Where there are no Books

Last week when I was having a discussion with my host sister Lerato, the conversation turned to the fact that I was leaving in a few months. Teasingly, Lerato asked me what I was going to leave behind for her. Teasing her back, I told her that I would leave her all of my books. Lerato has told me time and again that she hates reading, and so as I anticipated, she made a face.
“Books!” She cried in disgust. “What would I do with books?”

Well, the obvious answer would be to read them, but I declined to say so. Unfortunately, that answer Lerato gave me is a quintessential answer I would receive from a great many people here in my village. I grew up learning to love books and reading. This love tapered off a bit in college, when I was so busy reading school texts I barely read anything for fun. Luckily, Peace Corps has rekindled my love for pleasure reading, and this passion has served me quite well during the past eighteen months. If I did not like to read, I do not know what I would do, because sometimes I feel it is with reading that I keep myself somewhat sane. Here, I read anything I can get my hands on, and as a result, my choices of reading material have become somewhat eclectic. In my PCV life, I have read a mixture of philosophy and adventure, classic and romance, history and biography. I have read a total of 73 books, some as short as only 100 pages, and some as long as War and Peace, which was over 1,000. I have read more classics in the past year than I have in my entire life, and my book requests have become more and more diverse. In fact, when I send lists of books home for my family to send me, I get teased by the titles I ask for. All I can say about that is this; when else in my life am I ever going to read books like The Brothers Karamazov and actually enjoy it? Now that I have loads of free time on my hand and not much to do in that free time, I might as well tackle those books you always intend to read, but never get a chance to.

It really saddens me that here not many people share my love of books and reading. Reading is often thought of as a chore, and more than once I have had people approach me when I am engrossed in a book and comment on how hard I am working. It took me awhile to realize why books are not valued here. It’s because there are no books. Each school I attended growing up had huge libraries and children’s books that taught me to enjoy reading early in life. I lived only a few miles away from a public library, and there were several book stores in close proximity to me. Where I live now, the nearest public library is 50 km away, and the nearest book store is even further. My schools barely have enough text books, never mind children’s books for the children to enjoy. I’ve learned that if you grow up with only textbooks to read, why would you enjoy reading? When I’m bored, I certainly don’t prop open the nearest grammar book I can find! It also made me understand why children here are so far behind in reading skills. By the time they reach grade 3, many of the children here still struggle reading a simple sentence. That is because there are not any books for them to practice reading with. They don’t have books at home, and they don’t have books at school. This makes it very hard to teach the love of reading.

Observing how little reading is valued here inspired me to work on a library project with two of my schools. We have decided to create small school libraries where the children can go and actually find fun books to read. Creating a library is not very easy- I never before realized how difficult it can be. But, we are slowly working out all of the kinks. At one school, we have about two-hundred children’s books that we have collected, and in a few weeks, our library will be ready to open to the children. When I think about the huge school libraries back at home, 200 books really does not seem like a lot. But here, it’s a start… and a good one at that.

Laundry Fun

Whenever I do my laundry here, I am reminded of how much I took a washer and dryer for granted in the United States. It was so easy at home to do laundry! All I had to do was drag my clothes down the stairs, pop them into the machine, add some soap and then come back an hour later to shove them into the drying machine. Even in college it was easy, though I always grumbled about it then. In college I faced more difficulties: sometimes I had to fight my way into getting a washing machine or a dryer; sometimes I had to wait for the tardy students who did not return on time to take their clothes out of the dryer; and sometimes, due to lack of funds, I had to take my clothes out of the dryer while they were still damp. Those times my room gained a rather unique collection of decorations for the remaining time that it took to dry the clothes. Yet, despite those, ahem, “difficulties,” I never realized just how easy doing laundry in the US was… until I came to South Africa and needed to start doing my laundry by hand.

It took me a long time to get the art of washing laundry by hand down pat. It was just another thing that I had never really done before joining Peace Corps. There are so many little things that go into washing clothes that need to be taken into account. For example, soaking the clothes for awhile before washing them- it took me several weeks to realize that the longer clothes soaked, the easier they were to wash. Soaking clothes overnight really is the way to go- the dirt and stains are pretty much gone by the time I scrub them. Another thing- I never actually realized that apparently there is a right way and a wrong way to scrub clothes. The first load of laundry I did at site brought several spectators in the form of my host sisters. I was happily scrubbing away at my clothes when my host sister Lerato took a seat near me, watching my actions critically. After a few minutes she said “Would you like me to wash you clothes for you?” I smiled at her but said no, I could do it.
Another few minutes passed. Then “PLEASE let me wash your clothes for you.”
That brought me up short, and amused I responded, “Am I really doing this that badly?”
Lerato looked at me seriously and said “Yes, you are.”
So I thus resigned myself to learning the proper way to wash clothes. Funny, I always thought whatever way gets them clean will work, but apparently not. After a little bit, I must have passed the test, for I no longer have people offering to wash my clothes, or cringing as they see me scrub my laundry. Water is another thing. It takes a great deal of water to wash and rinse the clothes- at least 30 to 40 liters. There has been so many times where I plan to wash my clothes only to have to postpone laundry day because there is not enough water to do so. Really annoying.

By far the most annoying thing when washing clothes is the weather. It never made a difference in the US; rain, sun, sleet, snow, wind- I could wash clothes anytime! Here, the weather is everything when doing laundry. Laundry here is really an all day affair. First the clothes have to soak for several hours. The actual scrubbing of the clothes takes another hour-at least. Finally, hanging the clothes to dry and them actually drying can take between five to six hours. At the end of the day the clothes come in and laundry is finished for another week. During winter- the dry season- the weather is not really a problem. The days are almost always sunny and even if they are cloudy the chances of rain are next to nil. The only problem with winter is that because it is colder, the clothes must be hung out by at least 10, or they will not be dry by the time the sun sets at 5. Summer causes a few more problems. Of course, as it is so hot when the sun is out clothes can dry super quickly. But the major problem in summer is the rain. The weather here is rather fickle during the summer. Rain and clouds can move in without a moments notice, and I have often been sent scrambling to take my drying clothes in to protect them from a sporadic shower. It also works both ways. Sometimes a day that promises to be cloudy, cool, and rainy changes abruptly and becomes sunny, hot and clear. Sunday was a day like this.

I was planning to wash my clothes Sunday, but when I woke up it was cloudy and raining. I decided to hold off until another day. But, around 8:30 the sun began to come out, and the conditions were promising for a sunny day- perfect for laundry. So, ignoring a tiny voice in my head warning me that I would be sorry, I set my clothes out to soak. Three hours later I was racing through a torrential downpour to drag my soaking clothes back into the house. It rained until well in the afternoon and I began to worry about the state of my clothes. The detergent here is pretty harsh and I did not know what would happen if it soaked into my clothes for more than 24hours. Luckily, around three the rain stopped and the sky looked to be clearing. Hurriedly, I washed my clothes and hung them up to dry, hoping that at least they would soak up a little sun before I had to take them in during the night. Half an hour later, swearing under my breath I might add, I was running back outside to drag the clothes in as yet another rain shower erupted. It rained until the next afternoon, when finally I was able to hang my clothes up without worrying that they would be rained on. I will most definitely be happy when the dry season arrives. At least then I won’t have to worry about my laundry drying- or not drying.

Men!

Well, Happy Valentine's Day, everyone. It's not my favorite holiday- really, if you don't have a significant other sometimes it can be downright depressing! Back in Boston, my friends and I would celebrate the holiday by proclaiming 'who needs men?' and then going out to dinner to celebrate on our own. Well, I can't really do that here at site, so I will celebrate my Valentine's Day by writing a special blog entry to bitch about South African men. If some of you are offended by this, I am sorry. I do not mean to offend. South African men in the village do not always make it easy to live if you are a woman. In the past year and a half I have dealt with more harassment, more marriage proposals, and more downright teeth-grinding experiences than I have in my entire life. Some men here must think that they are God's gift to women and thus try to flaunt their suave sexiness with every woman they meet. They try it on me, but I am definitely not impressed. Oh, I am not saying that all South African men are like this. I am good friends with many of my male teachers and many men I meet are very respectful and courteous. But then there are the others who I just want to drop kick- normally it is young men in their late teens or twenties who believe that every woman should get down on the ground and kiss their feet... but not always. I have gotten a few marriage proposals from old, toothless men in their sixties as well. Eish.

I think that the main problem I see with men who try to work their "magic" on me is that they are absolutely clueless! They have no idea how to properly "woo" a woman! Here is an example of a typical conversation I have had with men trying to pick me up:
Enter The Man- picture a man in his early twenties, swaggering up with what he believes is a sexy smile on his face. He attempts to look besotted and handsome. Then he opens his mouth. "Baby, I love you."
Me- not impressed by his declaration of love. Say deadpan: "Really."
Man nods emphatically. "Serious. I love you."
Me, wanting to end this conversation: "I don't believe you. You don't know me."
Man looks shocked: "Yes! Yes I do know you!"
Me, continue in a skeptical manner: "Really. Then what's my name?"
Silence. Conversation ends with me rolling my eyes and walking away.
Man calls after me: "But I do love you! Can I have your phone number?"

As ridiculous and pathetic as this interaction may be, I have a conversation like this at least once a week. Of course, saying "I love you" in South Africa does not have the same connotation that saying "I love you" does in the US. Really, what American man would say "I love you" within the first five minutes of meeting someone? Not very many, I can assure you. In South Africa, "I love you" literally translates to "Let's go have sex!" Nope, I'm not kidding. This is what it really means. Just one of the many, MANY reasons why I am not impressed by the declarations of love I receive. The hilarious thing is, the men seem truly shocked that I refuse their lame advances. In the village, when a woman says no to a man, she clearly doesn't mean "no." She is really just playing hard to get. Eventually she will come around and declare her love back. This is mainly why I tend to ignore men calling out "Baby," "Sweetie," and "I love you!" to me. It can just cause a headache trying to deal with it and have a logical conversation about why the men cannot love you, no you will not give him your phone number, yadda yadda yadda.

The "I love you" is the pick up line men use the most on us PCV women, but it is not the only one. We get much worse ones. Men here really need to work on their material. The pick-up lines are down-right pathetic and at the time of hearing them shocking and insulting. It is a few hours later with the ridiculousness of the situation and the hilarity of the lines hits you. Then most often I laugh. So, to end this tribute to Valentine's Day, I am leaving you readers with a short and recently compiled list by the women PCVs of SA, of the worst pick-up lines we have received since arriving in country. I hope to add more in the future. Most of these lines were delivered within five minutes of meeting the person. I promise, I am not making ANY of these up, the lines have all come out of the mouths of men in this country. I am hoping against hope that some of these lines really are not this bad- maybe something just got lost in translation from the mens' home language. But to any of my male readers out there, please, PLEASE never use any of these lines! Happy Valentine's Day, enjoy.

-"Eish! Karabo (PCV)... no... I need a wife. (Gestures to his pants) Just LOOK at me!"
-"I will divorce my wife and marry you! You need to try the South African ham!"
-"Come, baby. Let's go start a family!"
-"I'm interested in a relationship with you... A sexual relationship."
-"Let's trade. You give me your bicycle. I give you sex."
-"If you ever want a good time, you can show me your vagina."

The Delicate Art of Bucket Bathing

At times I really really miss running water. I have gotten used to the pit toilet, the hauling water, the washing clothes by hand, but there are times I really would just kill for a flush toilet and a shower. Sigh. I completely envy the PCVs here in SA who do have indoor plumbing. In fact, there are times I really could hate them. But, I do get by. Since I have already talked about pit toilets and running completely out of water because we have to haul it, I decided to dedicate this entry to bucket bathing. Despite what you might think, bucket bathing is really an art. You have only so much water to bathe and rinse with, and it takes a little bit of time to finesse. The first time I faced the bucket bath was my first day of training in Moletjie. I had only been in SA for a week, but during that week it was our "orientation" time so we got nice showers at the compoud we stayed at. My Moletjie host mother loaded me up with a bucket. Filled it with a mixture of hot and cold water until I approved the temperature, handed me a basin, then left me in my room to bathe. I looked at the water, looked at the basin, and thought how in the world am I going to do this? I had never taken a bucket bath before- even in Niger we had showers. Luckily, during our orientation another volunteer who had been in country for almost two years told us the easiest way to take a bucket bath. I followed her instructions, but it did not go very well. By the end, there was more water on the floor then left in the basin. Since that time, I have gotten much better at bucket bathing... not that when I go back home I will give up my shower in favor of the basin.

The one thing that needs to be remembered when taking a bucket bath is start at the top and work your way down. My order is hair, face, body, feet. My feet are always the dirtiest part of me (I only wear closed-toed shoes to go running in), and if I washed them first, I would not have any clean water left to wash the rest of me. That is another thing that needs to be remembered. You only have so much water to bathe. You have to decide how you are going to split it up. How much water to bathe in? How much to rinse with? If you are washing you hair, how much for that alone? I normally bathe with between 5 and 7 liters of water, but I add a couple extra if I am doing my hair. Washing hair using a basin and bucket is probably the most annoying part of the bath. It takes the most time and it monopolizes the water. For washing my hair I add about an extra two or three liters into the bucket, but there have been countless times where I misjudge (or use too much shampoo) and use up much of my bath water. That is always annoying. There are two methods to wash hair in the basin: the dunk or the pour. The dunking method is just what it sounds like; you dunk your head in the basin, get the hair wet, soap it all up, then dunk it again to get the shampoo out. I am not a personal fan of the dunk method. My hair is too long to start with, and once you get your rinse water all shampooy you are basically just dunking your hair into shampoo again. For me, the dunk method never got the shampoo out of my hair. Nope, the pour method is much better. The pour method is what it sounds like also; you take a bit of water and pour it over the hair to get it wet, then you shampoo it up, then pour again to rinse, and keep pouring until all the shampoo is out. The good thing about the pour method is that it gets all the shampoo out. The bad part is that it uses up a hell of a lot of water. The annoyances of washing hair in the bucket bath are basically the reason why I wash my hair every third day (I know, I am such a dirty bird). Once the hair is done, I use the rest of my water to wash my face, body, then I give my feet a real good scrub. One final rinse, and the bucket bath is over. I dump out the water (luckily for me I have a drain leading out into our garden in our bathing room to dump the water. Other PCVs actually have to carry their used bath water out of the house), use my towel to get rid of any excess soap (unfortunately with a bucket bath there will always be a bit of excess soap) and my bathing ritual is done. It may not sound like it, but it is possible to get clean from a bucket bath. I had my doubts when I first started, but now I am a believer, and in fact, I really do not mind the bucket bath. Of course, I still worship showers whenever I get a chance to use them. If there is one thing two year of bucket bathing will teach me, it is never EVER to take a shower for granted again.

Waking Up is Hard to Do

I think it is pretty accurate to say that waking up in the morning has never, in my entire life, been my favorite pasttime. I am definitely not a morning person, and there is nothing I like better in the mornings than to sleep in, then lounge in bed and relax. I really think that alarm clocks are the work of the devil- instead of waking up naturally, you have to wake up to this horrible beeping that sounds like some sort of dump truck? What idiot thought of that? It sucks! It always bothered me when I was a kid that school started at 7:30 in the morning. That is just cruel, especially for teenagers. In high school, though, I learned very early to maximize my sleep in the morning. I trained myself to dress, eat breakfast and prepare for school in under twenty minutes. Thus I was always able to enjoy and extra ten to twenty minutes of sleep in the morning- and I continued to tell myself that this small amount of extra sleep of course made a difference to how I was feeling the rest of the day. College was even better. Finally I got to plan my own schedule! It was very rare for me to organize a class before 10am, so I got to indulge in my love of sleeping in. Yeah, can't do that here, unfortunately.

Since coming to South Africa, I have been put on a drastically new schedule from the ones I was used to in high school and especially college. Here, the day starts as soon as the sun rises, and I do not think I have slept past eight o'clock since I arrived. In my house, my host mother wakes up at 5, and very soon after, wakes up my host sisters. Really, as soon as my host family is awake, there is no getting back to sleep. It's not that my host family is very loud... all right, it is not that my host family is ALWAYS very loud, it's just that the accoustics in my house are unfortunately very good, so even little noises such as the opening of a door, are completely magnified. And it is not just my host family that wakes me up in the morning: as soon as the sun comes up things become super loud outside. The cowbells start ringing, the chickens start clucking, the roosters crow even louder, and the people start busting around their yards. All of these factors have contributed to my inner alarm clock being set at about 5:30. Almost every day, even on the weekends, I first wake up around 5:30. It has unfortunately become a habit. I always go back to sleep for a little bit more, but I can no longer sleep past 7. It is very, very sad. I make up for this by trying to stay in bed as long as possible. I have once again reverted back to my high school ways of getting ready incredibly fast in the morning. Now I don't even have to leave bed until 6:30, and I will still be ready on time to get to school. I think my getting up at this time on a weekday took awhile for my host mother to adjust to. I remember the first weeks I was here, if she did not see me before 6am (basically every morning), she would knock on my door and call "Brittany, get up! You are going to be late!" Half an hour later I would be all ready for school and sitting on the couch, wondering what I could do for the next forty minutes before I had to leave, and trying very hard not to be bitter at my host mother. Finally one morning, coincidentally a morning where I did not have to be anywhere until 9, my host mother once again tried to wake me up, and I informed her that I had an alarm clock and was capable of getting myself up in the morning. Since I was still in a sleep-induced haze, I don't really recall what I said to her, but I think I might have been a bit snappish because she abruptly stopped trying to wake me up in the morning. Thank goodness.

Now I should be getting a lot of sleep here. As soon as the sun goes down, my activities in the village are limited... hell, even while the sun is up my activities in the village are limited. But as there is really nothing to do at night, I tend to go to bed around nineish. I should be getting about nine hours of sleep a night, but that is never the case. I am always woken up by some sound or another, either in the house or outside of it, so I rarely have an uninterrupted sleep. That all changed when my mother brought my requested earplugs from the US. I love earplugs. They are the best invention EVER. I have had more nights of good sleep in the past night than I have had in the past year. It doesn't stop the difficulties of getting up early, but at least I am more rested when I do have to drag myself out of bed. Bliss.

Marulas

Last year around this time I began toying with the idea of creating a Blog to share all of my crazy stories as a PCV in South Africa with my family and friends back home. There are only so many things I can write in letters and emails, or tell my family on the phone; so I thought that a blog would be a really nice way to share my more eccentric experiences. Coming up with what to name the blog was a problem. I wanted a nice name, not something oring like "Brittany's Blog from South Africa"- I wanted an original title that really dealt with what I was experiencing or doing here. It was about the same time that the Marula trees started dropping their berries, and it was the marulas that inspired the name for this blog.

Now, after about a year, I suppose it'a as good a time as any to actually explain what a marula is. Marulas are a type of tree endemic to Southern Africa. They don't have any sort of special appearance, and they do not drastically stick out like the baobab and the thorn acacia- trees that are often depicted for a typical African landscape. Although the marula has nothing special about its looks, it has a real cultural significance which insures that no matter how short a village gets on firewood, the marula trees will always be safe from the ax. That the tree is not well known or does not stick out in an African landscape is one of the reasons I like it so much. Marulas are, without a dout, the most numerous wild tree in my village. The fruits of the marula, when they fall from the tree, are a great favorite for both people and animals. I have tasted a marula berry, and depending on the color of the fruit can have a sharp tart flavor, or a mild and sweet flavor. Children love the marula berries, for now they have an unending suppy of dodgeballs that they can lob at one another and play with. Adults collect the berries by the basins, and use the berries to make jams and jellys, and also traditional beer and Amarula Cream (a liquor that is a popular export of South Africa). When the marula berries fall, they begin to ferment on the ground. This can create a bit of a problem for the animals that enjoy the marula berries as well- it has been know for baboons and even elephants to get a bit tipsy after they eat too many berries. Women collect the berries that gather under the trees and place them in airtight containers with water. After a few days, the berries form traditional beer. Now, I've had a sip of it before, and in my opinion this beer was pretty awful, but it is very important culturally. Every market stand around my village now sells liters of marula beer, and as the beer is pretty popular, it goes fast.

Other than the importance of the marula fruits, the tree itself is of great importance as well. It can not be cultivatedlike other trees, so every marula tree grows wild. The bark of the tree has medicinal properties, helping to treat sore stomaches and fevers, and the Venda from northern South Africa believe that if a pregnant woman drinks the bark of the female tree steeped in water, she will give birth to a girl. If she drinks the bark of a male tree, she will give birth to a boy. The tree is also in some areas known as "The Marriage Tree." Some cultures believe that weddings that take place under the marulas will be blessed to be long, prosperous, and very happy. For me, I just like the trees. I like that they are so numerous, but no one really notices them until their fruit is dropping. I like that in some places in my village, it is impossible to walk along the dirt road without having the berries underfoot. I like watching the children play dodgeball with the berries, and the old ladies who carry the huge buckets of berries on their heads- taking them home to make into jams or beer. The marulas in bloom remind me of the everyday activities of the village, the activities that I enjoy and am a part of.

The Many Joys of Meetings

If attending meetings in South Africa has taught me anything, it is the real value of patience. Meetings here, whether a simple meeting with a staff member to a formal affair can really try every ounce of patience a person has. The pomp and circumstance borders on ridiculousness and sometimes they can go on for so long that I would much rather shoot myself in the foot than continue to sit there. At the meetings it can really be considered a blessing that I cannot understand the language being spoken at many of the meetings. In that case, I can feign interest in the speakers while my mind wanders. If it's in English, well then I'm out of luck because I actually have to pay attention. Of course, not all meetings are like this. Some are really quick affairs- you are in and out in a matter of minutes and thus are saved the hours of drudgery. But it is almost the short meetings that annoy me the most- simply because they have the same amount of ceremony as the long ones.

There is a certain protocol that goes along with meetings in the rural school system of South Africa. Number one: you must always have a Master of Ceremonies. I call the person in charge the MC because that is normally how the person acts. He announces the agenda, announces each person before they speak, call for apologies, the closing, and everything in between. I suppose it is not so different than a big American meeting, but the MC is only the tip of the iceberg to the meeting. Number two: there is always an agenda. Again, not so different than American meetings, but here the agenda must follow a certain protocol. The whole Agenda must be read during each meeting- even if some of the items have alreay been concluded, and in most cases, written somewhere so that everyone can see it. Here is a sample agenda from a meeting:
1. Opening
2. Welcome
3. Apologies
4. Reading of the Agenda (yes, this is actually written on the agenda)
5. Business of the Day
6. Comments
7. Announcements
8. Closing
No matter what, you do not stray from the Agenda... EVER. It is set in stone and the go astray from it insults the MC. A few of my friends were even sharply chastised during a meeting when they wanted to ask questions during the closing. Number three: the business of the day, no matter how long, is only one item on the agenda. It is really hilarious to see an agenda beforehand and realize that while we want to cover four items in the business of the day, the items are numbered such: 5. Business of the Day 5.1 Sports 5.1.1 Sports equipment 5.1.2 Sports Field repairs 5.1.3 Teachers in charge of sports... and so on. I once saw an agenda that went up to 4.1.8. Now, it might just be my opinion, but thats just stupid. Number four (and this is the one that really bugs me): No matter how short the business of the day is, you ALWAYS have to go through everything else on the agenda before getting to it. No quickie meetings where everyone stands around for a few seconds for an important announcement. Oh no, of course not. We must first have the opening prayer. Then the principal must say a few words of welcome. Then the apologies from the people not there. Then the reading of the agenda. Then the short 2-minute announcement to inform the teachers that school will close early for a memorial service. Finally, the closing. All the ceremony for just a tiny blurb. All right, I admit I may be exagerating just a bit, but really, I have been to meetings that are like this- 95% ceremony and then only 5% actual business. Sometimes I think it is an excuse just to miss class.

Sitting through these meetings can be so painful, that whenever I have a meeting with the staff I like to shake things up a bit. In other words, whenever I have control of a meeting, I completely rebel against the protocol, jump straight into the business of the day, ask if anyone has any questions or comments, then adjurn the meeting and send everyone on their merry way. The first time I did this, I must admit I relished the confused looks. I had only one thing to say, and I was not about the waste my time and theres spending half an hour with small talk. Unfortunately I only got to do this outlandish new meeting style a few times. Now, whenever I inform my principals I wish to speak to the staff, they always appoint an MC to take charge and "help" me. Ugh. So, my big meeting rebellion crashed and burned, and now it is back to twiddling my thumbs. But, on the bright side, when I go back to the States and eventually get a real job, I know I can handle whatever meetings it throws at me. Really, can they get much worse?