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.