tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-134973512024-03-08T05:24:50.722+02:00SawubonaI've created this blog as a way to keep in contact with all my friends and family back home while I'm serving the Peace Corps in the Republic of South Africa. Feel free to leave comments and share this with anyone you'd like! Sawubona means hello in Zulu.
The contents of this web site are mine personally and do not reflect any position of the US Government or the Peace Corps.Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06554873913159802244noreply@blogger.comBlogger71125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13497351.post-19982050442359356892007-06-08T08:58:00.000+02:002008-11-07T03:54:18.453+02:00party!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmmDBhZZF9FPw-btGaR_oVJ53SJ8cFYodtOFQHHqAR03kETP5b2nQ9IiKuW3F7_hDXSYe-zPJ3iZ3cRptA9oNKY7V5dDoACs_Ta6Nd9ICt-MPJTRR5YbbzISh5cCnJVQwu4qsD1Q/s1600-h/mel3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmmDBhZZF9FPw-btGaR_oVJ53SJ8cFYodtOFQHHqAR03kETP5b2nQ9IiKuW3F7_hDXSYe-zPJ3iZ3cRptA9oNKY7V5dDoACs_Ta6Nd9ICt-MPJTRR5YbbzISh5cCnJVQwu4qsD1Q/s320/mel3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5073590278493635058" border="0" /></a>My host father invited all of his family members for a party to celebrate their ancestors.<br />In preparation, Mma and her daughters made traditional beer out of ground mealies and amarula (a type of fruit). First, you mix the ingredients and leave them to ferment for five days (left). As it ferments, the thick mixture heats up and oozes air. It also smells like the bog of eternal stench.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihvVzP00dDVbd_TzQR28auXvCiE88ANE7Qlog9nm8z2yq3EXD29b5r8RbnU8Db6zifks4VUtXj96okkj2Y_2uAlrv-nIaAzZNWRLSxPhVvTkUaqbgG6pgmJjRecYZrLyPwGH7pcg/s1600-h/mel2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihvVzP00dDVbd_TzQR28auXvCiE88ANE7Qlog9nm8z2yq3EXD29b5r8RbnU8Db6zifks4VUtXj96okkj2Y_2uAlrv-nIaAzZNWRLSxPhVvTkUaqbgG6pgmJjRecYZrLyPwGH7pcg/s320/mel2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5073590274198667746" border="0" /></a>The resulting sludge is strained (left, with two of my host sisters). The left over mealies are bunched into balls to ensure that all of the beer is drained (in the background of next two pictures).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZmfpeikSjKQugHM4CmsWT0z21zaYdLQSY1F7LFukG3Nnft1fCIRIkOgFnTZeSHheBW3SRww0wobDgVlewOzVzEiN2-QJOIU5YdhwDCR-gZVcAwbdtNw1WH80Yles1IY9ExjjxZA/s1600-h/mel1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZmfpeikSjKQugHM4CmsWT0z21zaYdLQSY1F7LFukG3Nnft1fCIRIkOgFnTZeSHheBW3SRww0wobDgVlewOzVzEiN2-QJOIU5YdhwDCR-gZVcAwbdtNw1WH80Yles1IY9ExjjxZA/s320/mel1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5073590265608733138" border="0" /></a>Finally, the beer is ready to drink! Here, Mma scoops some into a calabash (the normal cup) to tease everyone about drinking it. You can also leave the beer out for several more days before drinking, that way it gets even stronger.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAO7So9rTDynPzkEqYQq-AjzqDOQJM_8l9yo4Ld-iYBdA0hlQF0sSO3qkiKowWhOkB92gbwlc8Z6g7z1b9YUnqv2QGEw4_k8BDPCjTCzKJlHps3RH6PQKgTQujYpLpNig6ruEQog/s1600-h/mel4.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAO7So9rTDynPzkEqYQq-AjzqDOQJM_8l9yo4Ld-iYBdA0hlQF0sSO3qkiKowWhOkB92gbwlc8Z6g7z1b9YUnqv2QGEw4_k8BDPCjTCzKJlHps3RH6PQKgTQujYpLpNig6ruEQog/s320/mel4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5073590282788602370" border="0" /></a>Mmamere and John (grandkids) playing with bubbles my Mom sent for Easter. Mmamere has Zack (great grandkid) on her back.Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06554873913159802244noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13497351.post-77137146416021979582007-06-07T11:46:00.000+02:002007-06-07T11:56:36.630+02:00submitted application!<span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >I finished and submitted the AMCAS (medical school) application today! That means after many months of procrastinating and throwing away drafts of my personal statement, it is completed and I cannot worry about it any longer. Here is an excerpt of the essay:</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;" ><br />Fine, reddish brown sand covers the ground. Thorn bushes block the sun. I start exercising by myself but I am never alone. Drivers honk and wave manically, trying to attract attention. Passing pedestrians start conversations, “Eish! Letsatsi wa fisha! [Wow! It is too hot today!]” Children line the streets, clap and chant, “Le-taa-bo! Le-taa-bo!” As I approach, the children chant louder, laugh and sprint alongside me. Many things have changed. My name is not Melissa; I am Lethabo. I do not live in the United States; I live in a rural South African village, serving as a Peace Corps volunteer.</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" > </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span> <p style="font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;" align="justify"><span style="font-size:100%;">Saturdays are reserved for funerals, at least two each week. Funerals seem to be the only reminder of HIV. It is feared, never discussed and occasionally gossiped about. Testing is seen as pointless. “Why know your status if there is no cure and face the stigma of the disease?” teachers ask me. No matter how much community members ignore HIV; it remains, casting a shadow over once-vibrant community members.<br /></span></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;" align="justify"><span style="font-size:100%;">I met Margaret, my host mother's niece, as she was travelling to the hospital with her very ill mother. Her mother was completely dependent upon Margaret for moving, eating and using the toilet. My host mother and I offered assistance, but Margaret preferred independence to help, refusing any aid offered to her as if the offer was a rebuke against her abilities. Margaret was vibrant; she led the conversation and took over the household duties. Her presence could not be forgotten.<br /></span></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;" align="justify"><span style="font-size:100%;">After her mother's death, Margaret repeated the journey from her village to the hospital. This time, the trip is for her and her sister who watches over her. Margaret's presence is again unforgettable, but for drastically different reasons. Her independence is gone. She is waif, constantly tired and calls me, not her sister, to help her eat, use the toilet and hug her. Margaret desires human contact as if to confirm that she is still human. Her eyes watch for hints of repulsion. Margaret, and other South Africans like her, has solidified my desire to study medicine.<br /></span></p><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I now have a few weeks until I start filling out secondary applications.</span><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">In other news, I will end my service here on September 14 and I should be at home in Wisconsin on the 15th!</span></span>Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06554873913159802244noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13497351.post-36461975971121917312007-04-07T19:08:00.000+02:002008-11-07T03:54:19.106+02:00surfing safari<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVUnF7AkBfzwM-UD3jCC6Iz4CO9iUtwte0KhOSvuVWlNc_LMDyWORzGYSaAOZdM3kHEvqqFj4j1OyhKCdgISuKrb_FHMhJundq070KEtgtgBQhPrpsFNTKtqAGfJ0ojo2M7GaxfQ/s1600-h/PICT0179.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5050736001956822450" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVUnF7AkBfzwM-UD3jCC6Iz4CO9iUtwte0KhOSvuVWlNc_LMDyWORzGYSaAOZdM3kHEvqqFj4j1OyhKCdgISuKrb_FHMhJundq070KEtgtgBQhPrpsFNTKtqAGfJ0ojo2M7GaxfQ/s320/PICT0179.JPG" border="0" /></a> I just returned from Jeffrey's Bay, home of world-class winter-time waves. While there, I took a week-long surfing course with another volunteer. We started lessons on the beach with little two-foot high waves (that usually turned into white-wash by the time we tried them) and perfected standing on them. By the end of the week, we had graduated to real surf boards, big waves and paddling out. When I actually caught a wave and stood (rarely, but what can I expect from only surfing for a week?) it was amazing. So fast! I got caught underneath a few huge waves and it was almost enough for me to forget how cool surfing is. To the left is me with my 'real' board and our first instructor, Andrew. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl1j2PA3FfdfPcubM1SX9076tNBoG1yvjoJevBUKBUJm6LbfFKrYw65u6dy61JRn974OnEqf1d8lEk5M033eSbjD4E7q1FLhqltdrj2u-hdlpUI7F-UtaAdXTr1ZiIPzwqnDBibw/s1600-h/PICT0178.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5050736006251789762" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl1j2PA3FfdfPcubM1SX9076tNBoG1yvjoJevBUKBUJm6LbfFKrYw65u6dy61JRn974OnEqf1d8lEk5M033eSbjD4E7q1FLhqltdrj2u-hdlpUI7F-UtaAdXTr1ZiIPzwqnDBibw/s320/PICT0178.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />View from our backpackers. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6Q6rCFi3p_zAm-ROAtQCXUupLajfygmMRAfZP0WrhmnITYjY8hXkQqNPuXZgJrNRbIDrVCKz0kZib42QAkV8Fj3rneSxWTInjDqFH2E-9-S0oeNUvhiryAnGBLMQ71QDyihdCIw/s1600-h/PICT0177.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5050736010546757074" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6Q6rCFi3p_zAm-ROAtQCXUupLajfygmMRAfZP0WrhmnITYjY8hXkQqNPuXZgJrNRbIDrVCKz0kZib42QAkV8Fj3rneSxWTInjDqFH2E-9-S0oeNUvhiryAnGBLMQ71QDyihdCIw/s320/PICT0177.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div> </div>Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06554873913159802244noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13497351.post-64269319476929037992007-03-27T19:25:00.000+02:002007-03-27T19:36:06.051+02:00datingHost family members, teachers, South Africans in general are fascinated about who the white American is dating (if anyone) . Yesterday I went visiting with my Mma. We stopped at one of my teacher's houses and we interupted her, her husband and their preacher/grandmother's meal. The grandmother was fascinated with me and quickly declared that I was nice while she queried what kind of farm animals we have in the US. Mma started talking about how great am I, listing off how I'm always laughing and smiling, I help with dishes and with the goats, causing the teacher to laugh. The grandmother then asked if I have a boyfriend and informed me that it's good that I don't, all boyfriends have AIDS. I guess husbands don't?<br />Then, the husband, who's convinced that I will marry in South Africa and stay forever AND go home and teach all of America Sepedi, informed me that there are too many single, white men in town. ie, I should marry one of them. <br />We return to normal topics of conversation and another visitor arrives to talk to the husband. Once the visitor is done talking to the husband, he starts talking to me. His first question? 'Will you marry me?' I informed him that that is not the question to ask an American girl first off, and it's best to talk to me before (if ever) asking that. He agrees, we talk for five minutes. He asks, 'Now will you marry me? We've talked.'<br />Walking home, my fiesty Mma told me that I can't date anyone in the village. They're not good enough.Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06554873913159802244noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13497351.post-58272082904951464052007-03-27T19:11:00.000+02:002008-11-07T03:54:20.118+02:00you can never go home again<div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-aRE5HuDz9rQnxblZqozstAbUnkrAuhIbnvOOoLrCLiTndGY9IF_oTsPfTt90rChg35cmm5d2GOodY8ka__roYkKt3kDHQ-WPhHA2cl9wiB9UScXxnuJupQa2fPTMptqoIAD3ZA/s1600-h/PICT0168.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046655252085262098" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-aRE5HuDz9rQnxblZqozstAbUnkrAuhIbnvOOoLrCLiTndGY9IF_oTsPfTt90rChg35cmm5d2GOodY8ka__roYkKt3kDHQ-WPhHA2cl9wiB9UScXxnuJupQa2fPTMptqoIAD3ZA/s320/PICT0168.JPG" border="0" /></a>After being deemed healthy by the surgeon last Monday (benign and all those good words), I went back to my site. There were, of course, the normal feelings about going home. I'm not doing anything here, it's too hot, I want a shower, I don't have any friends; you get the idea. But, I received a HUGE mailing of books. Thanks to everyone at home that contributed to the book mailing, I feel rich! There was a massive wind storm while I was gone and it tore up my laundry tree. AND I have a new friend named Mina. Kittens, baby anything really, makes me happy. My host parents love and play with her too. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ8O0kDtp37yDD6VUBwX9iKaR9zU3vJkfUAAkwZwg7l-yiXP8MxM5OZYvBzDqJyg6u7mzpXqkFa41BHAX8C9CJVBydsGj6eYAmqhp4OcVuxw6XID2iQx1KuXigdhK3MVatIxq-wA/s1600-h/PICT0166.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046655234905392882" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ8O0kDtp37yDD6VUBwX9iKaR9zU3vJkfUAAkwZwg7l-yiXP8MxM5OZYvBzDqJyg6u7mzpXqkFa41BHAX8C9CJVBydsGj6eYAmqhp4OcVuxw6XID2iQx1KuXigdhK3MVatIxq-wA/s320/PICT0166.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><div>Above, my room with books. :D, left remains of tree with our pit toilet and neighbor's toilet in background</div></div><br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEiIZLTOWACP4zAV0BZ7XlXoJdJ-YhOsSZZdrutYWH8xz1UMxG2dp6nGep7WP5uiRxuI2stVaFT5QcbV-2V4BYoeflbq_rbH4frajvthUbbMIL397Cbc-Vmig1FVz7unqrwW1KSA/s1600-h/PICT0167.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046655243495327490" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEiIZLTOWACP4zAV0BZ7XlXoJdJ-YhOsSZZdrutYWH8xz1UMxG2dp6nGep7WP5uiRxuI2stVaFT5QcbV-2V4BYoeflbq_rbH4frajvthUbbMIL397Cbc-Vmig1FVz7unqrwW1KSA/s320/PICT0167.JPG" border="0" /></a>My old friends, the goats, with the top of the tree</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSA1DNHDKNA4Ri98Ovjg4yZGTIjUj48ugBgxItAvlzwRqh3ZNGMl9P8tFMzyn0UzaovqwUmyEM7dAUxl7hHalKJEGLOE-LwoTU-eHA7HIs7u6DxpTOjUmVOwciAxJIFyxnUppQBQ/s1600-h/PICT0159.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046655256380229410" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSA1DNHDKNA4Ri98Ovjg4yZGTIjUj48ugBgxItAvlzwRqh3ZNGMl9P8tFMzyn0UzaovqwUmyEM7dAUxl7hHalKJEGLOE-LwoTU-eHA7HIs7u6DxpTOjUmVOwciAxJIFyxnUppQBQ/s320/PICT0159.JPG" border="0" /></a>MINA!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjS6RCx9dbulB0ZGUirFG9j-2PGqp-6yIBRGrVEjJfPqGKIsgVrOUStnw5Rao1z9Nx7yVlsCGb_YCaWOd7EPRXVHYgWuTDwnzPUfH9Skaxo9d9JpgF3zdmk6hiNDLJ_JkH1MFj7g/s1600-h/PICT0176.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046655501193365298" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjS6RCx9dbulB0ZGUirFG9j-2PGqp-6yIBRGrVEjJfPqGKIsgVrOUStnw5Rao1z9Nx7yVlsCGb_YCaWOd7EPRXVHYgWuTDwnzPUfH9Skaxo9d9JpgF3zdmk6hiNDLJ_JkH1MFj7g/s320/PICT0176.JPG" border="0" /></a></p><p> </p><p>My host parents' great grandson, Zach, playing with Mina</p>Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06554873913159802244noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13497351.post-3517317232890530162007-03-27T19:09:00.000+02:002007-03-27T19:10:02.951+02:00finally holiday picsI've finally completed my post from my last trip! There's lots of text and pics and if you click on 'holiday' to the left you'll find it.Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06554873913159802244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13497351.post-14276587989736799632007-03-15T10:20:00.000+02:002007-03-15T10:40:53.918+02:00de-lumpedLast week the Peace Corps doctor called and informed me that the main office in Washington DC approved the removal of the lump. I came down to Pretoria on Wednesday and met with a surgeon on Thursday. The surgeon did some training in Madison and was happy to hear that I'm from Wisconsin. The surgery itself was on Monday. The Peace Corps picked me up from the backpackers at 5:30 and dropped me at the Little Company of Mary (a private hospital here in Pretoria) and I filled out forms at procrastinated until the surgery at 3:30. An hour later, I woke up and in another half hour I could walk around. Just as I was falling asleep, a nurse came in to check on me and noticed a bunch of blood on my shirt; the bandage came off a little and the anastetic that was coming out leaked onto my shirt. Another bandage was added on top, and I fell into a nice, deep sleep.<br />The next morning the surgeon changed the bandage and discharged me and I've been staying at a guesthouse since. I have a private room, a comfy bed and if I want I can wander to the pool and smell the roses. I have been wandering around Pretoria to get food and use the internet, but I've been getting tired faster than normal and usual head back for a mid-afternoon nap. <br />I'm hardly in any pain and haven't been taking my pain medication. The lump was benign and there shouldn't be any scarring. <br />I should head back to my site on Monday or Tuesday and fall break starts Friday.Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06554873913159802244noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13497351.post-54901616837729442452007-02-24T19:01:00.000+02:002007-02-24T19:08:46.020+02:00mirth through helloToday, I had the unique experience of causing shock through greeting. <br />At McDonald's this morning, the over-worked teller greeted me, "Dumela Mma. (hello Ma)" I replied, "Agee, le kae? (yes, where are you?)" "Re teng. Jo! (I am here. Jeez!) [laughter]" He was completely without malice, just a little harried and surprised that this lekgewa can greet in Setswana. <br />At the mall this afternoon, the bag girl said, "Dumela." I replied, "Agee, le kae?" Her eyes stretch to twice their normal size and she starts laughing. "A-ee, wena! O dira eng? (unh-unh, you! What are you doing?" I chastise. "Ke o teste! (I was testing you!) [more laughter]"Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06554873913159802244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13497351.post-29940043575884272062007-02-22T14:05:00.000+02:002007-02-22T15:11:43.064+02:00most action I've had in. . .On Sunday I, by chance, discovered a lump in my breast. On Monday, I spoke with medical and they made an appointment for a sonogram for today. I went, really nervous, derobed in the frigid office and laid down to get cold oil spread on my breast. The radiologist was nice and talkative, patiently explaining all of my silly questions. The lump is a fibro adenoma, a fibrous growth that is apparently very common in young women. Within the growth, are a pair of cysts and there's another cyst lurking outside of it. The growth is kinda big (about 2 cm in diameter) and just underneath the surface of the skin. The chances of it being cancerous are very low, but if it is not removed it could continue to grow and I have to get a sonogram every six to eight months to make sure it's still benign. Plus, having a lump in my breast makes me uncomfortable and kinda like a part of my body isn't really part of me any more. Other volunteers (female!) have been asking to feel the lump for their education purposes (I think) but I can't really imagine anyone touching the lump or my breast because they like me. . .I mean, it's a lump, gross. What could be less sexy? Both radiologists that looked at my scan whole-heartedly said, "Remove it!"<br />I came back to the office and talked to the doctor and she informed me that the Peace Corps office in Washington probably would not ok the surgery to have it removed but that she will write a letter asking them to approve it. It is considered an optional surgery and I'm 'so close' to my close of service (eight months is a long time! That's a third of my time here!). What will probably happen is I will get another sonogram right before I come home in September or October to make sure that nothing has changed and then I have to see a doctor at home and see if he/she suggests removing it. IF he/she comes to another conclusion, then the Peace Corps will not pay to have it removed. If I wanted to pay for the procedure myself to have it removed while I'm here, I could be violating the terms of my service and administratively separated. I was so excited to just get rid of the stupid thing that when I was told all this, I started to cry. To make it worse, the doctor doesn't have kleenex in her office. I've always suspected her being devoid of all sympathy. The doctor ended the meeting, and I rushed down the hall to get toilet paper from the bathroom. Two volunteers comforted me after the meeting, and pressured me into fighting the decision. I can't fight it. I'm just so tired. I just want the lump gone.Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06554873913159802244noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13497351.post-40769286229478021652007-02-21T20:11:00.000+02:002007-02-21T20:12:43.768+02:00next eight monthsFrom last Tuesday<br /><br />This morning I woke half-covered by my blanket. Instantly too hot, I threw it off and settled underneath my sheet for the last few minutes of sleep. Later, walking to the pit toilet, I contemplated what to wear. The weatherman claimed it would only be 30 C (86 F), I could wear heavier clothes. I laughed. Only 86, my pre-South Africa self would be melting and searching for a fan. <br />It's been six weeks since I used either a sheet or a blanket and I welcomed the cool morning as an early sign of fall. Ah, fall: those short weeks when it's no longer steaming hot at dusk and dawn, like summer, or freezing at night, like winter. It may be much colder at home right now, but I remember there being leak-proof roofs and windows, insulation and heating. <br />Fall also means that I'm closer to coming home. My official swearing-in date was October 13, 2005 meaning that my service officially ends on October 13 this year. For unknown reasons, my projected close of service (COS) date is October 6 and there's a rumor that we can COS a month early no-questions-asked. The COS date leaves all of us a few weeks to a month too late for the start of schools, either for teaching or continuing studies. <br />My back to the United States time-line looks something like this:June 1: earliest date to apply to medical schoolsSometime in June or July: COS conference, where the Peace Corps dispels all myths and fives us the date that we can officially leave this country. PLUS they give us a third of our settling in allowance (the remaining two thirds is sent to our permanent address on record). After the conference, we are back on travel restriction and not permitted to leave our sites. June 30–July 16: Winter school holidays. No set plans, I hope to go to Pretoria for a few days to complete medical school applications and start looking for jobs back in the US. Maybe I'll visit the Kalahari Desert too. . . September 22-October 1: Spring school holidays. I'm not allowed to travel. Sometime in September or October: Fly home! I may stop off and visit other places on my way.<br />I have four months to complete my application essay, 'Why do you want to be a doctor?' I've had several false starts: writing a page or two and then getting stuck. I have so many pre-Peace Corps experiences I could write about but I can't ignore two years spent in a land struggling with so many health and social issues. It seems fake to write about the country's issues with health when I have little to do with it other than waking to funeral dirges. My experiences here are too fresh and raw; I haven't figured out if there are more positives or negatives to my service, there's not an all-inclusive story when the story's still unfolding and any story I come up with starts with "I want to be a doctor so I can help people." As does anyone else who writes the essay. At that point, I flounder and give up for a couple of weeks. <br />So far I'm definitely applying to UW-Madison, Dartmouth, Georgetown and Jefferson with George Washington, Temple and Boston on the maybe list. I like aspects of all the schools and the more I research them, the more I realize that I haven't found a school that offers everything I'm looking for. I'm extending the search to Chicago schools this week and then ending my search. <br />Which brings me back to the present. I'm sitting outside with Orion, Sirius, the Milky Way and Southern Cross stretching over my head. Mma is a few feet away sitting on empty 50 kg mealie meal bags cleaning wash cloths. A dog barks and donkeys move and rattle the bells around their necks. My neighbors are blasting Thobela FM (all Sepedi language all the time), the shebeen (illegal bar) is bopping down the street and another neighbor is competing for the loudest music award. I can hear my host father inside on his cell phone watching the Sepedi news and someone is trying to fix their car. The cool (hopefully summer won't return) air surrounds me and I can smell fresh scones in the air. Good, bad, aggravating; this is Ga-Monyeki village etching itself onto my memory. I look forward to using a blanket tonight.Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06554873913159802244noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13497351.post-8691467628853486142007-02-07T09:31:00.000+02:002008-11-07T03:54:20.605+02:00plastic mabeleThere's been a recent up-swing in my demenor coinciding with poor internet connections, meaning that all of you hear from me less. Sorry. Below is my Mma grinding mabele (sorgum) and a bag made out of plastic bags that kept me busy for many nights. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNXkv34AyiLixzMUQMSre3ft6NUKTQ9V39isN5eNtS0naFjBVvaPj4jhllyhlNiIocmXmGml_hAFsOBEQbhFIzhj9IWBqG6POFj-O-XrPsYaPuP8BbLq0qY02mKbX2M4MqqS4XYg/s1600-h/PICT0002.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5028698751921494946" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNXkv34AyiLixzMUQMSre3ft6NUKTQ9V39isN5eNtS0naFjBVvaPj4jhllyhlNiIocmXmGml_hAFsOBEQbhFIzhj9IWBqG6POFj-O-XrPsYaPuP8BbLq0qY02mKbX2M4MqqS4XYg/s320/PICT0002.JPG" border="0" /></a> Mma has continued to complain about my host father, mainly about how he doesn't like meat and how he's cheap. She also wants me to give her the plastic bag bag!<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh72KGt46u8we6Hot3YhgEwRPynY58KEE_Rv1JnkLAloHF6RBiosl2RSR3vNbxk97aFGerHQHaD7oWvetYxak711hyh-kvCXBkAbMm2D23dKTvWSbW36qBazYXVTCYVhXUQH_bKVQ/s1600-h/PICT0001.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5028698751921494962" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh72KGt46u8we6Hot3YhgEwRPynY58KEE_Rv1JnkLAloHF6RBiosl2RSR3vNbxk97aFGerHQHaD7oWvetYxak711hyh-kvCXBkAbMm2D23dKTvWSbW36qBazYXVTCYVhXUQH_bKVQ/s320/PICT0001.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div>Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06554873913159802244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13497351.post-1169626068151984792007-01-24T10:02:00.000+02:002008-11-07T03:54:24.126+02:00holiday<div><div>December 9- Travel to Pretoria from my site to meet up with travelling companions, Jillian, Meagan and Kelsey. I waited four hours for the taxi to fill only to have an unfixable flat tire 25 miles outside of my closest town and to wait another two hours for another taxi to come from town. Eish. Nothing like a stressful start to a holiday but at least this time I remembered my credit card. That evening we watched The Holiday.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBYJ6bnkCZK_JINv_-O3bnc0epUINlshMKNggFTAuOph1amfOhfrA0_d-vPpH8uba-F_0RmPWnL1HMGv15RPWe9u9okl5CcSOhdPjYM60wJ71z4BkwoBY89REkg6YPgFVWb8WgKw/s1600-h/IMG_1877.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046646529006683730" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBYJ6bnkCZK_JINv_-O3bnc0epUINlshMKNggFTAuOph1amfOhfrA0_d-vPpH8uba-F_0RmPWnL1HMGv15RPWe9u9okl5CcSOhdPjYM60wJ71z4BkwoBY89REkg6YPgFVWb8WgKw/s320/IMG_1877.JPG" border="0" /></a>December 10-Travel from Pretoria to Malealea Lodge in Lesotho with detours to the airport to drop off Meagan’s friend and grocery shop. The little red polo that we hired had a packed boot and any food that we bought ended up crowding those sitting in the back seat. Our five CDs were on constant rotation, and tiresome at the end of the trip, while a silver snowflake ornament dangled from the rear-view mirror and a “Happy Holidays” snowman magnetized to the boot. At the border crossing between South Africa and Lesotho I got hassled because my South African visa says that it expired on April 6, 2005 when it doesn’t expire until November 2007. The guard joked (I think? He sounded rather serious) that they should detain me overnight for questioning. [picture in our little car, driving through the Free State]<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR1s3XoU8HvKiYdavNflwgQkMVtZZ8Ge-eN3l7di8uX8j7kDID7job6wVcslO9gws0LOchxZPbg2QcYxVIb5ReVbiDhzONEiukxzKpS5hcGGFxps2lq5qwSEbMyrtjqVrHzR67wA/s1600-h/melissa+december+2006+038.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046648405907392194" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR1s3XoU8HvKiYdavNflwgQkMVtZZ8Ge-eN3l7di8uX8j7kDID7job6wVcslO9gws0LOchxZPbg2QcYxVIb5ReVbiDhzONEiukxzKpS5hcGGFxps2lq5qwSEbMyrtjqVrHzR67wA/s320/melissa+december+2006+038.jpg" border="0" /></a>December 11, 12, 13- Pony trekking. Jillian is able to walk for hours day in and day out, but horse riding was not for her. I loved it. The four of us were led by guides along roads and passes into rural Lesotho. The ride was scary at times, along mountain sides with nothing to prevent the occasional slip over the loose rocks to turn into a 100 meter stumble down a cliff and our horses racing (mine liked to bite and kick) so that they weren’t the last horse that ended up getting hit with a switch. The first night we stayed in a very remote village. It seemed that the people living there spend most of their day merely sustaining life: fetching water, herding sheep, growing vegetables and cooking. As soon as the sun went <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7SaxCAZi1faUPWmPd3R0cSum9aeHJOG6DdjHmLJxMV01n-Na9AcUtY8qW7Rgm1rJ93zcSG-AK4Mi9IL82bWaoF53u1ktaPVsg82w2fBEj7wdj5FZaOI8rgRrCx56TVX_LUfszRw/s1600-h/melissa+december+2006+065.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046648418792294114" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7SaxCAZi1faUPWmPd3R0cSum9aeHJOG6DdjHmLJxMV01n-Na9AcUtY8qW7Rgm1rJ93zcSG-AK4Mi9IL82bWaoF53u1ktaPVsg82w2fBEj7wdj5FZaOI8rgRrCx56TVX_LUfszRw/s320/melissa+december+2006+065.jpg" border="0" /></a>down, everyone went to sleep. What else do you do when there’s no electricity and you worked hard all day? In the morning, a grandmother tending to two toddlers called me into her house. After greetings, she told me to take her baby with me when I left. How hard is your life when you offer your child to a passing stranger? The second day we re-traced our steps a little, going down a mountain pass we went up the day before: a thin path in a small crevice between peaks. All along the path calla lilies grew wild, in some places forming a white blanket of flowers. The second village we stopped in was visited more often by pony trekking tourists and the family had bought a solar generator for their speakers and boom box, ah, progress. From that village it was a short walk to a tall waterfall <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRMFHojldWR6xT3vQfrzFEKW5rdsdo7L-FZPAgMHjuFkUFeodZZUfDK8vj23NzInancgQgB6HXXKNHWTyn4WNzIz4Y8ais2XCMAGi2bGAR53aqnN1a0JRCf2CmjBhfsILSwS0TBw/s1600-h/melissa+december+2006+061.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046648414497326802" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRMFHojldWR6xT3vQfrzFEKW5rdsdo7L-FZPAgMHjuFkUFeodZZUfDK8vj23NzInancgQgB6HXXKNHWTyn4WNzIz4Y8ais2XCMAGi2bGAR53aqnN1a0JRCf2CmjBhfsILSwS0TBw/s320/melissa+december+2006+061.jpg" border="0" /></a>where we tried to bathe in the freezing water at its base. Back at the village, Kelsey made friends with one of the many long, curly-haired goats that men in the village shepherd into the mountains each morning and back into an enclosure at night. The last day we returned to the lodge (my horse and I were quarantined from the other horses because of his desire to kick everyone else) with a better taste of the superb mountain views and poverty that is Lesotho. The villages were different from the villages in South Africa because they never were moved from one location to the next due to Apartheid. The houses were spread out over greater distances, allowing more space between the houses for grazing animals and growing <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4vUAF5pGouGpQmPl37-hAqAzmK-WfQRnz7nT0VMKvrZZCl8v60HUYcEEW_of-ciEfB_NUK07JQ5WeHo4d4FBve0YWybqNPsErFImvVlgAITNMGzsyJ5ggZGiSkWcMm-22SuxzGg/s1600-h/melissa+december+2006+037.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046647821791839922" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4vUAF5pGouGpQmPl37-hAqAzmK-WfQRnz7nT0VMKvrZZCl8v60HUYcEEW_of-ciEfB_NUK07JQ5WeHo4d4FBve0YWybqNPsErFImvVlgAITNMGzsyJ5ggZGiSkWcMm-22SuxzGg/s320/melissa+december+2006+037.jpg" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcy0Ga1Ikzim86o114IM8foO1ZjaWhBq2IG2WqDPZWqklLaiSRe5jGAjP_InrSSFxiEuxg1IXy4iOihK-ZMMQB-4RuDwHrDkhAYDzazIHovvDS7a4Omsg__1YvZIzvcNQSkQp_QA/s1600-h/IMG_1925.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046646541891585650" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcy0Ga1Ikzim86o114IM8foO1ZjaWhBq2IG2WqDPZWqklLaiSRe5jGAjP_InrSSFxiEuxg1IXy4iOihK-ZMMQB-4RuDwHrDkhAYDzazIHovvDS7a4Omsg__1YvZIzvcNQSkQp_QA/s320/IMG_1925.JPG" border="0" /></a>crops. People were kind and everyone wanted sweets. [from top: Jillian, me, Kelsey on our horses; best pit-toilet view in the world; village where we slept our first night; goats and sheep outside of second village; me, Jillian, Kelsey with waterfall]<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEUrPeH6RHQMZoQFbZZksECOvPcBte2LrKTv2LEeCHClfrROTeFFjIuV6MX0y-QC1mONOQ-g0Fa4gD1rp63CCUGczw_Ksmpm7m7vIdammViPd_3hrhHOtpHTn1jmbdqU0xOlOo0Q/s1600-h/december+2006+145.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046642388658210274" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEUrPeH6RHQMZoQFbZZksECOvPcBte2LrKTv2LEeCHClfrROTeFFjIuV6MX0y-QC1mONOQ-g0Fa4gD1rp63CCUGczw_Ksmpm7m7vIdammViPd_3hrhHOtpHTn1jmbdqU0xOlOo0Q/s320/december+2006+145.jpg" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRbt4jtIjIUCjcRM1AmkKvlpN-nyW9lrs0E0L-va_4YHyIg6tWt3SbKCjrs0-vj4230r3hO6KIAiR1jCTSvT33mfAOIFRX51cutLJgP57X4HijZnVHwT03DkkGxLaNmmAa3E47mw/s1600-h/december+2006+146.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046642397248144882" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRbt4jtIjIUCjcRM1AmkKvlpN-nyW9lrs0E0L-va_4YHyIg6tWt3SbKCjrs0-vj4230r3hO6KIAiR1jCTSvT33mfAOIFRX51cutLJgP57X4HijZnVHwT03DkkGxLaNmmAa3E47mw/s320/december+2006+146.jpg" border="0" /></a>December 14-Hike to Cascades with new friends we met at the lodge. We reluctantly took three young boys as our guides to the Cascades, telling them that we would not give them any money. The hike down was harrowing, the path was non-existent and often more similar to rock scrambling than walking. The Cascades themselves were awesome: a series of short waterfalls into shallow pools. From the top, you could slide down into the next pool as long as you didn’t mind losing a little skin on the <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVnuZvCYfzYhutydwLi_vL6xFycYaTTLrnUzfsf27UhcuwZmV9O0PHDUSyIA_CTuibB9zB1kKsAMaCMkbbXGjQyRMeyx2MZoUdgxZCX0arKC0HP9fFiwf96LVqQjD03_Jy8onvpw/s1600-h/IMG_1891.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046646533301651042" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVnuZvCYfzYhutydwLi_vL6xFycYaTTLrnUzfsf27UhcuwZmV9O0PHDUSyIA_CTuibB9zB1kKsAMaCMkbbXGjQyRMeyx2MZoUdgxZCX0arKC0HP9fFiwf96LVqQjD03_Jy8onvpw/s320/IMG_1891.JPG" border="0" /></a>not-quite-smooth rock. The walk back had us using trees as support over crevices and scrambling over more rocks. Our guides at the end of the hike decided to charge us 60 rand each, which we refused to pay, instead we shared our lunch and the friends we met at the lodge took them for cold drink and fat cakes. [pics, Cascades with our guides and friends of the day; chilling at lodge]<br /><br />December 15-Drive to Semonkong, another lodge in Lesotho. The drive consisted of going almost back to Maseru (the capital where we crossed the border into Lesotho) and then down a road that deteriorated the further we drove. By the end of the drive, the bottom of the car scraped on rocks as we dodged potholes and drove through two-foot deep puddles. The road is considered one of the better ones in Lesotho and was improved over its condition a few months before. We wanted to find a good grocery store because we only bought food for the pony trek and were left eating rice, bran flakes and what we could scrounge from the village shops (not much). Alas, the best we could find was some more rice.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhapfT14guOfAFYahzMoH1OWOniElx7tJHhEDEfTK-OY7IyIav9IFelWRPFTq73n-shVa7-CKd04JyEIOMlU9ZNhT1phaIU8qbKDClcWzTReZSizCSUgwcA5ugqJMDAmWoaQwbAbA/s1600-h/december+2006+203.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046645403725252130" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhapfT14guOfAFYahzMoH1OWOniElx7tJHhEDEfTK-OY7IyIav9IFelWRPFTq73n-shVa7-CKd04JyEIOMlU9ZNhT1phaIU8qbKDClcWzTReZSizCSUgwcA5ugqJMDAmWoaQwbAbA/s320/december+2006+203.jpg" border="0" /></a>December 16, 17- Day hikes to huge waterfall. Semonkong Lodge is situated along a river and up a hill. Most of the accommodation was higher end but we stayed in the only dorm up at the top of the hill next to the end of the road. I liked to compare it to Rivendell as the last comely house before the wilds. It was comely. The dorm was large with eight comfortable mattresses and a nice shower for the four of us to share. During the day we would hike to a waterfall about an hour’s walk from our dorm. The Maletsunyane waterfall boasted the world’s longest abseil (you are roped into a harness and are lowered down along the sheer rock face) in the world, 209 m. It was a little too expensive for any of us to abseil but it was an awesome sight. At night we would listen to music, cook rice, stare at the stars and have serious chats. I’m learning a mix of Sepedi and Setswana at my site and I loved being able to kinda talk in Lesotho (they speak Sesotho, similar to both Sepedi and Setswana). [pic: Jillian, Meagan, Kelsey with waterfall]<br /><br />December 18-Drive from Lesotho to Kestell in the Free State, back to the capital then out of the country! Kestell is a tiny little town close to the Golden Gate National Park and the northern Drakensburg. There’s a few Mom and Pop grocery stores, restaurants and a large square dominated by a church. Karma Lodge was lovely, we had the place to ourselves again and feasted on Christmas cookies that we made and jam made by the owner. Dessert seemed to dominate our meals, we started a vacation-long tradition of amarula and ice cream.<br /><br />December 19-Day hike in the northern Drakensburg Mountains. After much debate (a group of four with different views on the ideal time to spend hiking) we choose to do a short hike featuring lots of little waterfalls and a scramble up ‘The Crevice.’ A good day.<br /><br />December 20- We left the mountains in a LONG drive from Kestell to Kosi Bay. Kosi Bay is in KwaZulu-Natal along the Indian Ocean almost on the border with Mozambique. We stopped in Durban for lunch and groceries and along the way we stopped for road-side pineapple. Yummy.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvHRsZwzqNvaEpgp-_ZlUfhL4lJdShwwPKgKU1OFjVP74-9mKmvRsSmO22SbTwYGGneEjUxkV91MS-A5H4rT7VwI2tgcjsmAgvEHZJkefYB2vkpFQhCFGGZfGxxmS1MMkmC6QeWA/s1600-h/IMG_1969.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046647808906938002" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvHRsZwzqNvaEpgp-_ZlUfhL4lJdShwwPKgKU1OFjVP74-9mKmvRsSmO22SbTwYGGneEjUxkV91MS-A5H4rT7VwI2tgcjsmAgvEHZJkefYB2vkpFQhCFGGZfGxxmS1MMkmC6QeWA/s320/IMG_1969.JPG" border="0" /></a>December 21, 22- On both days the owner of the backpackers drove us (and other people staying at the backpackers) to Kosi Bay mouth where there is the most beautiful beach I think I have ever seen and a protected inlet. In the inlet, there are some rocks where tropical fish live (at some point it was probably a coral reef, but too many people have touched and moved the rocks and sand to keep the coral alive). The snorkelling was like sticking your head in a salt water fish tank: the fish might hide but they are so close that you could touch them. There were moray eels, lion fish, red fish, blue fish and aggressive ones that liked to chase after you and bite. The beach itself was practically deserted, clean and had great waves for playing in. We all got really <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh4WPnekmL7YXUtUTHEIjasZOExnLwX5h3H9fK4_0cc-17LdI-wGFx5-jSJmwVkXVFY0pt09Ahj9bgjWFKO9i3r1cQQM1pkUxJLt8AkCyN2UVFGRs45HfA-YAQgPVRdS4m5Dgr9g/s1600-h/IMG_1956.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046647800317003394" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh4WPnekmL7YXUtUTHEIjasZOExnLwX5h3H9fK4_0cc-17LdI-wGFx5-jSJmwVkXVFY0pt09Ahj9bgjWFKO9i3r1cQQM1pkUxJLt8AkCyN2UVFGRs45HfA-YAQgPVRdS4m5Dgr9g/s320/IMG_1956.JPG" border="0" /></a>sun-burnt. On the first night, three of us went on a tour to see leatherback sea turtles nesting. What happens is you walk up and down the beach looking for turtle tracks in the sand leading from the ocean up past the high tide mark. If you’re lucky, the turtle is still laying her eggs and hasn’t returned to the ocean. We saw one turtle right after she finished laying her eggs when she was busy filling in the hole and ‘disguising’ the spot where she laid her eggs. Disguising is a stretch, there is no way that a 500 pound animal designed for water can hide where she’s been on damp sand. It ended up being more of a dramatic flailing of limbs that kicked sand everywhere (including into the turtle’s eyes, onto her back and 15 feet away) and seemed <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj50WMHWzmf_Wq9LMYOtnfnDPAoLJ8w9Tjg8oPPwNiv2sSI7nCYtTI1tHJvMOy0aunRpO2GOdtQr3ArgW8hOIQHtt_LhwsHamndzwybg8zpdLa4XC1CoOI3wqEm0u8MMSZffnEUGw/s1600-h/december+2006+218.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046645416610154034" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj50WMHWzmf_Wq9LMYOtnfnDPAoLJ8w9Tjg8oPPwNiv2sSI7nCYtTI1tHJvMOy0aunRpO2GOdtQr3ArgW8hOIQHtt_LhwsHamndzwybg8zpdLa4XC1CoOI3wqEm0u8MMSZffnEUGw/s320/december+2006+218.jpg" border="0" /></a>more effective as a method to completely bury the turtle and the nest. Once done, she returned quickly to the ocean. She walked surprisingly fast on the sand and occasionally got side-tracked by flashing cameras. We kept walking and saw another turtle returning to the ocean. Loggerhead sea turtles also nest here, but they are much shyer and avoid coming up onto the ocean when they think there might be human, animal or bad weather present. [ pics: our sleeping hut; me, Meagan and Kelsey; turtle]<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSgshr2TMo3QbfdzhSARdhvZAHO8ND5D6YCXhXUdm9pRI8AhPH8P9eQKESik-PdNa6yRAK0RnOiXvc6p9JQuvjH7zSkBp7Kmotm1vLgwgoCr-SA9TOnQ3M4M4igmwgRXDbaAp5Ng/s1600-h/december+2006+077.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046642380068275666" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSgshr2TMo3QbfdzhSARdhvZAHO8ND5D6YCXhXUdm9pRI8AhPH8P9eQKESik-PdNa6yRAK0RnOiXvc6p9JQuvjH7zSkBp7Kmotm1vLgwgoCr-SA9TOnQ3M4M4igmwgRXDbaAp5Ng/s320/december+2006+077.jpg" border="0" /></a>December 23- While Kosi Bay mouth beach was heaven, paying for the 4-wheel drive trip there and dealing with the owner of the lodge, who wasn’t consistent in charging for rooms or the drive and tried to be cool and friends with everyone (a recipe for disaster) was not. We left Kosi Bay with Nadine, our German friend. She did not have a way to get from Kosi Bay to St. Lucia and needed to be saved from the owner of the backpackers who was not-so-subtly trying to get into her pants. The drive was short and we had time for an evening boat tour in the St. Lucia estuary. St. Lucia is a system of lakes that empty into the Indian Ocean and brags over 500 <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgelqBD9RuBgUmDRVBZvWXWd5erDCEiQqv5Yqs9_XOvQHN6WF4aY2KiVKmI8hJBwmwphYikcfC2u_QWzEZ2sWDshGq8YJ5T0ClIYFu7VaVRrXp3PdMCqAQF_Xyz2vG8SP5hTI5Kfg/s1600-h/IMG_1984.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046647813201905314" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgelqBD9RuBgUmDRVBZvWXWd5erDCEiQqv5Yqs9_XOvQHN6WF4aY2KiVKmI8hJBwmwphYikcfC2u_QWzEZ2sWDshGq8YJ5T0ClIYFu7VaVRrXp3PdMCqAQF_Xyz2vG8SP5hTI5Kfg/s320/IMG_1984.JPG" border="0" /></a>hippopotami and 70 percent of South Africa’s crocodile population. The tour was short and we saw lots of hippos yawning, sleeping eating reeds in the water, a few crocodiles’ snouts, it was too hot for them to be any where but submerged in the water, and lots and lots of birds. There are so many hippopotami that they wander the streets at night and crocodile attacks are a reality! [pics: hippo, Nadine, Kelsey, me on hippo/croc tour]<br /><br />December 24, 25-We met up with two more volunteers, Emily and Jenny, making seven people in the little red polo to and from St. Lucia beach. St. Lucia was much more crowded with a stronger under current (less fun to play in the waves). The water was sandy from the outlet of the estuary. Still pretty, it was a let-down after gorgeous Kosi Bay. The town itself reminds me of my hometown with lots of restaurants, hotels and beach shops catering towards summer-holiday tourists. We were doing what all affluent South Africans do: spend Christmas on the beach with a braai (barbeque) at night. Kelsey surprised us with home-made stockings beside our beds when we awoke on Christmas morning!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkRjyHjZ6Zmwox_cXNN4CO5dn0IEcPkU8J5MGsLy2qWdsxR2eGB-pTtbc364UKE0DWa7Lc_3DiaUNKrHLhXWJeUg9f0Ztt1cOSxVcGB1r8MH5s96b2uawDGE5tVWM9jto_g6I6yg/s1600-h/december+2006+081.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046645382250415618" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkRjyHjZ6Zmwox_cXNN4CO5dn0IEcPkU8J5MGsLy2qWdsxR2eGB-pTtbc364UKE0DWa7Lc_3DiaUNKrHLhXWJeUg9f0Ztt1cOSxVcGB1r8MH5s96b2uawDGE5tVWM9jto_g6I6yg/s320/december+2006+081.jpg" border="0" /></a>December 26-We read that Cape Vidal was a beautiful beach set in a nature reserve about 20 miles outside of St. Lucia. The seven of us got up early and packed into the little polo hoping that we would get to the entrance gates to the park early enough to be let in. The park was having water issues and they would only let 20 cars into the park. When we pulled up to the line, we realized that the gates actually opened two hours before we arrived and there was little hope in making it into the park. Jillian scouted out the situation and spotted a near-empty 10-passenger van in the front of the line with only two people in it. She asked if we could join them, and they happily agreed. We hopped into their car, called the park officials to discuss the water situation and 30 minutes later were on our way into the park. The drive to the beach was interesting: lots of grassy planes with a few trees and lots of stumps as if the park rangers had burned a second-growth forest of non-indigenous trees. There were plenty of impala, which we quickly got bored of seeing and antsy for the beach. Then, we saw a rhinoceros about 10 feet off the side of the road lazily munching on grass and taking his time further into the bush. My first wild rhinoceros sighting! We continued to the beach, white sand, tall dunes and lots of deep sea fishing boats. We played in the waves and a little bit of Frisbee. The trucks and trailers that drove the fishing boats in had trouble driving up from the beach because they had to make it over a sand dune, almost like watching 50 trucks and manly men trying to look good while getting in a car accident, over and over again. One of the boats caught a 500 pound black marlin, enough fish for someone to be eating for years and trophy large too big for most houses. On the way out, we stopped at another beach in the reserve, Mission Rocks. It was very different from Cape Vidal with rock formations instead of sand. We saw another rhinoceros as we left. [pic: rhino on way to beach]<br /><br />December 27-We left Nadine in St. Lucia and Jenny and Emily on their way to Mozambique so the four of us rode off in the polo back to the mountains. The drive to Swaziland was uneventful but with a few detours. One was to the largest supermarket in Swaziland (I think the only reason that it was the largest is because the counted the furniture store next door as part of the grocery store). The other was a scenic route to our hostel, we got lost. Sondezela Backpackers calls itself the ‘Rolls Royce of Southern Africa backpackers.’ It was nice. Clean beds and kitchen (complete with working refrigerator without food thieves unlike St. Lucia), a gorgeous view of green mountains and set in the middle of a game reserve (without any of the dangerous animals, ostriches and warthogs would routinely come into the backpackers).<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4rEj3kEMmpmSDFcvWOzDU53MPI-86UrkdLgeNA3IJq50uSNL8qwPFhu1yZWN-UjYJ2p-gUB_qyJl-yLZALS304R8ZuiHc_-1CZtVXiSX3JqmbRCCSAL8LlQ1MnWWAfO_i29kxdA/s1600-h/december+2006+059.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046642371478341058" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4rEj3kEMmpmSDFcvWOzDU53MPI-86UrkdLgeNA3IJq50uSNL8qwPFhu1yZWN-UjYJ2p-gUB_qyJl-yLZALS304R8ZuiHc_-1CZtVXiSX3JqmbRCCSAL8LlQ1MnWWAfO_i29kxdA/s320/december+2006+059.jpg" border="0" /></a>December 28, 29, 30, 31- To my surprise and delight Becca and Alicia, the two volunteers closest to me, and Becca’s friend, Dawn, happened to be staying at Sondezela as well. The next couple of days followed a very relaxed pattern. In the morning, we would normally make an effort to go to a craft market or get some yummy coffee in town and in the afternoon there were short hikes in game reserve where we could get within three feet of warthogs and deer like things. (It was too close for my comfort, warthogs have tusks! They could seriously hurt me!) In the evenings, we would cook, swim and take in the amazing views and cool mountain air. One afternoon we went to a little Ncwala ceremony, a pre-curser to the most sacred of Swazi rituals and the beginning of the harvest season. The scandalous head princess of the royal family led the singing and dancing and to watch, we had to take part. I don’t really know how to describe it. The songs were slow and solemn and the dancing matched the pace of the songs. Much more interesting was the princess, she is known for being overtly sexual and wearing <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy2BdagoU27MdOt-03cL3fjZIIJqHIBLNGRJb_DupYB0z6F7U0dJPtDjWYtr_hoN9zMK0gUkq-qI1_6qZtODcEdfxExNLqs7ZY5qzbJKc8RVso1aAAAC0yvp_OUXfQEKwlFdckZQ/s1600-h/december+2006+111.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046645386545382930" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy2BdagoU27MdOt-03cL3fjZIIJqHIBLNGRJb_DupYB0z6F7U0dJPtDjWYtr_hoN9zMK0gUkq-qI1_6qZtODcEdfxExNLqs7ZY5qzbJKc8RVso1aAAAC0yvp_OUXfQEKwlFdckZQ/s320/december+2006+111.jpg" border="0" /></a>teeny-tiny skirts. She routinely gets in trouble in the press. On New Year’s Eve, Kelsey and Becca got really sick with fever, chills and diarrhoea. With a heavy heart (and listening to Kelsey’s worries that it was malaria) we went to a New Year’s Eve bash at the House on Fire called “Hollywood, Swazi-style”. In the daylight, House on Fire is awesome with elaborate art deco flairs and poetry on the walls. At night, it’s like any other club (sometimes they hold plays), packed with revelry except with a surprisingly white crowd. We danced some until the count-down. Once 30 seconds to midnight arrived, the DJ went crazy and started counting down as fast as he could, often having to start over from 30 because he counted to fast. I didn’t really realize that it was the New Year because I was laughing too hard at the DJ until I saw fireworks filling the sky. Afterwards, there was more dancing and pressure to stay until the House on Fire closed at 5 AM. We didn't stay that long! [pics: up-close and personal with warthogs and zebra; me, Meagan, Jillian joking after walk with warthogs]<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyiho7giHPC3siKSs9eXy3qbL2aiabP_r8rlatfvorfV_a8EgKSV1M0gLiQ1V0i8RGJNkymrpDwFciiqC4qt3Glz4EEF7PguZGAsdW6OW9Nql68JVllJhbPcwIhUx9Lbid5fgWAg/s1600-h/december+2006+247.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046646520416749122" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyiho7giHPC3siKSs9eXy3qbL2aiabP_r8rlatfvorfV_a8EgKSV1M0gLiQ1V0i8RGJNkymrpDwFciiqC4qt3Glz4EEF7PguZGAsdW6OW9Nql68JVllJhbPcwIhUx9Lbid5fgWAg/s320/december+2006+247.jpg" border="0" /></a>January 1- Woke up too early after dancing and was a complete bitch for most of the morning. Unfortunately, we had to leave Swaziland and drive up to Kruger National Park so I wasn’t able to fester and get over myself alone and ended up snipping at everyone else. Alicia (Becca and Dawn are going elsewhere once Becca gets over the flu) is joining our group for Kruger, it is Alicia’s and my first trip there. Kelsey was getting healthier even though her appetite hadn’t returned. At this point, I had had enough of travelling with the same people for a month (as I’m sure, they had had enough of me). They’re all great, but I don’t think I like anyone enough to spend a month in their almost constant company. The border crossing was quick, and we spent a very short amount of time driving in South Africa before entering Kruger. Once in the park, we established a pattern: oh and ah over animals then realize that we need to hurry to our lodging before 6:30 to avoid a huge fine. We stayed in a little six rondavel area which had a good kitchen but without electricity, pots, utensils or plates. We managed by borrowing pots from neighbors and using Tupperware and pot lids for plates. Outside of the enclosure, spotted hyenas would circle because of the meat that they smelled. Their den was a few minute drive from where we slept. [pic: spotted hyena mom and cub outside of their den]<br /><br />January 2- Drive around Kruger. We saw plenty of animals: white rhinoceros, cape buffalo, ground hornbills, spotted hyenas, impala, waterbuck, zebra, elephants, wildebeest, nyala, giraffe, crocodiles, warthogs, baboons, vervet monkeys and a lioness but there was a lot of time in between sittings and it just wasn’t as cool as getting up-close like we did in Swaziland. We kept stopping at a larger lodge to see the sightings board in hopes that we would happen along cheetah, leopard or wild dogs after guidance from other people. But, there were a lot of baby animals (baby wildebeest are surprisingly cute) and I got to drive the manual car for a little bit without scaring anyone too badly. That night, we could hear lions off in the distance.<br /><br />January 3-We left early, with a couple of hours to drive around the park. Afterwards, we dropped Alicia off in Nelspruit, ate lunch at the mall, dropped Kelsey off at her site and finally arrived at The Oaks, Jillian’s village. Jillian has a cute square-devol to herself and a good relationship with her family and especially her family’s dog for the walks she takes it on.<br /><br />January 4- Jillian and Meagan dropped me off in Tzaneen from which I took several taxis back to my site. I was lucky: each taxi left within 30 minutes of my arrival. My host mom greeted me with a smile and a hug, and I had a large stack of never-read before books collected from Jillian and mailed from home. It was a great vacation and yet I’m so happy it’s over.</div></div>Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06554873913159802244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13497351.post-1169022638765078322007-01-17T10:24:00.000+02:002007-01-17T10:30:38.783+02:00Happy New Year!It’s the start of a new school year! It’s the beginning of the end for my time in South Africa! Yay! I’m excited about coming home but nervous because I have no idea what I want to do or where to live. Add in the self-esteem black hole called medical school applications and my return stateside seems like it’s going to be a crash course in stress. The educators at my schools remembered that I’ll be going home in the coming months and have (kinda) committed to working more with me for the next school terms. We had a productive meeting about starting a library at my key school yesterday and my fingers are crossed that the momentum will carry throughout the year. I was pleasantly surprised by the number of teachers that want to work on a library at that school!<br /><br />It’s also the end of summer holidays. For affluent South Africans, Christmas and New Year’s means a braii (barbeque) on a beach. I’m happy to report that I celebrated my best Boxing Day ever (December 26) by going to a beautiful, deserted beach surrounded by a game reserve (we saw a rhinoceros on our drive to the beach) then returned to pink champagne, dinner and chocolate cake. Hope that Boxing Day next year will be just as good. (And on a beach. I love beaches.)<br /><br />I won’t bore you with all of the details about my holidays. I’m working on a complete version with a few pictures, but it will take me awhile to complete. The trip wasn’t entirely without worry. About a week into holidays I got a text message from my supervisor reminding me to report all of the days that I was a vacation to her. It got me wondering why she would remind us and the Peace Corps South Africa rumor mill went into full force. I heard that four people had been administratively separated and sent home because they did not report their travels. I started to worry about all of my friends and debated over text message where people were and whether they reported their days. In the end, it wasn’t anyone I know. The newest group of South African volunteers swore into service in October, meaning that they could not travel from their sites until December 22 (it’s a Peace Corps policy, no travel for the first three or last three months of service). A group of four decided to break travel restrictions and went hiking in the Drakensburg Mountains, close to Lesotho (far, far away from their sites). One morning they woke up to discover that all of their belongings had been stolen during the night. They called the Peace Corps office for help, got air-lifted out of the mountains and tried (in vain) to explain that it really wasn’t their fault that they left their sites without telling the office where they were going while on travel restriction. If they had waited a week to start hiking and told the office, they wouldn’t have been sent home. <br /><br />The trip back to site was long, but the transition from vacation to village life has been made easier by a huge stack of books that I picked up from one of the women I travelled with and packages of books from Joanna and Cara. Thanks! I can’t think of anything better than escaping into a good book. <br /><br />A few days after I returned from my holiday, my host mom started telling me about all of the food that they didn’t have (basically, there was mealie meal for porridge and they needed everything else) and I felt pressure to buy food for everyone. Since that wasn’t the original deal that I set-up with my host family, I can’t afford to feed myself and my host parents and they can afford their own food, I confronted my host father. We had a nice chat (even though it was difficult to hear him over the television) and he told me that the food that I buy is as an occasional ‘gift’ to the family. Basically, it’s an extra and I shouldn’t feel pressure to buy things. I wanted to tell him that I wanted to cook for myself all the time and buy all of my own food, but I chickened out and told him that I have eaten too much bogobe (hard porridge) over the past year and I will cook for myself on the nights that they eat bogobe. I don’t know what my host mom thinks of the new deal, but I feel great. There’s so much freedom in cooking for myself and I don’t have to worry about eating all of their food. Plus, I get to eat something other than bogobe and potatoes for dinner. <br /><br />Hope all is well with everything at home. . .Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06554873913159802244noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13497351.post-1165309927876504582006-12-05T10:27:00.000+02:002006-12-05T11:46:21.350+02:00I could level mountains with my good intentionsI apologize for the long hiatus from this blog. I keep writing things down that I want to post, but then never actually post them. My good intentions could level a mountain.<br /><br />I wrote about a teacher getting donations from businesses in town towards a bicycle for me. A few weeks ago she appears with a new bike for me. I was floored. She and my host family took it upon themselves to get me a new bike. It's blue and nice (but would require taking the brakes apart to fix a flat tire, which happens at least once a week) but I prefer the bike that I already have. I'm keeping both for the moment because my current bike is making distressing noises when I peddle.<br />If they can get a new bike without my help or motivational speeches, why don't they do so many other things? A library, getting along with other teachers at the school or lesson planning would be nice.<br /><br />A teacher at Tshukudu organized a game drive through his church (the same church that Becca, my closest volunteer goes to) and invited me to come along. Becca and I both decided to go, assuming that we would be going to a game lodge and searching landscapes for animals would be the extent of our day.<br />We were wrong. We happily arrived at Lapalala Wilderness area (only 45 minutes late, a record) and discovered it specializes in taking school groups from surrounding villages and introducing the learners to flora and fauna that they only see on TV even though the animals live a 30 minute drive away. The group we were with was mostly children from grades 1 to 7 (they prefer seventh to tenth graders) and we didn't have enough adults (they prefer to have teachers so they can go back and teach other learners). Instead of the hiking that was planned, we took a short walk to the river and in the afternoon played a game emphasizing that decisions communities and game farms make effect each other and they should work together for world peace. We ended the day with a quick game drive spotting zebra and white rhinoceros and stopped to feed a domesticated black rhinoceros. The difference, I learned, between a white rhinoceros and a black rhinoceros are what they eat and their lips. White rhinoceroses have flat, normal lips perfect for grazing grass. Black rhinoceroses prefer the leaves off of trees and have adapted an upper lip similar to an up-side down tonge perfect for ripping leaves off of branches. This rhinoceros was an abandoned three year-old who made adorable (I know, who would have thought adorable and rhinoceros belong in the same sentence?) mewing noises. We were given a handful of food and held it up to her and she scooped it out of our hands with her lip.<br />On my way back to my house, there was another animal encounter: a goose attack. I was walking, minding my own business, a little giddy from the adorable rhinoceros mewing, when a big, white goose starts waddling towards me with its beak wide open and looking for some flesh. I could hear my dad, "goose bites hurt" in the back of my mind and I did by best diversionary tactics. I waved my arms, screamed and ran the other direction. It worked great. The goose knows who's boss and hasn't bothered me since. A good day.<br /><br />My host parents are old. 76 and 73. Their grandkids are always coming by, cooking, cleaning and delivering messages between their parents and my parents. A constant visitor is Lefenya, AKA Finky. Finky just finished grade 7 and has the interesting preference of playing with girls in grade 3 instead of children her own age. She's also 5' 11" and towers over everyone. Finky decided to visit some friends in Shongoane 2 about an hour walk from where she lives. Her friends got a lift back to Shongoane 3, but she decided to walk home alone even though it was dark. She gets to Shongoane 3, but still has another 30 or 40 minutes to walk in order to get to her house when some men in a car stop. The men demand that they get in the car, she refuses and they smack her and drag her into the car. They drop her off in the bush and she walks for the next day and a half without food or water through the bush. She was too afraid to walk on the road. <br />Back in Shongoane 3, her family is looking every where for her and thoughts atomatically turn for the worst. I thought of rape, murder, abduction and using her body for muti. People who believe in traditional medicine (and all sorts of other traditional things) believe that body parts of other people will heal them, make them better businessmen or give them good luck. I've heard of people whose brains were taken so that a business will have two brains and thus be twice as successful. Not many people believe in it, but enough do to make it a possibility. <br />After she walked back she was tired, but ok. The men were bored and simply wanted to have a little fun by abducting a girl. <br /><br />Last Monday, my host mother's sister died. The sister had visited our house several times and I was always shocked at the state of her health. She couldn't walk, her voice was hoarse that she usually choose not to speak and she gave up on eating about a month ago. I thought she was 80, but she really was only 59. Her family took her to clinics and hospitals multiple times but all the doctors and nurses were able to do was give her a feeding tube to plump her up a little and send her home. I'm not clear on what the cause of death was, but my host father said it was the 'illness' (AIDS). <br />My Mma went to her house and spent the week cooking, cleaning, staying up all night singing, getting ready for the funeral and mourning. She came back yesterday, exhausted. <br />Back at our house, things weren't cheery either. I am a young woman. My host father is an old man. Guess who cooks, cleans and serves? Guess who wasn't happy about it? We were almost out of food (except for mealies to make hard porridge, which I refuse to cook ) and I went to town to get food. I bought rice, pasta and potatoes for my host father expecting to be paid back (I buy electricity for the whole family and most of my own food. This food was for him.). Instead I come home to him telling me that he really wanted eggs with no offer of paying me back. And I had to cook dinner, then serve it to him on the table, finishing off with washing the dishes and cleaning up after the granddaughters who had visited earlier in the day. I know I shouldn't be so upset, how I am any better than all of the other women who willing do this for him? But I was. I refused to eat with him and discovered a way that he would do some of the work himself: I cook and clean only for myself. If he gets hungry, I say "I've already eaten" and I'm off the hook. PLUS I get to eat whatever I want instead of hard porridge and potatoes. The house was dirtier than I like it, but hey, at least I didn't have to serve an old man who is perfectly capable of helping me or taking care of himself.Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06554873913159802244noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13497351.post-1161341671983568432006-10-20T12:28:00.000+02:002006-10-20T12:54:32.033+02:00My, no, Alicia's, no, the Peace Corps' Bike<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/1600/ml%20001.1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/400/ml%20001.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>A few weeks ago one of my teachers came by with a donation request she wanted me to read. I went into proof-reading mode and tackle the letter. The letter is different from any other one I have read (her use of Sepedi grammar with English words is common) because it's about me.<br /><br />The 12 year-old that stole my bike was running a bicycle chop-shop complete with associates in other villages so that stolen bikes are never found. The police never found mine and no one in the village has seen it either. Luckily, Alicia (a near-by volunteer) never uses hers and was happy to get it out of her room and give it to me. Because the Peace Corps bought the bikes, my old one and its replacement are exactly the same. The look-a-likes tricked a lot of people into thinking that the original bike was found.<br /><br />My host parents are unhappy with the police for their commitment after the day that the bike was stolen. The police visited our house again only after they heard that my host father was unhappy with them. My host parents decided that I should get a new bike and called the teacher to help them. Together, they are trying to show their appreciation for me and what I'm supposed to be doing here. The teacher wrote the donning letter and took it to town to solicit donations.<br /><br />I didn't know about the new bike plan until after she solicited businesses. When I found out, I explained that I don't really need a new bike. Alicia never wants to see the bike again. I asked if there is a better place to spend the donation money. After that discussion, I never heard about the donations again. I haven't seen any money either.<br /><br />Above is a picture of me with the bike. The outfit is the same every day except a different t-shirt. I replaced the original intertubes with thorn-resistant tubes and I haven't had a flat tire in months; before I had a flat twice a week. I also up-graded the tire pump provided by the Peace Corps to one that actually works. You can't tell in the picture, but the pedals are bent funny from the rocks in the road and each rotation of the pedals causes a worrisome creaking and clatter. If this one falls apart maybe Becca (another neighboring volunteer) will give me her bike?Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06554873913159802244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13497351.post-1161339980417930782006-10-20T12:12:00.000+02:002006-10-20T12:26:20.426+02:00SCORPIAN<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/1600/ml%20004.1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/320/ml%20004.1.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />One morning I found this guy despartly trying to escapr our bathtub, either by scaling the walls or sinking down the drain. I decided to take its picture and then wait for my host mom to wake up and kill it. She did and I was very happy to be living with people and not on my own!<br />His body (not including legs or tail) was about the size of my thumb.Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06554873913159802244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13497351.post-1158922319925974362006-09-22T12:14:00.000+02:002006-09-22T12:51:59.973+02:00Bloody Shirt<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/1600/0,1059,39458,00.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/200/0%2C1059%2C39458%2C00.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />For 66 days there's been singing in town, with no end in sight. Shoprite and Checkers grocery store employees throughout South Africa are on strike and they sit, dance and sing outside of the store (although other towns' strikers no longer go to the strike). Early on into the strike workers lined the walk-way into the store, intimidating shoppers. A week into the strike, police and security guards started patrolling the area in front of the store, kicking the strikers across the street. Across the street is not far enough to keep the store and shoppers safe.<br /><br />Within the store, all is quiet. Black community members are afraid to enter the store because the strikers (or strike supporters) will beat them up. Without 80 percent of their customers, supplies of food aren't ordered, fruit goes bad before it's bought and a store-worth of employees were hired. My mma needed special cooking oil (only available at Shoprite) for my host father. Because she is afraid of entering Shoprite, she asked me to buy it for her.<br /><br />The store itself isn't safe either. Shoprite Ellisras offered 50,000 rand for information leading to the arrest of persons responsible for recent bomb threats.<br /><br />Strikes are a new experience for me. In the States, strikes were only in history books and sometimes on the TV in cities far away. Here, strikes, like everything else, become a social commentary. Strike songs and rhetoric are phrased the same way as anti-Apartheid demonstrations. Strikers want the support of the black community and at least in Ellisras, intimidation keeps people from thinking about whether they should support the strike or shop any way. Waving a bloody shirt keeps the blacks away, but it doesn't bring the rainbow nation closer together or help create jobs in an area with 40 percent unemployment.Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06554873913159802244noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13497351.post-1156840190237659462006-08-29T09:50:00.000+02:002006-08-29T10:34:30.146+02:00Crossing culturesThursday night my key school principal came to my house to discuss a few things. My host mom complained to a teacher who told the principal that I've been keeping food in my room. I didn't when I first came to live here, but I noticed how fast food disappeared when I left it in the kitchen. If you're American, you're probably asking yourself, "Why does it matter if Melissa keeps food in her room?" That is the whole problem.<br /><br />I, being American, asked, "Why does it matter if I keep food in my room?"<br /><br />"It's our culture to keep food seperate from where we sleep."<br /><br />I start imagining dorm rooms with refridgerators back at college and one-room tin shacks that dot my village and fill townships across South Africa. But I keep my mouth shut. "It's not my culture. I am an American."<br /><br />I could say, "It's not my culture" to so many things. The fundamentals are different. American culture focuses on the individual. My food. My room. My money. The culture of villages on the community, especially large extended families. Everything is shared, no questions asked. Not rocking the boat is an admirable quality.<br /><br />It's not my culture to formally greet everyone I see. Walking to school each morning requiers greeting 20 people. Once at school I need to greet all the teachers. No longer can I start a conversation with a nod, smile, or "hey." Little children have a formal greeting too; they calp twice then wait for their hands to be kissed or shook.<br /><br />It's my culture to talk softly unless angry. Now I yell, "Could you talk a little bit softer? You're giving me a headache."<br /><br />It's my culture to compliment people on their increasing fitness level. Instead, "Ooooo, Lethabo! You're getting fat! South Africa loves you!" is a compliment. I've started to explain that regardless of South Africa's love for me, to never call me fat.<br /><br />I spend time alone in my room: reading, writing, plotting diabolic plans to stop the music from the shebeen (illegal bar) a block away. But it's not my host family's culture. They think I'm sleeping or sick. They think I'm angry.<br /><br />My principal and I go to rehash our conversation with my host parents. Mma says that I'll go home for two months in October 2007 but I'll come back to live in the village forever. It takes all my will-power to restrain myself from saying, "No. I miss blending in and strangers ignoring my presence. I miss refridgerators, fans, washing machines, dryers, running water and snow. I want a roof AND a ceiling over my head. I'm tired of hearing what everyone else is doing in the house because the walls stop a foot below the roof. I want disturbing the peace ordinances and neighbors who obey ordinances. I want tex-mex, Chinese and cheese. I want more than one radio station. I'd like to not read tv. If I lived in South Africa, which isn't going to happen, I'd live in a city. With air conditioning. And good internet.<br /><br />Instead, I smile. "I'm an American. I want to go home."<br /><br />"You must hate South Africa."<br /><br />"No, there's just something about where you grew up. Do you want to leave South Africa and never see your family again?"<br /><br />By now, you must be thinking that I'm miserable and 30 seconds from taking the next plane to JFK international. I'm not. I like my life here. Really, I do. I like sharing and greeting. I see so much potential for South Africa to grow and change. I see all the citizens of this beautiful land entering the first world, not just the ones in cities and tourist hot-spots. The problem is a universal one: culture.<br /><br />My principal ends the conversation. "I respect your culture. Just go back to doing what you were before." Don't expect exceptions in our culture to be made for you. We're not going to change. Assimilate, Lethabo. Just. Blend. In.<br /><br />But Americans would never ask anyone to assimilate, right?Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06554873913159802244noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13497351.post-1156005099716321222006-08-19T17:51:00.000+02:002006-08-19T18:31:39.766+02:00AnniversaryAugust 18th marked a whole year that I've been here in South Africa (October 13th will be my first year of service). I thought this was a good time for a general up-date on how things are going.<br /><br />I continue to be amazed by my host mom. She likes to be constantly busy (despite her 73 years) and when she finally finished her work in the fields, she started going to funeral preparations or chasing the cows across the countryside. In addition, she continues to do the cooking and washing of clothes (she's smart and has convinced a granddaughter to clean the house for her). My host father has been at the hospital since late May. I get the impression that he's suffering from the getting-old-disease. Getting old is fatal, but nobody can guess when. He was supposed to come back this weekend, but the date keeps getting pushed later and later. I like it in the house when he's not there because it's so quiet!<br /><br />The road work and my hatred of riding the bike continues. There are conflicting stories that the part of the road that I use will be finished in January or it will be finished in October (just in time for me to leave South Africa!). Unfortunately, almost everyone drives on the new road and it is now just as bumpy and sandy as the detour. At least I have a story to tell to children when they complain about how awful their lives are. I can hear it now, "Well, I had to ride my bike in 110 degree weather through sand and bumps a foot deep!" It's even getting exaggerated already. :)<br /><br />On the other hand, winter has remained for longer than normal and I couldn't be happier. An average winter day in my village is 40 in the morning with highs in the mid-80s. It's glorious. It makes riding the bike <gasp>almost pleasant.<br /><br />In the schools, my teachers have finally started to trust me. They are beginning to tell me what they really think instead of what they think I want to hear. A big step forward. At each school I'm working on a different main project:<br />Tshukudu: RNCS, revised national curriculum statement. It's a plan designed by the department of education to help the teachers with lesson planning so that their lessons are learner-centered instead of teacher-centered. Really boring but really important.<br />Ramojapudi: Individual computer lessons for the teachers. 3 of the 17 teachers have used a computer before. The principal hopes that they will be able to do all of their record keeping on the computer by next year. About half of the teachers pick it up really quickly, while others struggle. I thank my Gramma for all her computer questions back at home that taught me a little patience. She should be proud that she is a much quicker learner than a handful of teachers.<br />Mmera: Writing and implementing a school-wide discipline plan. The plan covers everything from school hours to rules and specific actions to take when a learner misbehaves. This is a continuation of the alternatives to corporal punishment workshop held in May. I'm hoping that between me and the teachers we can eradicate corporal punishment at this school and I can take the lessons I've learned to the other two.<br />All of the projects at the schools take a longer time than they would in the US. Even though I'm not accomplishing much every week, I hope that the few changes I help to instill last a long time.<br /><br />Finally, what have I been keeping myself busy with since April? MCAT studying! It's over! I'm free! I actually really liked studying because it gave me a specific goal to do each day and I could go to sleep at night feeling like I accomplished something. I took the exam today. . . I feel like I did after I took a practice exam and I'm hoping the results will be good. I'll find out in October. Of course, the logistics were not without problems. I woke up at 3:45 this morning with a dull anticipation of the test. (Similar to how I'd feel before a steeplechase. Well prepared but anxious to start.) I got ready, slowly, and listened to my iPod. Called a taxi and headed towards the testing center. Unfortunately, neither the driver or I had any real idea where the testing center was and we ended up asking for directions at gas stations twice. The second time he even bought gas. I was freaking out because I was already ten minutes late. When I arrived, I found out it didn't matter that I was late because there was a line to register for the test. Registration involved scanning my driver's license, taking digital fingerprints and a photo. Everything worked great and the workers clicked 'okay' to send the information in just as they realized that my age was 63 on the form! My driver's license scanned wrong on my birth date was 2/26/1943. They assured me that's it's fixed now.<br /><p>That's as much of an up-date I can think of! Leave a comment if there's something you're dying to know more about that I left out. I miss you all!</p>Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06554873913159802244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13497351.post-1153994154451999652006-07-27T11:18:00.001+02:002006-07-27T11:55:54.463+02:00TourismA friend recently mailed me an article from the Washington Post about tourism in South Africa and asked what I thought. It mainly talked about the big attractions that South Africa has to offer, "Big cats, Zulus and big cities make South African tourism boom," alluding to ample wildlife, culture and cities like Cape Town, Johannesburg and Durban.<br />It's true: there are plenty of opportunities to view wildlife. <span style="font-style: italic;">But</span> at private game lodges or national parks because the big animals are fenced-in. An escaped elephant or hippopotamus is worthy of news coverage and many people in my village have never seen one of the big five (lion, leopard, water buffalo, elephant, and rhinoceros) although all of these animals are 20 km from the village.<br />It's also true that the Rainbow nation offers diverse and interesting cultural displays including a wide variety of food, dances, songs and clothing. <span style="font-style: italic;">But</span> the opportunities to see these cultural displays are usually at 'cultural villages' like <a href="http://www.lesedi.com/cultural.htm">Lesedi Culture Village</a> and <a href="http://www.shakaland.co.za/">Shakaland</a>. Traditional culture is slowly fading out of the rural villages as villagers move away and adopt more and more Western culture into their own.<br />Cape Town is beautiful. Johannesburg is big and brash and offers a glimpse into the <a href="http://www.apartheidmuseum.org/">country's history</a>. Durban offers a mile of beaches and tons of delicious Indian food. <br />Tourism is about to become the largest economic sector in South Africa and it will continue to grow as the 2010 soccer world cup approaches. But, the exceptions are large. Few South Africans are able to enjoy what their country offers or aware of its assets. Few tourists visit or know how the majority of South Africans live (in a township or former homeland with very little money). In tourism (like most of South African life) there are two South Africas, the one that the world sees that is dynamic and moving into the 21st century and every where else.Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06554873913159802244noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13497351.post-1153208271599314222006-07-18T09:14:00.000+02:002006-07-18T09:37:51.643+02:00Ultimate PowerI, who flinch when a labrador retreiver runs to me for an ear scratch, have discovered the ultimate power. I can make any dog in my village stop in its tracks. How? Simple. Yell, "Fucek!" and the dog stops (sometimes it even puts its tail between its legs and sulks). Fucek is Afrikaans for piss off, or well, you know. <br /><br />Children have this power too. Imagine: kids playing in the street. I run by and they yell, "Lethabo! Lethabo!" A dog starts barking and chasing me and they yell, "Fucek! Fucek!" and surround the dog. The bewildered dog tries to shrink back into the ground. <br /><br />Ah, the power of swearing in a foreign language.Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06554873913159802244noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13497351.post-1152621127274308612006-07-11T14:17:00.000+02:002006-07-14T09:50:24.606+02:00Zambia 'The Real Africa'<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/1600/IMG_0943.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/320/IMG_0943.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>After forgetting/losing my credit card in my village, talking to many South African Airways representatives (much of it on hold and being told "thanks for your patience!"), I successfully boarded a plane with Alicia, Kelsey, Becca, and Becca's friend from home, Romaira. We flew from Johannesburg over our villages (you can see them from the plane, they're the reddish/brown patches that glitter surrounded by bush) to Livingstone, Zambia. Zambia calls itself 'The Real Africa' and it was much more like the Africa I imagined from the States then what I see in South Africa.<br />The airport had two gates: domestic and international. We decided that ANY airport in the US is bigger. Kelsey's sister-in-law met us at the airport and whisked us away to her lodge, Natural Mystic. Above is a view of the walk to our chalets.<br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/1600/PICT0514.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left;" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/320/PICT0514.jpg" border="0" /></a>From left, Romaira, Kelsey, me, Alicia, Becca in the Natural Mystic chariot.<br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/1600/PICT0516.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left;" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/320/PICT0516.jpg" border="0" /></a>The first day, we spent exploring the Zambian side of Victoria Falls. The mist/spray from the falls was so strong that it was raining all over the bridges and overlooks! It was really pretty and I kept thinking, "I could volunteer here! I'm sure they need my help!"<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/1600/IMG_0779.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/320/IMG_0779.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>Outside of the official Falls park, is a market. The vendors really like to talk and would call you into their shop and wouldn't really let you go until you either bought something or promised to come back. I wasn't so good at not talking, and by the end of the day the vendors knew my name and would call to me! To the left is me (talking) and babboons cleaning each other on the roof.<br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/1600/PICT0531.0.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left;" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/320/PICT0531.0.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />After the market, we walked to the up-scale hotels. At the Zambezi Sun there are zebras and giraffe that walk around. Alicia got a bit too close for my comfort. . .<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/1600/IMG_0802.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left;" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/320/IMG_0802.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />but I'm more than comfortable with the hippo!<br /><br /><br />The next day we went whitewater rafting on the Zambezi river. I don't have photographic evidence but it was a lot of fun. The Zambezi is ranked as one of the top ten rafting locals in the world, and it's always changing because of the differing water levels with the seasons. My favorite part was when we would be at the top of wave and looking straight across to another wave eight feet high! Becca was the only one that fell out of the raft. She took a 'short' swim, before Kelsey saved her. Kelsey, Becca, and I took the option of climing out of the raft, up a cliff, and then jumping off of it. They took the short one (5 m), and I took the high one (6 m). Really scary, and then really fun. You should try it.<br /><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/1600/PICT0597.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left;" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/320/PICT0597.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Over the next couple of days, we split up. Kelsey and I did a two-day trip to Choebe National Park in Botswana. There were so many elephants!<br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/1600/PICT0560.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left;" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/320/PICT0560.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/1600/PICT0569.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left;" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/320/PICT0569.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />We were lucky enough to see a pair of lionesses right before sunset. To the left are quilla. There were thousands of them and they would dart through the air <a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/1600/PICT0576.0.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left;" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/320/PICT0576.0.jpg" border="0" /></a>forming clouds and following each other in schooling patterns. They were beautiful.<br /><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/1600/IMG_0866.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left;" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/320/IMG_0866.jpg" border="0" /></a>After the sunset, we had to hurry back to camp because night drives are prohibited within the park. On our way back, we saw several Land Cruisers (full of tourists) staring into the bushes and taking lots of pictures. The road was surrounded by a huge herd of water buffalo and a group of seven lions had killed a baby! We stopped to watch the lions feed, and a male buffalo charged the lions. After making sure the buffalo wouldn't kill them, the lions started eating again. We watched until the park rangers pulled up behind us in a massive army truck carrying AK47s and quickly returned to camp. <a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/1600/PICT0587.0.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left;" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/320/PICT0587.0.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Kelsey showing off our lavish pit toilet at camp. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/1600/IMG_0890.1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/320/IMG_0890.1.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />The next day we did another game drive in the morning, and saw another lioness. I saw a hyena (briefly) too. To the left are babboons. They were searching for elephant poop so they could look for bugs and seeds in it. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/1600/IMG_0916.0.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/320/IMG_0916.0.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />In the afternoon we went on a boat cruise in the park. We saw more elephants, and watched them swim across the river. They would walk/swim and then lift their trunks out of the water when they wanted air. The baby to the left is less than three weeks old. You can tell because the edges of its ears and trunk are still pink. It's feeding from its mom, the udder is in between the front legs. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/1600/IMG_0920.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/320/IMG_0920.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />After Choebe, we returned to the lodge for a couple of chill days. There's nothing quite like relaxing next to the Zambezi river, being seranaded by hippos, reading, and eating delicious food. <a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/1600/PICT0596.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left;" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/320/PICT0596.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Our last morning at the lodge. From left, Alicia, Kelsey, and me in front of the Zambezi.Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06554873913159802244noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13497351.post-1151656280134670582006-06-30T09:34:00.000+02:002006-06-30T10:49:41.030+02:00Pictures from Cape to Pretoria trip<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/1600/PICT0444.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/320/PICT0444.jpg" border="0" /></a> For my first vacation in South Africa, my boyfriend (Drew) came to visit and we took a road trip from Cape Town, along the Indian Ocean and up through the Drakensburg, to Pretoria. The vacation was way back in the beginning of April, but I have difficulties up-loading pictures. I'm sorry for the delay! To the left, is an African penguin in Simon's Town, just south of Cape Town. The penguins have earned themselves the name 'Jackass' because of the loud donkey-like call that they make.<br /><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/1600/PICT0457.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/320/PICT0457.jpg" border="0" /></a> To the left is the Cape of Good Hope. The park is beautiful with lots of tourists. <br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/1600/PICT0474.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/320/PICT0474.jpg" border="0" /></a> If you tilt your head to the left, you can see one of the many waterfalls in Hogsback. Hogsback proudly proclaims to be the inspiration for JRR Tolkein's <em>The Hobbitt</em>, even though he left South Africa when he was five! Regardless, with the lush rainforested hills it isn't hard to imagine a hobbitt living here. <br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/1600/PICT0479.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/320/PICT0479.jpg" border="0" /></a> Cows on the beach in Port St. John's. Nice warm water, chill marajauna-smoking hosts, and more forested green hills. <br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/1600/PICT0494.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/320/PICT0494.jpg" border="0" /></a> View of the Drakensburg Mountains. We hiked up to the top the Amphitheater to see Tugula Falls, the longest waterfall in South Africa falling 5K. The day was foggy, so the pics of the falls themselves aren't very impressive. <br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/1600/PICT0499.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/320/PICT0499.jpg" border="0" /></a> Wild dogs competing for meat in De Wildt Cheetah and Research Center outside of Pretoria. Really close-up to wild dogs and cheetahs and a decent substitute for a game drive.<br /><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/1600/PICT0507.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/320/PICT0507.jpg" border="0" /></a>Petting a king cheetah at De Wildt. Some of the cheetahs are taken to schools and farms around South Africa for educational purposes.<br /><br />We also stopped at the Valley of Desolation (not great pictures) but it was amazing. <br /><br />The highlights of the trip for me was the excellent food we had every where along the way and NOT being the local celebrity for two weeks! I'm going to Victoria Falls with some volunteers on Monday. . . I hope to post pictures sooner and make all of you want to come!Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06554873913159802244noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13497351.post-1151652755341249882006-06-30T09:22:00.000+02:002006-06-30T09:32:35.353+02:00Fish are Friends not Food. Well...<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/1600/PICT0512.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6425/1188/400/PICT0512.jpg" border="0" /></a> It's official. My five years of vegetarianism are over. To the left is a picture of me chomping into a burger at Maxi's while in town with Becca and Alicia. It didn't taste great.<br /><br />Why am I eating meat? My diet in the village consists of yogurt and muesli for breakfast, peanut butter and jelly with apples for lunch, pap (hard mealie porridge) with potatoes for dinner. Where's the variety? The iron? Plus, I've noticed that I get really tired and kinda cranky after exercising (especially after riding that evil contraption some people call a bicycle) and that's not normal for me. <br /><br />In the end, I just want to be healthy. But I don't think I'll be enjoying meat any time soon.Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06554873913159802244noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13497351.post-1150879066617147732006-06-21T10:04:00.001+02:002006-06-28T15:16:19.836+02:00Youth Day a Success?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.southafrica.info/cm_pics/ess_info/690-1823-2661-0_187573.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px;" src="http://www.southafrica.info/cm_pics/ess_info/690-1823-2661-0_187573.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />This morning I bathed, ate, and hurried of to school. On my way, I wondered where all the learners were. Normally, I'm surrounded by a thousand children every morning but this morning there were none. I asked the principal, "Why aren't there learners today?"<br /><br />He replied that the teachers are busy doing schedules (ie, marking exams from last week and reporting the scores) and can not be in the classrooms. Because the teachers cannot be in the classrooms, the learners don't want to come to school (or is it that teachers don't want to deal with them this week?). Plus there isn't school lunch this week, so learners don't want to come when they aren't fed.<br /><br />Despite the conditions at that school, another of my school is feeding their learners this week and expects them to be there. There may not be much teaching going on, but the teachers keep the learners busy, grade papers, and record marks all at the same time.<br /><br />Last Friday was Youth Day, commerating the youth up-risings on June 16, 1976 across South Africa. The children protested against the use of Afrikaans in schools (which many of the educators and learners did not speak) and the educational gap between the schools that the white children go to and that the black children attend. The police told the learners to disperse, but they did not. The police fired tear gas into the crowd as children threw rocks. Then a shot fired. And another. Officially 23 children died others estimated that 200 children died. <a href="http://www.southafrica.info/ess_info/sa_glance/history/soweto-150606.htm">A full history</a><br /><br />My teachers are proud of Youth Day. They should be. Regardless, they are part of a system that that is just as bad as the conditions of 30 years ago. The South Africa Human Rights Commision released a report a few days before the 30th anniversary of Youth Day detailing how there are still two systems of education in South Africa: one of the former white-only schools in cities and affluent suburbs (former model C schools) and one for rural or township schools in poor communities for the majority of students. The schools in rural communities (like the ones that Peace Corps Volunteers are working with) experience high levels of violence (mostly corporal punishment and sexual abuse of female learners), learners have difficulty understanding the language of instruction, low levels of community involvement (because schools are viewed as autocratic and alienating by community members), and that educator moral is low, many are underqualified and underperforming. Poverty is a hinderance, but with all of these other problems it cannot be an excuse. <a href="http://www.sahrc.org.za/sahrc_cms/downloads/RBE_Report.pdf">Full Report</a><br /><br />So where does this leave the schools? I told my principal that I want the schools that I work with to be as good as former model C schools. He didn't think that it's possible. He's right, it's not possible tomorrow. But if all of the teachers actively make little changes every day those changes would add up. Yes be proud of Youth Day, but realize that the fight for good education is not over.Melissahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06554873913159802244noreply@blogger.com0