have to answer to. I tried to explain that we reward good behavior and that with bad behavior you lost your privileges. It was how we were raised from the get go, and it’s how our schools function as well. As I explained I realized that for me, it always came back to things my parents taught me.

As I walked home I started to compare the differences that I am seeing here in South Africa to my experience growing up in the US. From the day that I arrived here I have been told about how this country is family focused and that the US is focused on the individual, but I no longer agree with that fully. Today made me realize that while South Africa puts more importance on the family than we do in the US, we put way more importance in children, and I think that is where the biggest differences arise. In the US a family revolves around the child, but here it revolves around the elders. In the rural areas children are given very little respect, but more responsibility than they can handle. While our parents are teaching us to read parents here are teaching their kids how to wash and clean. For many of use, our parents are extremely involved in our lives and our education, but I don’t see that at all here. I did well through school because my parents supported and encouraged me. They were the ones who taught me to read and write, how to ride a bike, how to swim, and told me over and over again that I can do anything I set my mind too. Children here don’t get any of that, and I think it really shows when it comes to their education. My education started at home, and throughout the years it was supported at home. If I didn’t have that who knows where I would have started or ended up. In my village children don’t start to learn to read until they start school. It’s probably the first time most of them have even opened a book. From there they don’t begin learning English until grade 4, where they are magically expected to be able to read perfectly in a second language they just started. If my high school Spanish teacher had given me a book in Spanish after two months of class and asked me to summarize it I would have laughed and thought she was crazy. No wonder kids are struggling. But if the teachers and the parents have no expectations for their students or they expect them to fail, then why should the student care anyways?

It makes me very grateful to have parents that pushed and encouraged me. It’s amazing what you can do when someone else believes in you and is there to support you through life. 

Friday, September 28, 2012

Welcome Celebration


If I have learned anything during my time in South Africa so far, it’s that people here are very proud of their heritage. Tradition, culture, and family mean everything to the people in this country, and it is especially obvious in the rural areas. September is designated as heritage month here, and last Monday was a school holiday for Heritage Day. It was a day to reflect on where you came from, and to celebrate the traditions and customs that are important to your family and community. My school thought that having a traditional ceremony during this week would be a great way to welcome me into the school and community, as well as introduce me to some crazy South African experiences. So this past Wednesday I got to experience what it’s like to be the center of attention in South Africa, and was able to see some amazing African songs and dances.

I think the most impressive thing about the whole event was how much effort my school put into it. In the US we might have a cake in the staff room for a new teacher, but I got a whole party with the majority of the community in attendance. The whole thing started on the Friday before when my teachers took me into town to be fitted for my traditional Zulu outfit. Of course I had no idea what that meant so I just stood there and smiled as an old lady took my measurements while yelling things to her assistant in Zulu. I have mastered the smiling when I have no clue what is going on, which is the majority of the time. After that I got no information. The learners at the school had been practicing different things during the last period of school for a few days, but I was basically locked in the staff room so that I would be surprised when Wednesday rolled around. When it finally did I had no idea what to expect. My host mom had spent the majority of the day before in the cook house preparing, but again they wouldn’t tell me anything. So when we walked to school the next day I was both nervous and excited. As I walked into the school grounds I was shocked to see a big party tent set up with chairs and a long table in the front. I tried to look around at all the hustle and bustle but I was quickly ushered back into the staff room. There I waited, for hours! Even with the prep that had been done over the past few days, there was still so much that had to be done, and I wasn’t allowed to help with anything.

A little after noon some of the teachers came into the staff room to collect me. Apparently it was finally time to get things started, which meant it was time for me to get dressed. It also meant that I was being to be dressed from head to toe in traditional attire but some of my female teachers that all call me daughter. My outfit was amazing! It started with a traditional Zulu skirt and vest. It was a little shorter than I had expected, but I later found out that that is common when for a “Zulu virgin girl” (I’m still unsure how I feel about being shown off like that). I then put on the Zulu vest that matched the skirt. Then they started adding my favorite parts, the bead work. First it was a belt, then a necklace, and bracelets, and earrings, and a head band, and then my favorite part, the shoes. The beaded sandals are beautiful. Everything is so brightly colored and handmade; I was stunned with how much effort they put into getting me every part of a traditional outfit. Most other volunteers have gotten gifts from their school, but none of them have gone all out the way mine did.

Once I was dressed to their liking it was time to make my big debut as a Zulu woman in front of my school and community. The teachers signaled for the music to start, surrounded me all dressed in traditional outfits, and we left the comfort of the staff room. The minute I stepped outside the crowd that had gathered erupted in screams and chants. While I had been self-conscious in my new outfit, thinking people would think it was weird that I was wearing their clothing, the crowd loved it. Gogos (grandmothers) were jumping up and down shouting while at the same time trying to take pictures of me. It was overwhelming and amazing to realize people were so excited to see me dressed like I was one of them. As we slowly made our way to the long table in front of the tent, I got a good look at all of the people sitting there. Turns out the village chief and his high council had come out for the event, and that my seat was next to them at the head table. I don’t think I have ever been more intimidated by an old man, but even he was smiling and clapping as I made my way to the front.

Then the party really began. There were dancers of all ages, songs that ended up being sung by the whole crowd, and welcome speeches from multiple members of the community. The dancers were my favorite part. They younger girls went first. They were all wearing skirts that were all strings of beads in the front, and cloth in the back. The traditional Zulu dance consists of different body movements that are determined by your age and marital status, and then these crazy kicks into the air. It is crazy, and hard to describe, but they can kick their legs all the way above their heads. After the young girls there was a dance with drums for the women who had recently been married. They had long skirts, their hair wrapped, and their face had patterns painted in small little dots. It is common for unmarried Xhosa women that are of age to have their faces painted white or orange. Then when they get married they dot their faces with patterns for the first year to show that they are newlyweds.  My village is a mixture of Zulu and Xhosa, so I get to see some of both cultures.

After the dancing there a few of my teachers as well as some community members came to sing some of their traditional songs. It took about two words in for the whole group to join in. Everyone knew the words to every song, well everyone except me. It is crazy how well people here can sing. Music is such a huge part of this culture, and it becomes very obvious in the way they can move and sing. Throughout all of this, random people would come up with their phones to take pictures of me. As beautiful as everything was, being the center of attention was a little much at times. I usually try pretty hard to blend in to crowds, but there was no way for that to happen here! After multiple songs, there were a few local leaders that had welcome speeches prepared. Of course I didn’t understand the majority of what was being said, but I knew they were talking about me and the crowd seemed to like what was being said so I sat there with a big smile on my face. Each one had me stand after their speech for a big hug and more pictures. At that point I couldn’t feel my cheeks anymore, but the day was far from over.

As if my school hadn’t given me enough already, they had gifts to give before we were able to eat. A few gifts were given to the chief and members of his high council. It is important to acknowledge his presence at community events, but he seemed to be enjoying everything as much as I was. Then my teaching staff lined up to take pictures with me as they handed me a wrapped gift. I was told that it was very special to all of them, but that I should wait until I get home to open it. Of course that peaked my curiosity, but I waited. Then all that stood in front of me and some much needed food was one more teacher with one more gift from the staff. One of my male teachers (the only one even close to my age) said something into the microphone to the crowd, and then offered me a beautiful beaded necklace, which of course I accepted. Then the crowd went wild! Turns out that it is a Xhosa tradition that when a man offers a woman a necklace his is asking for her hand in marriage, and by accepting it I had just said yes. It’s all fun and games until someone proposes in a language you can’t understand. Of course no one tells me this until after I had accepted the necklace, and it would be an understatement to say that I was pissed!!! I have been getting proposals from just about everyone, but not someone I am working with, and in front of a whole group of people. Of course all of the female teachers knew that I was not actually accepting his hand, and after a very mean glare and a sharp shake of my head at said teacher the crowd knew I was pissed too.

Thankfully this was a great time for people to start filing into the tent with trays of food. The community had prepared a traditional South African feast. Now, before I came to Africa I promised myself that I would at least try all of the food that was offered to me, and I am proud to say that I have stuck by that promise. I can now say that I have eaten chicken heads, chicken feet, chicken liver, chicken gizzards, and cow intestines. To be honest the chicken liver wasn’t that bad, but the cow intestine was probably the worst thing I have ever eaten. A cow intestine consists of a thick outer layer of muscle, and an inner layer of almost fluffy cilia. It almost looks like some weird sea plant. As weird as it looks, it tastes so much worse. It is extremely chewy and slimy, but at the same time you can still crunch on small pieces of dirt that wasn’t cleaned all the way. It was bad, really really bad. I will avoid ever eating it again. I was then given a big cup of sour corn meal porridge to wash it down. Another South African favorite, but not something I will ever drink again. It is very common here to let things sour before eating or drinking them. Many people pour sour milk over pap, and they love it. I’m surprised I still haven’t gotten really bad food poisoning, but so far my stomach has handled everything pretty well.

After feeling extremely stuffed I was able to get up and walk around. Almost everyone wanted to take a picture of me. No one really wanted to be in the picture with me, but everyone was ready with their phones to take a picture of me to show their friends. Mothers and gogos came up to me to hug me and tell me how excited they are to have me here, while others warned me that all learners are lazy and don’t try. It was an interesting mix of comments that’s for sure. Once the chief made his exit it seemed the party was winding down. I finally had a chance to corner the teacher who proposed and make it very clear that I am not interested and that what he did was extremely inappropriate. He made a few comments about how I am very strict, but I think after a few more death glares he got the idea.

Over all the day was so amazing. It was weird being the center of attention, but it was so heartwarming to see so many people come just to see me and to welcome me. I felt so privileged that people were willing to put so much time and effort into making sure I experienced some real South African culture, and to thank me for coming to their village. Hopefully I don’t disappoint them over the next two years, and that I can actually make a difference here!


Sunday, September 23, 2012

Mail


A lot of people have been asking if there is anything special that I would like when people send mail. I have decided that I will compile a list of all the things I miss from home and can't find in my small shopping town. If at any point you are sending mail and are thinking of putting in a little something extra for me, these are the things that would put a huge smile on my face.

Good ground coffee (the coffee here sucks)
Sour candies/ hard candies
Licorice spice tea
Instant hot apple cider
Taco mix/fajita mix/chili powder
Zip lock bags
Gum
Crystal light (any flavor has to be better than the water here)
Emergen C
Bobby pins

I also want to give a very big thank you to everyone who has been sending postcards to my mom. As I am sure she has told you, I love postcards, and it is so special that even though I am half way around the world, I can get post cards from so many places back home. There is a small ledge in my new home that goes all the way around my room. I have started putting all of the beautiful pictures up around the ledge, so now I feel like i am surrounded from places back home, and so many warm thoughts. On hard days it really helps to look around and know that so many people back home are thinking of me!

Friday, September 21, 2012

My spider experience


South Africa happens to have some of the scariest spiders I have ever seen. The are huge, and I'm not saying they are huge just because I am a total baby and hate spiders, but they are actually huge. Besides the lovely black widows South Africa is home to the wall spider. It is extremely fast, has a very flat body, and super long legs. Some of them are the size of a small hand, and that just isn't ok with me. However, after a few long debates with my new friend Chad, I had decided that I would not try to kill the wall spiders. His winning arguments were that 1 they eat other bugs including mosquitoes, 2 they always stay on the walls, and 3 most of them are too fast to kill anyways. All of these seemed to be valid arguments, so I decided that I would deal with my over the top fear of spiders and let them be.

A few nights later I noticed my new friend the wall spider above my door as I was getting ready to go to bed. After choking down the fear that it was going to leap off the wall and eat me, I decided to just get into bed and pretend it wasn't there. By that I mean I went to be with my flashlight and checked to make sure the stupid spider hadn't moved about every ten minutes until I finally fell asleep. I was very happy to wake up the next morning in one piece, and the spider was still in the same place. It wasn't so bad, and I was proud that I had let the spider live and didn't end up sleeping on the couch. That day when I got home from classes I looked around and saw no spider. I didn't actually like that it was now gone, figuring it could possibly  now be in my bed, but I got distracted by other things and forgot about it. And then came bed time. As I was washing my face in my little bucket, I looked up and noticed Mr. Spider had moved to the opposite wall, right above my bed. So it went spider, window curtain, pillow. Having a spider just chilling above my head wasn't the most ideal situation, but the night before it had been fine so I was just going to go with it. Turns out spiders don't like clapping, so when I tried to kill a mosquito that was flying near the lamp next to my bed, Mr. Spider decided to drop down the curtain. This is when I freaked out. I now had a giant spider somewhere behind the curtain, near my pillow, and eventually my head. As much as I tried to rationalize my fear, take some deep breaths, tell myself that I am bigger than the spider so it is probably more scared of me than I am of it, nothing really seemed to work. So rather than get into bed that night, I moved my pillow to the other end of the bed, took out my super sweet mummy sleeping bag, got in and zipped it all the way up. The only things that were not tightly enclosed by my sleeping bag were my eyes, nose and mouth. I figured that If I was going to be attacked by a killer spider he would have a harder time getting to me if I was cocooned in a sleeping bag than if I was just under some blankets. That was also about the time that I decided being friends with the spiders was not an option, and next time I would have to kill it before I tried to go to bed.

On the first day at my new site I managed to kill my first giant spider all by my self, and I was starting to feel like things were going better with that whole thing. I then went to my outhouse late one night, sat down, looked forward with my head lamp, and came face to face with a black widow. Nothing makes it harder to pee than being watched by the scariest spider you have ever seen. So I am now back to square one, where spiders are the worst bug known to man, and now they dictate when I can and cannot go to the bathroom.

Monday, September 17, 2012

"Interviews"


I learned early on that Peace Corps likes to have a name for everything that we do while we are here. These first three months that we are at our permanents site are called the "integration phase" of our service. This is the time that we are supposed to get comfortable within our schools and our communities. It is a time for us to figure out how the South African school system really works (or doesn't), how our individual schools function, and how the community is laid out. In theory this is a great idea, and would be extremely beneficial for volunteers. In actuality the process is extremely flawed and I have spent the majority of my time doing very little. At this point in our service we are not in the class room, but are doing things such as interviewing the teachers, meeting important community members, and getting to know the wants and needs of both the learners and the school. Peace Corps gave us a detailed schedule of what we should be doing each week for the next three months.

Week one, which I just survived, was designated for teacher interviews. During the last week of "interviewing" the teachers, it became very apparent that the word interview holds a very different meaning here, and it is not a good one. Teachers would do almost anything to avoid sitting down with me and answering a few simple questions. Peace Corps had warned us that people might initially think that we are spies from the Department of Education, or that we were there to get them in trouble for different things, but I had kind of laughed that off. Seriously I'm like the least sneaky person ever, there was no way these people would think I was some sort of spy, right? By the way my teachers reacted I should be considering a future with the CIA because I am for sure spy material. Out of 18 teachers, I got 10 to sit down and answer four questions: What grades/subjects do you teach? How long have you been teaching? What are the biggest challenges teaching in South Africa? How do you feel about changing to the CAPS program next year? Americans would not hesitate to sit down and answer these questions, but South African will actually get up and leave the staff room when they see you coming. To be honest it was a little entertaining.

Although I spent most of the week sitting in the staff room listening to my teachers talk in a crazy language while they were supposed to be in class, I did get some valuable information from my interviews. Regardless of how long they had been teaching, the answers for what are the biggest challenges were almost identical for everyone. The number one answer for this question was the constant changes in the curriculum. Recently South Africa has adopted an outcome based approach to teaching, which all teachers seem to hate. Their complaints range from "there wasn't enough training given before the approach was implemented" (reasonable), to "this approach makes it so learners have to find the answers with out us being able to tell them the answers" (um isn't that the point of teaching?). As amusing as some of these answers were to me, I held my tongue, nodded my head, and listened. Then came most common challenge answer number two. "Learners are lazy, and they do not show respect to teachers now that it is illegal to hit them. This answer was hard for me to hear. The idea of taking a stick and hitting a child with it because they were late to school makes me flinch every time. It was very hard for me to sit back and take notes and not mention the fact that in the US we don't hit students and we are ranked way higher in education than South Africa is. As much as I really like to make snarky comments to my friends and family, I do my best to contain them while here. Sarcasm doesn't seem to get you far in this country.

The rest of the week I basically spent chilling in the staff room, learning a little about the upcoming changes in South African curriculum, and watching a lot of teachers skip class so they could spend time marking. This coming week I am  supposed to spend time interviewing my principal (who has already said he wont have time), interviewing the deputy principal (who will be out of town), and taking inventory of the school resources. So basically I will spend one day looking at the three computers that have never been set up at our school, looking at the lack of library, and then sitting in the staff room just hanging out. Maybe I will bring my computer and look up different grants to try and get my school a library in the next two years.

Thursday, September 13, 2012

Finding my place


I'm not going to lie, the first few days at sight were rough. For the first time since coming to South Africa it really hit me that I am in a country half way around the world from home, and I had just said goodbye to the last people that understood where I was coming from. It  was extremely hard to go from feeling like I was at some strange summer camp to feeling like I was completely isolated in Africa. The emotional roller coaster that I was on was not fun, and it made me question what on earth I was thinking when I signed up to spend two years so far from anything I had ever known.

However, you will be happy to know (hopefully) that I am not writing this from the Johannesburg airport, and that as the days have gone on things have gotten easier here in my hut in South Africa. Those of you who know me well should also be proud that after about 20 minutes of raising my shoe and then jumping back and squealing like a child, I finally manned up and killed my first giant spider. As pathetic as I know that makes me, it was a very gratifying moment in my Peace Corps experience so far! Well that was until I discovered the black widow in my outhouse, but that is a story for another day. So here I sit, with one less spider, and thinking that I might actually be able to give something to this small community in South Africa. The first few days I spent with my principal meeting community members that looked at my like I was a science experiment that they didn't understand. I met the police chief, the Redcross staff, the clinic staff, and post office staff, the teachers, and the learners at my school. It was overwhelming to say the least, and I can still probably only tell you half of the teachers' names. I also got a very interesting tour of my shopping town while I tried to buy food that didn't have to be refrigerated. Aside from meeting a ton of new people I had nothing to do, which is what made it hard to feel like I was in the right place. I would do my few errands during the day, and then go home and sit in my rondavol all alone. I didn't really know where I fit in with my new host family, so I was nervous about trying to merge into their family.

My mind set didn't start to change until the third night in. I was sitting in my room debating whether eating peanut butter straight from the jar was acceptable for dinner, when there was a very timid knock on the door. At first I ignored it, thinking it was probably just another goat trying to break in, but there it was again. When I went to the door my oldest host brother was standing in the rain with his math book tucked under his arm. Not even saying a word he stepped around me, sat down at my small table and opened his work book. It was that moment that really gave me a feeling of purpose, so like any good teacher I sat down and helped.  Not to sound too full of myself, but I have to say, I am a pretty bomb math tutor. Who knew that after like seven years I would still remember how to explain a sine and cosine graph. After blowing through that math assignment we got to talking. Turns out my new brother takes two taxis to get to high school everyday (there is no high school in my village) and that this was the first time he has ever been able to get help with homework. He said that after 3rd grade his mom stopped being able to help him with homework because she cant read English. He cant stay after school if he needs help because he has sports and then has to make sure he catches the taxis home, not that I have seen any after school help offered anyway. It made me think back to all the times I sat down with my mom and dad at the dinner table getting help on any subject that I could possible need help in. Even in college I could always call my dad to talk science or email my mom my papers to have her edit them before I turned them in. Learners here have never had that, and I realized that even if I cant change all of these kids' lives, I can at least give them something they have never had, help.

So here I am, the new village tutor. So far it has only been my very large family who have decided that knocking is no longer a thing, and who barge into my room with their different books looking for help. I have been told by other volunteers that once word gets out that I am offering help after school that more will come, and that makes me excited for all of the tomorrows here in Africa. I am still trying to decide where I fit in at my school, but I have months until I actually start teaching to figure that out. I did decide that peanut butter from the jar is a completely acceptable dinner, lunch, and snack, and that being all alone in the middle of no where in South Africa isn't so bad.


Side note:
My new address
Kelsey Lynch
PO Box 994
Umzimkulu 3297
South Africa
*If you are sending anything larger than an envelope please write that it contains educational material and tell the post office that it is wroth nothing.


Saturday, September 8, 2012

So Many Changes


Site.
Well this is going to be a long one because I don't even know where to begin with my explanation of site so far. I guess like most things I should start at the beginning. First off, my group of 15 headed to the Sisonke district of KwaZulu-Natal wasn't even sure if we were going to site on Monday September 2nd. After swearing in we were informed that our supervisor workshop, where we were supposed to meet all of out principals had been cancelled. Turns out the building where it had been scheduled originally was not suitable for this type of event. Given that, we were basically put on standby and had to be ready to leave when we got word that a new location had been chosen. To be honest I was kind of hoping that we would be delayed a day so that I could get at least one quality shower in at the college. Unfortunately that didn't happen, but I was also very excited to be heading to site on the correct day. After three attempts to fit all of our luggage into the vans and trailers, it was a very tight fit, we were off on our 10 hour drive to a town in the Sisonke region where the following day we would be meeting our supervisors for the next two years. Just a little side note, for safety reasons I can not disclose where exactly I am on this site. This is an open blog that anyone can read and according to Peace Corps guidelines it is a security risk for me and my community to put exact locations here. That being said, I will be able to post my new address here (when I get one) because it will be located in a town near my village and not in my village (because mail doesn't come to rural areas).

That being said, we arrived very late at our location, and had to be up very early the next day to have a few hours of workshop with our supervisors before they took us to our new homes. Now, Peace Corps for some reason really likes to make everything as uncomfortable as possible. So the next day we were informed that as a way of introducing ourselves to our principals we would walk into the room where they were all seated, introduce ourselves in isiZulu, and then tell them what school we would be working at, again in isiZulu. The principals of course had no idea which volunteer was going to their schools before this little introduction game, which made it kind of feel like volunteer lottery. You could totally tell the minute you walked into the room which principals were hoping you would be theirs and which ones didn't want you. It was nerve racking to say the least. I'm not really sure what my principal thought when he first saw me because I was too focused on not totally butchering their language, but he seems happy with having me now. After we were finally all seated by our principals, we spent the next four hours discussing why we were here, what we would be doing at the schools for the next three months, and the cultural differences between South Africans and Americans.

Then came the time where all the volunteers looked around at each other...and panicked. It was now time to say goodbye to the last white person we might see in who knows how long, and the last time we might have a real conversation in English for months. As we slowly hauled our over weight luggage to our principals' cars,  the realization that we would soon be heading off into rural Africa all alone really set in. To be honest I kind of wanted to pee my pants. What kind of crazy person thought this would be a good idea? Oh wait, that would be me. After another round of choked up goodbyes we got in the cars and went our separate ways into the unknown, because we literally had no idea where we were going.

After a relatively short ride through the town of Umzimkulu (my shopping town) we were traveling down a long gravel road, that gradually turned into a dirt road through the rolling hills of South Africa. After a little bit we rounded the last corner and I got the first glimpse of my new home away from home. It was breath taking. Tucked away in the mountains is a beautiful village that slowly creeps up the side of a hill with a small valley at the base. I was shocked at how pretty it was. Houses here are pointed super bright colors, and with the green grass behind them, the village seemed like it popped out of the hillside. We slowly made our way down to the base of the village and turned into my new home.

To my excitement I was greeted by a big black lab. He isn't nearly as cute as Butch, but he will be a nice companion for the next two years. My family was right there behind the dogs to greet me as well. At this point I couldn't tell you all of their names, or even how many of them are actually part of my family. Originally I was told that my family consisted of a mom, two daughters, and a son, however I was greeted by at least twice that many kids all trying to get a glimpse of the new white girl who would be living with them. Thank god most of them speak at least some English. After a long round of introductions and some super awkward silent moments I was shown my new room. Let me tell you, this place is HUGE. It has to be at least twice the size of my room at home. It is rondavel, which is a giant round room with a thatcher roof, and I love it. At this point it is pretty empty, which makes it feel a little creepy. The Department of Education is in charge of providing furniture for volunteers, but like all things controlled by the government, it takes time to actually get those things. I am fortunate that my family has loaned me a small bed until I get the new one, but that could take anywhere from a week to six months. My new host mom left me to unpack what little I could, and as I looked around at my new home I thought to myself "holy shit, I am now completely alone in the middle of no where Africa".

To be continued...

Swearing In


Well it's official. I have finally sworn in as a Peace Corps volunteer. Swearing in is the time that we go from Peace Corps trainees to Peace Corps volunteers. It is a pretty big day for everyone involved, so naturally it should start out going completely wrong. My van was picked up at 7:30 am, which means that I woke up at 6 am to take a bucket bath, and was taken to the location of the ceremony. As we sat and waited for the rest of the trainees to arrive people slowly started to notice that none of the staff was there either. This was some what strange, but no one thought too much of it. Luckily one of our language trainers started to wonder what was taking the other vans so long, and she called another trainer. Turns out we were at the wrong location. The night before our ceremony some people were informed that there would be no electricity at the college where we had been working. So in light of that information, plans had been changed and a new venue was selected. Apparently not all of the drivers were given correct instructions on where to take us, and we ended up at the wrong place. Fortunately we weren't that far from where we should be, so we were only about 30 minutes late, which in South Africa is nothing.

From there we had some coffee and cookies while we waited for the event to start. That took about another 45 minutes, so all in all we were only starting about an hour or so late. Here there is what we call South African time, which basically means that if you say something is going to start at 8 am, it really means that is will start around 9:30am or later. Time is fluid in this country, and for Americans it is a very hard transition. I'm sure my family would agree that I am a little psycho when it comes to time, and that I get very frustrated when things don't take place when they are supposed to. So to use Peace Corps' favorite word, I am learning to be flexible when it comes to things starting on time.

Aside from the little hiccups at the beginning, the ceremony was very nice. Our language tutors and the rest of the host country staff got up and sang a beautiful song for us that we very touching. I am still shocked at how well people can sing here. Then, after we were sworn in by the Country Director, and given a great speech by a representative from the US Embassy, we were official volunteers. Unfortunately, for some this was not the happiest time, because for them it meant it was time to say goodbye> most of our sites are around 10 hours away from Pretoria and about 12 from where we were staying. Immediately after swearing-in some of our now good friends had to head off to their new homes. Some tears were shed, but everyone knew that this was when our real adventure would begin.

Friday, August 31, 2012

A few little stories


I have decided that tonight I will update all my followers about the random things that have happened during my time here at training.  First of all, pubilc transportation in South Africa is probably the scariest thing I have ever seen. People here walk slower than you can possibly imagine, but they drive like they own the road, especially the taxis. When I say taxi I am refurring to a van that has seen better days, a lot of better days. most of the seats are broken, there are no seat belts, and cram so many people in that you couldn't wear a seatbelt even if it was there. My favorite taxi experiance so far has been traveling for our site visit. We went on a five day trip to the boarder of Swaziland to stay with a current Peace Corps Volunteer. Our director was kind enough to print us directions from Google Maps, as if we were driving straight there in a car, and it would only be a little over four hours. Unfortunately it is against Peace Corps rules for volunteers to even drive cars, so public transportation it was. Getting from our small town to Pretoria was fine and gave us all a very optomistic start to the trip, but that ended pretty soon. After shopping for two hours to get phones and groceries we made our way to the taxi ring. That was where we learned that if a taxi isn't full, it doesn't leave, possible ever. We were the first four people on a van that help 16 people, and we were going to a town that apparently isn't a very popular destination because three hours later we were still sitting there. In total is took us 13 hours on public transportation to make it to a site that was less than five hours from where we started. On the trip back to the college where we are staying we went a different route in the hopes it would be a little faster. That way it took only 11 hours, but it was actually more incomfortable than the previous trip. I was in the back bench seat that was designed for three people but contained four when I realized that the seat wasnt actually bolted to the floor. When the taxi sped up the seat would tip back about four inches until it hit the back wall, and when the breaks were used the seat would tip forward. It took me about two stop signs to realize that as the tallest person in the back seat, my knees were what was holding our seat upright when we braked. My knees crammed into the seat in front of us was the only thing between our faces and the back of the other passangers' heads. it was a super fun three hour drive until the next taxi point.

My absolute favorite story about Africa so far is about animals. Anyone who knows me knows that I love animals, and that I have dreamed of Africa being just like the Lion King, and that I could be like Mowgli in The Jungle Book since I can even rememeber. I was told by the vast majority of my friends and family that they really hoped I wouldn't get eaten by a wild animal because I was trying to play with it. To all of those worried about my safety in regards to animals you will be happy to know that I have finally accepted that Disney lied to me, and that the animals really dont want to cuddle and be my fiends. A few weekends ago our training group decided that we would use one of our few Sundays off to have a little get together. We wanted to have some real food that wasn't made from ground corn, and partake in the consumption of alcohol (which is totally not ok for women in the villages). So in order to maintain our impeckable village image we decided to have this little get together on a small animal reserve about 20 minutes from our current village. As we were driving in, a herd of wilder beasts trotted by the road and I thought all of my Disney animal dreams were about to come true, for where there are wilder beasts there will be other animals. Oh was I right about that. As we were unloading our things and walking to the BBQ area I heard one of my fellow trainines say "look monkeys!" and it was like music to my ears. What could be cuter than a bunch of little monkeys? Well let me tell you, monkeys are bitches!!! They might look super cute and innocent but they are the devil of all animals. First off, where there is one monkey there is a pack waiting somewhere in the back waiting for some secret signal to swoop in. One monkey distracts everyone with it's cuteness while the others sneak up to all your stuff you set down behind you so you could take pictures and they start jacking all of your stuff! Basically anything you own, the monkeys want. Food, backpacks, cameras, alcohol, you name it and they will steal it. It's all fun and games until some monkey takes your beer. At one point someone got a rake hoping that they could chase some of them away. He held the rake in the air and chased one moneky around the corner, five seconds later he came running back and was now the one being chased by four of the little devils. From there it went down hill, once we showed fear they became the dominant species. All the food and valuables had to be moved inside, and you only put something down if you were ok with the possibility of never seeing it again. As cute as monkeys are they would be the worst friends ever. Who would want a friend that would steal all of your stuff when you weren't looking. Thanks Disney for buliding up my hopes and dreams just so they could crash and burn.

That same day we also saw a baboon, and it was maybe the scariest animal I have ever seen. One it was huge, like really huge, two it was super ugly, and three it would totally win in a fight againts like anything. If I ever saw Simba go up against Rafiki my money would totally be on Rafiki. Especailly if Rafiki had his big stick think, then Simba wouldn't stand a chance.

Thursday, August 30, 2012

Me and 40 Learners


Now that you have some depressing insight on what learners have to deal with in the South African school system, I want to cheer everyone up a little by talking about my experience as a teacher so far. First off, for those of you who don't know I just graduated college with degrees that have nothing to do with teaching. So the idea of walking into a classroom with 40 learners who had never seen a white person and having to teach for an hour actually made me wish I had the "runny tummy" so that I had an excuss to not go in. I'm pretty sure kids can smell fear and I was convinved that they would be ready to attack the minute that I set foot in the door. Although I am still sure that they knew I was scared out of my mind, no one attacked me on my first day, or any day for that matter.

Overall, my teaching experiences have been pretty amazing. For as bad as the school system and school facilities are, the students here really want to learn, or maybe it's just because I'm new. Either way, the minute I walked into the room I had the full attention of the class, and the learners never got out of hand. My teacher told me multiple times that she was so shocked with how well behaved the class was when I was teaching. I doubt that will convince her to stop walking around with a stick, but I am hoping that maybe someday she will realize that fear is not the only motivator.

So day one; for my first lesson plan I was asked to teach prepositions. The learners all have English workbooks, but they are not allowed to write in them, so they are basically worthless. However, that doesnt stop teachers from using them as a way to get kids to "read" and "answer questions", and by those two things I really mean the teach will read it to them and write the answers to the questions on the board. I was assigned a story about a fair ( which none of my learners have ever been to) that had prepositions in the story. Fortunately for my learners I dont really have a problem not following directions. So I scrapped that story before I really even looked at it because I'm pretty sure that I owuld never be able to explain to them what a clown was or why a seal would try to balance a ball on it's nose. Instead I went for the basics. I picked five common prepositions: in, on, under, in front of, and next to. I decided that in order to get kids to participate I would make them act out the terms by moving themselves around their desk. I thought it was such a great idea and that the learners would totally love it and it would be a great lesson. Unfortunately it took me about two minutes to realize these learners were just not having it. After going over the terms, and showing the learners different examples by moving myself around a chair I thought they were ready to start participating. I asked one volunteer to come to the front of the class and show me how to stand in front of the chair. That part went well, but then I asked all of the learners to stand in front of their chairs and I was met with total blank stares. After some encouragement they finally all got up and did what I asked, so I figured they just didnt understand when I asked. However, once I got to the part where I asked them to get under their desks I realized all of the learners were looking at me like I totally lost my mind. I'm pretty sure they were all thinking "hell no white lady, I am not getting under my desk right now", and they didnt. At that point I had a minor panick attack, I still had 45 mintues left and my whole lesson plan just went out the window. Fortunately, rather than just walking out, which I totally considered, I decided we were just gonna try again but with out getting the learners out of their seats. I had them all take out their books, hold them high in the air, and then use their books to show me the prepositions. They loved it (thank god)!!!! After a few trial runs it became a speed game that they couldn't get enough of. I would call at a preposition and they would basically throw their books under the desk to be the first one. It saved my whole lesson, and made me realize that if you make something a compition these learners will do anything to win, including stealing the book of the learner next to them.

As scared as I was to go into that classroom, it was an amazing experience to have 40 learners look at you like you are the greatest thing they have ever seen. Now when I walk down the street in my village I can hear kids yelling out "hello Ms. Kelsey" even from learners who weren't in my class. It is heart warming to know that just by showing up I am giving these kids something they may never have had before, a teacher that cares.