oh, the irony ::

This is the ad on the carts the airport at Victoria Falls in Zimbabwe. 

Ironic? Indeed…especially because you can’t use a card anywhere. 

faux pax, sesotho style ::

Normally I wouldn’t post twice in one day…but this was too good to wait until after Cape Town. Enjoy!

The coaches (Basotho young-adults who teach our AIDS Prevention classes in local schools) were here on Sunday to begin a few days of training. It was great to spend an afternoon with them: playing soccer and watching a movie, followed by dinner and a bonfire.

But, the highlight of my night was during the group photo.

We did a normal photo, a serious photo, a silly photo and suddenly Crystal yells, “show your motswele.” 

Laughter erupted. 

She turned red.

She meant “mosepha” (spelling??), which means muscles.

She said “motswele” which is boobs.

My friend told a group of 25 people to show their boobs to the camera. 

Sigh. 

I’m laughing out loud as I write this. Throughout the rest of the evening, all someone had to say was “mostwele” for everyone to erupt into laughter once again. 

I love awkward moments!

my generation… ::

Today, I came across some statistics that put things in perspective for me. Here’s the one that hit me hard:

Young women in South Africa face greater risks of becoming infected than men. Indeed, among 15–24-year-olds, women account for about 90% of new HIV infections.

This is my generation of women. These are the girls in my LaunchPad class. These are my friends. 

This is why I’m here. To be part of the change. Because I’m confident there can be change.
 

And here’s another reason we do what we do [pictures from Hope House yesterday]:

i love it!! ::

Mandie, from Thrive Trip, is an amazing photographer. She took this when she was in South Africa this summer. It’s one of my all time favorites….

done.//

So, tell me about yourself… ::

We were sitting in a house in a local village talking to a woman named Joyce. Six or seven people live in the small government home she inherited from her parents. Tattered calendars decorated the cement walls. Despite the size, Joyce, like many other Basotho women, takes great care of what she has; doilies sit delicately on the arms of the small couches in the living room, gospel music played softly in the background. Curious kids peeked around the corner, looking inquisitively at the first white people to be in their home. Eighteen year old Gugo continued cleaning in the small kitchen as chicken feet boiled on the stove. She filled a bucket of water using the spiket outside, no running water in their house, and came back to wash the windows. She worked quietly, listening intently to our conversation.

A few minutes into our visit, we prompt Joyce, “tell us about yourself…”

She paused for thought. After a moment of silence, Joyce answered confidently in broken English.

“I am a mother.”

“I am a born again Christian.”

Another pause.

“Well, I guess that’s all.”

How simple! I struggle to come up with how to tell others about myself. Usually spouting off something about being a college graduate or, before I came out here, I would have answered something about working in marketing. Maybe adding where I was from or what I like to do. As Americans, our identity is so wrapped up in what we do, how we contribute to society. Instead, Joyce’s identity is WHO she is. Not what she does or where she’s from.

Funny how profound two short sentences can be.

done.//

what do you do for fun? ::

During the Mountain Race [or anti-mountain race for me, I suppose...], we met a man named Taboho. Taboho is a father of three and a quality engineer at a plastics company. He’s moving to Harrismith after the school year ends.

He was in a car accident last year and lost his right arm. And he was running in a mountain race [one of the toughest 15km races in the world..it makes me feel good to keep saying that...]. We didn’t stick around long enough to see Taboho cross the finish line. But, I wish I would have. 

In the course of our run, Taboho told us about what he’s is going to start doing for fun. Occupational therapy. He said that in Qwa Qwa, a village of nearly 2 million, he doesn’t know of anyone that does occupational therapy. He sees a problem, and has come up with a solution. He is passionate about spending his weekends helping fellow amputees learn how to do simple things like tie their shoes and wash themselves. 

So many of the best moments in life aren’t about where you are or what you’re doing, but who you meet.

Most of us would say that Taboho has every right to feel sorry for himself. He was in a horrible accident, his life was turned upside down in a moment. But less than a year later, rather than wallow in his situation, he is running mountain races and spending his weekends helping others have quality life.

Now, that’s inspiring.

just now, now now, now…what? ::

English is one of the 11 official South African languages. Besides using British English, there are several phrases/words that we don’t use in America. Here are a few:

• just now means sometime soon or shortly
• now now means sooner than just now
• now is the slowest of the three…so when someone tells you they are going to do something “now” it might mean later…
• boot is the trunk of a car
• howzit is a greeting
• bakkie is a truck
• robot is a traffic light
• braai is a bbq (usually on wood, not charcoal)
• serviette is a napkin (if you say napkin, they might think you mean a nappy, which is a diaper…and that has the potential to create a slightly awkward situation…)

alright, i’m getting tired, so I’m going to bed just now…

done. //

my narrow escape ::

When people from America come to South Africa and are going through culture training, we tell them it’s important to be gracious when accepting things like food or seats [often grandmas will give up their seat for you and sit on the floor--which can be uncomfortable for us]. When we’re out in the villages, people will offer you their best..their best chair, their best food, etc.

Inevitably the question comes up…What’s the worst thing you’ve ever had to eat? Sour milk, cow intestines and chicken feet are probably at the top of the list.

Personally, I’ve been lucky. A lot of tea, biscuits, canned peaches (amazing!) and occasionally coca cola or fanta.

Until today. I was just outside the kitchen door when I heard the words I dread, “oh, they are chicken feet….here, try them.” It was a moment of panic…until I saw the kids jump roping around the corner. Although, I am a miserable jump roper, and I made a fool of myself in front of a few 12 year olds, it definitely beat the alternative!

whew. close call!

done.//

where in the world? ::

So, since I’m staying in South Africa for a few more years, I figured people might want to learn more about this country I now call home. Here’s the first in a series of posts…

We live outside of Harrismith. It’s not known for much other than the one-stop (a gas station, a few restaurants and shops) people stop at on the way between Johannesburg and Durban. There are about 7,000 people that live in town, they’re mostly Afrikaaners [Afrikaaners are generally of Dutch decent, so they're white] and English. The neighboring township, Intabazwe, has about 65,000 people living there. Intabazwe has a large Zulu and Basotho population, so both Zulu and Sosotho are spoken in the township [also called a village]. 

Harrismith reminds me of many small towns in America. There are a couple of grocery stories and a few furniture stores. KFC is really popular here, they just revamped the one in town. There are a few other South African chain restaurants, Nando’s [although, I think Nando's is a worldwide chain], Wimpy and Spur. It was named after a British Governor, Sir Harry Smith, and established in the 1800’s. Apparently, Harrismith is “the capital of the country’s top red-meat producing region.” [...um, slightly humerous since I'm a vegetarian...].

 

Intabazwe has a much larger population than Harrismith, but lacks infastruture. It’s considered a village because it doesn’t have everything you could consider standard in a city. Most shops are small and many are out of people’s homes. Tuck shops are common; they are small convienience stores that carry things like some food, sometimes produce or cleaning products. Shabeens [bars] and bottle shops [liquor stores] are generally the same, either out of someone’s house or a small shop. 

Although places like Cape Town and Johannesburg are generally fairly intigrated, because Harrismith is in such a rural area, it hasn’t kept up with the cities when it comes to integration and diversity [in JoBurg, for instance, it would be common to see a people dating outside of their race, I think I've seen one or two mixed race couples in Harrismith since I've been here]. Although there isn’t blatent hostility, there still seems to be a distinct separation between black and white people*. Part of the reason there aren’t a lot of black people that live in Harrismith, although they probably would be welcomed, is because they can’t afford it.

*Also, as a side note, in South Africa, it’s culturally appropriate to call people black, white and coloured [South African's use British English...]. Coloured is a term not generally offensive here, it was one of the racial groups designated under the Apartheid system of racial segregation, along with “Black”, “White” and “Indian”. 

done. //

confession ::

I went to get my hair done on Thursday. In creepy alley. [I have no idea what the place is actually called, but it's in this kind of creepy alley, hence our name for it.]

I went to get my hair highlighted. [It still amazes me that it costs the same as a haircut in Orlando...].

So, I’m sitting under the hairdryer and I figured to make the most use of my time, I would knit. Yes, I was sitting under a hairdryer at a salon, knitting. What does it mean when a woman 3x my age comes up and compliments me on my “lovely scarf”? Apparantly, I skipped my mid-twenties and went straight to my mid-eighties.

[as a side note, I'm almost half-way done, despite a few missed stitches--hey, they'll just give it character, right?]