What's Wrong With This Picture?

Perhaps you remember this picture from last year:



I got home yesterday pretty tired from a wonderful day of organizing and alphabetizing (our DIC files are soooo pretty now) to see my kokwana seated outside, which is not unusual, with a few other people who looked vaguely familiar. I greeted them, and my host mom came out and greeted me too. There was a small child there who was frightened of me despite my best attempts to charm her. I had all the while the oddest sensation that there was something going on, and I couldn't figure out what it was. And then, at last, it was called to my attention. The kitchen, pictured above, was no more. It was replaced by this:



D'oh. Blame exhaustion, nearsightedness, obliviousness, whatever.

They are getting rid of the mud-and-thatch kitchen, which was to be honest not in great condition, and replacing it with concrete--which explains all the concrete bricks piled in our yard.

Party Weekend

On Friday, I went to a birthday party, and on Saturday I went to a wedding. A lot of events, especially things like weddings, are crammed into the time around Easter (or other holidays) because family will be back in the village from their jobs in towns or cities.

I didn't get any warning before going to the birthday party, and since I had been at home making crepes I was wearing very ratty jeans and a very bleach-stained Peace Corps T-Shirt. (I also didn't know we were going to a party when we left...) This is not appropriate wear for a birthday party in South Africa. Most people there were wearing traditional dress or otherwise dressed up. I felt a little embarrassed but I've definitely learned that most people don't really notice what I'm wearing at first. So it was okay.

The food at parties follows a regular menu, though the particular subsets might vary. This party had mainly beets and coleslaw with the mutton and pap. Am I a bad person for not liking beets? Or coleslaw? I always feel really guilty when I don't eat my beets. I keep trying to like them, but the taste just hasn't come (as a side note, I very much enjoyed broccoli the last time I had it, a thing I thought might never happen, so perhaps it will happen with beets as well...on the other hand, the broccoli was smothered with cheese sauce and I was starving). Fortunately, my neighbor is used to my strange eating habits by now and she ate the evidence on my abandoned beets. She also very usefully chased away all of the drunk men who tried to talk to me.

A small girl was sitting near us. There was a cake that we had somehow come into possession of, and people kept giving her chunks of it--she was clearly in the right place. Eventually she was given several chunks and told to share them with her friends. A few minutes later she and a friend wandered back with icing smeared all over their faces. Hilarious.

A confession: I didn't actually know whose birthday it was. Um, or whose house we were at. Or, well, that it was a birthday party. I found all of these things out as we were leaving and I was taken to be introduced to the host. In South Africa, there are no invitations, you just show up and anyone's invited. Including me.

The wedding I had a few hours notice on, so I was in skirt, headscarf, etc. in time. My host mom looked kind of relieved when I came out of the house wearing this...I think she was a little concerned about a reprise of yesterday's wardrobe. Anyway, we left a few minutes late and ended up getting there forty five minutes after the wedding started, trying inconspicuously to sneak into seats in the back. (I was a little concerned we were gate crashing the wedding since I didn't see anyone I recognized, but it turned out that they were just sitting somewhere else.) After a few minutes the minister stopped preached and the music started and people began to dance, at which point I thought, "Oops, looks like we missed the whole ceremony!" And, "that was a lot shorter than I would have expected..."

No such luck, though if there were vows exchanged we did miss them. The following THREE HOURS (for a total of nearly four hours) were taken up by long-winded speeches by relatives about how wonderful the bride and groom were, which were actually kind of nice except that there were so many of them, then another sermon, all interspersed by minute-long musical intermissions and on one occasion, the cutting of the cake. By the time it was over, I thought I was pretty near death. Yeah, we were sitting in the sun and the small tree shadow we were chasing with our chairs kept moving.

I was a little disappointed to find how westernized the wedding was. The bride wore a big poofy white dress and veil and the wedding party were wearing ugly bridesmaid colors. The cake had white frosting and many tiers with a bride and groom on top. However, there was no throwing of the bouquet/garter, alcohol, post-ceremony dancing (only during the ceremony), "you may now kiss the bride," or rice throwing. I'm not sure if there was a formal walking down the aisle or exchange of vows since we were so late. I didn't notice any pillow-bearing children, though.

The food was pretty good. I avoided beets and coleslaw, though they were both present. However, what I really wanted after sitting in the sun for three hours and walking half an hour to get there was cold drink. I was even willing to drink grape fanta, the bane of my cold drink-related existence (this post has taught me that I am a pickier eater than I thought). When I got to the end of the buffet where the drinks were, they took the cold drink buckets away! I was going to cry. My host mom browbeat them into letting us take some juice out from it, though, so it all turned out all right.

Another key difference? While at a party, you eat and then linger for hours, after a ceremony (or any kind of festival where you have to watch something), it goes on for hours and hours, but you get to leave as soon as you finish eating.

We bought pretty tomatoes on the way home. They taste delicious.

Rockstar Moments

It should surprise none of you that I can be a really lazy updater. Sometimes, this is because I am busy. Sometimes, this is because I don't feel like I have anything to write about. Sometimes I'm just being lazy. But I wanted to write about a cool afternoon during the training session on gardening that we did last week, even though more than a week has elapsed, unfortunately due more to not feeling like writing than to being crazy busy.

If you have been following this past year's chronicles, you will have noted ongoing struggles to express myself and be understood in both Tsonga and English. This has been coming to a point recently, as the current crop of trainees aren't managers but cooks and gardens who speak less English than I do Tsonga. And then, while I was teaching them cool gardening techniques and factoids, I stumbled upon a solution trained by many years of 64 shades of crayola and infinite plastic cases of watercolors. D'oh. So I drew everything.

I am particularly proud of the chart I drew of Garden Pests and Friends. My pictures, except for the aphid (partly, I'm not one hundred percent sure I know what aphids look like, and partly I'm not sure that aphids are indigenous to South Africa...ditto for the ladybug, though it was a very well rendered ladybug if I do say so myself) were totally legible and everyone knew what I was talking about. True, the explanation of why earthworms are a Garden Friend was a little prolonged despite my awesome pictures of the worm eating mulch and pooping plant food (I know it's a simplification, don't start), but still so cool. I felt like such a rockstar, aided in no small part by the multicolored water soluble markers I was using. You know, the kind you can stack into a lightsaber and have duels with during elementary school. If the papers are still around, I'll take pictures of them at the office next week.

Currently, things are quiet. It's easter week, which means nothing is happening at the office. At home there is a construction project going on in our backyard to expand the raised bit. This usually starts very early in the morning right outside my window, which is of course no end of fun to wake up to. It's just a bunch of concrete bricks spaces out now, I don't know when they're going to get around to filling it in with mud and cow poo.

Happy Passover/Easter, everyone.

More Pictures

From Cape Town in February, diligently culled from over 200 taken:

http://picasaweb.google.com/Jade.Lamb/CapeTown#

Kruger National Park pictures:

http://picasaweb.google.com/Jade.Lamb/Kruger

They're animals, not much to say about them.

Pictures

Pictures from my parents' visit to Mapayeni and Khanimamba.

http://picasaweb.google.com/Jade.Lamb/Giyani#

My Day

6:00 Alarm goes off. 10 more minutes…

6:30 Eek! Time to get up.

6:35 Second Day Oatmeal is gross. This is because I always forget and put milk in the whole batch the first day. The peanut butter seems to be mitigating the taste, though. Thanks for the tip, Peace Corps cookbook!

6:40 Must. Drink. All. Tea. Before. Leaving. Caffeine good.

6:55 Is there anything else I need to do that could possibly make my clothes dirty? No? Time to get dressed.

7:00 Out to get a taxi.

7:05 Taxi already! My lucky day.

7:40 Arrive at rank. Need to go to Spar to buy tea things for training today.

7:45 Okay, we cannot possibly need 6 boxes of creamer for this week alone. Can we? Well, I should get everything on the list just in case…I’m going to need a bigger basket.

7:50 Cart acquired. Well, there are only two rolls of toilet paper on the list. We can definitely go through that in a week. So it must just before the week.

7:55 Checkout.

8:00 These bags are really heavy. I am so screwed.

8:05 I hate the new queue marshal. Next time he says that, I should yell at him. I’m only going to talk to the nice, female queue marshal. She always has my back.

8:10 No! I’m going to the college!
Driver: Well, you need to ask to go to the college.
I know! I did ask! I asked at the rank! (I guess she didn’t have my back today. Grumble.)
The driver makes a swift U-turn and drops me off at the college.

8:15 I may not still be alive by the time I get to the office. 30 pounds worth of tea stuff in plastic bags…I’m getting interesting blisters on my hands.

8:20. Still alive! Why is all of our exhibition toy equipment (made from paper mache and cardboard) out on the lawn?

8:25 Ah. Because the classroom is flooded.

8:30 Are there really no trainees here yet? I think that’s a record. Oh, no, they’re just all in the non-flooded classroom.

8:50 Class starts! Only twenty minutes late, too. Singing.

9:00 Argh, need to go make more application form copies. Let’s see, there are about thirty people here…will forty-five be enough?

9:05 Forty-five was exactly enough. For this moment. I should go make another twenty copies.

9:10 Nobody else arrived? Great! Emma’s walking them through the form…it’s like in high school, taking the SAT, where the script says that you can’t go on until the proctor has explained what each and every blank means.

9:30 More people. Good thing I made twenty more. Let’s see…there are only five copies left, and it’s only an hour after class was supposed to start…are more people coming? Yes. Let’s go make twenty more.

9:40 The flooded class is cleaned out. We can go back in. First item on the agenda: creating ground rules and expectations.

9:50 You’re supposed to /pass/ the attendance register after signing it, not just sit and stare at it.

10:30 Introductions, while I get the tea things ready.

11:00 Tea time. Hmm, between the two classes we are going through creamer awfully quickly…maybe the estimate was right…

11:05 A trainee comes up to me and tells me and greets me. She has a small child. Hello, and hello you sweet little small child. She tells me the crèche is closed. Um…okay… I’m not reacting how she wants. She tells me again (still in Tsonga) that the crèche is closed. Am I missing something here? Pfala is closed, right? She says in Enlish, “Creche. Closed.” Oh…I get it…she’s apologizing for having a small child here and explaining that the crèche is closed today. Right, there’s a world out there where it’s not acceptable to bring your baby to work.

11:30 Class resumes, and the actual program begins. I had prepared to do this bit, but Elisa jumps in. Well, that’s fine, less pressure on me.

12:00 Elisa has decided that we need a singing break. Okay.

12:05 We need another singing break already?!

12:30 Elisa says, “Over to you, Sesi Tsakani.” Um…what? Oh, I’m presenting on this bit? Well…I guess I can do that. (for more on this, see the upcoming post, “How Conducting Trainings in South Africa is Like High School Debate.”)

1:00 Lunch. Which is traditionally when I run around making more photocopies.

1:05 Making tea for everyone. Carrying insanely heavy tea things has made me feel very proprietary about the tea provision. I pour some for myself. This is the muddiest tea I have every made, and it is delightful. It is also lukewarm, which the trainees will not stand for, so I heat up water.

1:10 Refill creamer and sugar. We’re going to go through a fair amount of cream this week but nowhere near the 10 kg of sugar Free had me pick up.

1:15 Photocopying. The photocopier and I are good friends

1:25 Talk to Free. He asks why I have forgotten the toilet paper. I say I haven’t, I put it in the bathroom. All of it? Yes… A dawning realization sets in. Oh, when you said two packets, you meant two large packs of ten rolls each…not two rolls. That makes sense.

1:30 Ooh, I have mail! Thanks Mom!

1:35 Bank of America is going to start charging an account maintenance fee?! Not cool. Not cool at all. I could buy 230 oranges with those $6!

1:35-2:00 Stewing over BoA while talking with Elisa, who is admiring my pen. This pen, which Mom brought for me last month, is probably the only conspicuously expensive thing I use in public (well, at least since I lost all my pairs of prescription sunglasses). Camera and computer and imported fruit all hide in my room.

2:30 Class resumes. With a song, of course. It’s interesting to have lyrics memorized that I don’t understand.

2:35 Class prayer for three drop-in centre carers we knew who died in a car accident last week.

2:40 Um…where did Elisa go? Okay, class, get in your small groups and draw an organogramme! (I hope Elisa gets back before you finish…)

2:45 Elisa returns. Yay!

3:00 All the tea I’ve been swilling is starting to kick in. I feel energetic. Is there work I can do? Why don’t I write a letter to BoA asking them to waive my account maintenance fee as I am doing good works in far-off countries for very little money?

3:20 How do we always end on time despite starting late? Because I pad the schedule. We sing to close.

3:30 Everyone leaves. Elisa tells me that she found out that the room was flooded this morning because someone had left a sink on outside all night. (The college frequently has no water, which is how I suppose the sink got left on unnoticed.)

3:40 All the trainers go outside to stare accusingly at the sink. I’m trying to clean the room so we can go.

3:50 Staring over, we bring in our example toys, most of which are thankfully intact.

4:15 Can I go now?

4:20 Waiting for the taxi.

4:25 Taxi! Swiftest taxi day ever.

5:00 In town, switching taxis. Squashed in the back.

5:25 What, no one in front of me got off before me? This never happens. Everyone gets out so that I can disembark.

5:30 Home. Where is everyone? Masingita is in Malamulele at a training course, Kokwana Selina is…I don’t know where. Church? The younger members are staying with other family.

5:35 Food is good. I should eat. Hmm…I could cook something, or eat leftovers. What leftovers do I have? Half a bowl of fried rice, two-day old oatmeal, and some cookie dough. Cookie dough it is.

5:40 I already knew that trying to make cookies in the skillet doesn’t work. Why do I persist?

5:45 Still energetic. Blogging!

*All time codes are estimates.

Breaking the Little Red Taxi Curse

I take four taxis every time I go in to our office, two to get there and two to get back. My commute is usually about two and a bit hours round trip. I am something of an expert at this route: I have down cold the times that I should leave home or the office to minimize waiting time, exactly when to start digging through my bag for the taxi fare, who to tell when about where I'm getting off...etc.

There is a definite hierarchy between kinds of taxis. In my area, there is a rough divide between the quantums, which are more bus-like, and the older taxis. The quantums are more spacious, more comfortable, and newer; I can stand upright in them, and their seats have head rests. There is also a functional aisle between the seats. The older ones are shorter, have fold-out seats, and are often in varying states of disrepair.

There is one particular taxi that goes from Giyani to Mapayeni, or from town to my village, that is substantially worse than the others. Instead of having four rows behind the driver which seat three people each (or four in the back row), it has three rows which are supposed to seat four people each even though it is the same size as the ones that seat three. I'm pretty sure that the back row isn't bolted down as it should be and most of the seat linings have disappeared. It is also the only red taxi that runs this route, so I can recognize it from some distance away. So can everyone else. Consequently, this taxi takes forever to fill, since no one wants to get in it. Since I stand out too, I rarely get the option; the queue marshall just ushers me on.

Before this month, I'd probably only ridden in this taxi three or four times over ten months. Riding in it isn't actually so bad, but waiting for it to fill--especially if you're squashed in the back row in intense heat--is murder.

For the last week, ending yesterday, every day on the way home the little red taxi (fondly referred to by me as the "crap taxi") was waiting to fill. Last Wednesday I got there around three and it had only two people in it; those two people actually abandoned the taxi and so after ten minutes there were actually fewer people than we had started with. It took an hour to fill. The next day I showed up at four and it was half full, and filled up in a normal amount of time. This week, the first day I showed up at four thirty, and there was the little red taxi again. Quite a streak, eh?

Then, yesterday, I was there at five, sure that I was late enough in the day to avoid the little red taxi. But--there it was! So I climbed in with a resigned sigh.

Around five thirty we hit the road. Halfway to my village, an ambiguous but very disconcerting scraping sound seemed to be coming from the undercarriage. We stopped. The driver got out to inspect, shrugged, and climbed back in. We started off again.

A few minutes later--more scraping. It sounded eerily like a corpse trying to escape from its grave. We stopped for good this time.

In America, this would have been cause for some outrage. But, TIA--this is Africa. Resigned good humor with a certain amount of repressed laughter seemed to be the response of the day, which both I and a girl a little younger than me who I had been talking to in the taxi seemed inclined to. After all: it had been a long day already and I was exhausted, so of course this would be the day the taxi broke down.

This was followed by a dawning excitement. The little red taxi broke down! Maybe it would never drive again!

A few minutes later we transferred over to another passing taxi--a quantum! There were a few hiccups (the two drivers were actually arguing about how much the one had to pay the other. Come on, guys. We want to go home; and I was actually standing up, which was fine except that I couldn't see to figure out where I needed to get off), but I was home before dark.

And today? The little red taxi curse is broken. A normal taxi with four rows and a bolted down backseat. Not a quantum, but we can't have everything.