Monday, December 6, 2010

"hello is so easy... but goodbye? goodbye is very hard miss sinead"

I've been through a few break-ups in my life, but saying goodbye to South Africa feels like the worst one of them all.  It's a lump in my throat when I wake up in the morning, the echo of my bare walls and empty closet, the pain in my heart when I go through my photos to pick a couple to print for the people I love.  It's tight hugs from the boys at St. Theresa's, one last bunny chow with our feet in the Indian Ocean in Durban, handmade cards from the learners at St. Leo's who, in January, couldn't speak a lick of English.  It's that inevitable knot in the pit of my stomach on the final drive to St. Theresa's, St. Leo's, Gogo Gloria's house, church in Kloof, passing the Siyakwamukela eThekwini sign on the drive into Durban.




Pinky, in Grade 4, said it best.  "Saying hello is so easy!  But goodbye?  Goodbye is very hard, Miss Sinead."


South Africa has shown me just how much love my heart is capable of... but there is no doubt that I will be leaving a large piece of it here when I go.




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Thursday, November 25, 2010

saying "siyabonga".

Happy Thanksgiving!  While we won't be celebrating with a big turkey dinner until Saturday, I've been thinking a lot today about being thankful, and how unbelievable it is that Thanksgiving is upon us once again.

It's one of my favourite holidays, though a relatively new addition to the Cloughley Repertoire of Excuses for Massive Eating.  When we first moved to the US, Thanksgiving was a foreign concept and an excuse to take the few days' off from school or work to visit somewhere we hadn't seen yet: Chesapeake Bay, the Virgin Islands, Colonial Williamsburg.  There was also the memorable year when Dad attempted to serve pheasant to our not-yet-developed palates.  As the years passed and my parents' collection of fellow ex-pat friends grew, we gathered at someone's house for a dinner in the late afternoon, replacing our extended family with similarly isolated immigrants.
But then we returned to our comfortably insular selves, and the past few years have seen Thanksgiving morph into a family celebration all our own.  Our day usually consists of serving lunch at the Trenton Area Soup Kitchen, then lolling around with a few glasses of wine while the turkey cooks, followed by dinner and more wine, then falling asleep to our latest Netflix in the basement.  At dinnertime, each person goes around and mentions something for which he or she is thankful.

Last Thanksgiving feels so long ago, but here I am, one year later, eating samp and beans for dinner... and through the haze of my end-of-school-term exhaustion, feeling very thankful.

Things For Which I Am Thankful (or Will Be In 13 Days) 2010:

1.  The post-volunteer luxury it will be to be able to say No
2.  The ability of my family to remain loving and such an unbelievable comfort to me no matter where we happen to be
3.  Every single child at St. Leo's for bringing a love into my life that I didn't know existed (and that I didn't know my heart was capable of containing)
4.  My faith
5.  Insoles for running shoes that give them a new lease on life when new shoes are out of my financial reach
6.  The Great Avocado Saturation of South Africa
7.  Every letter, card, mix CD, and bag of coffee I got (or got lost) via mail this year
8.  My health and the health of everyone I love
9.  Skype
10.  The ability to read and write, and other advantages of a good education


I think I'm still thankful for the ways I felt blessed prior to this year, but it is the overlooked privileges that I appreciate today.  As the Zulus would say, Siyabonga Baba.
Enjoy your turkey/tofurkey!



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Monday, November 22, 2010

what it's worth.


"To Shinad

Hi Shinad How are you me I am fine.  I would like to tell you something.  Shinad at first I did not like white people because of aparteid but I have realise that you must not hate somebody just because of the colour.  You must not judge some body the colour of the skin, and since I have relise that you are a good person and you are a kind person.  And even you are not near me I will always love you.  You show me the love that my parent never show.
Shinad I love you with all of my heart

From: Hlengiwe"


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Monday, November 15, 2010

at a loss.

I've been sitting here for about an hour, scrolling through the hundreds of photos I've taken over the past few weeks.  With this fancy new camera and very little time to read a multipage manual and actually figure out how to take good photos, I've just been taking craploads and hoping that some turn out okay.  There was Heritage Day at St. Leo's and St. Theresa's, various community outings (and spider sightings in our house), and the day I brought my camera to school "just in case".  I ended up spending twenty minutes doing a Grade 7 boys' photo shoot, and now, looking through these pictures, I'm meditating on the 23 days I have left here and wondering to myself how I can possibly feel so excited and relieved to have the end in sight... but also, feeling so sad at the prospect of leaving these kids, most of them probably forever.

A selection:










I'm feeling a little short on words tonight.




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Sunday, October 31, 2010

smooth criminals.

St. Theresa's often has little assemblies for parents, foster parents, and caregivers who come to collect the boys when it's time for holidays.  Back in March, before the beginning of Easter break, my boys in Cottage 4 prepared this little number for a rapt audience.  After lots of rehearsing and covering their left hands in glitter to look like a glove, they took to the stage.
From left to right: Bheki, Sihle, Khumbulani, Philani, Llewellyn, and Eugene... and Michael Jackson of course.









It may not be Thriller, but it's as close to a Halloween post as I could come-- springtime in South Africa is not exactly festive for today's celebrations.  Happy Halloween, ghouls and goblins!


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Saturday, October 30, 2010

pineapples in heaven.

Mlungisi Mzobe was buried on a Saturday in October, in between the morning sunshine and afternoon storms of springtime in South Africa.  He was just eighteen years old.
I only spent a few scattered hours with him here and there; the funeral was the most time Mlungisi and I ever spent together.  During the strike, when Becky was visiting, we helped Mary-Kate bring a few of the healthier patients from the Respite Centre to the shopping centre for ice cream.  Becky and I sat with two guys, both named Mlungisi- one older and one younger.  They both insisted on large plain vanilla soft-serve but with the chilly August wind blowing in through the door of the shop, were too cold to finish.  We got lids and they brought their ice creams back to put in the fridge for later.  Mlungisi was happy to answer the simple questions we asked him about where he came from and his family, and when he asked about my life, he could not for the life of him understand why I would want to be a teacher in Molweni.
The next few times I saw Mlungisi, he was in bed at the Respite.  I remember he had the most graceful, slender fingers that would rest on the blanket of his bed.
When he got moved to a private room, he knew the outlook wasn't good; patients didn't just get moved to private rooms for increased privacy.
I would run in to pick up Mary-Kate or Meg from work and go to say hello.  Once we had to run out to Spar to pick up some Sprite for him.  He never failed to request food or drink from the careworkers-- there was the time he asked for a pineapple and just kept it by his bedside.  I don't think he ever ate it.  Or when someone would make a run to KFC; he couldn't eat fried chicken, but he'd order something and just have it next to him on the bed.  It always reminded me of a book I read as a child, where a man who couldn't afford food would satiate his hunger on the smell of dinners being prepared in the alleys behind restaurants.
A couple of weeks ago, after he'd been moved out of the private room and back into a regular bed, Mlungisi was discharged from the Respite and transferred to St. Mary's Hospital.  I was sad that I wouldn't get to see him anymore, but hopeful that the transfer meant that all his hard work was paying off; that his CDC count was climbing, that his TB wasn't the dreaded MDR variety and that he was finally back in control of his own body.
He died on October 14th.
All the other people who had come to say goodbye were doing so to a body they no longer recognized.  Though his smile and those long, slender fingers were the same, the sickness had sunken his eyes, shrunken his skin, and worst of all, frightened such a kind, caring young man.  That's what upset me the most-- Mlungisi was terrified of dying.  I think that's what kept him fighting and hanging on.
In the photo that his family placed on his beautiful coffin, I hardly recognized Mlungisi's face.  I'd never seen him look so healthy.  But it served as a reminder that no matter how sad I felt at Mlungisi's funeral, my grief was minor in comparison to that of his gogos and siblings, the friends he grew up with, his fellow students who came in their uniforms.  School uniforms don't belong at a funeral.
Mlungisi Mzobe will never be a father, never watch another soccer match, never run around causing trouble with his friends again.  And he never did eat his pineapple... but I'm pretty sure that they have pineapples in heaven.

Phumula no thula, Mlungisi.



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Wednesday, October 20, 2010

overheard in south africa.

We've been working on Alphabet Books with Grade 4 for the past few weeks, and today we tackled the letters L, M, and N.  First we brainstorm a list of words that start with each letter, then each table chooses one to write a sentence about and illustrate.


Teacher: Ok, so what starts with the letter N?
Learner: Nice... noisy... ninja!
Teacher: Yes, ninja starts with N.  Good.  Now think of a sentence using the word "ninja".
Learner (without missing a beat): Bruce Lee is a ninja.


I will never, ever understand the way in which Bruce Lee and Jean Claud Van Damme have infiltrated Zulu culture.


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Sunday, October 17, 2010

a note on hope.

I know I'm guilty of complaining a lot on this blog about the struggles I face as a volunteer, and the bad days that accompany my work.. but Monday of last week took the cake.  It was a can't-hold-myself-together, crying-in-front-of-students, sobbing-on-skype-to-mum kind of day.
Sinead and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.

Fast forward to Wednesday, and wine and cheese with the friars at Kloof, and scenes of the Chilean miners' rescue being played out on the TV.  I was absolutely glued to the screen as Number 16 and Number 17 stumbled to the surface, into the arms of the people they thought they'd never see again.  The last time the news was so saturated with one story was on September 11th we murmured to each other.  I couldn't believe my eyes, nor my ears the next morning on our drive to work, as the deejay congratulated Chile on the rescue of all thirty-three men.  I think I've become skeptical... pessimistic even.  I didn't think they could do it.

It was nice to see some good news for a change.  Stories like the successful rescue give me a renewed sense of hope, which, more often of late, I need more than I need air to breathe.

Thursday, October 7, 2010

warm fuzzies.


1.  discovering that some of the Koki pens (markers) we've been using at school are smelly ones!
2.  chick lit set in philadelphia
3.  cheese & wine before wednesday dinners with the augustinians next door
4.  being a robot sister with niamh and meg
5.  mrs h.s. balls chutney
6.  playing dress-up with the babies at st theresa's (especially sfiso, pictured above)
7.  the moment every day when philane in grade 6 asks me to "have a dinner" with him on friday
8.  FINALLY hearing grade 4 ask "please may i borrow" instead of "please borrow me a pencil"
9.  (big) sfiso's pencil sketches
10.  unexpected letters in the mail




Today, I'm happy.  I told you South Africa makes me mental.



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Monday, October 4, 2010

schizophrenia.


All I've been asking is to work.  I came to South Africa to forge relationships with people across racial, cultural, and economic boundaries.  I came to work, to be a teacher and attempt to teach vowel sounds and strengthen English speaking skills.
And with the World Cup, and strikes, and holidays, and the laziness of the government, I've been sitting at home far more often than I'd imagined, writing letters and applying for jobs.
Then school reopens, and instead of brimming with joy to be back in the saddle again, I find out that someone attempted to break into the library over holidays and spend half the morning being deafened by the sounds of Sir Sibisi and some of the Grade 6 boys (who should have been in class) busting open the locks so we could get inside our classroom.  Then three-fourths of Grade 6 didn't show up for class and Bec was feeling really sick, poor thing, and the whole day was such a disaster.

And, to top it off, it's been raining since I woke up.

I am aware that this blog makes me sound like a textbook schizophrenic-- elated to be here one moment, depressed the next, and flitting from emotion to emotion day after day, minute after minute.  But I might be a schizo at this point.  To feel "get me outta here" mixed with "ohmygod two months left" and "i can't believe i actually have to say goodbye", with a generous splash of "hanging out with my family and friends is going to be paradise", I just feel so mixed-up and over saturated with every sort of feeling that I'm completely exhausted.

I'm going to bed.  Goodnight.


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Friday, October 1, 2010

springtime.

Another early morning, another month begins... the first of October is here and with it, Durban's signature humidity and the gorgeous purple, yellow, and magenta blooms on the otherwise bare trees all around.  Spring is in the air and though it gets up to almost ninety degrees during the day, I'm enjoying the heat at the moment.  It allows for Sundays spent reading at the beach, gives enough light for running after our return from St. Theresa's in the evenings, and now that the nine-month mark is approaching, emotions are running high at 8 Warwickshire Crescent.


Two weeks ago, we had our final site visit from the office back home; April, our esteemed director arrived and after a brief stay here in Bothas Hill, we packed up the car, awoke at an ungodly hour, and drove north for twelve hours until we were 20 kilometers from the border of Botswana, at the Madikwe Game Reserve.  We stayed at Mosetlha, a bush camp and eco-lodge inside the park, at Becca's recommendation-- she had stayed there as part of her six-week study abroad experience in Pretoria during college.  Though some might have found the idea of no running water and no electricity daunting, the four of us have stuck to a low-maintenance regimen since beginning our year in South Africa, so heating our water in a donkey boiler and using paraffin lamps at night was lots of fun.  We had two game drives a day with our guide Sam, and my favourite part of the program involved a cooler full of beer and cider, snacks, and beautiful sunsets halfway through our evening drives.





We saw tons of animals, even a handful of lions which I'd missed on my safari with my family in Hluhluwe-Umfolozi back in April.  I think the highlight of the safari was our evening drive on Saturday; we spotted a baby rhino and his mother racing through the bush, with two young male lions following closely behind.  After two minutes, the lions gave up and settled down for yet another nap... proof that big cats and small cats are all the same: lazy!


Otherwise, we had a lot of rest and relaxation time.  On the way home, we had to drop April off at the Johannesburg airport, and decided to make a stopover in Jozi before driving back to Durban.  On Sunday afternoon, we paid a visit to the famed Apartheid Museum, built in 2000.  Each visitor to the museum is assigned either White or Non-White upon purchasing a ticket, and must enter using the appropriate entrance.


Unfortunately, that was the beginning and end of the segregation simulation; the rest of the museum was laid out for us to peruse as we wished.  It was enlightening, but I found the exhibits a bit confusing and the layout was not exactly chronological.
The most interesting insight for me was being in the city where my parents spent the first few years of their marriage back in the early Eighties.  The city has changed a lot since then, as has South Africa itself.  I wrote my high school research paper on apartheid, but to look out over the Johannesburg skyline and feel connected through family and history and my present experience was a really powerful and moving feeling.



Meg has some family that stay in Sandton, a suburb of the city, and they graciously hosted us on Sunday night.  After a delicious breakfast of fruit and yogurt and muesli on Monday morning, the four of us, armed with our AA Road Atlas and recommendations from friends and family, explored Parkhurst and Melville.  We only spent a few hours walking around, then had a bite to eat before our drive home... but I really enjoyed Johannesburg and I hope I get to go back and spend more time someday.


Meg and I also made it a real South African roadtrip by investing in some biltong to chew on.  South Africans are awfully proud of their version of beef jerky, and though I was thirsty for about eight hours after devouring a packet, I think I'm hooked!


It was a great trip-- especially with the addition of my new camera to the family.  I still have a lot to learn, and I'm nervous when it's around sticky children and the dusty wind, but I'm still very excited.

We're on school holidays again; this time it's spring midterm break, which seems like a funny way to describe the three weeks that we had school since the World Cup.  But I've busied myself with job applications in the hopes that someone will hire me come December.  I've discovered lots of education non-profits on the East Coast that have openings, so I'm keeping my fingers crossed for some sort of sign... and trying to remain in-the-moment about my last two months here in South Africa.



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Wednesday, September 15, 2010

the itsy bitsy spider.

Back in early March, Becca and I spent a whole Wednesday teaching Grade 4 our fantastic repertoire of three songs... "Old MacDonald Had A Farm", "This Little Light Of Mine", and.... "The Itsy Bitsy Spider".

Enjoy.






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Monday, September 13, 2010

worth 1000 words...

Here are a few snapshots of life as it's happened lately...


Back in July, our community took a trip to a game farm with our friends Brian, Matt, and Martin... lots of giraffe viewing and quart drinking ensued.

We reaped the many benefits of the Durban International Film Festival, and might have gone on a top-secret poster-stealing mission on the streets of Durban one night... as the organizer of said mission, I was elated.

One of my favourite books we've got in the library (along with The Gruffalo), Room on the Broom led to a really great creative art project with Grade 5.


Sanele wore his pants up to his neck one morning.  Gosh I love that face.

And then Becky came to visit!!


We met in Cape Town, and toured Stellenbosch to taste some delicious South African wine...

... and drove around the coast in style in our little red Kia (free upgrade, no big deal).


Even though school was closed due to the strike, she got to meet and consequently fall in love with our St. Theresa's boys.

We spent a day touring Durbs-- complete with a formal introduction to the Indian Ocean.

And then we celebrated Becca's (far left) 24th birthday with a Mexican fiesta at home.


I bought some gorgeous Indian silk at Essenwood Market (6 metres for R100... that's about $15!) and got to try it on as a sari, but I don't think I could pass for Indian.


Then we introduced Becky and Meg, Mary-Kate's friend from home, to the joy that is the Durban Sharks playing a rugby match in the Currie Cup.

On her last day, Beck and I took a short drive towards Pietermaritzburg to a game reserve called Tala, which was small, but we got to hang out with lots of wildebeest (yes like the ones that killed Mufasa) and giraffes... cue Becky doing lots of animal impressions, all day.

Then our guests left, and we were left to celebrate St. Augustine Day with the Augustinian sisters next door and our three friars/friends-- Fr. Frank, Baba Benji, and Fr. Jack.  I made mum's poached pears as a little tribute to St. Augustine, and they went down a treat.







Unfortunately, my digital camera bit the dust two weeks ago; keeping it safe in a case was to no avail, and the screen cracked and would cost about $350 to fix.  But, luckily, I'm really excited to announce that after some hefty discussion with my parents, this little baby is on her way to me as we speak.
Our coordinator April is on her way for our last site visit, and she arrives tomorrow night.  We'll have two days here with her, then on Friday morning, we'll be driving up to Mosetlha Bush Camp, in Madikwe Game Reserve, up on the border of Botswana, for a weekend of safari adventures.  We'll finish our trip with an overnight in Johannesburg on Sunday.  We mainly want to see the famed apartheid museum in Jozi, but I'm really looking forward to spending a small amount of time in the city where my parents spent two years before I existed.  Even though much has changed since the early 80s, I'm excited to see it nonetheless.



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Sunday, September 12, 2010

status quo.

I've been thinking a lot about how important the idea of status is to the Zulu people I've encountered.  This covers everything, from the latest technological possessions to cars to even which students have the sharpest pencils in the classroom.
One of the hardest things that I've realized about teaching is how easy it can be to pick favourites.  This isn't even restricted to St. Leo's-- at the boys' home, too, there are certain kids that I get along with and who feel more comfortable around me than others.  There's Sanele, in Grade 4, who cannot sit still and has been known to steal food from kindergartners at break time.  But he calls me "Mrs. Sinead" and it makes my heart melt.  Then there's Bheki at St. Theresa's; he may drool when he gets overexcited and eat chicken liver pate straight from the container with a spoon, but I just love that Kanye West face of his.
But playing favourites doesn't even mean that kids feel left out if I feel the need to pay special attention to one or the other.  It's all about having things.  Children here are more concerned about having the sharpest pencil in the class, or being able to buy unhealthy snacks at breaktime instead of eating the prepared samp, finding an old Bluetooth on the ground and wearing it around the schoolyard, with more pride than the most successful investor on Wall Street.
And this phenomenon isn't restricted to children either.  Mary-Kate told me last week about a Zulu man who had asked the nun sponsoring him through nursing school if he could get a car.  She agreed to help him, but then made a very good point: this guy didn't have a drivers' license.  He seemed completely unperturbed by this.  He just wanted a car.
It's easy to say that this all comes from people who don't have much taking pride in what they can get their hands on, but when a hefty paycheck goes towards purchasing the latest flat-screen TV in a rundown tinroof house with no running water, I feel very confused at the logic.
It's also easy to expand these scenarios and take a look at the government of this country (and elsewhere).  Government officials spend big bucks on flashy cars, expensive suits, and family vacations, while in the same city, someone even related to them might be suffering from treatbale TB with no money for medicine.
I never mean to express political criticism, but I can't help noticing how even the microcosm of St. Leo's is a small-scale model for how things operate on a national level in South Africa.
Mum has been faithfully clipping articles from the Financial Times that might pique my interest, and when a package arrived the other day with two books from my sister (who is studying abroad in Paris at the moment; read her blog here), it also had a giant stack of articles with it.
One of them, written back in July, is an interview with six different South Africans post-World Cup.  It is a really interesting piece, with many points I've been reflecting on, but in a much more succinct and articulate manner.  You can find the article here, and I'd highly recommend taking the time to read it.


Oh, and school is open again, much to my relief.  More on that later...


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overheard in south africa.

We often find ourselves playing "hairdresser" at St. Theresa's when the boys have finished their homework and all the soccer balls are in use.

Volunteer: So I think I'll probably chop all my hair off when I get home.
Philani: You should relax it, that would look nice.
Volunteer:  I actually don't need to relax it, it's sort of "naturally relaxed", you know what I mean?
Philani: So who relaxes y'all's hair then?  God?



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Tuesday, August 24, 2010

struck.

The beach in Durban where the FIFA Fan Fest was set up just six weeks ago.


It's been eleven days since I've worked at St. Leo's.  In that time, which started out as a Friday I'd wanted to take off to spend time with Becky in Cape Town, all public servants in South Africa are on strike.  Government schools (and some private ones) are closed, as are government hospitals and most clinics.  The sick can't get treatment, and more importantly, those with HIV/AIDS and tuberculosis who depend on regularly scheduled medicine have no access to their prescriptions.  Children enrolled in government schools  sit at home or at a relative's house, bored out of their minds, because their families cannot afford to send them to private school in the first place.  Sadly, many of these kids depend on their biggest meal of the day coming from the school kitchen, and they will go hungry unless they find aid elsewhere.

Themba is in hospital with a stomach ulcer and other complications, and when Becca and I went to see her today, she told us that she'd had a phone call from Smangele Khumalo, a learner in Grade 5.  All Smangele told Themba was that she was very hungry; Themba did her best to convince her that the strike would end soon, then hung up the phone and cried for the rest of the night.  We also spoke about how fortunate Themba is to be able to afford care in a private hospital-- otherwise her ulcer would go untreated and the fibroids they found would have gone unnoticed.

I've been talking a lot with people, both in South Africa and at home, about everything going on, and the general consensus is that the issues causing this strike are so deeply rooted in South Africa's turbulent and segregated history that it's really hard to be hopeful about the outcome.  There has been very little said on the government's part, and the president is no better; Jacob Zuma's latest announcement was that he had attended the highly anticipated Springboks/All Blacks rugby match in Soweto last Saturday with his cabinet members.  For people who suffered through centuries of being powerless to now have as much influence as they can get is a recipe for disaster (see: Julius Malema, and also the ANC's recent announcement to enact a media tribunal on all journalistic coverage of government policies and activity).

And the poor of South Africa cannot win.  Those who wish for higher salaries are using the only advantage they have-- their ability to work-- to change the minds of those they elected to power in the first place.  And those affected by the strike are equally annoyed at the government.  The ANC was elected to power in 2009 by the very people it is now turning its back on.  The blame game turns into an endless cat-and-mouse chase with lots of pointed fingers and not much progress.

But no matter who is to blame, the fact of the matter is that people are starving, children cannot attend school, and the sick will die without access to proper treatment and medication.  The results from matriculation exams (the equivalent of the Leaving Cert, GCSE, or other final exams to graduate high school) in this country were already abysmal, and now with exams so close, there is a very good chance that South Africa's meager 15% pass rate will dip even lower.

And all this in a country that just six short weeks ago played host to one of the most widely-viewed sporting competitions in the world.  In Durban alone, trillions of rand were poured into the construction of a beautiful airport and magnificent stadium, as well as the complete and much-needed renovation of the Golden Mile along the beach front downtown.  People were hired as "beach guards" to look after worried tourists' buckets and spades while they took a dip in the balmy Indian Ocean.  Peace Officers strolled along the road with municipal police to keep people's minds at ease.  In the fan parks, people gathered in the warm Durban winter to watch soccer together, regardless of nationality, race, economic status, or age.

But now it's over, and garbage collects on the beach while police officers busy themselves with forcing the homeless off benches along the promenade.  Now that the strike is in full force, they've been dispatched to places like Addington Hospital in the city, where they were forced to fire rubber bullets into a crowd of protesters.  Parents of some of the learners at St. Leo and elsewhere have lost their jobs, and the scar that runs so deeply in this achingly beautiful country cannot be covered up any longer.

In one of Durban's newspapers called The Mercury, a piece by someone named Danie Joubert was published in yesterday's Opinions section.  Though the column was striking in many ways, this passage in particular stood out to me:
It is obvious we have our social investment priorities wrong.  We can convince ourselves to spend hundreds of billions on sports stadiums and infrastructure that had a one-month emotional impact and a limited future utilisation return value, but we cannot convince ourselves to invest the seed capital in human capital formation that assures future harmony and prosperity for a nation.

I can only hope that some sort of agreement can be reached, and soon.  With the lives and well-being of the poor, especially children and the sick, at stake, a resolution needs to happen before things get any worse.




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Thursday, August 12, 2010

this just in...

We had to close school at 10:00 this morning.  Amid alphabet matching games and practicing vowel sounds with Grade 3, Themba received a text message from someone she knows that there had been threats sent out against St. Leo's; it would have been dangerous to stay open.  I asked Olwethu, one of the girls in Grade 7 who won a scholarship for high school, if she was happy to have the rest of the day off.  "No, it's boring at home," she said.  It made me think a lot about how I've taken my education for granted... if thirteen-year-old me had had an unexpected early dismissal, for whatever reason, I would have been absolutely over the moon.  But for the majority of kids at St. Leo's and elsewhere here, school is the one thing that keeps them busy, interested, and happy.
I hope this strike doesn't last too long.

So instead, we're at home baking peanut butter cookies, I'm throwing my clothes into a bag, and hoping that when I get home from Cape Town this will have all blown over, and we can go back to school.

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

in the line of duty.

When the end of a month approaches, I often find myself feeling a bit down.  I don't know where the feeling comes from, but I do know that unfortunately, I'm not the only one in my community who gets the end-of-the-month blues.  And July was no different.  With the World Cup over, the weather much chillier, and work back in full swing again, we were all feeling a bit blue as July came to an end.
And then August arrived, but instead of perking up, the weather took a turn for the colder and my mood didn't improve much.  There are the usual frustrations that accompany work, and anyone who has volunteered in a program like mine (or who has lived with a group of people he or she cares about) knows that living in community isn't always a walk in the park.  But something about the past two weeks has really made me feel exasperated, and after a tear-filled conversation with Mum on Saturday night, I decided that something needed to be done about it.  I'm not the type to count down the days until this year is over, though when December comes, I think I'll be ready to hand the job over to someone else.  I scribbled down a list of things that make me really happy here, and thought I'd share a few thoughts.

Things Worth Smiling About
1.  Walking through the schoolyard at St. Leo's and hearing children of all ages call out, "Hi Miss Sinead!" when I'd expected having to change my name when I started teaching.  Even if I sometimes get called Shanela, which means "to sweep" in Zulu, I'm okay with that.

2.  Seeing the sun rise in the morning-- yes this does remind me that my wakeup is very early here, but the colors in the sky over the valley at 6:30 in the morning are just breathtaking.

3.  Moments at St. Theresa's like on Tuesday, when Philane was in charge of cooking dinner. I peeked my head in the kitchen every few minutes to see if he was okay, and not long before I left for the evening, he presented me with the finished product: a small dish of rice, tomatoes, potatoes, onions, and pilchards (with a little dab of mayo on the side; it's all about the presentation) to try.  I can't even remember what it tasted like, but the look on his face when I broached the topic of culinary school was something worth remembering ("You mean a kitchen?  A big one?  Of my own?")

4.  When teaching grammar and sentence structure seems to be futile, and then Mary-Kate and I are standing in the classroom, teaching nouns.  We divide them into people, places, and things, and ask the class to give examples of each.  When trying to get the kids to say "learners" two weeks ago, the following happened:
Teacher: Okay, so what are you guys?
Thabiso: People!
Teacher:  Good, that's right.  Now, what kind of people?
Thabiso: Black people!

5.  Seeing Visa/Vie and Altiplano at the Durban International Film Festival (we also saw My Hunter's Heart but it was absolutely atrocious).  Getting to participate in the film festival was really unexpected and a pleasant surprise for the most part.  If you have Netflix, I recommend adding Altiplano to it immediately.  Amazing film.

And last but not least, Becky, my best friend from college and former roommate extraordinaire, is coming to visit... and arrives tomorrow!  She's en route from LA to Atlanta right now, and then flies to Johannesburg.  She'll meet me in Cape Town tomorrow night, and we'll be spending the weekend there, before coming back to Durban for ten days.  It'll be so nice to have a familiar face around for the next two weeks.  Becky was a Jesuit Volunteer in San Francisco until the end of last week, so having someone here who has an idea of the volunteer lifestyle will be great.  I went to visit her in SF in November of last year; I can't wait to show her my life here in South Africa!
The past couple of weeks have been really draining, especially because there was a massive strike brewing for all public workers, including teachers, at the beginning of the week.  It looks as though things are operating as normal now, but police officers visited St. Leo's on Tuesday to make sure we were safe-- as the only school remaining open in the Molweni area, we were at risk when the wrath of other teachers threatened us.  Hopefully settlements will be agreed upon soon, and schools and hospitals won't suffer too much.
That being said, I still feel as if there's nowhere else I'm supposed to be.  The above are just a few of the reasons I get up in the morning, and though it's easy to get bogged down by the rough patches, making an effort to stand in the winter sunshine every once in a while is really worth it.

Monday, July 26, 2010

because this monday needs cheering up...

Today was a frustrating day at St. Leo's.  Grade 6 has the nasty habit of neglecting to show up for class, and since most of the teachers weren't in their classrooms today because of one meeting or another, there was no authority present anywhere aside from a couple of 12-year-old prefects with sticks in hand, ready to smack their subordinates on the arm.

So, instead of posting something negative, here's a real gem from our Grade 6 Term 1 Vocab Review last week.  Keep in mind, Andiswa is eleven years old.  The kids were asked to use two of their vocabulary words in a sentence; look at his second one.


My favourite car was Land Rover but my wife says she doesn't want a Land Rover, she wants a BMW.

Great sentences, indeed.  But 4/5 nonetheless.



.

Monday, July 19, 2010

overheard in south africa.

I've gotten myself mired into a Tickle War with a couple of the Grade 3 boys.  Then this happened...


Teacher 1: Sphelele!  You're not laughing!  Aren't you ticklish?
Sphelele: No... I'm Zulu!



.

Monday, July 12, 2010

the view from here: the 2010 world cup in photos

You've seen the matches on TV, heard "Waka Waka" and "Wave Your Flag" more times than you can count on the radio, and I've shared articles with you about South Africa's struggle and success in hosting this year's FIFA World Cup... so what now?

I thought I'd do something a bit more exciting, and give you a peek at what June 11th to July 11th looked like from where I stand.  I left the United States on January 11th, making the opening day of the World Cup a five-month marker, and the closing ceremony our six-month anniversary as AVs here in South Africa.  And what a month it was.

We decorated the St. Leo's library (our classroom) with projects about the World Cup...

... and went a little crazy as the term came to an end.


I got to judge a World Cup art contest-- no easy task, I promise you...


... and also banned vuvuzelas from the classroom.


We had friends in crazy flag trousers (and vuvuzelas)...


... and strangers in crazier flag UNITARDS (and more vuvuzelas)!


Then the world became that much smaller when we met a fellow Villanova alum (Class of '97 anyone?) at the fan park on the Durban beachfront.


We refereed intense soccer matches during our holiday programme at St. Leo's, complete with future Bafana Bafana star athletes...


...and taught Kwazi, Kwanele, and our 45 other campers how to make yarn bracelets in their favourite team colours.


We watched Bafana Bafana beat France with some of the boys from St. Theresa's, in one of the stickiest, most sugar-laced afternoons yet...


... and decked ourselves out in red, white, and blue to hit the beach...


... twice.


And last night, we wrapped up the festivities with some of our closest friends, feeling sad and relieved and proud and very, very exhausted, all at once.




And now we have fresh crayons, a return to routine, and five more months to make the most of our time here in South Africa.

Saturday, July 10, 2010

running to stand still.

This volunteer year is a test of endurance in many ways.  There are the tough situations at work, when undernourished children don't have enough to eat at break time or suffer from sores on their little bodies, betraying the secret of their illness.  There's the challenge of living with three like-minded, strong-willed women who don't get enough sleep at night.  There's the 6000+ miles between my four favorite people (and two cats) and me, and though God gave us Skype and GChat, there's no e-equivalent for the comforts of home.
And, as if these things weren't testing my endurance enough, I've taken to running.  My shin-splinting, asthmatic, tired body is subjected to a couple of miles most evenings after work, before the sun sets.
I was never much of a runner; at best I could sprint the 200 meter dash, and when I got to high school, a track team didn't even exist.  The prospect of running 5 kilometers as part of the varsity cross-country team was daunting, but I decided to join and working on my stamina was a project I tried for years to accomplish.  In college, I tried to keep up with running but late nights in the library coupled with seasonal illness and a side of college nightlife made regular runs hard to come by.
Now, though I find myself more physically exhausted by work (and occasionally play, to be completely honest) than I've ever been before, I make a special effort to drag myself around "the loop", a mile-and-a-half stretch of quiet suburbia across the road from our house.  I've taken great comfort in spending thirty minutes with just my iPod and my thoughts, and to my surprise, the fixation on exhaustion and breathing trouble and sore muscles I'd struggled with in the past has now melted away.
Today, on a particularly beautiful Friday afternoon, a U2 song filled my headphones, called "Running to Stand Still".  It's an old one, from The Joshua Tree, but I was struck by the lyrics as I cooled down and stood looking over the valley.

And so she woke up
Woke up from where she was lying still
Said I gotta do something about where we're going.



And there it was.  My mind is no longer thinking about exhaustion, or muscle pain-- it's simply too preoccupied with other thoughts to focus on the physical aspect of exercise.  I enjoy running so much here because I've finally got things more important to think about than myself, and I'm really glad to reach that realization.  One of my goals of my time here was to focus on things other than personal issues, and it seems that my mind's inevitably begun to shift that way.
The service I do here is time-consuming and draining; it often requires a complete commitment of mind and body to get through the days.  And so, when it comes time to reflect on my life here in South Africa, the best way I've found to do so is by physical activity-- it's when I'm most active that I find a quiet moment or two.  It really is running to stand still.

Friday, July 9, 2010

ngyiabonga.



Ngiyabonga-- thank you, so much, for all of your kind notes, emails, and messages regarding my blog post earlier this week.  It's really nice to know that I have a caring, supportive network of people when I'm feeling overwhelmed by life as a volunteer.  I really appreciate anyone even reading this little blog, let alone having feelings about it; it means a lot to me.  And you're all in my thoughts just as often.

Thanks.

Monday, July 5, 2010

the spectrum.

When I signed up to be an Augustinian Volunteer, and even during my time as an undergraduate at Villanova, I became accustomed to "reflection" pretty quickly.  Whether it was at AV Orientation, during a service break trip during college, or even in some of my classes, the idea of "reflecting" on my experience was something the Augustinian mindset got me very used to.  So when I came to South Africa as a volunteer, and an Augustinian Volunteer at that, I was fully prepared to "reflect".  I didn't know it would be so hard, and I certainly had no idea that it wouldn't be just frustration, or guilt, or sadness, or joy at one time-- I didn't know that my head and heart would take on the gamut of emotions every single day.

After a week and a half of a really successful time with the St. Leo's kids and our summer programme, we had to end things early.  There had been kids showing up that we didn't know-- the word was out that we had soccer balls and sandwiches and so these other children from Molweni began to outnumber our own kids.  Themba and Ayanda, two coworkers from St. Leo's, were both a great help to us during the camp, but last Tuesday, Themba pulled Mary-Kate and I aside and told us that she didn't think continuing the camp was safe, for us or for the children.  She pointed to one of the teenagers wearing a Bafana Bafana jersey and playing netball in the grounds and said, "That girl's family lives here in Molweni... and I know for a fact that her father and brother are professional thieves.  Who's to say that they didn't send her here to get information for them?"  While it's hard to believe that situations like that arise, they do, and putting ourselves in the middle of them compromises too much.  We also heard rumors that the older kids who showed up to play soccer were stealing sandwiches from the younger St. Leo's students, which made me more upset than anything.  It's hard enough to dole out food to hungry kids, but dealing with these older kids taking advantage of our learners was really hard to hear.
We went ahead with the movie screening we'd planned for Wednesday-- nothing beats hearing Zulu kids singing along to High School Musical like any good pre-teens would-- and then said goodbye to everybody until we see them again next week, when school restarts.  I'll be really relieved to get back to seeing them all every day again.

With the camp ending early, I had to find some other way to occupy my days, so I decided to work a day at the Hillcrest AIDS Respite Centre this past Friday.  Though I'm not cut out for that kind of work on a daily basis, I often feel like I should put more pressure on myself to be challenged-- and that's how I found myself standing over one of the patients, giving her a bedbath.  I'd never done something like that before, and it was hard.  Really hard.  She was in a lot of pain, and even raising her arm so I could wash underneath was a huge effort, but I tried to make lighthearted conversation, even telling her that her legs were long enough that she could be a model.  I realize now that the comments were just to keep myself distracted.
I spent the remainder of the day on Friday holding Bianca, a one-year-old who had just been admitted, with her mother, the day before.  She's HIV positive, has TB, and looks more like a 4-month-old than one whole year.  Although she's sick, she's happy just to have attention and be held like any baby, and I really enjoyed spending time with her.  She has the most beautiful eyes-- and is so curious!  All I can do is spend time with her and hope that she gets better soon.

Then the weekend came, and with it, more World Cup festivities.  These past few weeks have flown by (it's already July?!) but all this waving of flags and blowing of vuvuzelas has gotten really tiring.  I'm happy with how South Africa has handled all this commotion so far, but I'm really nervous for the aftermath.  That being said, we had a nice weekend, spent some time at the fan park and down around Durban-- even enjoying a Greek lunch on Saturday in the gorgeous winter sun.  After a long afternoon nap in the sunshine yesterday, we invited a few friends over for a small 4th of July celebration... and we even conquered lighting the charcoal barbecue all on our own!  And, even though the USA is out of the World Cup, I had another excuse to don my soccer scarf last night-- once the sun goes down around 5 or so, it gets really chilly up here!

And now it's Monday, and already today I woke up exhausted after another restless night of sleep.  I laughed with the kids at 1000 Hills, as we played games and sang "Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes".  I vented frustration to Becca after another failed attempt to pick up a pension for Gogo Gloria, who lives at the bottom of a steep hill in kwaNyuswa and can't walk thanks to infected skin grafts, the result of terrible snake bites on her legs.  I heard from Mary-Kate that the patient I bathed on Friday died over the weekend, and consequently went for a run to clear my head.  I sat on the hill and cried.  I met an Irish woman named Mary who is on a silent retreat at the center next door.  I caught up with my family back at home via videochat, and laughed at their jokes.....  all in one day.

My work here is tiring, and challenging, and stressful, but it's the emotional work that is most grueling.  My roommates and I often joke that our friendships have been put on overdrive-- we have one year to become roommates, community members, and hopefully, friends.  But every day here is overdrive.  Every single day, my emotions go from one to the other and back again, and before I know it, the day is over and I lie in bed, completely overwhelmed at the thought of my life here.  And that is why blogging is hard, writing letters is hard, talking to people on the phone is hard-- the process of reflecting on my daily life seems sometimes to be a task too gigantic to undertake sometimes.
But I'm trying.  Thankfully, Becca, Meg, and Mary-Kate are incredibly understanding, patient, loving people who deal with me on a daily basis... and vice versa.  We've made some really good friends with South Africans as well, both our age and older.  The Augustinians we live with are fantastic, and even my students at St. Leo's seem to have a sixth sense about my emotions.
So even though it's hard to be here, and be present, and process everything all at the same time, I'm forced to be held accountable for how I feel, and that's a challenge I really value as the sun sets at the end of the day.