My VAST Grant just got approved! The grant was to do more of the training workshops with drop-in centres, so you can look forward to hearing more about them in the future.
What is VAST, you ask? What does it stand for, and why does Jade have to have all these silly acronyms in everything she writes? The answer to the last question is that typing everything out all the time is really unappealing to me. Plus of course, I like to sow confusion.
To be honest, I don’t remember what VAST stands for and I’m feeling too lazy right this second to look it up. Besides, some mysteries must remain to keep my readership engaged. I think that ‘V’ might stand for ‘volunteer,’ but even some strong head-scratching has kept the other letters from me.
I can tell you what VAST is, though. VAST is a program specific to Peace Corps Volunteers working with HIV/AIDS. The money comes from PEPFAR (I know this one! President’s Emergency Plan For AIDS Relief! A rare helpful plan from the last eight years), and is to be used in small-scale, sustainable projects, facilitated by PCVs (you should know that one by now), that mitigate the impact of HIV/AIDS (another acronym you should know, yes?) on their communities. The grants are quite small, usually between three and five thousand dollars, but that money goes a long way in a poor community if you use your resources well.
ETA: VAST= Volunteer Activity Support and Training
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Cape Town
My parents are visiting right now. We were in Cape Town and the Winelands last week, and are at my site now (more on that later). I know what you’re all thinking: Didn’t she just get back from a three-week vacation? Yes, I know, this is pretty rapid vacationing, even by Peace Corps standards, but it’s when they decided to come. And no more vacation until July, I swear. Maybe.
To the meat of the post.
Reasons my parents would like to retire to Western Cape:
-really extraordinary, really inexpensive food
-gorgeous, striking, massive scenery
-Mediterranean climate that’s perfect year-round
-penguins!
-thousands of unexplored vineyards
-local cheeses and chocolates
-cute goats
-friendly people
-easy hikes in mountainous areas
-beautiful beaches
-everyone speaks English
Reasons my parents will not retire to Western Cape:
-driving on the left side of the road
-two nights on a plane to get back to the States
-bourgeois guilt over omnipresent poverty next to extreme wealth
They are, however, already planning their next trip for 2012.
To the meat of the post.
Reasons my parents would like to retire to Western Cape:
-really extraordinary, really inexpensive food
-gorgeous, striking, massive scenery
-Mediterranean climate that’s perfect year-round
-penguins!
-thousands of unexplored vineyards
-local cheeses and chocolates
-cute goats
-friendly people
-easy hikes in mountainous areas
-beautiful beaches
-everyone speaks English
Reasons my parents will not retire to Western Cape:
-driving on the left side of the road
-two nights on a plane to get back to the States
-bourgeois guilt over omnipresent poverty next to extreme wealth
They are, however, already planning their next trip for 2012.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Adventures Involving Transport, Miroho, and Xitsonga
It turns out that the taxis do run that early, for those of you in suspense about the ending of my last post. There's also a bus that stops by Mapayeni around 6, which is what I took. And it turns out the bus has a rush hour price! It was R1.70 more expensive than the 7 and 8 o'clock buses! Ish. Anyway, I got into town in plenty of time, only to wait around for an hour with one of the trainers before everyone else showed up. We then went to the office, where we loitered around for another twenty minutes before actually heading off to visit drop-in centres.
To maximize efficiency, we dropped off one person at each DIC in the morning. The one I went to was really a very well-run organization, though it was a joint home-based care organization and drop-in centre. (Home based care units send carers to the houses of people with TB, AIDS, and other illnesses to monitor their health and provide basic medical care.) The HBC part was housed in one of the nicest buildings I've ever seen in a village, including laundry machines, flush toilets, a laptop computer, and other luxuries. Evidently, it was brand new, donated recently by the government. Their DIC was across the street and somewhat less luxurious, but in good repair. Their offices were impressively well-organized and they had a flourishing vegetable garden. The DIC's buildings were only for office space, though; there was no proper building for the OVCs to spend time in, just a yard and porches.
When I left, they bestowed upon me two plastic bags full of miroho from their garden. Miroho means leafy green vegetables, and include multiple types of plants, but basically they're all akin to spinach. I happen to quite like miroho, and usually this particular food doesn't cause as much mirth as when I say I eat pap or have tried mopani worms. Today, though, this was met with much disbelief, particularly the idea that I could cook miroho, so they felt it necessary to gift me with rather more than I was expecting: one bag full of the spinach-like leaves, and one bag full of the flowers that can also be cooked with it. I find the flowers daunting. I'm not sure if they need special preparation or not. I'll experiment tomorrow--if I can't figure it out, my kokwana may either be asked to help, or else receive a donation of miroho.
After we'd finished our morning visits, we were picked up one by one and went to the office for a few minutes to drop of a pair of shears (I really don't know why) and use the toilet. When we came back to the car, it wouldn't start. Shame! So we went inside to have tea while we waited for someone to come fix it. An hour later we were on the road again.
For the afternoon visit, one of our trainers and I went together, which was definitely a good thing as there was a lot more technical discussion that needed to happen at the next DIC about things like how to organize records and keep receipts properly. This one was much newer, less developed, and struggling financially. While the last DIC didn't have enough buildings, this one didn't have any roofs, except a small tin one over the cooking area. The buildings were all half-built in the way that often happens here: buildings develop in pieces, growing as money is available. Here, the walls were constructed out of concrete and bricks, but the windows were empty and the roof, absent.
The coordinator there knew me from the workshops we've been doing, and didn't think I spoke Tsonga. Now, at the last DIC, the coordinator and I managed to communicate pretty effectively by me asking questions in English, and her responding in Tsonga. We understood each other and felt more comfortable talking that way; I actually originally tried asking her questions in Tsonga, but she didn't understand my accent/questionable grammar. But this coordinator was astonished that I could even greet in Tsonga. I suspect this means that she never showed up in time for class, because I always greeted people at the beginning in Tsonga. So then I had to explain to her (in Tsonga) why I didn't teach the class in Tsonga. Basically, I can talk about the weather, food, goats, and what have you in Tsonga, but I have a difficult time explaining the intricacies of what a mission statement is or what the elements of a constitution are. So she spent the rest of the afternoon quizzing me on what different things were in Tsonga, which I think is the most annoying reaction possible, even more so than exclaiming in English, "Oh, you understand Xitsonga!" (which happened on the taxi on the way home) and then lecturing me (in English) about how I will becoming fluent in a matter of months (which thankfully hasn't happened in quite a while).
But everyone was very nice and welcoming, and they fed us pap and miroho. Yum.
To maximize efficiency, we dropped off one person at each DIC in the morning. The one I went to was really a very well-run organization, though it was a joint home-based care organization and drop-in centre. (Home based care units send carers to the houses of people with TB, AIDS, and other illnesses to monitor their health and provide basic medical care.) The HBC part was housed in one of the nicest buildings I've ever seen in a village, including laundry machines, flush toilets, a laptop computer, and other luxuries. Evidently, it was brand new, donated recently by the government. Their DIC was across the street and somewhat less luxurious, but in good repair. Their offices were impressively well-organized and they had a flourishing vegetable garden. The DIC's buildings were only for office space, though; there was no proper building for the OVCs to spend time in, just a yard and porches.
When I left, they bestowed upon me two plastic bags full of miroho from their garden. Miroho means leafy green vegetables, and include multiple types of plants, but basically they're all akin to spinach. I happen to quite like miroho, and usually this particular food doesn't cause as much mirth as when I say I eat pap or have tried mopani worms. Today, though, this was met with much disbelief, particularly the idea that I could cook miroho, so they felt it necessary to gift me with rather more than I was expecting: one bag full of the spinach-like leaves, and one bag full of the flowers that can also be cooked with it. I find the flowers daunting. I'm not sure if they need special preparation or not. I'll experiment tomorrow--if I can't figure it out, my kokwana may either be asked to help, or else receive a donation of miroho.
After we'd finished our morning visits, we were picked up one by one and went to the office for a few minutes to drop of a pair of shears (I really don't know why) and use the toilet. When we came back to the car, it wouldn't start. Shame! So we went inside to have tea while we waited for someone to come fix it. An hour later we were on the road again.
For the afternoon visit, one of our trainers and I went together, which was definitely a good thing as there was a lot more technical discussion that needed to happen at the next DIC about things like how to organize records and keep receipts properly. This one was much newer, less developed, and struggling financially. While the last DIC didn't have enough buildings, this one didn't have any roofs, except a small tin one over the cooking area. The buildings were all half-built in the way that often happens here: buildings develop in pieces, growing as money is available. Here, the walls were constructed out of concrete and bricks, but the windows were empty and the roof, absent.
The coordinator there knew me from the workshops we've been doing, and didn't think I spoke Tsonga. Now, at the last DIC, the coordinator and I managed to communicate pretty effectively by me asking questions in English, and her responding in Tsonga. We understood each other and felt more comfortable talking that way; I actually originally tried asking her questions in Tsonga, but she didn't understand my accent/questionable grammar. But this coordinator was astonished that I could even greet in Tsonga. I suspect this means that she never showed up in time for class, because I always greeted people at the beginning in Tsonga. So then I had to explain to her (in Tsonga) why I didn't teach the class in Tsonga. Basically, I can talk about the weather, food, goats, and what have you in Tsonga, but I have a difficult time explaining the intricacies of what a mission statement is or what the elements of a constitution are. So she spent the rest of the afternoon quizzing me on what different things were in Tsonga, which I think is the most annoying reaction possible, even more so than exclaiming in English, "Oh, you understand Xitsonga!" (which happened on the taxi on the way home) and then lecturing me (in English) about how I will becoming fluent in a matter of months (which thankfully hasn't happened in quite a while).
But everyone was very nice and welcoming, and they fed us pap and miroho. Yum.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Life is Full of Surprises
Surprise One. Last week the training workshop we did had not fifteen but seventy-five learners. Seventy-five! Way too many for one classroom. So, we split them up, putting the fifteen who had been to a workshop before in one class and the sixty new people in another. I worked with the sixty new people, which was exhausting and I missed my old learners, but…now another twenty-odd drop-in centres know the ins and outs of how to write an organization’s constitution and a few other useful things. Despite the massive quantity of extra people, this session actually went smoother than last time, as we had ironed out some of the bumps and I had adjusted to speaking at a pace and in a manner that people better understood.
Surprise Two. The drop-in centres have a functioning networking committee now, which I found out today when they came to Khanimamba to have their monthly meeting. I sat in on their meeting, which they used to plan a calendar for the rest of the year, including events for the OVCs like a netball tournament and an awareness campaign. A pleasant surprise.
Surprise Three. Tomorrow we are visiting drop-in centres. We are leaving from town at 7 am. I have never actually arrived in town this early before. It seems logical that they wouldn’t have planned to meet this early if the taxis didn’t run then, right?
Surprise Two. The drop-in centres have a functioning networking committee now, which I found out today when they came to Khanimamba to have their monthly meeting. I sat in on their meeting, which they used to plan a calendar for the rest of the year, including events for the OVCs like a netball tournament and an awareness campaign. A pleasant surprise.
Surprise Three. Tomorrow we are visiting drop-in centres. We are leaving from town at 7 am. I have never actually arrived in town this early before. It seems logical that they wouldn’t have planned to meet this early if the taxis didn’t run then, right?
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