No Judy! You Spoil Your Mouth!

On Tuesday, after learning something or other about the failing education in this state, we took a field trip to a school to check out the situation firsthand. When we arrived, we were each randomly assigned a classroom in which to observe or participate. And that’s when I met her, the worst teacher I have ever seen. I walked into the classroom to be greeted by a situation that strikingly resembled my teaching experience in India. Very little was on the walls, there were 40+ students in 4th grade, and as I entered all the students responded in a unified chorus of “good morning and welcome.” Unlike my classroom in India, however, this one featured shelves of dusty school books. Why, might you ask, are these 4th grade readers and science textbooks covered in dust? It is because this 18 year veteran teacher considers herself enough of an authority on the subjects that the students need not use textbooks. In fact, the students need not take notes at all given that they are required to sit with their hands in their lap as she lectures very broadly and generally on photosynthesis… but I’m getting ahead of myself.

When I entered the classroom, the teacher stopped her lesson (or was there even one occurring as I walked in, I was not sure) and proceeded to ask me 10 minutes worth of questions about who was paying for my education and what I was doing there. She had been absent the previous day and asked the children to pull out their notebooks on which they had mindlessly copied notes a substitute put on the board (the mindless part I gathered from her suggestion to the children that they probably understood nothing of what they wrote down yesterday, right?). She very briefly told them that trees eat sunlight (do they?) and that we breathe out stale air, and moved on to question me about my maid situation in the United Sates and would I like to come over for dinner some time. During the hour I was there I also witnessed her ask one student another’s name because quite obviously, “I forgot,” and take a private phone call during class. At least I’m learning what not to do right? We spent a 20 minute recess with the kids during which I’m fairly certain someone hinted to them of our celebrity status because each and every one of them asked us for our autograph. And I thought I was incognito.

Today, I tackled making dinner for Mama and Zola. My first challenge (I wasn’t even home yet!) was in the supermarket when I realized that ingredients have different names in this pleasantly confused country. You see, bicarbonate of soda just doesn’t have the explicit right of “baking soda,” and scarcely a person could point me toward the chocolate chips. My mission: to make fahijtas (channeling Aunt Fran) and mom’s chocolate chip cookies (and throw in some homemade chocolate chip muffins for breakfast for good measure). Quite honestly I’m not sure how this happened, but someone forgot to market chocolate chips to South Africa, which is how come I found myself chopping the daylights out of a Cadbury dairy milk bar. I was determined and no bicarboblah and chocolate challenge was going to get in my way, after all, I am almost fluent in Zulu, what can’t I do?! Well then I reasoned that vanilla essence is the same as vanilla extract, and that a country without cilantro in the supermarket (even in the dried herbs) should probably reconsider its priorities. All and all, I made it out of there, a little worse for the wear, but with enough ingredients to put together some ingredients that would suffice.

I arrived home with my ghetto version of the proper ingredients (what I wouldn’t do for a Wegmans) and began to explain to Mama how to help me prepare the food. At first I was hesitant to have her help me because to be blunt: everything I do shocks the bajesus out of her, and although I’ve grown accustomed to it, sometimes the JUDY, NO! does get a little old (judy, no, btw does not literally mean do not complete that action but simply, “you cannot really be serious about making a dish of simply tomatoes, onions, spice and oil” pico de gayo, or “why would you ever think of cooking with olive oil when I have a perfectly good vat of vegetable oil to fry everything up in?”). Anyway, we managed to work through all the shocking surprises (also, measuring cups: who needs those?!) and make a pretty yum, deluxe dinner. Mama and others enjoyed the “roti” dish (tortilla was a battle not worth fighting), but especially enjoyed trying to figure out why I would eat chips and homemade salsa. Turns out they “spoil” your mouth. Agree to disagree, I will forever interpret this “spoil” in its treat in an excessively great way, connotations when it comes to salsa.
Tomorrow we leave for a week in the rural homestay, follow that week (and some teaching) we will go on safari. My life is seriously boring.
Love,
Judy

BEASSSSSSSSST

Days since last real shower: 7. Days until next real shower: 12.
After another painful session of Zulu on Thursday, we headed out on a guided tour of Warwick Junction, Durban’s open-air market. All other street markets and farmers markets I have been to pale in comparison to this one for a number of distinct reasons. One such feature is an area for the headcookers. What is a head cooker you may be asking yourself right now. Well let me tell you, this experience was not for the weak-stomached. The headcookers are a group of ladies who, on the daily, prepare the delicacy of cow’s head meat for your (not my) enjoyment. These lovely ladies and their whole cow heads were the first stop on our tour. We stood outside the headcookers area and watched as they delicately and daintily hacked at the heads next to them. This was potentially the most gender-role defying thing I have witnessed thus far. While most of the group went to sample the (in generous terms) meat, the other two vegetarian’s and I were invited by our eager program director to pose for a picture with one of the ladies and her trophy (of sorts). We obliged, anxious to document this obviously cultural practice, AND THEN SHE HANDED ME THE KNIFE (read with emphasis if not otherwise apparent). In a super hospitable fashion, she pulled back some of the skin and let me help her (only a little) skin the cow’s head.
Mortified.

Once I recovered from that experience (and photo op, consider this your warning, scroll at your own risk) we moved on to my favorite part of the market, the fruit and vegetable market. These open air facilities covered in fruits and vegetables made me feel much more at home. One of the other vegetarians described the experience and “food porn” and I quickly agreed. By far, the best part was that I purchased 3 mangos, 4 nectarines and 4 apricot/peaches for the equivalent of $3. What a heaven. Unfortunately we had to leave the pearly white gates to see the rest of the market. Standard market-ware proceeds, and eventually we make it to the witch doctor shopping district (not the official name, don’t try and google it). Traditional healers, it turns out, frequently come from the rural areas to Durban to get all their voodoo powder, and here we were among it all, powerless without the necessary customs and rituals. Damn.

Friday night we played the tourist card and went to watch a rugby match. The game was between the Sharks (Durban) and the Cheetahs (Free State) and clearly we were ready to cheer for the home team. Earlier that day, superfan central (affectionately, us) acquired a Sharks jersey or two from Mr. Price, their sponsor and the SA version of Walmart. Our superfan outfits put us each back less than $10, and we were on our way to the game. The inner anthropologist got the better of the evening and I made a very important cultural observation. At the soccer game, we purchased beer in the only available vessel: the plastic cup. At the rugby game, however, beer was available by the pitcher or by the cup. Perhaps this speaks indicatively to the type of crowed each game draws? That, or the amount of alcohol required to appreciate the beauty of a sport like rugby. We instantly blended in with the crowed, partly because of our Mr. Price shirts and pitchers and partly because this was the whitest group of people i’ve been with since arriving. One fan behind us was even nice enough to tell us that the dull roar that occasionally erupted throughout the stadium was everyone shouting “beasssssssssst,” the nickname for one Sharks player from Zimbabwe. Apparently, every time he carried the ball, this deep chorus was sincere encouragement (I make the distinction “carry” because I was politely informed that yelling “BEAST” when he kicked the ball once was not the point).
Above and beyond my favorite part of that evening happened in the bathroom. Olivia and I were calmly waiting in the cue during halftime, when I noticed that the women behind me was wearing a Springboks jersey. A personal acquisition goal after watching the movie Invictus, I naturally asked her where she purchased her shirt. She informed me that she had just moved to Durban from Port Elizabeth, where I assume, the team is located. She then told me that she really wanted a Sharks jersey. As I was telling her that I had purchased such a fine article of clothing earlier that day at the local Mr. Price (of which there are many), she goes “want to trade.” DO I EVER!?!?! So right there and then, in the bathroom, we traded shirts and I got my Springbocks jersey. The real clincher is that when I returned to my super jealous superfans, one of our program assistants informed me that it was one of the authentic jerseys they sell for close to $100. Thank you, drunk bathroom woman, you made my night. The rest of the game was a blur of men jumping on men, and a loss for the sharks, but all and all, a great night!

The weekly food review: This week, the interesting food situation featured me enjoying an open-faced peanut butter toast with sliced apples breakfast sandwich. This, not the sour milk she eats every day, or the oil that pools in all of our meals, or the chicken spam she loves, was BY FAR the grossest thing my mama had EVER seen anyone eat. I know this because of her loud and violent HAI BO (OMFG) followed by her “no judy, no judy, not nice, very bad, don’t eat that, you can’t eat that.” Later, she told not only her daughter, but her neighbor but probably, if she had the money and the wherewithal, would have phoned Obama to tell him what a crime his American citizen was committing. Ask me sometime about the vegetarian hotdogs and the story about my cunning avoidance. On Tuesday, I will attempt to introduce mama and Zola to Tacos. I may also treat them to mom’s chocolate chip cookie recipe depending on the availability of the ingredients and/or a pan.
Xoxo,
Judy

Mama said "don't give granny beer"

In lieu of a detailed explanation of my comings and goings I opted for full disclosure of some of my most embarrassing moments since coming to South Africa in my last entry. This was for two reasons: 1. Those of you who know me well probably pictured the awkward situations I got myself into and 2. If any of you ever go to South Africa, you will perhaps remember to consult the Fromer’s-esque advice column I have compiled for your service. In this entry I will revert to describing recent activities of my South African life…
On Monday I had my first real cup of coffee since leaving London. This is significant and noteworthy because it marked a great victory in my quest to fully absorb my South African experience (you will, I am sure, appreciate that the world is hard to see/ appreicate with your eyes closed). Instant coffee, to my dismay, is much more popular here, probably because it is way cheaper (although an average sized bag of coffee grounds costs only about $4: everything has become pretty relational – a jar of peanut butter is about $1.30). In other food news (a favorite blog topic, I am quickly discovering), I cooked Spanish-ish omelets for my mama and sister for dinner the other night and they LOVED them, victory for the vegetarian!
This past weekend we took a short holiday to Port Edward on the South Coast for some R&R as well as some QT (quality time) with fellow trip participants. Before you google it, let me just inform you that yes, I did walk the same ground Leo Decaprio tread upon during the filming of the movie Blood Diamond (and no, of course I have not seen it). The south coast is much more fertile than Durban and for that reason, I can comfortably assert that our weekend was spent in a rainforest. In addition to being much more lush, PE was cooler and also far less populated than Durbs. Our main weekend activity was a 5-hour trek along the beach and also through the Blood Diamond forest (it should be noted that this is where all the pictures in last entry are from). Rain proved a much needed respite to the heat and humidity, as part of our walk featured a Seattle-type mist (shout out sar!). Other South Coast notables include: the real showers at the hostel where we stayed, the delicious gourmet food the hostel owner cooked for us, the pet chicken owned by the hostel, and the gorgeous blue-flag (supreme standard) beach we went to the second day.
Upon my return from vacation, I was greeted by my happy family and once again, extreme heat. How I had missed sleeping fan-less in the sweltering heat! My Mama was very excited about my return, however, and invited 3 of the girls from my program who live close over for dinner on Wednesday night. This was particularly thrilling to me, because it meant that my friends got to meet my nutzo mama (I mean that with no disrespect). They came over and I made pasta, butternut squash and fried chips (French fries), which was pretty much my only option given the limited food in my house and my high levels of domestic divaness, but nonetheless it was good (it was the first pasta any of us had since coming here!). Then there was a thunderstorm.
As it turns out, thunderstorms are near-death experiences and extremely hazardous for anything shiny. As soon as the thunder started, everything in the house was turned off, every window and door closed (as if it wasn’t hot enough) and everything shiny taken away and or covered. One of my friends tried to suggest that “when there are thunderstorms at home, my mom opens the windows to let the cool air in…” but no such luck. Shiny objects included mirrors, glasses, cellphones and anything else under the sun. We then sat in relative darkness in the living room with all the blinds drawn and made casual conversation until the storm was over (read: mama made us sing a song we learned in Zulu and then the American national anthem). When the storm was over, life went quickly back to normal.
Zulu is still not going well, it’s been 7 days and we are already learning how to construct such advanced sentences as “mama said don’t give granny any beer,” in normal dialogue. Future tense, noun tenses, interrogative tense… what gives?! At least Zulu will be useful to me in the coming days, years, months, etc.. I can just hold on to that.
Love from Durban,
Judy

When in Rome...

Do as the South Africans do (some things I have learned along the way):
1. Generations, the favorite TV drama here (watched nightly), makes me long for shows such as the Jersey Shore and the Real World which feature a much higher quality of acting and a scintillating plot line in comparison.
2. Hot Chilies often harbor themselves in such delicacies as briyani and should NEVER be ingested whole (or suffer thereafter).
3. One cannot sit in door frames, not as an issue of comfort, but because the ancestors need space to enter and exit the house. Aside: one should never assume the former and argue with one’s mama that sitting in the door frame is quite pleasing and comfortable.
4. Screaming when you see a cockroach leads to excessive teasing and fits of laughter.
5. Women should not drive, date or drink beer therefore speaking about any of the above merits shocked looks and perpetuates notions of a loose American culture.
6. The president, as a member of the ANC, will always be loved. This holds true even through reputable reports of infidelity, 20+ children (some out of wedlock), and dry, empty promises made during state of the union speeches. A note: I truly miss listening to our lovely president eloquently speak of country politics and appreciate his ability to memorize his own speeches and never read the word “pause” in front of the nation.
7. Open-faced cellphones that require number lock and only feature the colors black and orange are very trendy among foreign students. Locally, it is hip to have higher-tech phones that broadcast the radio (just in case the TV and main house radio are not providing enough noise).
8. Bandwidth does not only describe the limitation to a successful 4-way video chat on Macs, but is purchased in units and conserved accordingly. Programs such as Skype and Youtube require a lot of it and are taboo in most places ( One can get around said limitation by using Skype from one’s ipod touch at an internet café as ipod touches are easily disguised as iphones in such instances and thus, talking into one is culturally appropriate).
9. It is imparative that one's underware is washed by hand, daily and then hung on the line to dry, otherwise people will think you are a dirty person. What i have learned is that American's have much more elaborately decorated underware that is much more embarassing to hang out on the line.


(Finally, some pictures!)

20 Years Later...

Okay, so first things first: I have figured out how to remedy the unfortunate hair situation I had developed and thus consider myself fully adapted to homestay life. You see, in an effort to economize on time and water, I had switched from my typical shampoo and conditioner routine to a 2-in-1 product. You will be happy to know that have quickly recovered from this faux pas and am no longer shunned by society.

Zulu class is kicking my ass and I may casually submit to hand gestures and sign language during the rural homestay to communicate. Noun tenses in a language coupled with clicks just isn’t going as well as I had hoped. On the plus side, my main homestay family happily conversates with me in English. Yay for globalization?!?

School and class provides a much needed respite from all the humidity and heat of the day as the facility has air conditioning. Our classroom lectures have covered topics such as changing role of women in government, HIV/AIDS and homeless or shack-dwelling Africans, just to keep it light. The most impressive thing, in my opinion has undoubtedly been the levels of income disparity here. Within a mile or two mansions overlook homemade shack houses and long, tin “temporary” houses (and I thought my house gets hot at night!).

The food situation at home has been mitigated to some extent although I will, out of respect, try the vegetarian hot dogs my mama brought home for me (that I would not touch with a 10-foot pole in the US). In addition, my mama brought home some American cheese (LOOK! It’s American, you like, right?) which I tactfully added to my list of allergies (those of you who know me well know that it is one of my ultimate fears). Other notables include instant potatoes, cabbage and lots of butter on everything still. Foss dining hall suddenly seems like an oasis of possibilities in comparison. Note: to all you worried that I am not getting enough nutrition (mom) let me take this opportunity to calm your fears, as lunch every day is provided by lovely Indian woman who understands vegetarianism.

My athletic aspirations have been tempered by my safety concerns the heat, and the fact that I generally do not get out of school until it is almost dark. All these excuses serve to preface the victory I felt the other day as my neighbor, Kulu agreed to run with me. He is my age and my self-proclaimed “bodyguard,” thus, I enjoyed the other day, a nice 6k run around our neighborhood. Durban is much larger than I ever expected, and our neighborhood alone provides many great HILLS to run up and down.

I will conclude with the mention that 20 years ago today, Nelson Mandela took his first steps of freedom 27 years after being incarcerated. Today marks a very emotional and important day in South African history that changed the foundations and motivations behind country politics to what they are today. Contrary to the message portrayed in Invicitus (spoiler’s alert) everyone did not hold hands, sing Kumbya and live happily ever after following the 1996 Rugby World Cup, however this is not meant to discredit the progress that has been made in the last 20 years. This weekend, we are taking a vacation/ detox in the South Coast which will feature an unfortunate number of hours once again at the beach.
Salani Kahle (stay well, pronounced unfortunately by Americans by politely spitting on each other),
Judy

French Fries for Breakfast

Hello from the epicenter of all things hot and humid! These past few days have seen temperatures rise above 34 degrees (C) with very high humidity and less than no air conditioning (not even a fan plugged in because of the extra electricity costs). I have successfully moved into my homestay, and I am rapidly beginning to appreciate the luxuries that I have to live without here (a shower, air conditioning, salad, just to name a few). I have a mother and a 15 year old sister, and my own room (thankfully). Ever the environmentalist, I cringe at the family’s propensity to leave the TV on from the moment someone wakes up until they go to bed, even if no one is watching it, sometimes with the radio on in competition (I do, however, relish the fact that we play the South African version of the top 40 station and every once and awhile I get to hear “Bad Romance” or “Halo” among the Zulu songs).

Homestay started on Thursday evening when myself and my belongings moved into 17 palace place (yes, it seems I have packed the most out of everyone in the group despite my best efforts and my conclusion that I was underpacked). My mama loves me so much and she thinks it’s hilarious to hear me speak zulu (which it is). I have reverted to my vegetarian roots as advised by the program director, although it is very foreign to my mama and makes for some pretty redic meals ( read: French fries for breakfast). The thing is, vegetarianism just doesn’t exist over here so I have settled for telling people I am allergic to meat, because they understand allergy. My mama then went through some of the stuff in the kitchen “judy, you eat rice?” “judy, you eat millie meal? (sort of gritz, and yes, I guess I do eat that now, so call me southern.).

All the poverty has really started to sink in, and I am certainly feeling it in more ways than one. My hair, for instance, has found some serious volume given the humidity and bucket showers… there may be no further pictures of me taken in south Africa due to this unfortunate situation, we shall see. Also, as my 15 year old sister is trying to understand what America is like, she asks me a lot of questions such as, how much does your school cost for a year. It was pretty hard for me to tell her that school probably costs around 400,000 rand per year, compared to the 800 rand for her school. I’m not sure she has ever even known anyone with 400,000 rand. Ugh.

In the sweltering heat of Saturday, myself and two other students on the program took our sisters to the beach, partly because we needed a break from the heat (I have never been in such hot weather without AC) and partly because where else would you want to be on a hot day. During that outing I was lucky enough to receive a mini surf lesson from one of the lifeguards and yes, I did stand up (although I might add, the wave was maybe 1 foot high). In addition, I added some much needed pigment to my skin, although I could have settled for a little less (read: I’m bright red).

Yesterday (again 1 million degrees) I went to church, in a tent, with concrete walls and let me tell you, if that wasn’t hell, I don’t know what is (ironic, eh?). Fact: almost passed out in church it was so hot… I ended up having to sit down because things were spinning and black. Never have I ever fainted.. in my life, so this was something special. Also, those TV church things where the pastor puts his hands on you and you’re healed kind of thing… been there, done that, had no choice. Yay church. Things got exciting in the afternoon when some SITers and I went to the world cup stadium to watch a football match. Luckily we were sitting on the shady part of the stadium and got to enjoy the game in fashion of true Americans we are (peanuts and beer). So maybe we missed the super bowl but NBD, we were just in the world cup stadium.

Life is pretty grand down here although I am certainly missing some parts of home (friends, AC, showers, 30 rock, the office). This week we will be fighting our way through more Zulu and learning and experiencing more of the political culture here. It’s very different in that as a result of race classification, people have no problem saying something about “the Indian people,” or “the black people,” in a way that would NEVER be okay in the US. For instance, we had a professor the other day, teaching us about Zulu who said “and yes, black people are very loud.” That would never fly in a classroom in the US. Also, anyone who is not black, white or Indian is considered colored… that is their race, very foreign.
Missing you all,
Judy

Wine and Beer

Our classroom lectures have started, and we are starting to learn about some really fascinating stuff. Remnants of apartheid are literally staring you in the face, as double street signs serve as constant reminders (the apartheid signs depicting Afrikans names have big red x’s through them but still remain next to new, zulu signs). The history is laced with violence, oppression and tragedy and is pretty hard to hear. To be honest, I have developed an inclination to rock out to Party in the USA or something equally as uplifting when class ends to lighten my mood.
So alcohol… played/ plays a big role in this province and in South Africa. The suburb where we are doing our home stay was the 2nd town to undergo forced relocation during apartheid. Part of the reason this town was targeted was because of its underground liquor market. To enrich my cultural experience I believe it is my responsibility; nay, my duty, to sample some of the controversial and contraband resettlement instigator. How could I expect to fully develop my understanding without totally immersing myself? This dedication only serves to mirror the work ethic and philosophy of an anthropologist.

In addition to learning about Zulu moonshine, we learned about socially normative Zulu beer culture (we also saw lots of nice beaded dresses and learned about traditional clothing and other artifacts). They have these things that are called beer pots and they are literally that: big clay pots that you fill with beer. Luckily everyone’s pot looks different so you never have to worry about misplacing them and not knowing which one was yours. The thing is, the beer pots get filled with beer and multiple people will be drinking from the same one. Sounds like a good way to share germs huh? Kegs and solo cups were conspicuously absent.

We went out for our welcome dinner in the evening, and sampled (read: consumed) many of our great nations wines. Since we have been staying at a monastery, the M.O. around here is not to drink. We all enjoyed our first chance to… shall we say, toast the night away. Anyway conclusive evidence suggests that South African wine is excellent.

Besides alcohol, we have also been studying the period of race classification to better understand the area we are in. We saw a movie, in theaters now, called Skin which was incredibly moving (and true) about some of the social and political issues surrounding this. If you’re looking for a good cry, I highly recommend it (although if you’re looking for an Oscar nomination for best actress, I do not.). A lot of time has been spent discussing the sweeping disparities between the rich and the poor in Durban, and observing demonstrations of tremendous excess (the imax theater in the mall we went to) vs. abject poverty (central Durban and its surrounding neighborhoods). Much has been done in the 20 years (on Tuesday) since F.W. De Kerk announced that parliament would recognize other political parties, Mandela would be freed on the 11th, exiles could return, etc. but there is much left to do. My physical presence in Durban not only removes the distractions of top 40 music, 30 rock and the Office, but it allows me to really connect with the realities of these studies.

Moving into the home stay tomorrow [Thursday] (again I am typing this the night before I will post it), wish me luck!
Love from Durban,
Judy

Sanibona!

Hello from Durban! I have written this blog entry from the hostel where we are staying for Orientation, and intend to post it when we arrive at the program office tomorrow! We have been without internet for our first few days here, so I feel that I have so much to blog about! Orientation is at the Marian Hill Monastery boarding house, 10 or so miles out of central Durban. The grounds are gorgeous, and the vegetation is outstanding (and unique).

As all 15 of us are suffering from varying degrees of jetlag, orientation has been chock-full days complete with relatively early bedtimes. Because so much has happened, I will highlight a few standout experiences.
The Stadium – like the good tourists we are, one of our first stops was the World Cup football stadium outside of central Durban. The stadium is massive and is built with a cable car running to the top of it for touristy-folk such as myself. The sadium is very close to the Indian ocean! Right next door is a rugby stadium, and we have been told that we will be attending both a football match and a rugby match while on this program! Hooray!
Zulu – we have started to learn some basic conversational Zulu, this includes the clicks. For those of you who are not familiar (I was not at all) youtube it, I’m sure you can find it, basically clicking sounds are incorporated into words… it’s VERY hard. Sanibona is the basic Zulu greeting, and thus the title of this entry. I am getting a hang of the few phrases we have been taught, however it is strikingly different from French, the only other foreign language I have studied at all.
The Beach – it is with great sorrow and regret that I inform you all that we were FORCED to spend some orientation time on the beach. As if the 80+ degree weather weren’t punishment enough, we spent an entire afternoon lounging, swimming and walking on Durban’s North coast beach. Oh the injustice. Unfortunately I have no pictures from this experience because it was so traumatic (read: it’s not a good idea to leave your camera lying around on the beach while you are swimming, also you could get mugged).
The Drop-off – today’s exercise featured a scavenger hunt in central Durban that focused on developing our sense of orientation as well as making key political and social observations. We were challenged to use a very safe public transport service (the people mover.. it’s a bus) to navigate the city and given some money to buy both lunch and a small gift for our roommates. My roommate Lauren and I (we were in different groups) both ended up buying each other fresh fruit .

Anyway, life has been fast paced and tiring, and the program has only just begun. My body is slowly starting to adjust to the time change, and I’m enjoying the warm weather (although I could do without some of the humidity!!). I will have more regular internet for awhile now, so updates should be fairly frequent. On Thursday we move into our first home stay and I am excited to find out what my family is like!
Selani Kahle (stay well),
Judy