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3 December 2007 | Makhado Flat | “Celebrate Good Times, Wa-Wa!”

Elyse

 

After a morning of scrubbing laundry (with our newly purchased BioTex hand washing safe powder detergent… an unmatched cleaning substance to its rival, the soap bar, which in the past has “cleaned” things by simply masking them with floral scents) and listening to our daily dose of SA FM radio, our favorite talk-show/news station (we also like BBC World Report on shortwave), I’ve decided to write a bit about our previous project adventures. First off, please accept our apologies for not writing for some time… we hope to make this a priority during our last month here in Makhado.

 

As pictured in the Indermark II photo folder, Tony and I traveled to Indermark to gather soil samples, collect the cabbage pests, and measure the dimensions of the garden. The collecting of the pests was somewhat of a humorous experience for me. First, you must understand that Africans LOVE their cabbage, if your cabbage doesn’t grow, it is nearing the end of the world. Ok, so that is somewhat of an exaggeration, but it is quite a disappointment for the crèche staff that their cabbage leaves look like Swiss cheese. As instructed by Adam Ward, we were to collect the pests so that we could identify the pest and “treat” it appropriately. While Johannes, Grace, and Frederica frenzied to find the pest, I examined the leaves to find the culprit. From our discussions with Adam and the research I conducted I had an inkling that we would find caterpillar-like insects (larvae) eating the underside of the leaves.

 

In a matter of seconds I had insects of all sorts handed to me- crickets, ladybugs, beetles, and other creepy crawlers- all of which were given to me in great pride as if they were the discoverer of the infamous pest. I was puzzled by the reality that some of the insects they were handing me were actually greatly assisting in the control of pest insects, rather than contributing to the problem. Ladybugs for example are used in ecologically-friendly agricultural farms to control feasting insects. I briefly explained this truth. Frederica receptive to the idea but still adamant that we must kill the pest with sprays. I kindly reminded her that we were not going to provide them with chemicals because it is not friendly to the environment and the children (the pride and joy of her life!). We left Indermark that day with a bag full of insects, many of which Tony released once we returned to our flat.

 

On to other adventures….

 

We journeyed (via taxi… yes, we survived!) with Frederica about 60km (36miles) to Faranani Training Centre to meet Joy Nel, project manager. Frederica was to attend her last week of a three-week teaching course, while we would just stay for the day to gather information about the center where the crèche teachers obtained their teacher training. At first I was hesitant to step into a dilapidated taxi bus (similar look to an old VW bus) with no seat belts.. however in due time I was too distracted by the breath-taking scenery to be overwhelmed in fear. The landscape was arranged in a patchwork, as if a giant took an electric razor and leveled the vegetation at different heights. The vegetables gardens “cut” at the shortest length while the towering plantation trees at the greatest height, peering over the short-stature guava trees, banana, nut, and mango. The starkness of the rolling topography with its varying vegetative levels was quite impossible for my camera to capture.

 

We exited the taxi from the main road in order to walk 500m to the beautiful gates of Farinani (meaning “holding hands together” in the native Venda Language). It is positioned on top of a rolling hill full of various fruit and nut orchards – a paradise indeed. Joy Nel welcomed us warmly and joyfully assisted us with our project needs. We gathered information about the content of the courses and their costs, as well as the educational aids needed at the Tšwelopele Crèche. We were reassured that Tšwelopele, which is supported by individuals like us, is in a better position than most crèches, which struggle to provide basic necessities for the children, but however needs more stimulating educational toys in the classrooms.

 

From this trip we gained reference to Biblionef, a distributor of unsold (in retail stores) children’s books, who now will be supplying us with 48 Sepedi story books at a reasonable price! We are delighted that the crèche will now have a little library, now with books written in their home language. Over time, the crèche has acquired many English books, but frankly the children cannot relate to the stories of Cinderella and Snow White. In addition we hope to order English story books (written in context of South Africa daily life) to supplement the new English educators’ lessons at the crèche. Lastly, Joy informed us about MAYA Organic Wooden Toys, an Indian women’s cooperative group, that uses natural pigments to dye wooden educational toys. Since plastic toys are known to be harmful to children’s health, we hope to purchase only wooden toys for the little ones (ages 1-3) at the crèche. Currently the classroom for the “little babies”, as Frederica calls them, is void of any cognitive stimulation. Currently, there is one homemade poster with a tree made of little hands, that says “Trees are Important”… there is a lot of sprucing-up to do! If we can’t find posters appropriate for that age-range, I plan on designing my own posters made of cardboard and paints. Joy encouraged us to work on that sector of the crèche because the littlest ones act as motionless zombies when she comes to visit. Mobiles, posters, and educational toys are a must!

 

After speaking with Joy all morning, we hitched a ride with 2 Faranani employees who were driving back into town (Makhado) to visit the recycling center to gather un-recycled file folders that the manager of the operation was willing to give to them free-of-charge. Tony and I were elated to hear that such a place existed in town… throwing away plastics, glass, and aluminum has scarred our recycling ethic! It was an experience within itself to see these two African women buried in large bags of red and yellow cardstock papers, sorting through each to find those without black stains and cobwebs. We piled three large grain bags full of these papers and loaded them into their old, little, white civic and drove away bottoming-out over each speed bump.

 

And for the last….

 

On November 28^th, we attended the Graduation Ceremony at the crèche. The day prior to this we played with the children for the last time and questioned some of the staff on the lasts of our questions in regards to the project. In the photo folder of these two days you will see pictures of groups of women preparing cabbage, butternut, and beetroot for the next day’s festivities. The tent crew hoisted-up two large canopy tents, and a middle-aged man strung electrical wiring from the nearby government building to the crèche for the speaker set-up. Frederica continuously commented to us throughout the day, “You will see tomorrow…”, as if we were in for a surprise.

 

Thabo and his buddy guided us down the streets of Indermark to the crèche the morning on the graduation day. Frederica had already been at the crèche since 5:30am preparing for the big day. I was floored to see the enormous crowd, even though we were warned many times that literally the whole town comes out for this day. Frederica is convinced it is because of this big graduation event that she is able to maintain a high number of children. It is in a way her recruiting and advertising day, but it is evident that it is much more than just that; an energizing celebration – lively music and dancing, lots of laughter, and good food.

Tony and I sat at the head table along with Frederica, the MC, police women, and community members who have obtained various university degrees (who are far and few between). Not only did we stick out amongst the crowd because of our light skin, but we were also the only ones dressed inappropriately for the weather (Tony particularly with his shorts and short-sleeves). The day brought frigid winds and overcast skies, keeping us shivering at our seats throughout the entirety of the celebration, which lasted from 9:30am – 2:00pm. Indermark is known for hellish heat, so when we visit for a few days at a time, we bring light clothing to keep us cool from the intense sun.

 

Despite our chilled skin, our hearts were warmed by the love and support of the community towards the young learners. Dressed in adorable black caps and gowns (rented or owned, we are unsure), the children paraded throughout the crowd to their seats, where they sat somewhat organized and still (a hysterical sight in itself). After Frederica led the crowd in several songs, and after many women danced freely to the music with faces of great joy and pride, the children in small groups performed memorized English and Sepedi rhymes, for example three little girls called out to the crowd; “Five balloons floating in the air. Going up together. POP! Pffsh! And there were four. Four balloons floating in the air. Going up together. POP! Pffsh! And there were three…… One balloon floating in the air. Going up together. POP! Pffsh! And there were none.” There pronunciation was very endearing. We were assured they had no clue what they were talking about, but in the moment what seemed to matter is that the crowd was entertained by what they have learned at Tšwelopele. After all 80 (83 were graduating, but three didn’t arrive as their parents had not paid their school fees) of them stood in front of the crowd shouting out their few rhyming lines, their names were individually called out, their pictures taken and granted their laminated yellow-paper diploma. Tony and I were entertained to see the mothers (and 2 fathers) run out from the crowd towards their child, dancing, and screaming “Wa-wa-wa!!!”, an expression of their elation of their child graduating. It was encouraging to see their expressed love and support, something we hadn’t experienced until this day.

 

After eating a meal (with my hands, since very few utensils were donated for this day) of pap, rice, butternut, cabbage, spinach and tomato sauce we were commissioned by the parents of the children to pose with their costumed daughters and sons for photos. Once the one parent asked, it was an non-stop stream of photo flashes, taken by 3 local photographers. It was like we were Mickey and Minnie Mouse at Disneyworld, getting our pictures endlessly taken, simply for the amusement of the parents. However we kept a smile on our faces as we knelt beside each of the children because we too were very proud of each creative and beautiful child and hopeful that somehow Tšwelopele has enriched their minds in a very special way.

 

 

3 December 2007 | Makhado Flat | It’s Been a While

Tony

 

I ride my bike schizophrenically, sometimes on the right, sometimes on the left, vacillating between pedestrian and vehicular modes. Part of it’s the confusion of being in a country where everyone, rather disconcertingly, drives on the left; but mostly it’s because we’re in a country where the motorists don’t like to share….

 

So, after a couple of false starts, we finally have fully operational, more-or-less comfortable, altogether wonderful bikes. It turns out that the proprietor of China Shop (you remember him) was fundamentally more honest than the employees and managers of OK Furniture, the seemingly more reputable, established establishment, and purveyors of the Raleigh “Mach-1 Trail Sport”. It might be worth a brief digression at this point to note that, at the time when we were bike shopping, we were unaware of anything that might resemble a “bike shop” that one would be familiar with in the US. Instead, all sorts of random businesses have bikes for sale, alluringly on display on the sidewalk. They are, by-and-large, crap. Chinese junk with cheap plastic parts. Breaks don’t work, gears don’t shift, handlebars spin aimlessly – and they all cost $70-$100. It’s deeply upsetting, as a proud and self-defined “cyclist”, to see the state of bicycling in this place with so much bike-potential (and knowing I could purchase a used bike for $10 that would beat any of these…). Instead, the people here either walk, if they can’t afford a petrol-burning vehicle, or they buy one on credit as a status symbol of their new middle class-ness; only a few ride.

 

But back to my story. We bought our bikes at OK Furniture (in retrospect, we should have realized there was a problem when the name of the store wasn’t “Wonderful Furniture”). They’re hardbody bikes, meaning they have no shocks front or back. They have cantilever breaks, which is nice because they don’t require tools for minor adjustments. They have cheap plastic shifters which, nevertheless, have yet to snap (knock on wood). They had loose parts everywhere. In fact, the start of our troubles with OK Furniture was searching hither and yon in downtown Makhado looking for an Alan wrench with which to tighten the handlebars (so that they point in the same direction one is traveling…). China Shop owner may have had depressingly awful bikes, but at least he owned all the tools for tuning them up. OK Furniture actually sold us the bikes not ready for use, and sent us on a hunt across town looking for tools to make them roadworthy!

 

Phase 2 of our OK Furniture troubles happened rather suddenly on Erasmus St, which is parallel to Songozwi, the “main drag” as Elyse likes to say. There I am, happily pedaling away up the hill (standing up, no less), when I almost hit a parked bus as the left pedal snaps off.

 

The trip back to OK Furniture was long and hot, definitely didn’t involve pedals in any proactive sense, and did little for my temper. I could already feel myself beginning to channel my mom, the archetype of the outraged, rights-knowing consumer. I was getting my American up.

 

We returned to OK. I immediately, in my sternest voice, demanded to see the manager. I probably looked a little wild at that point: covered in grease, hair sweat-streaked and wind-blown in all directions, my shirt sticking to me in spots, my eyes wild and my voice, I confess (haha) angry. And it only got angrier. Elyse asked me not to yell. I spoke to the manager, telling her I could have been seriously injured. I told her how upset we were to have already spent three hours buying these bikes. I said we wanted our money back or a new bike at a discount (I can feel myself getting enraged again just writing about this…). I said it was reprehensible that we had to search for tools to make their bikes rideable and then even worse that the pedal broke off while riding one of them! One of the employees at this point was trying to screw the pedal back in: this was horrifying to me, as I know very well that you need a special tool to secure the pedal in such a way that it won’t unscrew as it did for me. I pointed out that the pedal was already threaded, there would be no way to screw it back in. He persisted for a little while, to my annoyance. They tried installing a new pedal from another bike – more horror. Eventually they gave it up as beyond their competence and told us they would go to their sister store down the road to pick up a new version of the same model. This was doubly irritating because we had been there earlier that day and they had told us, lazily I suppose, that they didn’t have any bikes and we’d have to go to their other store. Triply irritating: the saleswoman who sold us the bikes tried to tell me, earbuds still sprouting from her ears (what was she listening to?) in Broken English that I needed to go with the other employee to pick up my bike. Elyse was to stay put. Hah!

 

I think I should end this story here and move on to happier things….

 

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So the other day we were riding our fantastic new bikes down Kroghstraat (you need to sound like you’re coughing to say it properly) and we made a wonderful discovery: the hiking trail at the base of the mountain. It was so close! Rather amusingly, too, as the Afrikaner at the internet café told us it was “quite far, I don’t know how many k’s [kilometers], but it’s quite far.” We didn’t hike it that day, but we will soon. So expect a detailed description later.

 

We went for another nice bike ride last night, around 5:30pm. The weather was gorgeous, especially with the breeze (ah, I love cycling). The mountain was sunset-lit and we could see further mountains of the Soutpansberg, blue and silhouetted with distance. We went in a new direction this time, down a poorly paved road that made a slow transition through potholes to dirt, the railroad tracks to our right….

 

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And now for something relevant to our project.

 

First, for a flashback: three or so weeks ago Elyse and I rented a car from the local AVIS (a story in itself) and drove out to Indermark to take soil samples. For the three garden plots we took two samples: one for the tomato plot, and one for the other two, more diverse plots. To take a soil sample, one must dig a hole 30cm deep and scrape soil from the top to the bottom of the hole (to get a cross-section). One does this about five times, about 1-2kg per hole, and then combines all the mini-samples into one big sample. We did that, and also had a fun time trying to locate the pest that was eating the cabbage (I’ll leave the rest of that part of the story to Elyse, who was more involved in that then I was). I also, with Johannes’s help, measured the length and width of every garden as an aid to determining how many seeds to buy.

 

Back to the present!

 

Things are going well, although there is the occasional setback. Today we need to call Laucky, the agricultural extension officer, as he has been promising to call us since last week and our soil samples should be in by now. We’ll meet with him and discuss all the things that need to happen to make the training at Tšwelopele a success, and set a date. That’s exciting – it represents the culmination of nearly 1/3 of our project. We hope that, with his help, we can inculcate some organic, natural gardening values in the staff at the crèche. Lately we’ve been fending off suggestions to supply the crèche with chemical weedkillers, bug killers, fertilizers, etc. We’ve resorted to the “but think of the children!” defense, but progress has been slow. We’re both very exciting for the training day, not least because we hope to plant numerous fruit trees as well, and maybe even observe the planting of some aromatic herbs that will help to dissuade nuisance insects from eating the garden’s produce.

 

In the other direction, we think that neither solar cookers nor chickens may work out. In the case of the former, we were told by a supplier in Jo’burg that the cookers he had were sufficient for between 50-75 children, which simply isn’t acceptable. That would mean a maximum of four cookers for all 150 children that will be at the crèche next year – and half the point of using a solar cooker is that it makes life easier for the cook, not harder. So that’s sad. In the case of the chickens… well, among other things, we’re slightly afraid they’d just eat them once we were out of sight, rather than saving them for their eggs and manure. Additionally, they seem to want them pent up all day instead of free-range, which is just too immoral for us to consider. Furthermore, eggs are apparently so cheap it might be more cost-effective to just buy eggs; and finally, the crèche already has so much going on it might be too much to ask for them to take care of chickens, too. We’ll see, nie?

 

If you readers out there have read our latest batch of Field Notes, then you know we interviewed two retired schoolteachers from Indermark for the position of part-time English teacher at Tšwelopele. We are slightly worried about them, but we have begun to feel better about it after deciding we could send them for ECD training at Faranani (Elyse will write more about that). Frederica seems to have confidence in them, although she also wants, inexplicably, for us to pay them R1000 per month, which is nearly three times what her other, full-time teachers are paid. Strange. We still have hope this will work out to everyone’s satisfaction. 

 

 

9 November 2007 | 21:05pm | Bicycle Adventures, Part 1

Tony

 

Oh, man, those bicycles. I think I may be somewhat blessed in that I have a literary turn of mind, and so, when things were at their worst I was already hard at work spinning a story in the comfort of my head, even as I supervised the middle-aged Chinese man in his ministrations to my “bicycle.” Even so, though, my stress levels were probably as high as they had been at any time on our trip and was having a hard time not freaking out (this I saved for later).

 

It was the third time we were in the man’s store, his “China Shop”, and he had the bike on its seat, spinning the rear wheel and attempting to convince me that it was in “true”, meaning that all the spokes were tightened properly and it should spin cleanly – no wobble. In fact, it had quite a bad wobble, and so his next sally was to convince me that it was the tire. “Tire, it’s tire!” he exclaimed. For those of you who know me, you know I love my Trek back home, to such an extent that I have taken the time over the years to learn certain maintenance techniques on my own – and I was having none of this. It was not the tire. He tried to prove it by holding up a screwdriver to the wheelrim as it spun: a long rasping sound would prove its truth; the staccato, almost “African” rhythm, if I may, proved the opposite. As the rim scraped the screwdriver, then didn’t, then scraped it again, wobbling atrociously back and forth, I saw the China Shop owner deflate slightly. I almost felt bad for him, till I remembered how I or Elyse could have died the first and second times (respectively) we left his shop, when our loose handlebars spun ‘round and our hands, the arms behind them, and finally our bodies, with them. This while trying to get used to riding on the left side of the rode in a country full of new drivers (the mixed blessing of over 30 million Africans quite suddenly having the economic wherewithal to drive).

 

So there I stood, thrust into the position of supervisor in a rudimentary cycle mechanic’s shop. I was actually rather impressed the man even had the tools with which to true the wheels, which helped to forestall my freakout a little while longer. I’d already had him fix the breaks to my specifications; earlier, when we first bought the bikes, we tried to spin the wheels but nothing happened – he had fixed this problem by, apparently, completely disabling the breaks. “Too far!” I said, pulling the break levers all the way to handlebars. “Too far?” “Too far!” So that was fixed. Next I moved on to the wheels, and hence my current predicament, which was this: how could I trust him to fix the wheels properly without watching his every move, and how could I avoid dying of heatstroke while waiting in this crappy little China shop over the next three hours whilst he did it? And, somewhat tangentially, how could Elyse and I manage to pay our rent on time in the meanwhile?

 

Elyse solved the problem rather neatly by simply refusing to wait. She reminded me that we didn’t have time for this, we had things to do, what shall we do? Filled thus with new resolve, I told the stricken man that we were busy people and couldn’t wait while he fixed our bikes – could we trust him to finish the job? “Yes, yes, go… when come back?” he asked. I asked when he closed. “Five… five after,” he said with some thought. We would be back just before five, I said. We left him then, conscientiously spinning wheels.

 

Several things happened then that are not germane to this story, such as: waiting in an infinite line at the ABSA bank to pay our rent, yelling at a guard to let us back into the closing bank after the teller told us to go to the ATM outside to get money with which to pay our rent, paying said rent, and also surfing the internet at a café in glorious peace and serenity for half an hour. We also bought groceries.

 

Finally we returned to China Shop (its actual, honest, true name, by the way), only to find our bikes as we found them originally: lined up and ready to be sold to the next speed-demon Americans. Curiously, I walked up to “my” bike and poked it gently. The proprietor appeared, genie-like, at my shoulder and said “see, not too far!” and tugged at the breaks. I agreed: “not far.” Then he pointed to the front wheel and said “it’s tire,” proceeding then to explain that the tires had, as they sat lonely in some dank Chinese warehouse for some unfathomable length of time, gone all lumpy – and this would explain some of the wobble I would surely find when I took the bike out for a spin – for the third time. Weary in an Odyssean kind-of way, I nodded my head and, much to the chagrin of my inner cyclist, allowed myself to agree. But I said “we’ll be back. We have to go to Solly’s, but then we’ll be right back.” He agreed that we would be back and disappeared, back into the æther that mysteriously connects China to all its cheap plastic junk the world over.

 

We went to Solly’s, completed our business there, and returned to China Shop. Defeated, I walked over to our bikes, still strangely dolled up for sale, and opened my mouth to say “we’ll take them now.” Before I could more than draw breath Mr. China Shop, his thin-lipped wife by his side, handed me 500 rand. He then continued to count from the wad in his fist and finally handed me 400 more – a total of R900 and the full monetary cost of both bikes. Wordlessly, afraid some secret spell might be broken, I looked my elation mingled fear at Elyse and urged her outside. This was in fact what we both had wanted all afternoon, and we were willing to absorb the cost done to our souls’ thus far so long as it ended right there.

 

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I learned later that I had Elyse to thank for some very well-done and subtle psychological warfare. Apparently the entire time I had been terrorizing a middle-aged Chinese man into truing my bicycle wheels, she had been shooting a combination of looks at his wife: exasperation, anger, a general air of busy-ness stymied. The subtle powers of women are not to be gainsaid. Simple embarrassment may have won the day for us.

 

 

6 November 2007 | 15:15pm | Bicycle Adventures

 

It all started when Tony and I dropped into a China Shop located on Songozwi Street. Pointing to the neon green “Wildcat” bicycles neatly aligned in a row we anxiously asked the short-statured Asian man, “How much?”, as he puffed on a cigarette behind the counter of his small shop. He responded immediately, “Fah-fiffy”. We looked at each other gesturing that with a price of R450, it was worth further exploring. Thanks to Mom and Dad’s generous transit money we are able to purchase two bikes, taken into account that each costs less than $70 (about R450).

 

We examined the break levers, that were disappointedly made of plastic, but seemingly functioning to the standards of a $70 bike. The owner eagerly assisted us in adjusting our seats and securing the break pads (composed of plastic as well, of course).  His demeanor was reassuring to us that the bikes were ready- and- raring to go. So we paid him R900 in cash and set off with our new China made bikes into the busy South African city street.

 

It is important that you understand that not many people in Makhado ride bikes. Occasionally we’ll see a young Afrikaner school boy pedaling around town with bare-feet or a middle-aged African cruising with several pieces of equipment stringed to his delapated bike, but often not. So we honestly felt somewhat accomplished owning these bikes… suddenly it seemed as if there was a world of opportunities that lay ahead. 

 

So anyway we hopped onto our bikes for the time on Krogh Street, which leads to our flat rental place and favorite internet café. Our plan was to bike up the hill and drift down the back side of it to pay our rent for the month... in a jiffy (for a change of pace). I joyfully hoisted myself onto my bike and high-tailed it up the hill (on the left side of course). The burning sensation in my quads delighted me, reminiscing of long energizing bike rides while living in Bethlehem over the summer. Although I quickly realized that the pain I was feeling was rather due to the poor alignment of the bike.

 

That became the least of my worries as I soon noticed that Tony was nowhere to be seen! Did he fall?, get mugged?, or simply take the time to study the mechanics of his bike before pedaling away like I chose? After a few minutes of chilling in the shade at the top of the hill, catching my breath, I walked my bike down the sidewalk to where Tony sat on the sidewalk examining his bike. At first sight I was appalled that he chose to sit (in the blazing, hot sun, I might add) and examine his bike while I was geared-up to complete our errands for the day, before the day got any hotter.  “Are you ok sweetheart?…”, I asked, “Yes” he answered while glancing at me with a severely dissapointed expression. “What’s wrong?”, I asked.  “My bike is unridable!”

 

Unridable?, I internally pondered what he meant by this. Did it not match his standards of comfortable riding and therefore would not even give the bike a chance? Did the gears not change at the rate of his expectations? I decided rather to give him the benefit of the doubt (as a loving wife should).  “The bike handles came undone… I can’t ride this bike, it is crap”. “Tony..”, I replied with slight impatience, “we didn’t come to Africa to buy fancy bikes to ride around, they’ll have to do”.  He continued to insist that he was literally incapable of riding the bike, so after one big sigh I recommended that we take them back to the China shop to be repaired.

 

We dodged many pedestrians while walking our bikes on the sidewalk, before meeting the shop owner for a good tuning of Tony’s bike. He was so quick to assist Tony in repairing his bike’s completely inverted handle bars, that it seemed as if he was expecting us to return soon after our first departure. With a few tight twists of the loose screw, we were back on the street for attempt #2.  This time Tony made it up the hill, seemingly ok, other than his knees jabbing him in his chest, however now I experienced first hand the inverting of the handle bars…. They literally twisted 180 degrees so that my body lay on top of bike, leaving me with no control to steer, causing me to almost crash into a parked car. Anger burned inside me. I yelled, “These bikes are awful! We must return these bikes immediately!!!” to where Tony waited underneath a shade tree. He nodded in agreeance, as if I was proclaiming old news.

 

As we looked at eachother dripping with sweat and our faces firey red with anger (I suppose the hot sun contributed to the redness as well), we agreed that we were now on a mission to return the bikes to get our money back. It is important to also note that not only did the handle bars insist on spinning around it’s axil, but the breaks and gears were literally useless. On our journey back to the shop, my instinctual, contented heart was itching to further justify our decision to return the bikes, because part of me felt that we were being spoiled American brats accustomed to well functioning bikes that cruise oneself up and down hills without falling apart. It did not take long, however, until our decision was quickly rectified- I imagined giving these rinky-dink bikes to people in Indermark, after our 2 months usage, how embarassing that would be! More importantly, how could these bikes handle the jolting of rocky, dirt roads in that village?

 

Returning to the China Shop in sweat drenched t-shirts and dissatisfication clearly written on our faces, Tony kindly asked for a refund for the poorly manufactured bikes. The owner was quite short with him saying, “No can do”, but went right to work on the bikes tightening every visible screw. He was bound and determined to make us happy customers, which we both very much appreciated, but at the same time annoyed that he did not oblige to our refund request.

 

Tony’s kind heartedness seemed to control the situation. Instead of him continuing to demand the refund, he quietly watched as the short man busily buzzed around the bike, fixing the handle bars (once again) and trueing the tires. I honestly was not amused (at the time), rather put off by the fact they we simply wanted our money back, reasonably so. His wife, who watched from afar, peered in our direction with a somewhat ashamed expression.

 

 

2 November 2007 | 09:00 am | Daily Routine

Elyse

 

Many people have wondered, “What exactly do you do on a daily basis?” I’ll do my best to inform you…

 

After waking between 6-7am we listen to the news on our little R70= $10 radio (however this  price is not exact since the rand is fluctuating a lot lately, not in our favor). The BBC news comes in only on short-wave, so it is often interrupted by an occasional musical beat from a competing radio station. We fuel ourselves with Muesli, soymilk, and sometimes fresh paw-paw. Tony updates our Excel files- personal budget, project budget, etc.- while I may read, write, or plan out the day. For those of you who fear that we are not practicing proper hygiene, please be informed that sometimes a bath is fit between the previously listed activities.

 

Since our project changes on a continual basis, everyday we update our project files including our Conceptual Map, Conceptual Map Description, and Management Plan (as you may have noticed, these files frequently change). We swap ideas about how to best carry out the crèche project in an environmentally and economically sustainable manner. Bent over the tub, we (me mostly) wash clothes and towels and hang them to dry, only on days that are breezy and sunny, otherwise clothes are left to dry on our bathroom washline for several days. With an occasional interruption of ant invasions, Lucas (our lessor) dropping in for a visit, and/or Mable and her friends desiring to chat, this often eats up the entire morning.

 

Following these activities we eat lunch, sometimes bread with peanut butter, avocado, and cos lettuce or mini pizza creations composed of bread or roti (Indian yeast-free bread) with tomato paste, Swiss chard or spinach and avos and sometimes dried fruit (figs or pears). You’ve guessed right, our meals keep us regular. We eat very little processed foods (except for the occasional bag of pretzels), simply because it’s more economical (and healthy of course) to eat whole foods here. Fruits, vegetables, and bread (freshly baked brown bread cost only R2.80=$0.50!) are typically fresh and affordable.

 

To simply state, the afternoon involves hours upon hours of walking. When the sun decides to shine not so brightly, walking doesn’t seem that much of a feat, but on a hot summer African afternoon, 3-4 hours of walking throughout town wears out our legs, churns up our metabolism, and dehydrates our mouths.

 

The downtown streets are often full of personal vehicles (mostly driven by light-skinned Afrikaners, however some middle/high class dark-skinned Africans drive as well) and mass transit taxies and buses. Everyone else is on foot, shopping or selling trinkets and fresh produce along the sidewalks. Sometimes we receive curious glances by some, their eyes questioning, “why would 2 young white people be walking around town… why don’t they buy a car?”. When we were purchasing larger items for out flat like chairs and pillows, we hauled them from downtown to our flat, a 45 min. trek. If only we could master the local skill of balancing things on your head, we’d be in a much better position.

 

Lately we’ve been engaged in several meetings related to our project- with Adam Ward, a garden specialist (and providential encounter as we later discovered); Laucky, an Agricultural Extension Officer; and the infamous Dietitian, whom we have yet to meet… (that’s a journal entry unto itself). Walking from point A to point B can take several hours. However it has enabled us the opportunity to experience how the local, financially-poor citizens travel around town, from work, to home. It has permitted us time to further discuss our project while absorbing the fascinating culture around us. We both could spend all day just observing peoples’ mannerisms in town. The natural setting of the town is captivating as well. Yesterday for example, we watched a family of vervet monkeys for 30 minutes and a tree full of bright yellow birds feeding their young in their delicately woven hanging nests (pictures coming soon….). So walking many hours often with 15 lbs. of weight from groceries (veggies, fruit, rice, peanut butter, beans, and juice are heavy!) wipes us out for the rest of the day.

 

We arrive back into our flat around 5pm (this is when most things shut-down in town… just like Lititz!). We cook rice and beans, sometimes pasta and cut-up veggies and then eat, again. I often take our compost (avo shells, fruit rinds, banana peels, etc), which is the majority of the “rubbage” that we produce, and put it underneath the fruit trees in our backyard. After dinner we work on the project for another 1-2 hours and engage in some sort of relaxing activity- reading, chess, scrabble, or cards. Bed time ranges from 8-9:30pm (yeah, we are no longer college students).

 

I am happy to report that Mom and Dad have graciously offered to buy us bikes… Tony and I have drooled as we gaze at them from a distance. We are grateful for this generous gift! This will enable us the opportunity to get more accomplished day-to-day as well as an occasional exciting biking adventure throughout town (I can’t wait to see what lies beyond the streets we have explored by foot!). After our use of  the bikes within the next 2 months, we will donate them to the crèche or to people in Indermark. Thank you very much (in Afrikaans, “Baie Dankie!!!” = sounds like “Buy a Donkey”), we love you!

 

 

29 October 2007 | 12:30pm | Makhado on Sunday

Tony

 

Before I write about actual events on Sunday, I’d like to make a few random observations, some things I’d meant to write about in previous entries….

 

First, as I read in the Sunday Independent, the Chinese government is investing heavily in South Africa’s economy. Very recently they spent R36.7bn ($5.63bn) on a 20% share in SA’s Standard Bank; it is the biggest foreign investment in SA-history and pushed up the value of the Rand against the dollar, so that now the relationship between the two currencies stands at: $1 = R6.52 (when we arrived, one dollar was worth more than seven rand). This is actually quite a problem for us, as our money sits in American banks and has been steadily declining in value relative to this economy… our food bills subsequently rise! For the people of South Africa, however, this is quite a good thing (in macroeconomic terms, at least…), and is evidence of the Chinese investing in economies they perceive as important to them (Africa as a continent has a large supply of important minerals, and SA in particular has 90% of the world’s supply of platinum, which is important in aviation).

 

Second random bit of information, something I’d meant to include in my entry on Indermark: the male:female:child ratio in the church there was 6:25:48 (almost 1:4:8, or one man for every four children and eight women). Where were all the men? I believe Elyse already addressed that briefly elsewhere….

 

Last bit of random info, before returning to Sunday news: Elyse and I met a young woman while at the crèche, an educated woman who facilitated small business endeavors in a government-run center nearby. At one point she was discussing her problems in finding a good man (“how did you find a good man?” she asked Elyse…), we started to discuss the concept of lobola. Lobola is an African (Xhosa?) word meaning “bride-price.” Her lobola had been set by her father at R50,000! Apparently his position was that, given all the money he’d spent (invested?) on her education, she was worth quite a lot and he wouldn’t take her for less than that. She went on to explain that any potential husband would be expected to throw parties at both the bride’s home and the groom’s home, which could easily cost another R50,000 together. So, all told, a man would have to spent R100,000 (over $15,000) to marry this nice young woman. I asked her what she thought about that and she said it made it rather difficult…. A man would have to go into debt to “buy” her.

 

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On to Sunday. Elyse already mentioned that we attended the Methodist church in town; what she didn’t elaborate on, and which I felt was quite nice, was the “racial” mixing present there. I think it was fairly evenly mixed between dark-skinned and light-skinned people. …Despite the indigenous African influence, however, the singing was decidedly white Protestant :-) and couldn’t hold a candle to the beautiful tones belted forth by the Moravian church in Soweto or even the United Reformed church in Indermark. It was in English, though, and almost exactly an hour long (the Polish preacher even looked at his watch at one point and said something to the effect “I know our time is almost up…”), both of which were a relief from the beautiful-but-incomprehensible 2-5 hour sessions we experienced previous.

 

And now for what you’ve all been waiting for: Hobo Jay Jay. Hobo Jay Jay is an Afrikaner country singer with multiple CDs (peddled by his hobo wife). We found him singing in the hall outside the Checkers (our nearest grocery store). He wore a pair of quasi-cowboy boots – sad affairs that appeared made of some sort of plastic, were unzipped, and extended just above his ankles; a pair of tight blue jeans, a garment not suited to a man of his particular curves, a plaid shirt that reminded me of my hobo friend Brandon Tennis, and a poor misplaced cowboy hat atop is grey-haired head. In his hands he held a microphone into which he crooned indistinguishable Afrikaans / English lyrics as he toddled back and forth in his sad cowboy booties. Hobo Jay Jay, you made my day.

 

 

29 October 2007 | 12:30pm | Makhado on Sunday

Elyse

 

While Tony practices his flamenco guitar riffs, I’m going to take a few moments to explain what it was like to be in Makhado this past Sunday.

 

After 3 consecutive days of chilly overcast weather, Sunday morning brought beautiful sunshine and light breezes (reminding me of our wedding day). We ventured to a local Methodist church down the street around 8:15am stopping to snap a few photos before church (I feel less touristy taking pictures when nobody is around, but eventually I must take pictures of the beautiful people too!). The streets including Songozwi St. (the busy main-drag) were bare, as you can easily see in the “Makhado on Sunday” photo album. However, the rest of creation was alive and active, after the long awaited sunshine; the purple jacaranda trees burst in color and the puffy white clouds popped-out from the baby blue sky. Pastor Hendzel, a jolly squared-faced Polish-man, also acknowledged the beauty of the revived earth to the congregation, of mixed nationality. His inclusiveness was evident ever since we stepped into the church doors.

 

Unlike the previous 2 churches we have attended, this church was limited to one solid hour and was delivered in English (I could finally sing a familiar hymn for a change of pace). The service was simple; 4 hymns accompanied by an antiquated organ, offering, and sermon. The message was on marriage and the foundation it best be rested upon (very appropriate for Tony and I!). We were greeted warmly by the people following the service, with rooibos tea in hand (my favorite!). Heather, a local Afrikaner farmer, was selling vegetable plants and herbs on the front lawn – I already eyed-up the basil plants before church and was eager to purchase one to flavor our home-cooked Italian dishes. (Mom, I miss the abundance of your garden’s goodness!) After hearing about our project to improve a crèche’s education and nutrition, she graciously offered to give us a flat of mixed-green starter plants for their garden. Due to my current understanding of typical Sepedi diet, solely influenced by culture alone (not of science like many Western health-conscious individuals), I realized that lettuce greens would be left to “go to seed” for the grazing goats. I say this with great frustration. Slowly I’ve come to realize with our interactions with Frederica that our ideas of health and nutrition (whole grains, beans, greens, and fruits) are completely left out of her understanding (pap, pap, and more pap.. oh and chicken feet!). Yes, the day we were at the crèche we did witness the boiling of chicken feet… I opted for the spinach and tomato concoction instead, a much less intestine-twisting choice, I believe.

 

Back to Sunday, a peaceful day it was… so I will not let that issue contaminate my writing, for now. So anyway Heather provided us with a contact- Adam Ward, a local landscaper and gardener. She believes he will be able to assist us in our garden woes at the crèche (truly heaven sent!).

 

Tony will at some point chime-in with some other (possibly humorous) Sunday adventures…

the adventures of “Hobo Jay Jay”.

 

 

26 October 2007 | 07:30 am | Reflections on Indermark and the Crèche

Elyse

As the cold spring rain storm bellows through Makhado, Tony and I are quietly journaling our thoughts about our trip to Indermark. I have waited a few days to write because I needed time to process and reflect on our experience with Frederica, the crèche children, and many other Indermark villagers. We have grappled with the objectives of this project and the interactions we had with Frederica.

 

The four days were full of many “Thobela(s)” (or “Dumela(s)” for people younger than yourself), “Lakae(s)”, and “Rejona(s)”. English translation; “Hello, How are you?… I am fine”. Since Frederica was once married to the pastor, who is now deceased but holds high standing, she is well-known to many, enabling us with many opportunities to meet people in town. We met the current preacher (not pastor), Benjamin, of the Uniting Reformed Church (Dutch Reformed Church during apartheid, the church has since become more inclusive of all walks of life) and his family, the town counselor, many of Frederica’s family, dozens of children (who run around on the red dirt streets unsupervised and insisting on flocking after us as if we were celebrities), and of course the little ones at the crèche (my most treasured, yet tiring interaction).

 

On the weekend prior before the crèche resumed it’s activity on Monday, we sat with Frederica in her home discussing the current situation at the crèche and how we (embodying the love and support of many people back in the States) hoped to help. She provided lots of useful information that Retha had not earlier communicated. Frederica expressed numerous times how proud she was of us (her “children”) to return to her town to give generously to the needs of the crèche. Each morning as we awoke – to the sounds of crowing roosters, barking dogs, and hee-hawing donkeys – Frederica greeted us with a warm smile, just as if we were her family.

 

Over the weekend we were also warmly welcomed by the members at her church, who cooked delicious veg-friendly meals for us. Tony and I came prepared to cook our own meals, lessening the burden on Frederica, but two times we were fed a full vegetarian spread. This was much to our surprise since their diet mainly consists of corn porridge and meat (oddly because meat is somewhat expensive, whereas rice and beans is not) – they were constantly questioning why we choose such a diet. But we were extremely grateful for the pap, homegrown red beets, spinach, cabbage, and gems (squash about half the size of what we know as butternuts). The pastor’s wife, Lydia, prepared an interesting dish called chackalaka (sp?), a traditional dish composed of cabbage, beans, bell peppers, and hot chili sauce…. very delicious! They graciously gave us fresh picked oranges and paw-paw (papaya) from their backyard. Since our return I’ve made quite a divine fruit cup involving these fruits.

 

Thabo “Mbeki” (so-called as a reference to the current President of SA), a teenage boy in Indermark who assists Frederica with household chores and gardening, picked the fruits for us. He and Tony became close friends, it was quite endearing to see them engaged in in-depth conversations (spoken in English). Thabo’s favorite class in 9^th grade (even though he is now 17 yrs of age) is English, which is evident in his amazing speaking abilities. It was nice to make a reacquaintance with him again (I met him last year when I was in Indermark with my American University class). My hope and prayer for him is simply that he will have the opportunity to complete all the schooling that he needs to fulfill his life’s aspirations and to marry one woman, not several, like men continue to practice in their culture.

 

I was unaware that men in their culture leave their first wives for other woman, having children in each marriage. This was brought to my attention during the couple’s meeting held on Saturday at the Uniting Reformed Church. Benjamin organized this meeting- I felt privileged to attend with Tony.

 

[lights go out]

Is it the heavy rain, the flat unit’s circuit breaking, or a town outage?

 

Anyway, I was extremely impressed by Ben’s counter-cultural initiative to bring together the neighboring congregation for a time of exchanging  thoughts about family life and how it affects the life of the church and visa-versa. He has gone against the grain in many ways including committing to his wife and two sons, discovering drive and purpose in his life (we were told numerous times that their “culture” suggests laziness), and critically identifying the injustices in his “culture”. “Culture” as it was often used, I believe is the commonplace of Indermark and may or may not reflect the actions of other black or rural South African townships.

 

We broke into small group discussions at the couple meeting – married woman, married men, and single mothers. The unmarried women informed me that the divorce rate is very low but as mentioned before it is expected for men to leave for another woman, creating tension in the family at times because the men remain obligated to give money and gifts to the children of their previous marriages. Lydia translated the dialogue between the married woman while they vented to each other about the travails of men - their dramatic gestures said it all. I also learned in this time that when a woman chooses to marry she and her husband typically move in to the husband’s parents’ home, obviously stirring up more tension in the family. Tony and I were asked to speak about our pre-marital counseling (which was beautifully conducted by Chaplin Dave Bennett) – Benjamin and the attendees were thrilled to hear us share. I was thoroughly impressed with this community gathering and hope that it continues to grow and evolve. Benjamin has requested our financial help to make this and other outreaches a success (this was not the only time we were seen as money trees…).

 

[lights back on]

Lucas informs us it was a town outage. This has occurred a few times since we moved in, the electric load of this town is clearly higher than the available supply.

Poverty screamed out at us as we walked the streets of Indermark. Although the town is blessed with such beauty – Blouberg Mnt towering above the village, fruit trees out the wazoo, and a friendly tight-knit community – there was an utter lack of jobs (besides the 4 women’s projects in town including floor polish making, clay pot sculpting, recycled egg carton pottery, and brick making). Some homes were composed solely of mud, the streets unpaved, and the children sometimes shoeless (although we’ve noticed in Makhado that the well-off Afrikaner children run barefoot on the streets, even to school… maybe this case is a fad). Most people sit at home with no obligations, collecting R200 = $30 a month/child. South Africa needs a forward-thinking government and local motivating non-governmental organizations to help equip these people with the necessary skills and knowledge to make a difference in their communities. May it be so….

 

I was happy to see that Frederica has hired two uneducated individuals at the crèche – Grace, the gardener and a male cook (his name I’ve since forgotten).They are both pictured in the Indermark picture album. It was difficult to refrain from taking pictures while spending the day with the children at the crèche. Last year I was in the same conundrum, but I needed to capture the infectious smiles and energy of the children. It is evident through the children’s creativity and energy that they are dearly beloved by Frederica and the other 3 teachers. It gave me hope and promise that these children have the potential to become influential adults who desire to give back to their community. After an honestly long weekend of being constantly asked for money and also struggling with Frederica’s poor financial management skills, I was refreshed by the children… I knew we belonged here.

It’s somewhat shocking to see them with such spunk when you observe what they eat – plain white pap (corn mush). Lacking in vital nutrients and protein, my heart pains me to see them eat it. However, they eat it happily (children in the States would probably not dare touch it!), licking every last bit off of their little fingers. Although I must admit when it came time for Tony and I to eat lunch – our stomachs growling from an exhausting morning playing with the children – we devoured it as well. We were told by Frederica their meals are supplemented with vegetables from the garden: tomatoes, spinach, red beets, and carrots. There was not much evidence of that, but when we return in November for another visit we will take note.

 

The garden seems alive and active, but unfortunately weeds and pests are taking over. The cook’s one week ill absence caused the gardener to do all the cooking, therefore leaving the weeds to grow. Tony and I think investing in another gardener would help, Frederica agrees. If all the parent’s were to pay their schools fees (R50/mnth/child) and if Frederica had the proper financial management training, they could afford to hire another gardener. Another possibility is that the teachers could engage the little ones in pulling weeds during the day, therefore freeing two birds with one hand (creating a healthy garden and also teaching the children about the local environment).

We held a meeting during the day to speak with the teachers and the rest of the staff about their training thus far and their needs while working at the crèche. We now have a better picture of where some of the funds can be allotted – for further teacher training and gardening needs. We also spoke with a handfull of parents about the idea to teach more English to their children, they gladly approved. Tony and I are now left with the challenge to design sustainable projects that will best suit their needs over time. Frederica has a history of not being the best steward of money, so we are now creating a budget with specific amounts allotted to their various needs. Thankfully Retha will remain after we leave to see that the donation money is used properly. Within the next week we hope to visit the University of Venda to discuss ways that Masters of Education students can spend their practical time at the crèche. Lots to do, and so little (Africa) time…

 

 

26 October 2007 | 07:30am | Back in Makhado

Tony

 

So, lots of thoughts have been percolating since Indermark, and now finally time to write a bit.

 

The bus ride to Indermark was an event. No schedules, no maps, no signs anywhere. We asked around various people from here to Indermark till we got in the proper region, then asked some more till we found a vacant lot with some fruit sellers quietly peddling goods to answer in Bad English our confused questions. The bus would leave at 5pm (to bring workers home from their Makhado jobs, we later learned). No, no tickets to buy – just show up at half-past 4 and wait. First-come, first-served. Although, as we later observed, the bus left none behind, but piled them in the aisles like stacked wood once the seats filled up. One man so stacked was named Alí, a Coloured fellow the bus picked up near Makhado who wore a red shirt, dark shades, and a slim beard like an urban Latino. He drank a beer and smelled like it, but his greatest contribution was his loud conversation with all the patrons of the bus, me included; Elyse joined in now and then, but mostly ignored him.

 

The scenery rolled past at a leisurely 30mph: new homes, middle-aged rickety-rack townships (products of apartheid), old blue and red mountains, bergs, that shot up out of the landscape like beautiful eruptions. The sun set behind one of them, and Alí said it set at that moment because he was passing by. He had been telling a story just then about his 40 thieves and how they mourned the loss of their king.

 

Our trip was also in the company, two seats distant, of Frederica Ralephata, the principal of the Tšwelopele Crèche. She had been waiting for us by the Pick-n-Pay at Makhado Crossing, a place we also went for some road groceries. She called us her grandchildren or her children and generally treated us thus. It was nice to have a familiar friendly face to guide us onto our no-printed-schedule bus and thence to Indermark. She taught us Sepedi phrases as we waited: eeee (pronounced “ay” as in “way”, and as long as you please), meaning yes; awa or awo, meaning no; and others I later forgot, some of which I then relearned.

 

We arrived in Indermark in the pitch darkness of 7:30pm; I had a small flashlight on my keychain that I got from a friend who works at Kimley-Horn, a planning firm in Florida. We hauled our luggage, a hefty backpack, one full sack of groceries, and a rolling black carry-on piece across the red dirt-and-broken glass streets to the Ralephata house, the pastor’s house (now dead but no less pastoral).

 

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The next day, Saturday, was spent till 3 or 4 at the URCSA church (meaning the “United Reformed Church of Southern Africa, formerly the Dutch Reformed Church, and a once-supporter of apartheid). This was Frederica’s church. Then, Sunday, another full day at church. Elyse and I resolved later to avoid Indermark on weekends. The singing, as in Soweto near Jo’burg, was beautiful, but somehow sadder, less exuberant.

 

One interesting contact made that weekend was with Matome “Benjamin” Raselalome and his wife, Lydia. Benjamin wants to be a pastor, but somehow seems stymied by “the pastor”, Frederica’s passed husband and still-owner of her home; details on this are foggy and inexplicable. Benjamin led the couples’ meeting on Saturday but spent Sunday morning traveling to the other side of “the mountain” (Blouberg), in order to do some pastoring at a poor branch church there. He does this every Sunday, cycling amongst about 10 churches in all. Later on Sunday we ate dinner with him, his wife and a couple young kids – dinner prepared by Lydia. We arrived at his compound by 4:30 and spent about 30 minutes watching professional wrestling on his television. He has a quick laugh and a wide smile. His left hand is speckled white where no pigment ever reached. His English is fairly good and we speculated on whether the wrestlers were really mauling one another with metal chairs and sledgehammers.

 

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During the day the town of Indermark is bright and red. The dirt roads are somewhat rutted but in surprisingly good condition (but for the ubiquitous shards of glass). They have been grading them recently, in preparation for paving. They are wide enough for three cars to ride side-by-side and unusually straight for a small village with dirt roads. I asked how old the village was, expecting a modern answer and was right: it was founded in the 1970s, likely as a “Bantustan” or homeland for Sepedi-speaking people during apartheid. Unemployment there was the rule, with many people (it seemed) living off government grants of R200 (~$30) per child per month. I found myself wondering if the village had an objective reason for its existence. It was quite charming, however, and filled with people friendly and full of laughter at our attempts to “thobela”, “lekae”, and “rejona” them (“hello”, “how are you?” and “I’m fine”, respectively). We attempted, but were never able to master, “ebaleletšatši le la botse”, which means “have a nice day”, but literally incorporates the words for “sun” and “beautiful.”

 

All the homes of Indermark are surrounded by fences: some modest and ineffective barbed-wire affairs, some falling-down stone, and some (around the compounds) are tipped with nasty spikes, reminiscent of those prevalent in Jo’burg, Pretoria and Makhado. There was a feeling of safety during the day, but traveling at night unescorted was out of the question.

My one regret is missing out on some local culture. While at Benjamin’s, from a neighboring house could be heard some African beats: a band, he said, hired to advertise the availability of some just-brewed sorghum beer. Benjamin, a man of prodigious appetite, gave indications of past alcoholic abuse and, while praising his neighbors’ industry, said that alcohol was a waste of time.

 

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Something that shocked us but maybe shouldn’t have were all the blatant, undisguised pleas for cash that we were confronted with. Person after person unblushingly told us of their readiness to take whatever we would offer. We were made to feel wealthy (an uncommon feeling for Elyse and I): our $2,000 plane trip here (“it could cost about 7,000 Rand to take a round-trip to the US” – “oh my!”); our R2,000 (~$300) per month flat here in Makhado (“that is too much!”); our laptop, which Frederica insisted we use to show every person in Indermark our wedding photos and, consequently, our relative wealth. It’s strange and uncomfortable to be in a situation where everyone sees you as a potential benefactor. We have money for the crèche, true, but it is not an infinite pot of gold and it was hard come by to boot. And our plane tickets here were bought at the cost of wedding gifts that would otherwise have filled our home with neat things like blenders, toasters, and possibly garden gnomes.

 

Elyse and I both believe in redistributing wealth, especially from the First World / Global North to the Third World / Global South, but you can’t just hand it out, right? Frederica, for example, displays all the evidence of one who thinks from one contribution to the next, without thought of budgeting or prioritizing, and profoundly unconcerned with sustainability. In Quaker meetings we would speak of being led by the spirit, of being open to essentially mystical revelations or even miraculous occurrences, but prayer ain’t exactly a business model. Frederica gave us both the distinct impression that, given a check for $10,000 (~R70,000), she would start spending it immediately, most on worthwhile things of course, but some also on things like festivals – or on taking the children and their parents on a daytrip to the showgrounds at Makhado – which she has already done, and at the expense of her teachers’ salaries (she had to pay them late). For those who get paid only R350 per month ($52.54 per month exactly at the current exchange rate, or only $1.69 per day), it seems almost criminal to spend money on a field trip instead of on salaries. More on this later.

 

(At this point it is necessary to point out that Frederica, despite a lack of financial finesse, has truly built this wonderful crèche out of nothing. She cares for all her little charges, and wants only the best for them – hence the occasional and poorly timed field trip. Furthermore, almost from the start she has been the lucky recipient of outside financial assistance – first from the Gaighers of Lajuma Mountain Retreat, and second from numerous international persons and organizations. This perhaps has bred a certain level of dependency and expectation which is unhealthy. Finally, as has already been mentioned, Indermark is a terribly impoverished community with hardly any employment to be had, and parents often face difficulties paying their school fees.)

 

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On Monday we walked 40 minutes to get to the crèche, on the edge of town, and beneath the blue-eyed gaze of Blouberg. We left late, at 8AM, but it didn’t seem much to matter. The teachers and Frederica, also a teacher, spent the first hour or so cleaning while we played with the arriving children. They put their sticky child-hands all over me, tugged at my hair, and smiled and laughed as they chased me about telling me to “kitima, kitima!” (“run, run!” in Sepedi). They wore me out fast, but their snot-covered faces were so cute and happy I couldn’t help but laugh with them and play with them, pointing to different features on my face and saying in English “nose! eye! lips! ear!” They followed along admirably. We also played child-games, including one through-the-looking-glass variant of “duck, duck goose” whose rhyme began (in Sepedi, written here phonetically) “little little Dopsie, I hade Dopsie.” The singing child in the center skipped in circles clapping his or her hands. At a random moment chosen by this little one, he would smack another child in the chest, cry out some Sepedi phrase, and begin to run around the circle, chased, looking for an opening. The chase involved some kind of rhyme involving a cat chasing a mouse, who better run fast to avoid being eaten.

 

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At the end of the day, we were joined by a UNIVEN-educated woman who supervised a local government-run incubator for small, mostly women-run, enterprises (such as making pots of various kinds, floor polish, bricks, and more). It was a pleasure to speak with her, as she was very politically active and gave us the downlow on SA politics. Something very worrying for anyone interested in African politics generally is that the current President, Thabo Mbeki, is running illegally for a 3^rd term. The Constitution of SA limits Presidential terms to two of five years each, and so Mbeki’s decision to run raises fears of a President-for-life like Robert Mugabe of Zimbabwe. Our new friend was convinced he would embarrass himself by seeking his party’s nomination, but we’ll all just have to wait and see.

 

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Our last morning in Indermark began at 4am and with starshine. It was gorgeous, and had me craning my neck till 5:15 when the bus arrived and the sun beginning to illuminate a few stray easterly clouds bright red. The pre-dawn hours bring familiar constellations. I gained a strange new perspective on unmistakable Orion, the Big and Little Dippers, and Cassiopeia. Cassiopeia, an upside-down “W” in Pennsylvania, is turned the right side round in Limpopo.

 

19 October 2007 | 09:00 am | Day of Departure to Indermark

Elyse

I’m outside of our flat soaking in some spring-time rays and thoroughly enjoying the cool breeze. Besides the dump, our view is lovely. The neighbor’s 4 dogs just spotted me and are initiating a Makhado doggie chorus. The roosters join in and now the song birds create a descant. The mangoes are maturing, I’m eager to taste a fresh picked mango, they weren’t in season when I was here last.

 

[cellphone makes a happy noise]

Tony tells me it’s the Gaighers’ SMS response to our question about the crèche operating on weekends- they answered “No”.

 

Frederica and I chatted for a bit on the phone this morning, confirming our arrival today. She said that she’ll meet us at Pick-n-Pay so that we’ll ride the bus together! This will make things much less stressful for us. I was concerned that we wouldn’t know where to get off since all of the outlying townships look similar.

 

Yesterday we had yet another taxi rank experience (this time with much less dramatic entry than the last). It reeked of urine and was busier than the other. Even though the first taxi/bus lot we discovered is further away, I prefer to use that one. Afterward Tony and I discussed how strange it feels to be practically the only light-skinned people using mass transit, but we both realized that we must emit an aura of “calm & collection”, meaning we all have a purpose and place together, not of separation.

 

Indermark will offer a new visual and cultural experience. A town quite different from here. No “main” street with shops and groceries, no internet or paved roads (like Songozwi Street here in Makhado). But there is a simplicity that one feels that I absolutely adore about that rural village. We’ll have 3 full days to spend there with Frederica, 1 day with which we’ll be with the children.

 

 

 

 

18 October 2007 | 11:00am | Reflections on Makhado (Louis Trichardt)

 

 

Tony

 

First, I suppose it’s time to clear up the name-confusion over the town we live in. Its official, true, old name is Louis Trichardt. Some local citizens, or maybe the municipality itself (it’s a bit confusing), tried to change its name to Makhado. There is a process for this now here in SA since democracy finally took over and people want to restore – or institute – traditional names to their places. For example, one of the larger cities in Limpopo province, Pietersburg, has had its name changed to Polokwane (“po-lo-kwa-nay”). I’ve noticed that some – but not all – Afrikaners tend to refer to these places by their previous, Afrikaans names. This isn’t really surprising and is not even, I think, a race thing. In India, for another example, the city Bombay has had its name changed to Mumbai – which a friend of mine, an Indian from another part of that county, doesn’t like that at all.

 

 

Anyway, back to Louis Trichardt (Makhado). I’ve heard from Jabo Linden, our sort of de facto guide, that the name change to Makhado was halted by lawsuit. Not Afrikaners, he said, but rather a tribal coalition that apparently was upset that the name of their great chief two generations ago (named Makhado), was having this “crappy little town” named after him. Hah! I actually rather like Makhado (Louis Trichardt), but to each their own….

 

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You can tell a lot about a place by the sort of businesses that it supports. For example, there’s a little township west of here (very much the definition of “apartheid geography”, as Jabo would say) that has, as far as I can tell, three kinds of shops (and only one of each kind): funeral parlors / discount tombstone purveyors; liquor stores; and tiny convenience-type stores that I’d be surprised to learn sell more than coke and bread (more or less).

 

Here in Makhado there seems to be a plurality, if not an outright majority, of home furnishings stores. The town is booming, and the housing market here is very tight, if we are to believe the various realtors or “estate agents” we’ve spoken too, and I do believe them. You can get all manner of homey things here, from the cheap plastic sort (such as we have) to the very nice (including teak tables at secondhand stores, selling for only R895, or ~$130).

 

In addition to the above, there is the somewhat startling presence of a number of discount funerals places, including one store on a main street boldly proclaiming “Discount Tombstones!” There are “China” shops galore, and not the ones for fine tableware…. There’s a disturbingly Wal-mart-esque establishment called “Game” (“You always win at Game!”) that even has a purple smiley face as a symbol. There are bakeries with delicious-smelling fresh bread and a number of grocery stores, from the very very cheap (the sort of place you mind find in a depressed or “minority” section of any American city, with the aisles filled with “family-sized” bags of hydrogenated, high-fructose crap) to the much nicer. We’ve been shopping lately at Checkers (“Savings in Black and White!”), which is closer to where we live and has a nice assortment of stuff; we also had a conversation recently with a man there who spotted, with amazement, my Martin Guitar t-shirt and wanted to know where I had bought it. I told him I got it straight from the factory in Nazareth, and he said he’d been there 10 or 20 years ago.

 

There are also numerous people peddling produce on the street, including one as-yet-unvisited outdoor marketplace with numerous sheltered stands.  The stands/mats along the street have banannas, beans, bucket hats, cassete tapes, passport holders, hair extensions and combs, etc..  The women and men sellers do not pester you to buy.

 

People walk everywhere here. As far as we can tell, at all times of the day (we’ve yet to wander around at night), the sidewalks and shops are full of people. You do start to wonder where all these people work. The streets, too, are busy, and with all manner of vehicle. There are the bakkies (trucks), the combies (vans), the compact cars that seem a favorite, as well as trucks (cargo trucks) and 4-by-4’s (SUVs). There are very few bicyclists, but there are some, and seeing them always makes me smile. When I do see them, they aren’t often on the busy streets, probably an implicit acknowledgement that most of the population are horrid drivers (the end of apartheid and the beginning of democracy has given many more people the freedom to drive). Try to imagine a country full of teenagers just turned 16 and taking their drivers’ tests, and you sort of get an idea of the problem.

 

I think that’s all I’ve got for now. Cheers!

-Tony

 

 

18 October 2007 | 09:30am | An Internal Look, Makhado flat

Elyse

 

I welcome the breeze that now wafts through our bedroom window through our clothespinned dark green makeshift curtain, a nice relief from yesterday’s heat.

Sometimes I find it difficult to discern whether to trust somebody or to hold up your guard, or do both. If you are reading this you will already know that I am far from being racist or prejudiced, but to clarify I classify the people in this town for you to better understand this place, otherwise I just see everyone as the same species, homo sapiens sapiens.

 

Most people (Afrikaners, Africans, and Indians) we’ve met so far have been pleasant. I really appreciate, for example, the friendliness of the Indian man at Solly’s (the cheapo discount store where we bought our mini fridge), the delightful smiles of the cash register African attendees at Pick-n-Pay and Checkers (our 2 favorite grocery stores), and the overwhelming kindness of the Afrikaner man at the local education supply store. I’m already beginning to feel a sense of community. We very rarely get looked at as if we are somehow displaced or unwelcomed, partially because there is a fair percentage of white Afrikaners in this area that don’t look much different from Tony and I (but our “accent” is distinct as we’ve been told). Other times, like in the “taxi” incident, I feel estranged, isolated, and alone. Right now I feel that as newcomers to this area, unsure of many cultural things and such, we still must hold up our guard, while at the same time being receptive to the people around us, eager to learn more and absorb more of the life of this beautiful town.

 

Lately I struggle with this so I pray for my own peace and wisdom so that I can be the best for this community and for Indermark. I come here not to judge others, not to be frightened by what seems “different”, but to be spiritually enriched by how the Spirit moves in this place, unlike any other place I’ve been before. I’m happy to be able to share this with Tony and hope it only allows us to grow together (spiritually, emotionally, and cognitively) and closer together (as best friends).

 

 

17 October 2007 | Happy Birthday Dad!, Makhado flat

Elyse

 

This past week has quickly gone by… working with Retha on the crèche project and preparing to move in to our first flat together. We now have a bit more time to access the internet, but our time is limited, sorry to say.

 

I awoke at 6am today-my mind busy with our “to do” list (and of course the alarm of the squawking birds and crowing roosters at our neighbor’s home farm). Tony and I are content with our flat (we just moved in yesterday), situated amidst a quiet (except the birds and dogs next door) and beautiful (or should I say botse) part of Makhado. From our flat we can’t see much of the Soutpansberg Mnts. (which are gorgeous indeed) but we do see many lovely tress- a purple Jacaranda, pomegranate, peach, litchi, mango, mulberry, and macadamia nut. Our small orchard of tress will bear fruit in the next 2 months J  Mable, our neighbor on the other side of the wall, is out picking mulberries now. She’s from Zimbabwe and is studying law at the University of Venda (Univen)- I don’t know much about her husband Andres. She seems friendly and is  talkative (she was the first to admit). She has made a point to come visit us on our move in day and chatted with us through our kitchen window as we prepared dinner last night (an odd , yet tasty concoction of chickpeas, avos, onion, garlic, cayenne, and black pepper- all mashed together with one fork). We don’t mind her talkativeness, because 2 weeks on top of a mnt. with very few human contact (but plenty of monkeys and lizards) made us practically stir crazy.

 

I’ll continue to write because Tony is still sleeping (no surprise to me because the first night we slept on the floor with our sleeping bags and single bed linen- neither of us slept well at all. I almost was asleep when Lucas (our “lessor”-PC in SA or otherwise known in the States as a landlord) awoke us with curtains and care-kit (toilet paper, soap, and towel) in hand. We quickly adhered the drapes to the rod with clothespins and then dropped onto the tiled floor again, trying to sleep, no luck, but today I feel rested because the Gaighers stopped by yesterday morning with 2 used foam mattresses for our own use while in Makhado – we are extremely grateful! 

 

Every morning (and several times throughout the day) I broom and wash the tiled floor following with a lacing of cinnamon powder along the perimeter of the walls to keep ants out. The first day here we discovered at least 5 different species of insects in our flat. It’s like they knew that 2 vegan, non-violent hippies were going to move in, making it their solace as well … but they are starting to learn that my determined spirit is taking hold and I’ll do anything to keep them from colonizing our flat. The cinnamon works very well (Tony’s insight)- I’ve already used one full bottle, but at least it’s a more peaceful and less expensive expelling process than poison. Tony and I have had a many good laughs watching the ants as they change their course coming upon a cinnamon trail… if only I could find cinnamon essential oil – that aroma may just do the trick for keeping them our for good (or for as long as we’re here).

 

Our other current form of entertainment is reading the magazine titled Farmer’s Weekly. Presently it’s our main source of news (no TV, radio, or daily newspaper), but it’s very interesting indeed. Various agricultural/food related topics are discussed such as water conservation, genetically modification, biofuels, SA land reforms, mining pollution, and the not so interesting (in my opinion) articles on cattle champions.

 

Mable was shocked that as Americans we didn’t have a furnished flat with TV (she and her husband actually have cable), couch, etc. Tony and I actually live here with less “things” than most residents here. We’ve been told by Retha that people do not take pride in the quality of their homes but rather place the money they have to entertainment items such as tv, radio, etc.. Our most sophisticated gadget is our cell phone (the cheapest one available), but practically everyone has a cell phone (land lines are unheard of). However we did buckle down today to buy pillows… I feel that they should be revered as prized possessions, too!

Mable who is probably in her early 20s had a hard time fathoming the fact that we came from the United States to live in South Africa. She asked “why, why, why???”  would we leave the high living conditions of the States for the conditions that South Africa provides. After answering the obvious reason (for you readers), all I could say is “It is easier to live more simply here”.

 

On that note, today I called Frederika. She cheerfully answered her cell phone, delighted that Tony and I are coming to stay for 4 days in Indermark starting this Friday. In somewhat broken English she explained to me that we should catch a “taxi” in Makhado to Indermark for R30= $4.50. I clarified that we were definitely not interested in a “taxi” ride but rather catching a bus (as Retha suggested). “Taxis”, or mid-sized white vans, as Art Scibal informed us, are off limits for some unexplained reason to people with white skin, sadly (however Frederika is black). This was in reference to the Jo’burg situation, but Retha told us the same goes for Makhado, even though this town is supposedly full of citizens that flock here wanting nothing to do with the crime and violence of Jo’burg. “Taxis” transport black Africans from place to place, since most don’t have cars (but others do, because this town isn’t divided by color as it is more-so class… there is an evident presence of well employed multi-racial individuals- Tony and I definitely no longer feel that we are the wealthiest here as initially expressed).

 

Anyway, Frederika told us to go to the Show Grounds to find the buses. So since our only mode of transit is our feet, we walked several hrs in the hot sun trying to find the bus stop. Turns out that nearly everyone that we asked had not much of a clue, but eventually we discovered that the bus which rides into Indermark is in the same location as the widely known “taxis”. Tony and I suddenly came upon a lot full of them…. I felt soooo extremely out of place. I frankly was scared. While traveling to Makhado initially on bus I vowed to myself, Tony, God that I would do my best never to let fear take over me, that somehow amidst any potentially unsettling situation, I would find peace. But fear conquered over me.

 

Although I must say, after facing the reality together that we had to go to this lot to determine where to pick up our bus for Friday’s adventure to Indermark and then in fact walking toward what was calling out to me “danger!”, it wasn’t bad at all. Honestly, the women and men there were much more helpful and clear with their answers than all the other people we asked previous. I learned a lot in that situation…

 

 

12 October 2007 | Rock Paintings, Lajuma Mountain Retreat

Tony

 

Whereas yesterday the high was 11°C, today it definitely peaked somewhere in the 20’s (at least 70°F). Elyse and I went on a lovely, long, exhausting hike today with Jabo and the three ladies from the lodge (in their upper-40’s and 50’s, these same women taught us, I think unintentionally, that the Afrikaans word for “skinny-dip” is “skinny-dip”). We hiked about 2 ½ hours in, an hour-and-a-half back (less time spent discussing the flora), and in the middle spent maybe two hours chilling and enjoying the beautiful vista that our long walk had taken us to.

 

Part of that vista included an elephantine rock to the right that held ancient Khoi-San (Bushmen) rock paintings. Very faintly discernable due to weathering over several hundred years, the paintings included numerous handprints in yellow and orange, various animals (such as giraffes and elephants), and the peculiar representations the San used of themselves – stickmen with very long fingers (similar to popular imaginings of “Martians”), sometimes bows, sometimes long and erect phalluses. It was a very nice day and a good walk – one that helped to make up for the two days of inactivity prior (because of the unexpected and un-prepared-for cold).

 

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Yesterday we were able to see a leopard. It was not, unfortunately or fortunately, in the full grandeur of its wild state, but rather drugged and bleeding, hauled bodily from a hefty metal cage. One of the students here on Lajuma, Julia (from the UK), is doing her PhD on something to do with the intersection of leopard conservation and human habitation; her program is an interdisciplinary one that blends anthropology and conservation studies. Hence, a drugged leopard. In very quick time (they had clearly done this before), they measured everything on the leopard that was measurable: length and width of paws, legs, body, tail; its weight; clumps of hair were taken for who knows what purpose; even its temperature was measured, and in a place most of us would find rather uncomfortable…. A GPS collar was also placed around its neck to aid in determining its range, an important part of Julia’s study. Apart from the “leopard-print” on the cloth part of the collar, I have a hard time imagining how this thing is able to blend in – since its functionality comes at the cost of a grapefruit-sized black box. Oh well. Hopefully it is now recovered and joyfully lazing in a tree. It was a beautiful animal.

 

 

10 October 2007 | The Long Walk to Freedom, Lajuma Mountain Retreat

Tony

 

I just finished reading Nelson Mandela’s autobiography. Wow, I’m going to miss it. Finishing a good book is like saying goodbye to a dear friend, , but finishing this one is like saying goodbye to a dear mentor. I’m incredibly impressed by Mandela’s integrity, humility, intelligence, and militancy. He simply did not give up. He’s in his 90’s, now, but I wonder if he’s active at all in politics, even if only behind the scenes.

 

I saw a photo of him in a newspaper recently, with a t-shirt on that read “46664.” I wondered what that meant until I read about his Robben Island years, in which he notes that his prison number was “466/64”, meaning he was the 466^th prisoner of the year 1964 on that island. He was imprisoned there (and later in Cape Town, at two separate locations) for 27 years in all (not counting his briefer stints in “gaol” in earlier years).

 

Mandela never gave up. For the first 18 years of his tenure at Robben Island, he was imprisoned in B section with the other politicals. In fact, it would be more appropriate to say “they” never gave up. I know that, in our country, we tend to worship personalities, and it’s true that Mandela was and is an amazing activist, but the more-or-less peaceful revolution that occurred here in SA was the result of dozens of leaders and millions of individuals engaging in small and large acts to fight the power of the white supremacist Nationalist government. (There’s a lesson here for any would-be radical: don’t try to do it yourself! Mandela didn’t do it himself; Gandhi didn’t do it himself; Dr. King didn’t do it himself; and neither did Joan of Ark, either!)

 

But anyway – back to RI: these political prisoners, mostly members of the ANC (African National Congress), never stopped fighting, even in prison. Mandela wrote about how they viewed their time in prison as a microcosm of the larger struggle going on in SA at the time. Apartheid was real and present for prisoners. Not only were prisoners segregated physically by “race”, but race even played a determining role in the clothing they wore and the food they ate. “Africans” (meaning black Africans) were not, for example, given bread to eat, on the grounds that, since bread was a European invention, Africans wouldn’t like it and couldn’t digest it anyway. Africans were given shorts to wear instead of the pants the other prisoners wore, in order, as Mandela wrote, to prevent them from forgetting that they were boys in the eyes of the Afrikaner wardens. In the face of the various indignities, the political prisoners, under the leadership of Mandela (who could be very brazen, if, somehow, still polite), organized committees and submitted memoranda to the prison leadership and various Ministers and even the President, demanding better accommodations. Incredible stuff.

 

What’s most impressive about him, however, is his incredible sense of humanity. He never castigated all whites, although he did view white power and the Nats (Nationalist Party) as the enemy of the people. He was always ready to see the humanity in others, even those nominally in charge of him. He believed (and probably still does) that people are inherently good, and that it was the racist system of apartheid that made good men and women do bad things. Time and again he sought reconciliation (he did not seek, as did some other freedom fights, to “push the white man into the sea”).

 

The ANC and Mandela always wanted a peaceful solution. They didn’t always believe one was possible, but if one believes Mandela’s autobiography, then that was always their goal. Despite this, however, and maybe I’m only surprised at this because I was only 8 when he was finally released from prison, the ANC did employ the methods of violence. Mandela himself was a prime motivator and the first “Supreme Commander” of Umkhonto we Sizwe (the “Spear of the Nation”, or MK for short), the militant wing of the ANC. He traveled all across Africa seeking support, in the forms of money, weapons, and military training, for himself and other MK recruits. He himself received weapons, explosive, and leadership training in Ethiopia. He described four levels of violence he could imagine MK partaking in, evolving from least violent to people to most violent to people: (1) sabotage; (2) terrorism; (3) guerilla warfare; (4) open warfare (only the first was ever used, although at one point MK used a car bomb as retaliation against a string of political assassinations, and MK recruits trained continually for the possibility of guerilla warfare). The form of opposition, he says in his book, is determined by the oppressor, and SA under the Nats became a police state that utterly repressed all forms of nonviolent political opposition. The ANC was formed in 1912 with nonviolence as one of its central tenets (with Gandhi as one of their role models); yet it became obvious by the late 50’s-early 60’s that nonviolent methods were doing little to persuade the government to reverse its racist policies. So Mandela and others began preparing for violence. The things they don’t teach you in school, eh?

 

All that said, Mandela was also the prime instigator of negotiations with the government to end apartheid. Violence for him was only ever a tactic, not a reason unto itself. He was never so consumed with anger that he wanted to kill his oppressor. He wanted a peaceful, negotiated solution that would leave room for reconciliation and the improvement of all South Africans, no matter the race.

 

 

10 October 2007| 07:00am | Our First Flat, Lajuma Mountain Retreat

Elyse

 

Another chilly and wet morning on top of Lajuma, but Tony informs me that at least my kisses are still warm J  It is funny to think that the weather here is probably comparable to the weather at home- it feels like a Pennsylvania October. But we’re at a latitude similar to that of Cuba! 

 

Our realtor yesterday informed us that by mid-October the weather changes dramatically from winter to summer.

 

Speaking of our realtor- Good News!, Tony and I have discovered a simple flat that we will rent out for the remainder of our stay in Makhado!  At R2000 = $300 pm we have a 1 bedroom, 1 common room, 1 bathroom (with a tub-that Tony can actually fit into, unlike at Lajuma, flushing toilet, and sink), and a small kitchen equipped with a toaster oven-like appliance (2 burners and small breadbox oven) but no refrig. We found a college-sized mini fridge in town for R1200 = $180. No flat (apartment) comes with a refrig, some without a stove!  The adventure to find an affordable and livable flat was quite an adventure, but thankfully we are now at a point that we can happily anticipate our move. It is across the street from a small family veggie farm and next to a want-to-be animal farm with several chickens roosters, and baby chicks, and a small home with 2 adorable terrier-like dogs (all dogs in this town are nearly as small as dachshunds). All the stray dogs look happy, waddling along the streets with their stubby legs and toddley rear-end. It is an unfurnished flat, so we plan to venture into town to uncover very basic items (this we didn’t account for when budgeting, but we’re saving some money with our rent than we initially expected). Here at Lajuma we’ve been blessed to have our little chalet fully furnished, so all we needed to buy, once a week (on “town days”), is food . I’ll continue to wash our clothes by hand in the tub with hot water and Dr. Bonner’s soap (accented with tea tree which acts as a natural antibacterial agent)… it is therapeutic, I don’t mind. It takes a few days for things to dry on the wash line because the air is moist.

 

I prayed the entire morning while the realtor at Homenet droves us around looking at flat (this is round 2 searching for rentals)- the first 2 places did not fit our basic criteria. The first smelled like moth balls, and the second seemed too high-end that it almost felt inappropriate to live there, but yet very affordable. But as always, “the third time is the charm”. The realtor lady was not planning on taking us to this rental place because she referred to it as the “construction site” but Tony insisted that we have a look (and I love him for it!). Much to our delight the “construction site” was only mildly in shambles around our flat and the outside was covered in an old green paint, but we loved the rustic look and the beautiful refurbished interior with tiled floors and walls. We both appreciate renovated buildings rather than constructing new. Tony and I gave each other a secret wink communicating our mutual satisfaction of the flat. So by next Tuesday at the latest we’ll be off the Mnt and in town to really start sinking our teeth into our project. Retha informed us that Frederika is out of town for teacher training (unexpectedly) and won’t return until Wednesday.

 

 I’m eager to see the crèche kids again, I hope this time I will be able to speak with them in Sepedi. Tony and I found this great language book in town yesterday. It contains both nouns and common phrases of several SA languages including Afrikaans and Sepedi. Sepedi makes no sense to me for example the word “love” (in tennis) is “go swiela dintlha ka moka pele go sete”. My favorite Sepedi phrase thus far is “O botse” meaning “You are beautiful”.

 

I just had a revelation… if I just imagine as if I were a Sepedi foremother creating my language day to day, maybe these words will come alive for me. Its challenging to pronounce words that sometimes have consonants side-by-side and 20-30 characters long!  Sepedi Scrabble would be an interesting game. Tony’s profound thought for the day… “I wonder if Sepedi is like Xhosa where English words like ‘curious’ are metaphors like ‘the man who looks at bugs’, although I could be wrong”. This could be true because “curious” in Sepedi is “ditlabelo tse e sego tsa mehleng”. Phew… say that 3 times fast- even once and you’re good.

 

I think its now time to munch on some almonds and seek some warmth- rooibos tea may do the trick. I leave on this quote from my current leisure read, “Cry, the Beloved Country” by Alan Paton-

But there is only one thing that has power completely, and that is love. Because when a man [and a woman] loves, he [and she] seeks no power, and therefore he [and she] has power. I see only one hope for our country [SA] and that is when white men [and women] and black [women and] men, desiring neither power nor money, but desiring only the good of their country, come together to work for it.

 

 

May it be so.

 

 

8 October 2007 | 09:00am | Project Planning!, Lajuma Wilderness Retreat

Tony

 

Elyse and I spent a lot of time yesterday, as well as in the days previous, working on the planning side of our crèche project. We came up with two drafts of a conceptual map (or model) of how various factors influence nutrition and education at the crèche, and have written a good portion of the management plan, including a draft goal and drafts of all our objectives and project assumptions. We still need to have more in-depth discussions with the Gaighers and with Fredericka (the principal of the crèche), as well as others in the Indermark community, but things are coming along quite nicely. In addition to the communication issue, we’re also lacking currently on the data side, but we think that will be rectified relatively soon, as the Gaighers intend to share with us what they have, and we’ll be making a trip to Indermark sometime this week. We also need to brainstorm some activities that we can do towards meeting our objectives and goal, but that will come.

 

On a non-project-related note, my guitar seems to be improving. I now have almost six flamenco solos under my belt, including the two latest: “Málaga, mi tierra”, using the verdiales compás and “Alborozo”, which is an alegrías en mi. Elyse and I have also been having tons of fun playing together, including an improvised version of “This Little Light of Mine.”

 

I’ve been reading Nelson Mandela’s autobiography, “A Long Walk to Freedom”, which I recommend highly to anyone who’s taken the time to read these postings. It presents an amazing portrait of apartheid-South Africa with, frankly, some frightening parallels to our neo-conservative USA (torture, suspension of habeus corpus, criminalization of dissent, intimidation of opposition groups and parties). 

 

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I must say at this point that my beautiful spouse is a continual font of joy in my life; I’m glad she consented to marry me :-)

 

On that note, I shall leave you. Peace,

Tony

 

7 October 2007| 12:35pm | Nutrition (this is for the Moms), Lajuma Wilderness Retreat

Elyse

 

We thought that an update on our daily food consumption is essential at this point in our travelling adventures. We assume by now both Mom Jurgen and Mom Silvestri are loosing sleep over the fact that they fear their vegan children are dwindling away into the red South African earth.

But need not fear our beloved mothers!  We hope to grant you much peace after you hear our daily meal plan.

Morning: Muesli (oat based cereal with nuts and dried fruit) plus plain soymilk (a great find indeed!) + chewable vitamin and probiotic pill every other day

Mid-Day: Whole grain peanut butter and avocado sandwhiches with fruit (banana or apple)

Dinner:  Wild/Brown rice with green peas, pumpkin, squash, onion, tomato and loads of spice to keep our sinuses working OR Pasta with tomato/garlic sauce, brocolli, and avocado with 100% deep purple pigmented fruit juice

Throughout the day we may drink homemade zesty ginger tea or my ultimate favorite Rooibos tea, a rustic flavored tea native to South Africa. Loads of antioxidants to keep us healthy!

For a sweet treat we may nibble on carob… which we’re beginning to love even more than dark chocolate. O let us not forget that we have a continual regimen of malaria pills, often consumed between the hours of 3-5pm (SA time).

We love you!

 

 

7 October 2007 | 08:00am | Sunday Worship, Lajuma Wilderness Retreat

Elyse

 

Today Lajuma Mountain is our sanctuary. The insects, birds, monkeys, stream, and winds are singing joyfully on this beautiful morning- the sun shines more brightly than any other day this past week. All the green leafy plants delight in the sun’s rays- becoming greener by the minute. I too am invigorated by the sun,  my soul is renewed- photosynthesizing does that to me (Mom, I know you can relate). I awoke early this morning (probably because the morning sun lit up our room for the first time since we’ve been here) singing “It is well with my soul” to Tony (well, just the chorus, but a song on its own I suppose). Tony and I hope to practice “This Little Light of Mine” on guitar today, for the children at the crèche. A few other songs would be nice to memorize before we visit them next week (this is not a finalized plan- nothing is really- but Reitha will be free to drive us to Frederika’s (crèche principle) house in Indermark early this week, if all goes well). Tony and I have spent some time organizing out thoughts about the crèche project. Through our brainstorming we’ve created 2 conceptual maps- one of which we are pleased. It is bound to change once we actually go to the crèche and speak with Frederika and others, but that’s all part of the process…

So anyway getting back to the pastor’s message last Sunday… a time to plant and a time to reap. In the context of the crèche project, we’ll be planting many seeds but will not witness the growth and rebuilding of the education system. Tony mentions we will not get to see the children acquire English speaking skills and in turn perform better at high educational levels, but we’re at peace with that reality. We have faith that it will all come after we do our small part in the beginning.

Lord, guide us and all those who are participating in the Tswelopele Crèche grant project so that we can do what is best for the children’s’ education and nutrition, so that they can grow to be agents of peace and justice in their country South Africa. Amen.

 

 

6 October 2007 | 10:00am | Soweto Moravian Church, Lajuma Wilderness Retreat

Elyse

 

There was so much life last Sunday at the Moravian Soweto Church. The pastor met us outside the Southwest township (Soweto) and then guided us (Art, Kara, Gary, Cyndy, Becky, Tony and I) into the bustling district. This township was similar to what I witnessed on my first trip to SA- rustic orange pigmented dirt streets, small veg/fruit stands, delapadated housing, but with a hint of charm and intrigue. We were welcomed by many Xhosa (pronounced with a “click” following osa) speaking Moravians when we arrived. The air was crisp, the sky blue, and each person happily greeted us. I craved to speak Xhosa with them- I’m fascinated by the series of clicking that somehow magically slip from their mouths. There are at least ½ dozen ways to make a clicking sound in your mouth- I’ve only mastered one, and even that is debatable. Despite our lack of ability to communicate in their native tongue, many of the Moravians spoke English- a generous gesture indeed. Worship was predominately melodic songs sung in Xhosa. Women loudly pounded on handmade padded hand blocks and one male ringing a metal triangle-like instrument. Their voices resounded throughout the church sending chills down my spine. Cyndy and I gently swayed our hips back and forth (most definitely a more mild version of the natives’ expressive dancing). A group of women behind me led each hymn by prematurely singing the first line of the following stanza (similar to what the early Moravians did when no sheet music was available). Two of the tunes I recognized including “Take it to the Lord in prayer”- an appropriate song, I thought, for Tony and I and our service here in SA. It was a struggle at times to read the words in their Daily Text book sized hymn books, but somehow I managed to utter a few words and clicks. I thought for a moment how amazing and beautiful it would be for the Lititz Moravian Choir to meet the Soweto Moravian Choir (which is practically their entire congregation) to share a few singing moments together. The pastor’s message was spiritually stirring- focusing on the passage that reminds us that there is a time to plant and a time to reap. More on this next time…

 

  

6 October 2007 | 09:00 | On the Mountain, Lajuma Wilderness Retreat

Tony

 

It rains almost every morning here, and is consequently very chill early in the day – about 17°C (62.6°F) right now. (There’s a cat, Winston, meowing at me at present, begging to be let in, but Elyse is allergic.) The sound of the thunder on top of the mountain is fairly awesome, and it goes well with the setting which, in the immediate environs of the house and chalet – where we’re staying – is very tropical jungle-y. The rest of the mountain looks nothing like it, which has led one of the owners to describe the place as a “paradise, but an ecological disaster.” It is very nearly paradise.

 

It gets to the point where you can’t tell if it’s still storming or if it’s just the trees raining on you. I think it’s probably just the trees right now.

 

We’ve been here since Wednesday, when a man named Jabo Linden knocked on the door of our lodge in Makhado / Louis Trichardt and surprised us by asking if we were ready to go. We weren’t expecting anyone till Thursday, and so were still lounging in bed when he arrived. This began a period of frantic packing, wondering if we could get that night refunded to us, and hoping we could find our laundry before it disappeared into the aether that is present-day South Africa.

 

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It’s odd, being in the minority. I’d like to think I’m color-blind, but one can’t escape the feeling of alienness while in town. Part of it is the language barrier: the blacks in Makhado are Venda (and something else), and generally speak poor English. It’s getting easier, of course. Every time we travel into the downtown I feel a little less tense. I kind of enjoy it, actually; Makhado is a vibrant town, with lots of commercial activity and people walking everywhere. There are little shops and big shops, places where one can buy a refrigerator for R4,000 and, right across the street, a small electronics store selling a mini-fridge for R1,400. Still, there’s the alienness. We both, Elyse and I, know we’re among the wealthiest people in the community, even though we’re essentially unemployed at present. We’re also easy targets: our light skin and American accents act as beacons. I keep my money tucked away now in my security pouch, and have to reach down into my pants when I want to buy something, which elicits hysterical laughter from Elyse as she guards me from behind.

 

Some random impressions of Makhado: the fences which, closer to Jo’burg, all had barbed-wire or were even electrified, and here are just fences; the street vendors; the “cafés” which resemble bodegas and have the wildest agglomeration of services and things for sale; even the new bus-port in Pretoria that definitely had a saw-tooth configuration and made me think of Harrison, one of my profs at FSU.

 

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I should bring this rambling entry to a close, but there are a few more things I want to say. They call trucks “bakkies” (pronounced “bucky’s”) here; semis “trucks”; and a barbecue is called a briia (a “bry”). People say “shame”, or “oh, shame” when you tell them a sad story. For example:

 

Me: The bus was six hours late in arriving in Pretoria.

South African: Oh, shame.

 

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The Afrikaners generally speak good English, but not always, and it seems like the black Africans are more likely to speak Afrikaans than our native tongue; given the plethora of African languages that are spoken here (at least 10, the most prominent being Xhosa, Zula, and variants of Sesotho), Elyse and I have come to the conclusion that we should learn Afrikaans.

 

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The political situation is interesting, with many members of the ruling ANC party under investigation for fraud or general criminality. But I’ve gone on too long, and I’ll leave that for another entry.

 

Peace,

Tony

 

 

2 October 2007 | 10:00am | Beginning Adventures, Makhado (Louis Trichardt)

Elyse

 

As the thunderstorms parade over the Soutpansberg Mountains, Tony and I are relaxing in our simple room at the Louis Trichardt Lodge reading and journaling. The birds outside our window are happily singing, as if they instinctively know that these rains will bring lush fruits and green places to nest.

[knock at door]

We were kindly kicked out of our room by the cleaning lady. The lingering rain moistened our faces and hair as Tony and I journeyed down the street to “the mall”, where internet and food were supposedly present. Much to my delight, there was a “Pick-n-Pay” (one of my favorite grocery stores when I was last in SA)- avocados, rye/carrot bread, asparagus, almonds, muesli, apples, bananas, and fresh dates filled our “green” bag (you must pay R0.20 to use the standard plastic bags… brilliant eco decision in my opinion); the green bags only cost R5 = <$1. We entertained ourselves for a bit by paying to get on the internet- I felt rushed to stay within the 30min session which costs R15 (at this location) equivalent to over $2.

The sun now shines brightly, the air was dry – I’m falling in love with this town, Makhado. This is where we will reside for the next few months as we are facilitating the Tswelopele crèche project. We will stay here for the next few days until Ian and Reitha Gaigher come to pick us up to take us to their humble oasis on the top of Lajuma Mountain.

 

Now I must rewind to about 5 days ago…

After successfully flying from JFK airport to the U.A.E. (United Arab Emirates) taking about 12 hrs., we rested in the UAE airport until our next flight began boarding to Johannesburg. My first impression was of disgust- cigarette smoke infiltrated everything!  As many of you know I much rather smell Tony’s morning breath than the smell of yucky cigs, but life carries on.

Anyway, despite that, there were many intriguing sights- such a diverse crowd of people. In the waiting area for our next flight to Jo’burg, I craved to hear the stories of each individual present. What were they thinking, meditating, praying?  Where were they going?  What do they do for a living? 

 

The Jo’burg leg of our flying adventures was much less spacious than the prior plane trip. The food was just as tasty (vegan, of course). Tony and I were pleasantly surprised by the nutritious and delicious food they provided us. We spent most of our time napping this leg, because the first leg we played endless hours of travel Scrabble (Vivian, we are definitely grateful for that gift). We were last in line at customs when finally arrived in South Africa (10hrs later, total of 22hrs plane ride). The customs officer welcomed me back to the country (I smiled softly). He reminded us that we must depart by Dec. 27^th, 2007 (when our tourist’s visa expires). I speculate that the time will be extended one way or another… God only knows. Tony and I scarffed down our remaining black mission figs (from home) before entering the next line of customs (or so we thought). Turns out, it actually wasn’t a line but rather the entrance to the main lobby area, where Cyndy and Gary Scibal were patiently waiting with delightful smiles. We greeted each other with invigorating hugs. As expected, men (unofficial airport workers) began to ask us if we wanted help carrying our bags. We declined their offer knowing that if we accepted their offer, we would no longer see our bags. Now that I look back on this, I realize there is no way they could have ran fast with our back bags anyway- packed to the brim with our essentials (minimal clothing, toiletries, vitamins, books, sleeping bags, water purifier, pillows…) for a few years living in SA. Gary (2 ½ weeks acclimated to SA culture) guided us to their rental car. After Becky arrived with her luggage, we strategically packed all 5 of us and our luggage into the small sedan- quite an accomplishment I must say!  No seat belts, but we were going nowhere with all the luggage resting on our laps. On the road to Art’s place, many “Africans” (Tony informs me that his current leisure reading book, “A Long Walk to Freedom” by Nelson Mandela refers to black African people as “Africans”, white Dutch descendants as “Afrikaners”, mix white/black people as “coloureds”, and Indian people as “Indians”… what is PC today?, I’m not sure) walked the streets and the smell of diesel car exhaust filled the air. I could hear my lungs screaming for fresh air. Highways paved, but mirrored driving direction from the States. Jo’bug is quite a chaotic mess. They need a planner like Tony to make it livable, safe, and less sprawling. The main center city is practically abandoned, because businesses hoped to escape the crime- nearly impossible. Art and Kara’s platz was safely secured with high wired fencing and gates. Their lovely abode was charming- a great find indeed!  Their hospitality for the weekend was truly a treat. A bed to sleep in, a warm shower, and delicious food. Tony and I realized first hand how essential it is to have family close by. Cyndy, Gary, Art, and Kara were our family for that short time- we wouldn’t be here in Makhado right now if it wasn’t for them. We will remain forever grateful for their love, guidance, and support.

 

Thanks to Art and his helpful hints, we now have a cell phone (R273= $40) for emergencies and basic communication via SMS (short message service). I fee more technologically equipped here then when I was back in the States- as most of you know I rarely used my cell phone. But here it is an essential to have a cell phone, costing only about R0.35 = $0.05 within SA to text message (the preferred choice of communication since actually calling costs more). Internet on the other hand is very expensive (R2000 = $300) just for basic set-up. Tony and I have adjusted our initial plans and are now considering to only use public internet cafes as our means of communicating to everybody back home. So our time on the internet will be limited to short segments throughout the week (my apologizes to anyway who has kindly written an email and has yet to receive a reply…eventually I will respond) . We will set-up or journaling, project planning, and pictures using Microsoft Word on Tony’s laptop, save it onto my flash drive, then transfer it to the internet café computers, and then finally post it on this Pbwiki site for public viewing.

Life carries on….