Umndeni wami continued

These are photos that didn't make it into the last post:

Umndeni wami lapha e South Afrika

Our Peace Corps experience thus far has been full of comfortable, established relationships that are soon uprooted, throwing us into a world of new surroundings, new faces, and new practices. We spent our first week in South Africa together at the college, beginning friendships that will be strong years after our service comes to an end. On the Friday following our arrival, we were met by a member of our new host family and transported to one of two nearby villages. This day was full of goodbyes to friends assigned to different villages and hellos to host sisters, fathers, brothers, mothers, nieces, and nephews. The title of this post translates to "My family here in South Africa."

I was picked up by my eldest sisi (sister) Ntombi, who turned thirty-two in July. Once we arrived home, I met my baba (father) Japie and my next oldest sisi Nomsa. By day's end, I had met everyone: youngest sister Mbali, sixteen years old, Grade 9; buthi (brother) Bheki, same age as me; mama (mother) Emily; niece Nobonga, age three when I met her, but she turned four in August; and nephew Khulegani, age seven, Grade 2. Our housing situation was set up in a compound style; there was the main house where I my room was, along with Mbali's room and mama and baba's room. Outside there was an L-shaped structure, which housed Bheki, Nomsa and Nobonga, and Ntombi and Khulegani. Our backyard housed several goats and four geese that I hated with all that I've got.

Whether it was because she was the first member of the family that I met, the fact that she was the one that taught me almost everything I needed to know, or a combination of the two and more, Ntombi became the one that I was closest to. Her constant laughter and upbeat attitude kept a smile on my face regardless of the kind of day that I had had. I was very fortunate, in that everyone in my family spoke English, even the kids who spoke just a few words. Sometimes we hit a slight language barrier, but we were always able to explain our way around it. This definitely proved instrumental in my creating a relationship with each of these people, and is something that I am so thankful for.

My first interactions with Khulegani and Nobonga were typical; Khulegani walked into the kitchen after school with friends and his eyes widened to twice their normal size. Nobonga hid behind the doorframe and peeked at me for ten minutes before she came in. But in time, we became friends. Khulegani loves to dance, and would make sure to show Ntombi some new move he had learned that day. Even though he was calling her name, he would always glance my way to make sure I was also paying attention before he began his performance. We also bonded over a game of "kick the football in a triangle" (football; you know, how the rest of the world refers to soccer) and volleyball with a balloon. Nobonga soon became my best friend in the house and my most dedicated isiZulu teacher. Nomsa told me that she dreamed about me one night. "How do you know that?" I asked. "She was saying your name," Nomsa tells me. "Thandi, sweet Thandi." My Zulu name is Thandi. It comes from the verb thanda, which means like or love. Nobonga spent most of her waking hours with her hand in mine. She has little hoops in her ears, and everyday when I'd come home from school or sessions, she would reach out for my earrings. I hung them in her hoops, and she would parade around the house showing everyone. Her favorite phrase of mine to copy was "sizabonana late" and "pashasha;" the first one means "we will see each other later," while the other one apparently means "awesome" in some language in this country.

Mbali and I spent many of our conversations laughing. I'd see her in the morning and greet her and she'd laugh and then say good morning. We shared earrings and nail polish and shirts. I'd be greeted on the street by people that I'd never met before, and later on she'd tell me that it was one of her friends from school who saw me walking once. Her favorite song is "Apologize" by One Republic and her favorite color is pink.

Bheki and I interacted very minimally because he'd wake up for work after I left for school and returned later than me at the end of the day. I didn't see him at dinner either, because in isiNdebele culture, men and women do not eat meals together. (While I learned Zulu and live in KwaZulu Natal, our first host families were isiNdebele. The languages are very close, the cultures relatively different.) The first day Bheki and I met, he handed me a baby goat. I was sitting on the back stoop and he carried this little black goat inside the house, followed by four or so kids. He came back outside and asked if I wanted to hold it, handed it off, and went into his room. I came to love this baby goat, and introduced everyone to him when they came over to meet my fam. I will always associate Bheki with my baby goat.

Nomsa is a great netball player and a talented beader. On Sunday mornings, we would sometimes go running at the soccer field near the house. She is also an excellent cook, and I would try to learn her recipes for tomato sauce (not at all like you'd imagine) and butternut/pumpkin (aka sweet potato). My beaded headdress and earrings and bracelet for our family day were made by Nomsa (photos below). Last but not least, she would crack jokes that left me laughing long after everyone else.

Both of my host parents are loving, happy, strong individuals. On the first afternoon at home, my father talked to me about his life during apartheid. He explained pass cards and what happened if one was out after curfew. Heavy stuff for our first conversation, but fascinating and eye-opening nonetheless. My mother worried when I got home late, told me to put on socks because it was too cold, and dressed me in traditional clothing for family day. She laughed with me and taught me all she could about her family and her culture.

One of my favorite memories was when I came home with my head shaved. I told them I was doing it so it came as no surprise, but I was still greeted with screams and eight pairs of curious hands touching my newly peach-fuzzed head. My other favorite is the picture below. In South Africa, smiling for pictures is not as customary as it is in the United States. Most everyone keeps a solemn face. In the picture below, my dear friend and PCV Vanessa made everyone laugh and snapped a photo just in time. My host dad's smile is the best part, because he is one who always keeps that straight face for pictures. Everyone's smile is beautiful, and that picture is framed here in my room.

My least favorite memory is the morning that I left for site here in KwaZulu Natal. I woke up at five to be out at the tar road with all of my things by six. I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth at the bathtub telling myself "it's okay, I think I can do this without crying too much." Just then, my mother walks out of her bedroom and stands in the doorway. I say good morning and ask how she is. She just shakes her head and looks down. From that moment on, I could not control my tears. Five of them accompanied me to the tar road; baba, Bheki, and Mbali stayed at home to get ready for work and school. Mbali's tear-stained face is burned into my memory, as I'm sure mine is to her. More tears came when the Peace Corps van rolled up. As sad a day as this was, in a way it's good. It's good that we impacted each other to the point that we didn't want to say goodbye. And it's good that I have a place to call my home away from home in this far-off country.

What is the opposite of a lion?

The title of this post is silly and doesn't make sense, right? Right, except it was a question on a standardized test here in South Africa. The correct answer was apparently a lioness, but we suggested answers like wildebeest, springbok, baboon, the list goes on. There are a number of things that confuse me about the education system here that I will hopefully try to personally avoid or explain more explicitly to my learners over the course of my next two years here.

First, students are called learners. That doesn't confuse me, but is just some new terminology (added to a long list of other new words) that has become part of my daily speak. When I was first nominated for English Teaching way back in November of 2011, I was hesitant about accepting it. I have taught English to people in the United States who need it to work and survive, but I have some reservations about going abroad and teaching it to people in other countries. I feel like it's a form of U.S. imperialism, and a way for us as Americans to assert our international dominance or something. Long story short, I'm not that into it. And then I get an invitation from Peace Corps to teach English in South Africa. "But English is one of the country's eleven official languages," I say to myself. "Why would they send me there?"

These are my questions asked in ignorance, before I know much of anything about South Africa and its not so distant past. Backtrack to the period 1948-1994. Apartheid South Africa was (in my opinion) arguably white supremacy at one of its ugliest moments. It was made up of many of the same features as in the United States prior to the Civil Rights Movement with some new twists: separation (but totally not equal, and not even pretending to be) of blacks and whites, forced resettlement, and the tearing apart of families based on how black they were determined to be. During this era, people were classified based on the color of their skin, but more than just black and white. You still have Black and White at the two extremes, but you've also got Chinese, Indian, and the elusive Colored. The "Pencil Test" was one method used to determine race during the Apartheid years. Quoting Wikipedia (which actually explains it pretty well): "The pencil test is a way of assessing whether a person has Afro-textured hair. In the pencil test, a pencil is pushed through the person's hair. How easily it comes out determines whether the person has 'passed' or 'failed' the test." So basically, if the pencil falls out but you're not quite White, you're called Coloured (get ready for British spellings. My computer is telling me I spelled Colored wrong). If it stays in your hair when you lean forward, you're undoubtedly Black. But Blacks and Coloureds can't live together, even if they're actually related by blood. So families are split up because the Afrikaners in power can't bear the thought of people that are not the exact same race living and working and being educated together. (This is turning into kind of a history section, but it will tie back into education, I promise.)

So then we've got crazy statistics of the small percentage of White Afrikaners controlling like ninety percent of the total land and economy, while the overwhelming majority of Black South Africans are forced into settlements in provinces selected by the minority. Last week at my school, a Black female teacher asked me if I knew any Afrikaans. I said no, and that Afrikaans was the hardest of all the greetings we learned for most of the group. "Oh," she responds. "Our generation was taught Afrikaans in school. It was mandatory that everyone knew how to speak it." During this era, Blacks were expected to work in jobs of service to Afrikaners, as housekeepers, drivers, etc. They were kept in subservient roles for decades.

Here's where Peace Corps' objective comes in. These forced subservient roles were a result of the lesser quality education provided to Blacks, otherwise known as Bantu Education. Even though Apartheid was abolished many years ago, there is still a gap in the education provided to those rural, Black South Africans. We are here to fill that gap. The teachers that are teaching now were educated under Bantu Education. Many of them still utilize corporal punishment, despite the fact that it is illegal in South Africa, and may not have all the necessary schooling or qualifications to teach the areas that they are teaching. Our job is to help the learners learn and to help the teachers teach.

Finally, how does English teaching factor into this job? All standardized tests in this country are given in English. But students don't start learning English until around Grade 3… If your reaction right now is "What?! That's ridiculous!" then we're on the same page. They learn bits and pieces and some words here and there in earlier grades, but nothing that prepares them take a full exam in the language, especially one that asks them what the opposite of a lion is. The more I learned about this job at the beginning of our time in country, the more I felt that I couldn't have been invited to serve in a more perfect place. Everyone that knows me knows that Latin America is my thing; that I wanted nothing more than to spend 27 months of my life working there with Peace Corps. But following my mom's favorite phrase "everything happens for a reason," I think I ended up right where I should be.

Sanibonani!

It has been quite awhile since I updated this, so I'll try to start from the sort of beginning. Our flight was 16 hours long and arriving in Johannesburg felt no different than being in some big city in the United States or Europe. Driving on the left side of the road was weird at first (and honestly still is weird; I can never decide which side of the road to walk to when a car is coming). It's also weird that there are no streetlights, except for these weird purple fluorescent ones on the highway. Otherwise, you'd better hope your headlights are good. Lack of streetlights is only one reason we're not allowed to go out after dark, but I'll come back to that later.

Our group is named SA26. We are the twenty-sixth group to serve in South Africa since the Peace Corps started here in 1997. The even-numbered groups are education volunteers; the odd-numbered ones are health volunteers. We come from a range of experiences, ages, and paths in life. A handful of us are fresh out of college; I am the youngest one in the group. Some have taught and overseen schools for decades. Some have served in the Peace Corps in other countries. And some of us are entirely new to it all, and will learn as we go along.

We arrived in country on July 12th; in South African speak, 12 July. We spent our first week staying at Ndebele College of Education, and the subsequent six weeks with host families. At the beginning, we were taught the basic greetings in something like five languages: isiZulu, isiNdebele, Xitsonga, siSwati, and Afrikaans. We were specifically taught how to say "Sorry, I don't speak Afrikaans," because that's the language most people opt for when they see that we're white. A week or so after learning the basics for these five, we were assigned a target language based on the region we would be placed in and were organized into small language groups. My target language is isiZulu, as I am presently serving in KwaZulu Natal. Believe it or not, my Spanish helped me a little bit here; vowels in isiZulu sound the same as those in Spanish, so while some people were struggling with how to pronounce them, I've been doing it since seventh grade. This similarity was lucky, and proved to be the only one. IsiZulu has three clicks, found in the letters "c," "q," and "x." The "c" sound is when you put your tongue on the roof of your mouth and pull it down; I guess you can imagine the sound you'd make when thinking "tsk tsk" and shaking your head in disappointment. You make the "q" sound by putting your tongue on the roof of your mouth and clicking it down. The letter "x" is pronounced out of the side of your mouth, as if you're calling a horse. I feel like these explanations sound silly and difficult, but someday when we talk, I'll give you a play by play J Other new sounds are the "dl" and "hl" combinations. When written together, the "dl" sound is one where your tongue sort of vibrates and air comes out on either side of it. "Hl" is similar, and was best compared to the lisp of Sid the Sloth from Ice Age.

At Swearing-In on Sunday 2 September (the transition from PCT [Peace Corps Trainee] to PCV [Peace Corps Volunteer]), the numbers were calculated for how long we spent in technical sessions, language classes, washing laundry by hand on Sundays, etc. We spent something like 92 hours in language sessions over the course of six weeks, and only slightly less sitting in sessions learning how to be teachers under the South African Education System. Obviously we still have a lot to learn, but I think we can all say that we're sort of experienced in the ways of this country as far as learning goes. I'm going to talk more about the education system in my next post, so I'll cut this paragraph off right here.

Also for a later post is an elaborate description of my first South African host family. I don't know if I have ever felt so welcomed or loved by complete strangers in my whole life. The Zulu name they gave me is how I introduce myself to people here, now hundreds of kilometers away.

This post is meant to serve as more of a timeline than anything else; the following few posts will get into more detail about the events and happenings mentioned in this overview. I sound like I'm writing an essay. Again, sorry this is so late and people think I have dropped off the face of the earth. Blogging from a Blackberry is not the easiest business.