Carolyn in South Africa

For many reasons, it is very important that Peace Corps Volunteers do not come to another country and “live like rich Americans” even though this is how we are always perceived at first. The ways things work is that the NGO that we are assigned to is responsible for providing us with housing and Peace Corps gives a modest monthly living allowance which gives us plenty of practice in paying cash for everything and being frugal.

I didn’t realize how much my internal dialogue about money had changed until I recently returned from my rehab period in the States. Let me take you through some of it:

First let me set the scene. In the morning, I am going to travel by public taxi to Graskop (actually, I have to use 3 different taxis) to spend the weekend with 4 other Peace Corps Volunteers who live within striking distance. Now, a trip like this in not within my monthly budget. Peace Corps gives each of us a vacation allowance equivalent to $24.00 each month that we serve. I try not to spend mine but rather save them up for longer trips I might be planning. A visit like this means I have to tighten my belt a bit.

Tuesday I needed to go into town to do an errand. I planned to leave from work and take a taxi in. In trying to decide what time to do this, I hemmed and hawed about whether I would stop at my favorite coffee shop “Mama’s” for lunch or coffee. I know that the cheapest thing on their menu is a toasted cheese and tomato sandwich for R16 and that if I just drink ice water and lemon I can get away pretty cheap (around $2.25).

But since a pot of their Bodum Coffee is only R10,50 I decided to make my lunch, bring it to work and eat it first before going into town. But you know what they say about the best made plans. Turns out that my NGO’s CEO wanted to meet with me and offered to treat me to lunch in town. He also took me where I needed to go to get my errand done. He also drove. It meant I needed to pass on the coffee but, hey, I didn’t have to spend any money that day! This is a success.

Wednesday was the Day of the African Child event and I had forgotten that these events also include lunch. Since the government buildings are close to the nearest Mall for me in Nelspruit, I decided to stop at the mall before coming home. So I made myself a chicken sandwich, grabbed an apple and headed to the highway to hail a taxi. It cost me R10 for the taxi to the mall. After the event, Nqoba, a youth leader I mentor agreed to drop me off at the mall on his way back to work.

One of my favorite places at the Mall (much like any mall in the U.S.) is “Mugg & Bean”, South Africa’s equivalent to Starbucks with a much bigger menu. Their mug of “bottomless” coffee had gone up to R10,90 since I left but since I was feeling a bit frustrated by not treating myself to a coffee the previous day, I decided to indulge myself. Besides, I had forgotten that I was getting lunch at the event and my chicken sandwich and apple would be going home with me! With tip, the 2 mugs of coffee cost me R12.

After I did my necessary grocery shopping (where I have to think hard before buying anything that is not true food) I walked up to the highway to hail a taxi back home. This meant spending another R10. But this day I got lucky. A neighbor of mine happened by and when she saw me standing on the side of the road with my “stuff,” she stopped and offered me a ride. So the way I see it, the money I saved on a one-way taxi fare brought the cost of that mug of coffee to R2!! Such a deal!

Can you see yourself doing this everytime you take out your wallet? This is going to do me so much good someday you say. . . . . RIGHT J )) . . . . .

On June 4^th I attended the African Day of the Child event held at the government’s legislative buildings here in Nelspruit, Mpumalanga province, with 16 members of our youth team.

I hope I have these facts right: in 1978 in or near Soweto a large student body uprose to protest the teaching of mathematics to black children in the Afrikaans language. Sadly, it turned into a very violent day and many children were killed. The African Day of the Child was named in 2004 as a day to remember and commemorate those children.

A legislative session was held and conducted by selected children from the various schools in the province. Also in attendance were members of the legislature itself, government officials, educators, childcare workers, etc., and other interested parties. I think at least half of the children who participated (about 200) were disabled.

“Madam Chairman” was a wonderful little girl, and I do mean little: from where I was sitting, I could only see the top of her head and forehead. If she looked up occasionally I got a glimpse of her eyes but that was it. She followed that standard protocol that is followed by the legislature when it meets in the same meeting venue.

Several children were given an opportunity to speak and express their concerns to the seated adults about the state of childcare in the largest sense and how it affects them and their communities. Since there was a large group of deaf children in attendance, there were 2 or 3 people who “signed” for them. Children in wheelchairs were accommodated for and a child with a pretty severe case of polio got himself up to the podium while we all held our breath – quite touching.

I was so impressed with the depth and range of issues that these children brought up: from clean water, proper sanitation/hygiene needs, all forms of abuse, lack of infrastructure in their communities, safety in their schools, lack of housing, escalating crime/violence, not having enough to eat, up to and including the xenophobia that has been happening here in South Africa of late.

There were a few funny, amazing moments for me, one was watching a older deaf child signing her concerns with great rapidity of movement while at the same time another child was furiously translating in siSwati what she was talking about! I couldn’t believe how fast this was happennng J ))

After that, legislative members present and several other people from within the government responded. Repeatedly, they told the children that this meeting was “not a talk show” and that their issues and concerns were being taken very seriously and acted upon quickly. I seriously hope that they stick to that commitment given the great needs I have seen during my time here in South Africa.

Next there was a vote of thanks given to all of the sponsors and volunteers that made the event possible and then Madam Chairman led the parade of people in attendance out onto the outer courtyard for the “entertainment” portion of the day that proceeded lunch. I had forgotten – food is always provided at these events and I remember wondering as I watched these children for how many of them this would be the only meal that they got that day.

Over the next 90 minutes, several groups of children took turns doing “performances.” The youth leaders I came with performed a combination of drama, singing and dancing entitled “SAY NO TO DRUGS, SAY YES TO LOVE. Feeling like a proud mama, I applauded them profusely when there were finished. All of the groups were good, these children have such natural voices and rhythm. But two deserve particular mention.

The first was a group of 5 adolescent girls who did a dance number to music that they could not hear! This was amazing to watch and they were totally on the beat. It just amazed me that they could dance this way by using their other senses to do so. Oh, and remember that child with polio I mentioned earlier? He was so moved that he spontaneously got up on stage and joined them (a common occurrence here) and he kept perfect beat to the music too!!

The second was also a group of girls who looked to be between 8 and 16 years of age. They performed some traditional Swazi dances for us but it was their attire or lack thereof that shocked me. They were all naked except for a traditional Swazi (read skimpy here) skirt which was attached to a narrow strap crossed over one of their shoulders.

When they first came out, I was taken aback: they were all bare-chested and some were quite well developed. Once they started their first number, I turn to Space, one of the youth leaders I was with, and said to him that “in my culture” I wouldn’t be seeing something like this in public. He told me that this was the first time he had ever seen this in person also; once or twice on television, but never live before. Many of the other youth leaders were snickering too – I surmised that this was a first for them as well.

One of the traditional siSwati dance moves is a high one-legged kick. These girls did not face the audience while they were doing these (although this is the true form) thank God but it took me a few moments to realize that they were not wearing underwear either. Not quick believing what I was seeing, I again turned to Space and asked him “Are these girls wearing underpants?” More giggles . . No! he replied. Now I ask you? Am I just getting old or what? So I think I will respectfully chalk this one up to “cultural differences” and let it go at that.

It was quite a day.

BARACK OBAMA  !!!!

I have often been asked this question and I can answer it in one simple sentence:

A TESTIMONY TO HOW BLESSED I AM TO HAVE SUCH AMAZING FRIENDS!!

Not that I didn’t experience culture shock. When I left the airport, nothing “looked right.” I wasn’t familiar with seeing all the concrete, freeways, buildings and cars rushing past that I used to consider quite normal. My friend Donna asked me that first day to “make a list for Trader Joe’s” and she offered to shop for me. Trader Joes? Huh? It just didn’t compute. She decided to try again the next day.

Now admittedly, I was in a lot of pain and had been traveling for a day and a half with little sleep. I guess I had become comfortable with the wide open spaces here in South Africa, the visible vegetation everywhere and of course the red dirt. I wasn’t able to return to my own home because it has been rented out. Rather, I moved in with a friend in her neighborhood.

It took about 3 weeks to begin to feel comfortable with my surroundings and relearn how to get around town. But it wasn’t until I house sat in March in my own neighborhood that I had the first feelings of “being home.” I realized that I use the word “home” now to designate where I am living at the time. Since my father passed away in 2001, “home” is no longer Massachusetts.

I truly value all of my friendships but there are a few that deserve special attention for going above and beyond the call of duty during my rehab period.

Donna: who became my driver and took me to most of my medical and PT appointments as well as taking trips to Costco, the infamous “Trader Joes” and other necessary places for me. A retired Physical Therapist with more than 50 years experience, she was an invaluable resource to me (a little tough on me at times) and helped me greatly with my ankle rehab. I carry her in my head here in South Africa. Whenever I am stepping up or down I hear her say: “up with the good, down with the bad” or “up to heaven, down to hell.” Another helpful thing she told me about getting up from a sitting position is “toes over the nose.” Try it. Thank you again Donna.

Claire: who took me into her home and let me stay with her for the entire time I was in rehab. Her sons are gown o she had room for me. At first I was a little apprehensive about staying with any one friend for too long and thought I would sort of rotate myself around. However, Claire and I seemed to cohabitate easily and I still miss her company. Thank you again Claire.

Kevin: I owe this man my life. The entire time that I have been in South Africa, he has managed the rental and care of my house there for me. What kind of great friend is that, huh? He helped me get rid of some disappointing tenants and whipped my house back into shape in no time. I just learned that it has been re-rented to a very nice family that he thinks will treat it as their own and they are even into the gardening thing – how lucky can one person get? Thank you again Kevin.

Judi lent me her second car when I was again able to drive to use for the duration of my rehab! I was deeply touched that she would do this for me, taking on the insurance risk and leaving her car in my care. Not many people would do that. It changed my life there to have the freedom to come and go as I please again. Thank you again Judi.

Lastly, a big THANK YOU FOR YOUR SUPPORT to everyone else that I was able to spend with during this time. I realize now that it was the right decision to return to the states even though I didn’t want to initially.

Each Peace Corps Volunteer is provided with a bank account into which their living allowance is deposited each month. Now that I was back in South Africa, I needed to reopen my bank account at the “FNB” – First National Bank. Here was the plan: a Peace Corps driver would pick me up between 8:00 am and 8:30 am and take me to the bank to reopen my account. Sounds simple enough, huh?

At 9:15 am I called the Peace Corps Headquarters office to inquire re the whereabouts of the driver. He told me “I am coming now.” I love this response because it is the purest of vagueness! He was there at 9:30 am and we drove to the “Brooklyn” branch of the FNB. Along the way I asked him if I needed any documentation to reopen my account. He told me “No, just your passport.” I also asked him if there was anyone in particular I was to ask for once at the bank. He told me “Vivian.” So far, so good.

Once parked, we walked together to the bank and found the Customer Services Manager, Danny, and an assistant busy working together at his desk. I greeted them both in siSwati and enquired about their families. I offered to wait until they were finished but they stopped what they were doing and insisted on helping me. I explained what I needed and asked for Vivian. Danny told me that “Vivian is not working today” but assured me that his assistant was “very competent and could help me with anything I needed to do.”

So my “visit” began. When Danny learned that I was living and working in the Mpumalanga Province, he told me that he had grown up in a township near Nelspruit before coming to Pretoria to educate himself and find work. When I asked him which one, he told me “Kabokweni.” Well . . . ..I lived in Kabokweni for 5 months before moving to White River in late January of last year!! . . . .instant connection.

Back and forth, many questions and answers: I learned where he went to Primary and Secondary school and knew them both. I learned where his family lives today and that his father moved to Masoyi many years ago. I explained to him where I lived quite near the Temba Hospital and learned we both frequently visited the same “Western Chicken Dust” for barbequed chicken for cheap. You get the idea. Meanwhile, Danny’s assistant saw that we were engrossed in conversation and politely excused herself.

Eventually, we got back to business. Danny’s assistant informed me that because my account had been opened at the “Church Street” main office that I needed to go there to reopen my account. Hmmmm . . . I phoned the Peace Corps driver who had been waiting for me and asked him to take me to the Church Street main branch. Danny gave me his card and encouraged me to stop into to see him whenever I was in Pretoria. I bid him to “stay well” in siSwati and promised that I would.

FNB’s Church Street main branch is in downtown Pretoria; parking is a bear so the Peace Corps driver dropped me off and went looking for a place to park and wait for me. It was also the 15^th of the month, the day all government employees get paid and the huge set of buildings was wall-to-wall people. I got into what seemed to be a customer service “que”.

A bank employee approached me and enquired about what my business was. Just for the heck of it, I decided to ask for Vivian – low and behold, Vivian was in the next building over and the employee said she would take me to her. Which she did. Vivian was helping someone at her desk and there was one person waiting to see her as well. I got in line and began doing a behavior that has become quite familiar to me here in South Africa – waiting.

About ½ hour later, it was my turn at Vivian’s desk. I explained my mission to her and gave her my passport. She was able to look up my previous banking information on her computer. She then asked me for a letter from the Peace Corps. What letter? I asked: one stating this and that about my status in South Africa, time frames, etc. I decided that the best thing to do was to have Vivian speak with our Administrative Officer and tell him what the letter needed to say. I called him, explained the situation and handed the phone to Vivian. After a few minutes Vivian hung up the phone and she told me that another Peace Corps driver was going to bring the letter to us at the bank.

There was another “que” waiting to speak with Vivian by this time. But, rather than help someone else while we waited, she began our “visit.” The usual questions about where I was from, what I was doing in South Africa and where etc. Turns out that Vivian has a nephew working in Boston and a sister who left many years ago and lives “somewhere” in California.

South Africa has its homeless population also. Vivian told me that there were many of them who hung around the square that the bank was on. She told me 6 years when she was walking into work one day she had to almost walk over a homeless man. As she did, God spoke to her and said “what are you doing about this?” After thinking about it for a while, she decided to start providing the homeless with “tea” on Friday mornings and enlisted some of her co-workers to help her. That’s how it started and today between 80 and 100 homeless men and women are served a full meal each Friday outside of the bank.

THIS is the spirit of “Ubuntu.”

Vivian told me she had worked for the bank for 35 years and that she was looking forward to retiring in 2 years. THEN, she was going to travel to America and see her relatives. About this time, the second Peace Corps driver arrived with the needed letter. Vivian opened my account and made me a new ATM card after I gave her R50 to deposit into it. Before I left, Vivian asked me for my email address so we could stay in touch. I gave it to her along with my San Diego address and told her to get in touch with me if she makes it to California one day.

Mission accomplished.