"My Little Girls, My Children, Jesus Brought them Back!"

This week has been pretty full of work, and trying to get things finished up, but no worries there is still plenty to write about. This update was very much prompted by the now somewhat regular email from Joan asking about a new blog entry. So mom, this one’s for you.

I know I expressed some reservations last week about talking with South African girls about HIV and AIDS, and I was somewhat founded in those reservations. When I first broached the topic I was literally floored by one girl’s response that she thought AIDS was somewhat overrated. I’m going to go ahead and blame the English-as-her-second-language thing for the absurd nature of that comment and say that I quickly responded: well I’m going to try and change your mind.
That’s right. Perhaps it’s a little self-righteous and ethnocentric (I never said I wasn’t a humble person) of me to assume that I can present AIDS in a different, more tangible way as a disease they can control, there goes my Americanness bleeding through again. Anyway, I did it! I was able to hit home with facts about how HIV is 3-4 times more prevalent in girls their age than in boys… that got their attention. Did I mention I also got their attention by playing the M&M game? Only they don’t really have M&Ms here so I used this thing called a “smartie” which is deceivingly not a small, sugary candy that comes in a roll. Nay, it is a chocolate coated disc resembling in shape (not quite taste) and M&M. I think it’s the corn syrup that makes M’s taste different, but then again, I always blame the corn syrup.



(Sometimes in rugby, they lift one guy up by his pants. i want to be that guy.)


Went to another rugby game this week, still thinking about making it a career. I’m a little worried about suffering multiple concussions and/or getting torn in half though, so I might just stick to the things I know. Sharks won, which was cooler than the last time when they lost, and this time I even knew when to yell beassssssssssssssst. Also, if the rugby playing profession doesn’t quite pan out for me, I think I may have found another career: the remote controlled car driver. This person is actually INTEGRAL to the games because he drives out a little remote controlled pickup truck (buckkie, here) with the ball-kicking stand in it when they get to kick field goals (to note: I’m not sure it’s actually called a field goal, I’m just being American and assuming so). Unlike footballs (American kind) rugby balls would not stand easily to be kicked, so they need a T. It’s like the difference between T-ball and baseball, if T-ball had a more harsh tackle and only pass the ball backwards rule.In other sports news: I got this nasty blister from always running on the tredmill. I think I need new shoes (pathetic appeal to mom).


In other news, we went back to the rural areas to visit the other day!! Remember that brief story about the homestay sister who was pregnant (actually both) well they both had their babies! One is 7 weeks old (it’s been 7 weeks since we walked through the bush with her in labor) and the other is 2 weeks old (the babies, not the mothers, just to be clear). It’s close to a 2 hour drive, and we really only drove up for an hour or so, but it was great to see the family. Mama was so happy to see us she thanked jesus in zulu for bring her daughters, her children back. Forgive me for this, but the guy who brought us, his name was Stu, I’m pretty sure, not Jesus. It was amazing to go back there and reflect on how peaceful it was and how happy it made us, to wake up every day and see the ocean. We also went down to the beach where (brace yourself mom) we saw a dead rotting whale carcass. It was pretty biodegraded, and we could only tell what it was by the massive vertebra/ spinal column we saw lying next to heaps of unrecognizable whale. Naturally I was pretty intrigued and touched it. Blubber feels exactly how you would imagine it would, just to clear the air. Sorry I don’t have any pictures, there was no camera around. Also, I think it’s kind of impolite to take pictures of dead, decaying things.


Tomorrow I’m going to Cape Town to see Lauren, which is going to be pretty epic. I’m just taking a little vacation with 2 weeks to go here in Durban, because honestly, I want an excuse not to spend the whole weekend writing about girls’ issues. Also, if Lauren and I had both come to this bizarre land halfway around the world and not seen each other (a short 1.5 hour flight) it would have been pretty ridiculous. After Cape Town will likely be my last blog entry, since there are only 2 weeks left, and one will be spent traveling between the Drakensburg, back to Cape Town and finishing things up.
It’s been a good run,
Judy

Ps. Mama (real Mama, not rural Mama) called the other day to say she misses me. “Jude, where are you? Jude, you in Durban? Jude how come you don’t call? When you leaving? My neighbor Jude, she crying because you not here” I’m due for a visit sometime early next week. Expect stories!


Two babies is always better than one (as long as they arn't your own!)

Space Aliens

(our new home!)

Alright, so i know i really owe you all a new entry, especially since most of you know that i now have unlimited internet, i really have no excuse for not writing... but i will try one on you anyway:
I have been very busy. You see, now is the time when I have to fit in tons of new, original research, and make time for the beach and recreating (also, the gym). This all launches me back into a fill-your-day-till-you-drop kind of life style, and I am happy to report that my hours of operation every day has returned to a somewhat normal 8am-1am schedule. Although my adventures in Zululand have been limited, there are still some funny stories to report.
Last week, a few of us attended a rotary club meeting for the same group that runs the library where I did my community service (see: boxcar children). For those of you who don’t know what rotary is (I didn’t) it’s kind of a social club for middle-aged adults who sit around and drink wine and bicker about nonsensical, unimportant issues. Sometimes, they have guests, and I suppose on this particular evening, we were the guests of honor. This was made even more clear when I was asked to sit at the head of the table (our presence there was coordinated through me, so I was assumed to be some kind of leader in this group…which I’m not.). I was even privileged enough to be the one who chose the winning card from a deck for a bottle of wine! Wow, what an honor. Anyway, a little vino later, and it was time for me to speak (little did I know I’d be address the rotary tonight) about SIT. We talked about the program and the components of the program, and then took time for questions. One lady asked us, “as people from outer space (read: America)…. What we think of this, that and the other thing.” Well I’ve never really thought of myself as a space alien, but I guess I’m okay with it…?


(using a leatherman on the cork)
Besides rotary wine, we’ve also been sampling some of our local supermarket’s South African varieties, to really create a unique, cultural experience for ourselves. I’m only allowed to pick sometimes because the other day I picked a shiraz with a giraffe on the bottle that was awful, and thus, my privileges were revoked for a few days. Also, we have no wine bottle opener so I have been skillfully using my Leatherman to open bottles. I had determined through this experience that I would probably make a really great restaurant hostess since I can really open anything now, until I was reminded it’s probably considered impolite at a restaurant to put a costumers wine bottle between your legs as you wrangle the cork out.

(the view from inside a soon-to-be-packed minibus taxi)
Last Friday, we had a bit of a city adventure, as we battled the public transportation system to try and save a few rand. Ambitious as we are, my roommates and I decided to go to the early morning bead market, a weekly occurrence at Warwick (remember the head cookers market?). Anyway, getting there was quite fine, we hailed a minibus taxi, got off at the right stop, and walked over. Together, we bought our weight in beads (impressive, since they are minibeads) and walked over to take the people mover (just a bus, explicitly named for the sake of clarity of world cup visitors, I guess) to where our program driver would pick us up for the morning. Of course there were two people movers sitting in a row, and the first one waved us back to the second one, so we got on the second one like the dumb, silly tourists we are, forgetting to look at where it was going (the first one had the right banner on the front). One stop past the transfer station, we found ourselves headed north, rather than south, and jumped off. We waited, and waited, and waited, but another people mover did not appear for about 25 minutes. This is all very shocking because the people movers only move in a small circuit, by the coastline, that takes maybe 15-20 minutes to cover. Also, there is more than 1. But like I said, agonizing times with public transportation in this country. Anyway, we had to hop a people mover, to a cab to get back up, defeated, to the office.
In other news, I started my girls’ group last week, and that seems to be going well. I’m trying really hard not to be a cultural imperialist, or have anything about my white, American identity affect my credibility when working with this group. They are very chatty, sometimes amongst one another in Zulu, and, well, since that exam, I’ve kind of… let’s say… let my zulu slip. I do still remember how to say hi! Every once and awhile though, I will pull out a few Zulu words, which totally grabs their attention, and then the room erupts into a fit of giggles. So much for trying to focus. Mr. sexist himself (the organization coordinator) even told me I was doing a good job with these girls, which is encouraging. What’s not encouraging is that I have decided to plan my next lesson on HIV/AIDS which is actually a reality here in AIDS capital, SA. I am currently living in the country with the highest concentration of AIDS, in the province that has the highest concentration in the country. So there you have it folks, AIDS capital, SA. Anyway, I’ll bring some biscuits to lighten the mood.

Lots of beach time has also been an essential. The other day I went to take surfing lessons and the ocean was flat… “lake Durban” they called it. On the plus side, I saw some dolphins swimming not too far off from shore. Pretty magical. Also, I was taking a nap in the sun and my friends put a dead fish on my blanket. They’re the best. I can’t think of a better way to say “we think you’re really awesome judy, and fabulous and an international superstar” than a dead fish.



With love, from me, to you.
Judy
Ps. Home in 3 weeks (ish)

“Thanks for Taking Your Time Out For Enriching Our Community”

For the sake of my own dignity and the honor of my family I will not go into extreme detail about the events of Splashy Fen except to say that it was everything a 4-day music festival in the mountains should be and more. I set out with 10,000 of my closest white, South African friends to spend the weekend joeling (partying- afrikkans) and listening to lekkah (great) music. In order to receive free entrance to the festival, our program director had worked out a deal with the people running the festival that we would take turns working an 8-hour shift at the front gate and get an all access pass with zero no-fly zone restrictions for the rest of the weekend. The men we worked the gate with were all from a middle-aged mens fraternity called the round table, a self-proclaimed “drinking club with a community service problem.” These men were hilarious and enjoyed making fun of the “yanks” weak alcohol tolerance. I worked the gate and obviously ran into a girl who I traveled in India with last January, and graduated from Colby. These kinds of thing need to happen to keep life interesting.
Upon my return from exile (Splashy Fen) I FINALLY moved into my own place. Well it’s sort of my own. I share it with two other girls on the program, albeit, by choice. This place has all the luxuries you could ever dream of: carpeted floors, a shower, a refrigerator, soft beds and pillows, matching plate sets (for dinner parties, obv.) more than one fork, walking distance from a coffee shop, a pool in the backyard, unlimited internet, AIRCONDITIONING, really I’m just spoiled. On top of all these princess-style amenities, I was finally able to unpack my suitcase for the first time! When living in homestays, I kept my suitcase locked, because in many cases more than just the family was in the house. It’s not that I didn’t trust them, it’s just that I would have hated myself for not buying a $3 lock (and $2 giraffe beaded keychain) had, say, my ipod gone missing. Also, my Patagonia fleece. Now that I am cooking for myself (and an expert chef) life on the food-blog might get less interesting. We cooked some pesto pasta with hand-roasted red peppers, onions, cherry tomatoes and pecans for dinner the first night, marking my induction into the world of choose what I eat. In other news, I joined a gym and will now be able to exist as anything but a weak, jello-blob of a person. Cheers.
On a note similar to a blog post by the one and only Jacob Marty, I will now attempt to chronicle the slow-paced life here, and how I have (no lies) acquired some serious patience in this country. My independent study will be researching and creating a girls’ group curriculum for a local youth empowerment organization that is lacking in both a) female leadership and b) gender-specific programming. In order to being, it was necessary to engage in a 15 or so minute dialogue with the organization’s leader, which is where the laughable amounts of patience come into play. Here is a synopsis of the events of my life between 09:00 hours and 13:00 hours on Thursday, April 8.
09:00: get picked up by minibus SIT vehicle and transported to program office
09:10: check email and facebook (quickly, duh.)
09:30: depart from SIT office to pre-scheduled meeting with youth club leader
09:40- 11:56: wait in YEP office for group leader to return from… who knows?
12:30: receive transport back to home
And all of this for a 15 minute interview. Here’s the drill. South African time means being within about two hours of a desired meeting. For this 15 minute interview, I needed to budget literally a whole morning, which I think may make research a little more difficult then shacking up in miller library for hours (including 20 minute power naps). On the plus side, following his tardiness to our meeting I received an sms (read: text message, this language is starting to stick) from the youth program director that read “hey sorry makin u wait dat long 2day was’nt too sure wat time u coming, thankx for taking your time out to enriching our community, thankx for your patience. Peace.” Loosely translated it sounds like if I am able to crack through the slow-pace of society, I might actually be able to do something good. Side note: text message lingo infuriates me.
X’s and O’s
Judy
Epilogue: Today I received my very first police escort. The details of the story are pretty insignificant, except to say that I am finally recognized as an international superstar (read: my roommates and I went running in a neighborhood we did not know was safe and a police car drove by and drove next to us until we reached a safe neighborhood).