Happy Halloween!!!

I'm sure I have mentioned before that it is always fun to see other volunteers. I have gotten really close to the ones in my area, but when all 43 of us education volunteers come together, we normally have a huge blow-out party, basically because it can be months on end before we are all together again. This past week was one of those times. SA14 has passed our half-way mark, and so now with only a year left, we must head off for some major reflection time and idea sharing: also know as MST (mid-serving training), or a week staying at a lovely four star hotel in the middle of nowhere complete with a pool, tennis courts, showers and putt-putt golf... well, I for one thouroughly enjoyed the entire week. I'm not sure how much reflection I did put into the training sessions, but I must admit I do feel rejuvenated and reenergized- very nice considering I've been in a work slump for quite some time. As last night was the last time that we would all be together before scattering all over the country once more, we decided that we needed to do something special. We decided on a Halloween Party.

Halloween seems to be a non-existent holiday here... at least in the villages. Last year, I was too uncomfortable to even mention Halloween, or what it entails, simply because witches and spirits are a very real concept to my friends and neighbors. Most of the people do believe that witches exist and cause mischeif and mayhem at night. They, of course, are the reasons why you shouldn't go outside at night and should keep the windows closed. Ghosts and spirits... well, let me tell you that I have seen people "possessed" by spirits. It is actually very unnerving. So, telling my host family and my schools about a holiday that celebrates ghosts, witches, zombies, vampires.... it just did not seem like it would go over very well. Actually, I am certain I would have lost any respect I earned in the village and be seen as a pagan necrophiliac and dragged to the nearest exorcist. Shame, too. Halloween can be so much fun, and I actually miss it. I think that I was not alone with feeling this way, as the idea of a Halloween party caught instant interest, and soon we were all buzzing over sms as to what we could be. Because the party was to be a costume party, of course.

Here is another problem. We don't really have any access to costume stores, so we must get a little bit creative. Most of the fun last night was just seeing what whacky costumes people came up with using what they had on hand. I thought that I would share the highlights. Dressing up as other PCVs was very popular, and actually very easy. All you have to do is sneak into someone elses' room, and steal some clothes. This led to some of the guys dressing in drag. They got some pretty odd looks from other hotel patrons. Heidi and Mike dressed up as bogobe and a mopani worm (staple foods here). Bogobe is made of white corn meal, so Heidi wrapped herself up in a white sheet, and as bogobe is very lumpy, stuck pillows interspersed throughout. Mopani worms are actually worms, short, fat, black creatures that taste like dirt. Mike dressed in black, fixed his shirt like a straight jacket, and then wrapped his hair in a trash bag. Wriggling on the floor he looked quite convincing. Kelsey, using a shower cap and a plastic bag, went as a jelly fish. Amanda wrapped herself in a sheet and went as a Roman. Meagan went as a Peace Corpse (actually written on one of our "Reserved" tables in the dining hall. Pretty funny, as everyone in SA thinks the organization is actually pronounced Peace Corpse). Seth and Eric dressed up as the King and Earl of Burl- crowns made of tin foil, capes made from sheets, and tights (gotten who knows where). By far the absolute best was Omar. Omar has, or rather HAD, this thick, long, curly black hair. He was planning on cutting it all off, but none of us realized what he was planning to do with it before it was shaved. He cut his hair into the world's most pronounced mullet, shaved off his beard until he had a moustache, donned a sleeveless t-shirt and pair of cutoffs, drew tattoos on his arms, and went as a Red-Neck. The scariest thing was how convincing he looked. It was absolutely terrifying. What is even more terrifying is that he has decided to keep the mullet and moustache until Sunday, and is now walking around the streets of Pretoria looking like that (Suppressed shudder). If that isn't scary, I don't know what is.

The Interesting Concept of Transportation in South Africa

So, this entry is dedicated to a topic very near and dear to my heart... well, not really I guess, but I think it is high time I wrote about what exactly the transportation system is like here. Like I mentioned in an earlier blog, PCVs in South Africa are not allowed to drive cars, so we must use other means to get around. This can mean a variety of things, from walking, to biking, to taking taxis, buses, and if necessary hitch hike. Not that I EVER hitch hike....NEVER. Ahem. But, one of the nice things about not being able to drive is that about 90% of the village doesn't ever have a car, so everyone is in the same boat. We are ALL at the mercies of public transportation. I think also, that most of the public transportation is not so bad. Buses are rather nice, actually, and taxis, if not so nice, at least get you where you want to go with relatively little hassle (so long as you don't have a lot of luggage). I enjoy walking and biking from place to place in the village, and I get to provide the villagers with quite a bit of entertainment because most of them have have never seen a woman (let alone a white woman) on a bicycle. I have never taken a train in South Africa, but I hear that so long as you take first or second class, it is nice. However, third class is a different story, because that is where all the tsotsis (thugs) hang out. If you were to take third class, on a best case scenario, you would only be mugged. On a worst case scenario, you would be killed then mugged. It is pretty much a no-brainer to avoid third class as much as possible.

I think I will spend a little time on taxis, as that is my main way to travel in South Africa. I have a feeling that the word "taxi" might conjure up images of an urban street where you stand out on a curb and wave you hand, and a nice, pretty yellow cab pulls over and takes you exactly where you need to go. Erm, not exactly the case here. Instead, picture a fifteen-passenger van. Now cram twenty-three people into it. Lose the dashboard so that you can see the engine directly. Take off the door handles so that the only way the door closes is if you weld a dead bolt to it and keep it locked (no guarantees that the door will actually stay closed, though, just cross your fingers). Add rust everywhere. Because there is no dashboard, there is no place to put the key, so the engine must be hotwired whenever you want to use it. Add a chicken or two among the passengers. Remove a few windows and replace the panes with plastic. Got a good picture? Yep! That's a taxi! Despite being a junk yard on wheels, taxis really aren't that bad. I suppose the main thing you must remember if wanting to take one is to leave EARLY. To get from point alpha to point beta will always take longer than you think it will. And it's not as if the drivers are particularly slow, on the contrary, they are the fastest drivers on Earth. And here I was thinking not much could be worse than Boston drivers, but that shows how little I know. Once you reach a tar road in a taxi, you can be assured that no matter the speed limit, you will be driving at at least 100km an hour... and that is if you have a slow driver. This is absolutely terrifying the first taxi ride. The first time I took a taxi in South Africa, I had been in the country for only about 2 weeks and was still a young and naive trainee. As soon as I departed the taxi, I am pretty certain that I kissed the ground and thanked God I was still alive. Did I mention that I am an agnostic? Yeah, that's how terrifying it is. But the real reason why public transport takes so long is the waiting. Most taxis have a "leave when full" policy. That can be anywhere between five minutes and three hours. You just never know.

The taxis here drive on certain routes, so they are kind of like buses in the States. Each village has theire very own series of taxis and, in my village at least, they drive a circuit, picking up passengers and depositing them in town. At town, you can proceed to the taxi rank. This is almost like a bus station. Each taxi route has their own little "terminal" and you can make transfers to get where you need to go. And once you get into the taxi rank, everyone looks after you. Each rank has its own "keeper" that knows every taxi and where it is going, and will make sure that you get to the right one. If you are nice and polite to the drivers, they look after you as well. It is actually very important that the taxi drivers for your village know you. I've had a few drivers actaually tell men off who were harassing me, and one driver picked me up (even though I had no money to pay) when I was walking home and the sun was just going down. He told me he did not want me walking alone as it was getting dark, and proceeded to escort me to my home. It pays to be polite and friendly to the drivers! The entire taxi system is actually pretty ingenious. One of the things I am thinking about introducing when I get back home is a similar system in the suburbs. Like a rural village, if you don't have a car in the suburbs you are stuck. I think an effective public transport system in the US could be quite beneficial for the population as a whole; especially with gas prices as they are. Of course, I think I would get nicer vehicles... but just a thought. Taking a run-down-sure-it-is-going-to-fall-apart-before-you-get-to-your-destination-taxi is all part of the adventure. And I assure you, every taxi ride here is an adventure.

The Great Mess

If the last entry was entitled The Great Drought, I cannot think of a more fitting title for this one than the Great Mess. For that is what the activity turned into, a quagmire of 70 grubby 5th graders, mountains of newspaper, lakes of paste, and me: wondering what exactly was I thinking. It all started when one of my teachers asked me to teach a demo lesson in her technology class. So when I was leafing through the textbook wondering what did I even know about technology I stumbled upon a lesson on molds. There was a lot of boring information about how to build things from molds, but one of the examples caught my eye. Papier Mache. Brilliant! I thought. What a great hands on approach to learning technology. I always loved it as a kid, and when I did the activity as a camp counselor the campers loved it. But I conveniently forgot something: numbers. When I taught papier mache at camp it was to no more than 10 kids at a time and even then I had a hard time making sure everyone and everything wasn't caked in paste by the end.
Here I would be faced with teaching 35 kids. But I was excited, and the teacher and I quickly made arrangements for the lesson. Surprisingly enough in the first grade 5 class the lesson went very smoothly. The class enjoyed it very much and scenes of chaos did not erupt. But then I made another mistake. I forgot that kids talk. Rapidly, word went around the school about the strange, fun and messy project going on in grade five, and when I arrived in the 2nd grade 5 class I was met with 35 very excited kids.
I was happy to see that, however, because it really is rare here to see children excited about school. At first the class went very smoothly. The children were gleefully slapping newspaper and paste on their molds, and the teacher, Sarah, and I were watching in fond amusement. It was when Sarah was called out of the room when I noticed something odd. The children seemed to be multiplying. I thought I was imagining at first, but soon I knew that somehow more kids were sneaking in and joining the mess.
I don't know how they did it. I watched the door, but they still found ways in. I noticed a grade 5 learner I taught the day before cheerfully making another bowl next to three kids I was certain belonged in grade 6. And in the corner were two kids half the size of everyone else who looked like the 1st graders I saw that morning. Before I knew it, the class had doubled in size, and at least 70 kids were happily playing.
Picture this scene if you will: 70 kids crammed into a room the size of a two-car garage, none speaking English, with a teacher who doesn't really speak Sotho, the only person with any authority gone who knows where, paste covering the desks, chairs, floor, hands, clothes, faces, hair; and newspaper covering everything. You know what that picture is called? CHAOS. I almost called an end to the entire project but then I noticed that through the chaos, the smiles, the laughter and the fun.
Kids here don't often have fun at school, either. So, even though I knew the kids were taking advantage of the entire situation, like the sucker I am I let them have their fun. I am fairly certain that that classroom will never be the same.

The Great Drought

Well I was going to dedicate this entry to the wonders of South African public transportation,
but due to recent developments, I decided to instead write about water. Quite a change I know, but I have realized in my time here how much I took water for granted in the states. Whenever I wanted something to drink I could just go to the kitchen or bathroom and find this interesting contraption called the tap. All you had to do was turn the funny little metal knobs and WONDERS upon WONDERS! Water comes out!
I will cherish the miracles of indoor plumbing for the rest of my life. In my village the availability of water is not so simple. Sometimes it is downright precarious. Indoor plumbing? Hell no! Instead the nearest tap with potable water is about a kilometer from my home. So we have to haul our water. In fact-Hauling water is a major chore for about 90 percent of the village. Not a day goes by when I don't see people with wheelbarrows full of empty 25l containers trudging towards the communal tap.
Of course those are the days when the municipality doesn't decide to randomly shut off the entire village's supply of water, which has happened quite a few times since I've been here. Needless to say, having an endless supply of water is quite uncommon. And running out of water can be scary. This is what happened last night. I was just about to wash my dinner dishes when my host sister Lerato came into the kitchen looking quite chipper.
'No one can have a bath tonight.' she informed me smiling. I raised my eyebrows.
'Why not?' I questioned. Her smile grew wider.
'There's no water! We ran out and it's too late to get more!' I must admit that right then I had to resist the urge to panic. The words 'no water' in rural South Africa on a day more than 90 degrees is just plain terrifying. Already I envisioned dying of thirst. But, as Lerato was looking much too cheerful for someone who was about to succumb to dehydration, so I decided she was teasing me. Our situation surely couldn't be that bad.
I decided then to investigate. 300 liter drum? Empty. 100 liter barrel? Dry. 25 liter containers? Nada. So Lerato was not exaggerating and I began to panic for real. I was thirsty, damnit! I wondered what we would do without water until tomorrow. Then I noticed the bucket. I swear a beacon of light was emerging from it. It had water! So the only water for a nine person household was the very last three liters. 3 liters is not exactly a lot. That darn metric system. Everything has to be small. So then I did what any semi-sane person would do. I began to ration it. So, nine people, three under one year old, so actually 6 people, about half a liter each. Half a liter is about three cups, and I still had to wash dishes, wash my hair, brush my teeth, take a bath, and drink something before I passed out. So next step: prioritizing. Set aside 1 cup to drink. 2 left. Washing the hair was the first to go. I'll wear a bandana, no prob. Dishes? Leave em til tomorrow. Teeth? Tough call. In the states I might have let it slide, but for some reason SA has left me pretty paranoid about my teeth. It might be due to the fact that while the nearest dentist was in town, the nearest dentist i actually trust to come within ten feet of my teeth is 6 hours away. Ok, half cup for teeth. 1.5 cups left. Bath. Another tough call. But as I said, the day had been in the mid 90s, and I was hot, sweaty and I am fairly certain smelly. Ok, bath was unavoidable.
And so that left me with yet another priceless and unforgettable Peace Corps experience: taking a bath with 1.5 cups of water, and somehow actually getting clean from it. I am actually still in a bit of awe from that experience. I never would have thought it possible. Just another amazing learning experience out here in the bush. (Please note: we went to haul water today. We are no longer in danger of dying truly gruesome and horrific deaths from thirst.)