I hope at this point thanks to my recent uploads, I will be leaving Kimberley for 3 weeks, with you all in possession of finally some reading material. Sometimes it just takes that spark, or me forcing myself to sit down and write something.
I leave on Tuesday night for Tanzania. I will be flying into Dar Es Salaam, spending some much needed time resting and relaxing on Zanzibar island and then seeing where else the wind blows me. I will probably be checking email every once in a while during my time away, but I cannot making any promises. I will be back in Kimberley for work on the 3 January 2011. I cannot believe 2011 has arrived. The year that when my brother was entering pre-school was given to his graduating class and we all laughed at the thought that 2011 would ever arrive. So I guess I will be seeing all of you around the corner of yet another year in my life. Scary and I am only 22.
I wish you all a very wonderful and safe holiday break. I am sad that I will be missing Christmas with the family for the first time, but there will be many more to come. Love you all and to all a good night!
Also knowing my history with writing sometimes, especially long breaks away from the computer, I make no promises to write every detail about my trip upon my return. PEACE...
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Take a Stand
In the Grassroot Soccer Skillz curriculum, at the beginning of every practice we ask the kids to take a stand. We say a statement and ask the kids to either agree or disagree with that statement and then explain their position on the issue. An example of a statement would be “In my culture it I okay for boys to have more and one girlfriend as long as they use a condom.” Eight years ago I took my very own stand of a slightly different nature. A stand against alcohol and drugs through a pact I made with my best friend at the time saying that we would never drink or do drugs. At some point we both fell off that bandwagon, hers was a far deeper fall than mine which lasted about 2 months in total, but I renewed that pledge and retook my stand the day before my sweet sixteen birthday party 6, almost 7 years ago now. For some reason, all that information got through to me and I realized that my health and my passion for a sport (that I know no longer play, but still uphold to utmost respect for) far outweighed what alcohol and drugs were ever going to give me.
Today, as I was completing the blog in which I explained how I question the work that I am doing and the program that we are using, I got some truly tragic news. 2-time winner of ESPN’s Academic All-American and a personal friend of mine passed away yesterday. Kyle Conrad, a 21-year old business and sports management student, and I haven’t had all that much interaction since we both moved on from our TCU travel soccer days, but that doesn’t mean that it was not entirely crushing to hear this news. Though he was a year or two younger than me, I spent a lot of time with him and his teammates because I practiced with them on the nights that I was not practicing with the girls, I traveled to London with him and all of our fellow teammates when I was 15, and I cheered on his high school soccer team as they crushed my own boys high school team. He, along with Edvin, a mutual friend and teammate, were nearly unstoppable together, and two of the best soccer players the state of Florida has seen.
What was even more distressing for me, aside from the fact that I am currently in Africa unable to attend the funeral, is the way that he died. According to an article in the Palm Beach Post, he fell off a bridge in Fort Lauderdale around 2:30 in the morning. While no cause of death has been stated, one can make a fair share of assumptions that may be true or not true as to what he was doing crossing a railroad bridge at 2:30 a.m. While I pass no judgments and truly mourn the world’s loss of yet another incredible young man, I urge you to look back a blog or two at the statistics about Substance Abuse and review my personal interaction with drugs and alcohol at the collegiate level. I believe that in our youth, we really do believe that we are invincible, that nothing will happen to us, but it can, it does, and it will. Sometimes we really need to wake up and smell the coffee; we need to face that fact that there are consequences for our actions.
While some of what I am saying might sound heartless or soulless in this moment, I cried for the first time today in what seems like forever. The role that substance abuse a played in my life and the people that it has hurt is huge. So I am using right now the only possible place I have to voice my opinion and try to evoke a conversation, to get someone to seriously consider the other side of what seems like harmless fun in the moment. Again I have no idea, if alcohol or drugs were involved in this situation, but either way I am finally stating to the world how I feel.
If the world is going to take someone like Kyle Conrad from us, we are going to learn something from it and his death will not just be a loss, but a light. I am begging and pleading that next time you head out on the town, you take just a moment and think about your goals, your dreams, all of the things that you are capable of in this world, and take a stand for Kyle’s life and so many others who have lost lives because of alcohol and drug abuse. Whether you are taking a stand not to drink and drive, not to drink in excess, or not to drink at all is up to you, but it is time that we all try to take action.
Today, as I was completing the blog in which I explained how I question the work that I am doing and the program that we are using, I got some truly tragic news. 2-time winner of ESPN’s Academic All-American and a personal friend of mine passed away yesterday. Kyle Conrad, a 21-year old business and sports management student, and I haven’t had all that much interaction since we both moved on from our TCU travel soccer days, but that doesn’t mean that it was not entirely crushing to hear this news. Though he was a year or two younger than me, I spent a lot of time with him and his teammates because I practiced with them on the nights that I was not practicing with the girls, I traveled to London with him and all of our fellow teammates when I was 15, and I cheered on his high school soccer team as they crushed my own boys high school team. He, along with Edvin, a mutual friend and teammate, were nearly unstoppable together, and two of the best soccer players the state of Florida has seen.
What was even more distressing for me, aside from the fact that I am currently in Africa unable to attend the funeral, is the way that he died. According to an article in the Palm Beach Post, he fell off a bridge in Fort Lauderdale around 2:30 in the morning. While no cause of death has been stated, one can make a fair share of assumptions that may be true or not true as to what he was doing crossing a railroad bridge at 2:30 a.m. While I pass no judgments and truly mourn the world’s loss of yet another incredible young man, I urge you to look back a blog or two at the statistics about Substance Abuse and review my personal interaction with drugs and alcohol at the collegiate level. I believe that in our youth, we really do believe that we are invincible, that nothing will happen to us, but it can, it does, and it will. Sometimes we really need to wake up and smell the coffee; we need to face that fact that there are consequences for our actions.
While some of what I am saying might sound heartless or soulless in this moment, I cried for the first time today in what seems like forever. The role that substance abuse a played in my life and the people that it has hurt is huge. So I am using right now the only possible place I have to voice my opinion and try to evoke a conversation, to get someone to seriously consider the other side of what seems like harmless fun in the moment. Again I have no idea, if alcohol or drugs were involved in this situation, but either way I am finally stating to the world how I feel.
If the world is going to take someone like Kyle Conrad from us, we are going to learn something from it and his death will not just be a loss, but a light. I am begging and pleading that next time you head out on the town, you take just a moment and think about your goals, your dreams, all of the things that you are capable of in this world, and take a stand for Kyle’s life and so many others who have lost lives because of alcohol and drug abuse. Whether you are taking a stand not to drink and drive, not to drink in excess, or not to drink at all is up to you, but it is time that we all try to take action.
Questioning the Glorified Aid, Part Two
So I question a practice and then I question the whole curriculum, and then I become utterly frustrated with Headquarters and our USAID grant. For me, and I’m pretty sure for our CEO and visionary of GRS, Tommy Clark, this is about the children that we work with and protecting them from this destructive disease also known as AIDS. So why is it that I feel like decisions are motivated by money and by numbers?
I’m pretty sure because that is just how it works. Money makes the world go around and in the non-profit world, grants and funding are the only way we can make it. Now in order for us to have and keep and potentially get more money from USAID, we have to reach certain targets of learners graduated from our programs and people in our communities tested. While it is slightly infuriating because it leads even the most compassionate people to make decisions based around only graduates, I understand that sometimes you have to do what you have to do.
It wasn’t too long ago that I told you the story about Practice 6 and our problems with the school Greenpoint. There were so many problems in fact that we were just going to work through two more practices to get to Practice 6 and be done. This is the perfect example of a time where we were motivated and influenced solely by the fact that we needed numbers. All of a sudden these kids with faces and names and horribly distressing home life situations, are typed into a computer and become nothing more than a number and a statistic to be submitted to USAID. Here we are on the ground, working with these kids for 9 days of their lives, teaching them about a very difficult disease and in the end they become nothing more than a number.
Luckily after a little fight, we did end of getting to work with the kids for 3 more practice, complete the curriculum, and have a graduation for them, but I am pretty sure that is where it ended. Stories of girls being raped, children being left alone at 12 to take care of younger sibling when their parents died, and we didn’t even have a system or path in place to lead these kids to the help they very severely need.
Phew, I think we are all in desperate need to vacation right now to recharge, refuel, and renew. I realize that many of these blogs, thought I would like to be slightly quirky and goofy with them, have been more on the serious side of things. But I feel like it is important that I share as I learn and explain some of the questions that pop up as I move along. I am sharing more my thought processes around issues as opposed to my day-to-day happening because a lot of my days are very similar. Sometimes we get busier and other days I have plenty of time to chill out, but either way I seriously doubt me telling you about all the receipts I reconciled or the number of shirts in our inventory I counted would be of any more interest than what I am discussing now.
I’m pretty sure because that is just how it works. Money makes the world go around and in the non-profit world, grants and funding are the only way we can make it. Now in order for us to have and keep and potentially get more money from USAID, we have to reach certain targets of learners graduated from our programs and people in our communities tested. While it is slightly infuriating because it leads even the most compassionate people to make decisions based around only graduates, I understand that sometimes you have to do what you have to do.
It wasn’t too long ago that I told you the story about Practice 6 and our problems with the school Greenpoint. There were so many problems in fact that we were just going to work through two more practices to get to Practice 6 and be done. This is the perfect example of a time where we were motivated and influenced solely by the fact that we needed numbers. All of a sudden these kids with faces and names and horribly distressing home life situations, are typed into a computer and become nothing more than a number and a statistic to be submitted to USAID. Here we are on the ground, working with these kids for 9 days of their lives, teaching them about a very difficult disease and in the end they become nothing more than a number.
Luckily after a little fight, we did end of getting to work with the kids for 3 more practice, complete the curriculum, and have a graduation for them, but I am pretty sure that is where it ended. Stories of girls being raped, children being left alone at 12 to take care of younger sibling when their parents died, and we didn’t even have a system or path in place to lead these kids to the help they very severely need.
Phew, I think we are all in desperate need to vacation right now to recharge, refuel, and renew. I realize that many of these blogs, thought I would like to be slightly quirky and goofy with them, have been more on the serious side of things. But I feel like it is important that I share as I learn and explain some of the questions that pop up as I move along. I am sharing more my thought processes around issues as opposed to my day-to-day happening because a lot of my days are very similar. Sometimes we get busier and other days I have plenty of time to chill out, but either way I seriously doubt me telling you about all the receipts I reconciled or the number of shirts in our inventory I counted would be of any more interest than what I am discussing now.
Questioning the Glorified Aid
Starting out, this yearlong internship was merely my best option after graduating college. The job market isn’t so hot right now for the recently graduated, but let’s also be honest and just admit that knowing how this opportunity lined up with my resume thus far, I knew it was my easiest option. Easiest, in the sense that I had a pretty good chance of getting the post, not easiest in it’s requirements for application. Essays cover letters, references, and resume. But that wasn’t necessarily the only lure of working for a non-profit. I personally glorify non-profit organizations and aid agencies. As you all may recall from my first post, in my first year of college, I saw myself as a high power corporate player or lawyer, then a couple years into college, I dreamt of making it into the United Nations. I have absolutely no idea how you get there or what exactly it as an entity does, but I wanted to be there and I wanted to be on top.
I have heard, read books and articles, and discussed the negativity around the idea of AID (not AIDS, AID, you know grants, money, help). I am no saint, and I have always had my doubts about certain things, but never when it came to this concept. Aid has always been a way to help, a form of relief and how could that ever have any negativity attached to it. Hmmm, maybe this process it not only leaving me confused about my life, but also creating the cynic within me. But, I have some bad news. Over the past few weeks, not only have we dealt with World War III in the office (there was a lot of arguing among everyone for a while there), but we have all come to an equal frustration towards grants and the headquarters of the organization we are working with.
For me it started with my doubt for practice 6, which I have discussed earlier, then it moved to a little doubt about the program itself. If anyone recalls their 6th grade days of D.A.R.E. you may understand where I am coming from. First, I must say this is weird for me because I am the 1 in 100 that actually took something from the D.A.R.E. and similar alcohol/drug related programs and assemblies and to this day I remain alcohol and drug free. The part that that must be noted is the 1 in 100. Another part worth noting is that I don’t believe that the reason I stand as the 1 in 100 has all that much to do with any of those seminars, programs, and lectures we had throughout school, but rather it has a lot more to do with a stern discussion my soccer team had with one of the best coaches and mentors I have ever had in my life.
According to research by Adolescent Substance Abuse Knowledge Base that “almost half of Americans aged 12 and older reported being current drinkers of alcohol in the 2000 survey (46.6 percent). This translates to an estimated 104 million people. Both the rate of alcohol use and number of drinkers were nearly the same in 2000 as in 1999 (46.4 percent and 103 million). It also shows that young adults aged 18 to 22 enrolled full-time in college were more likely than their peers not enrolled full-time to report any use, binge use, or heavy use of alcohol in 2000. Past month alcohol use was reported by 62.0 percent of full-time college students compared to 50.8 percent of their counterparts who were not currently enrolled full-time. Binge and heavy use rates for college students were 41.4 percent and 16.4 percent, respectively, compared with 35.9 percent and 12.1 percent, respectively, for other persons aged 18 to 22.” Additionally I found that 10% of Americans age 12 and older in 2000 had driven under the influence of alcohol at least once in the 12 month prior to the interview and of the youth aged 18-25, 19.9 percent has driven under the influence of alcohol in 2000.
First of all, I have to say, what 12 year olds are driving and driving under the influence no less? Now here is the rest of my discussion on this topic, the point I am trying to make and how this relates to GRS will follow shortly. I was a college student from the year 2006-2010, which in this modern day and age pretty much makes this research obsolete and while my shortage of access to the internet prevents further research, I will give you my personal interaction with alcohol in the last 8 years of my life. Out of all of the traveling I have done, all of the people I have met, I actually know 4 people who do not drink or do drugs at all, 4 out of about 500+ people that I know (I am talking about 500 people within the range of 16-30). That is .008% and that percent includes my brother, who like the other 3 people I believe is telling me the truth when he says they don’t drink of do drugs. Of the 99.992% of people in my life who do drink, I can say that a good amount of them are safe and socially responsibly drinkers, maybe to put a figure on it, 20-30%. So while statistics say one thing about alcohol and drug consumption my personal interaction with it paints a totally different picture. I cannot count the number of times I have been pressure to all different extents to drink, congratulated on my strength and decision for not drinking (though they could never do it is usually how that sentence ends), and was told that I am 1 of maybe 3 people maximum that they know that chooses not to drink or potentially, as has happened, the only one. Keep in mind that most Americans have gone through the D.A.R.E. program in their middle school years or a similar program and these are still the statistics.
Now maybe my own research is slightly skewed, as is all research, because while I choose not to drink or do drugs, I still enjoy going out to parties, bars, and clubs on occasion with friends. It definitely makes me the odd man out, but I like to show people that you can go out, be silly, dance, and have a good time, and still be able to drive yourself home sober when it is all over. So it is possible that 35% of college kids do not drink, but I would then have to guess that those students found each other and have decided to hide themselves from any college kids I’ve ever come into contact with.
Ok so now back to D.A.R.E and the point I was trying to make. In my mind, I have made a connection between the D.A.R.E. that a majority of middle school American students endure and the Grassroot Soccer Skillz Curriculum. While one drills safe social drinking and abstinence from drugs the other teaches safe sexual activity and just plain abstinence to stop the spread of a deadly disease (p.s. Alcoholism is a fatal disease and like AIDS you have to live with it for the rest of your life). Let’s see if you have started making any connections of your own. I am 1 in 100 from my school’s D.A.R.E. program (if that), so how can I not wonder how many children we are getting through to with our Skillz program. How much of difference are we really making in the HIV/AIDS game?
Right now I wish I had the anonymous quiz we gave to our newly hired coaches about their personal sexual behavior. I will try to get a hold of it, if it can be released. But, I say this because these are people who are teaching this curriculum, they are the voices of Skillz and they, like so many people, also engage in risky sexual behavior. Luckily/hopefully they keep this away from the kids they are teaching.
But still it makes me wonder, if oodles of information about HIV/AIDS and the position of role model in this fight cannot deter someone, then what will? I cannot help but look at this Skillz curriculum and think of its ineffectiveness due to the fact that I see so many underlying causes to the spread of HIV/AIDS, which we barely even touch on in the Skillz curriculum. Cultural norms (can’t touch them too much), age old alcohol abuse, lack of education, lack of foreseeable opportunities, a lack of a healthy social environments, not to mention a strange mix and split of first and third world, community and country leaders that do not practice what needs to be preached, and most importantly the slow disappearance of an entire generation that should be the parents and guardians of the current youth or the future.
Sometimes I see myself just getting more and more cynical and skeptical of the world around me as a learn more, but then I have to go back to that 1, that 1 in 100. Let me share with you a story that has touch me a few times over the past few years, some of you may have heard before: the Starfish Story.
“Once upon a time, there was a wise man who used to go to the ocean to do his writing. He had a habit of walking on the beach before he began his work.
One day, as he was walking along the shore, he looked down the beach and saw a human figure moving like a dancer. He smiled to himself at the thought of someone who would dance to the day, and so, he walked faster to catch up.
As he got closer, he noticed that the figure was that of a young man, and that what he was doing was not dancing at all. The young man was reaching down to the shore, picking up small objects, and throwing them into the ocean.
He came closer still and called out "Good morning! May I ask what it is that you are doing?" The young man paused, looked up, and replied "Throwing starfish into the ocean."
"I must ask, then, why are you throwing starfish into the ocean?" asked the somewhat startled wise man. To this, the young man replied, "The sun is up and the tide is going out. If I don't throw them in, they'll die."
Upon hearing this, the wise man commented, "But, young man, do you not realize that there are miles and miles of beach and there are starfish all along every mile? You can't possibly make a difference!"
At this, the young man bent down, picked up yet another starfish, and threw it into the ocean. As it met the water, he said, "It made a difference for that one."
So, this is what I have to keep telling myself, that if I came out the 1 in 100, that someone else will probably emerge in the same position. And so, the fight continues, as slow and grueling as it can be and the fact that everyday, we never really get to see if the cause we are volunteering ourselves to is really having an impact.
I have heard, read books and articles, and discussed the negativity around the idea of AID (not AIDS, AID, you know grants, money, help). I am no saint, and I have always had my doubts about certain things, but never when it came to this concept. Aid has always been a way to help, a form of relief and how could that ever have any negativity attached to it. Hmmm, maybe this process it not only leaving me confused about my life, but also creating the cynic within me. But, I have some bad news. Over the past few weeks, not only have we dealt with World War III in the office (there was a lot of arguing among everyone for a while there), but we have all come to an equal frustration towards grants and the headquarters of the organization we are working with.
For me it started with my doubt for practice 6, which I have discussed earlier, then it moved to a little doubt about the program itself. If anyone recalls their 6th grade days of D.A.R.E. you may understand where I am coming from. First, I must say this is weird for me because I am the 1 in 100 that actually took something from the D.A.R.E. and similar alcohol/drug related programs and assemblies and to this day I remain alcohol and drug free. The part that that must be noted is the 1 in 100. Another part worth noting is that I don’t believe that the reason I stand as the 1 in 100 has all that much to do with any of those seminars, programs, and lectures we had throughout school, but rather it has a lot more to do with a stern discussion my soccer team had with one of the best coaches and mentors I have ever had in my life.
According to research by Adolescent Substance Abuse Knowledge Base that “almost half of Americans aged 12 and older reported being current drinkers of alcohol in the 2000 survey (46.6 percent). This translates to an estimated 104 million people. Both the rate of alcohol use and number of drinkers were nearly the same in 2000 as in 1999 (46.4 percent and 103 million). It also shows that young adults aged 18 to 22 enrolled full-time in college were more likely than their peers not enrolled full-time to report any use, binge use, or heavy use of alcohol in 2000. Past month alcohol use was reported by 62.0 percent of full-time college students compared to 50.8 percent of their counterparts who were not currently enrolled full-time. Binge and heavy use rates for college students were 41.4 percent and 16.4 percent, respectively, compared with 35.9 percent and 12.1 percent, respectively, for other persons aged 18 to 22.” Additionally I found that 10% of Americans age 12 and older in 2000 had driven under the influence of alcohol at least once in the 12 month prior to the interview and of the youth aged 18-25, 19.9 percent has driven under the influence of alcohol in 2000.
First of all, I have to say, what 12 year olds are driving and driving under the influence no less? Now here is the rest of my discussion on this topic, the point I am trying to make and how this relates to GRS will follow shortly. I was a college student from the year 2006-2010, which in this modern day and age pretty much makes this research obsolete and while my shortage of access to the internet prevents further research, I will give you my personal interaction with alcohol in the last 8 years of my life. Out of all of the traveling I have done, all of the people I have met, I actually know 4 people who do not drink or do drugs at all, 4 out of about 500+ people that I know (I am talking about 500 people within the range of 16-30). That is .008% and that percent includes my brother, who like the other 3 people I believe is telling me the truth when he says they don’t drink of do drugs. Of the 99.992% of people in my life who do drink, I can say that a good amount of them are safe and socially responsibly drinkers, maybe to put a figure on it, 20-30%. So while statistics say one thing about alcohol and drug consumption my personal interaction with it paints a totally different picture. I cannot count the number of times I have been pressure to all different extents to drink, congratulated on my strength and decision for not drinking (though they could never do it is usually how that sentence ends), and was told that I am 1 of maybe 3 people maximum that they know that chooses not to drink or potentially, as has happened, the only one. Keep in mind that most Americans have gone through the D.A.R.E. program in their middle school years or a similar program and these are still the statistics.
Now maybe my own research is slightly skewed, as is all research, because while I choose not to drink or do drugs, I still enjoy going out to parties, bars, and clubs on occasion with friends. It definitely makes me the odd man out, but I like to show people that you can go out, be silly, dance, and have a good time, and still be able to drive yourself home sober when it is all over. So it is possible that 35% of college kids do not drink, but I would then have to guess that those students found each other and have decided to hide themselves from any college kids I’ve ever come into contact with.
Ok so now back to D.A.R.E and the point I was trying to make. In my mind, I have made a connection between the D.A.R.E. that a majority of middle school American students endure and the Grassroot Soccer Skillz Curriculum. While one drills safe social drinking and abstinence from drugs the other teaches safe sexual activity and just plain abstinence to stop the spread of a deadly disease (p.s. Alcoholism is a fatal disease and like AIDS you have to live with it for the rest of your life). Let’s see if you have started making any connections of your own. I am 1 in 100 from my school’s D.A.R.E. program (if that), so how can I not wonder how many children we are getting through to with our Skillz program. How much of difference are we really making in the HIV/AIDS game?
Right now I wish I had the anonymous quiz we gave to our newly hired coaches about their personal sexual behavior. I will try to get a hold of it, if it can be released. But, I say this because these are people who are teaching this curriculum, they are the voices of Skillz and they, like so many people, also engage in risky sexual behavior. Luckily/hopefully they keep this away from the kids they are teaching.
But still it makes me wonder, if oodles of information about HIV/AIDS and the position of role model in this fight cannot deter someone, then what will? I cannot help but look at this Skillz curriculum and think of its ineffectiveness due to the fact that I see so many underlying causes to the spread of HIV/AIDS, which we barely even touch on in the Skillz curriculum. Cultural norms (can’t touch them too much), age old alcohol abuse, lack of education, lack of foreseeable opportunities, a lack of a healthy social environments, not to mention a strange mix and split of first and third world, community and country leaders that do not practice what needs to be preached, and most importantly the slow disappearance of an entire generation that should be the parents and guardians of the current youth or the future.
Sometimes I see myself just getting more and more cynical and skeptical of the world around me as a learn more, but then I have to go back to that 1, that 1 in 100. Let me share with you a story that has touch me a few times over the past few years, some of you may have heard before: the Starfish Story.
“Once upon a time, there was a wise man who used to go to the ocean to do his writing. He had a habit of walking on the beach before he began his work.
One day, as he was walking along the shore, he looked down the beach and saw a human figure moving like a dancer. He smiled to himself at the thought of someone who would dance to the day, and so, he walked faster to catch up.
As he got closer, he noticed that the figure was that of a young man, and that what he was doing was not dancing at all. The young man was reaching down to the shore, picking up small objects, and throwing them into the ocean.
He came closer still and called out "Good morning! May I ask what it is that you are doing?" The young man paused, looked up, and replied "Throwing starfish into the ocean."
"I must ask, then, why are you throwing starfish into the ocean?" asked the somewhat startled wise man. To this, the young man replied, "The sun is up and the tide is going out. If I don't throw them in, they'll die."
Upon hearing this, the wise man commented, "But, young man, do you not realize that there are miles and miles of beach and there are starfish all along every mile? You can't possibly make a difference!"
At this, the young man bent down, picked up yet another starfish, and threw it into the ocean. As it met the water, he said, "It made a difference for that one."
So, this is what I have to keep telling myself, that if I came out the 1 in 100, that someone else will probably emerge in the same position. And so, the fight continues, as slow and grueling as it can be and the fact that everyday, we never really get to see if the cause we are volunteering ourselves to is really having an impact.
A Brief Glimpse of Myself
Cape Town for me was a little less of a touristy vacation (been there, done that) and more of a chance to get back to myself. As someone who spends most of her time engaged in some form of exercise and eats blueberries everyday, Cape Town gave me an opportunity to get back out there and start taking care of myself again…at least for 5 days. I hadn’t even seen a blueberry since I got here almost 4 months ago, but they had them in Cape Town. Oh, and tofu, raspberries, and hummus, and a number of vegan and vegetarian restaurants. Yoga studios, food markets, beautiful hikes, and of course, the beach. Just looking at those words makes me feel better. I think these are the things that define me. I am learning how to live comfortably without the latest in fashion and uncomfortably without a well-decorated home space, but living without all things that make me healthy proves to be a challenge everyday. I live in the red meat capital of the world, most people wouldn’t eat a vegetable to save their lives (it would save their lives), and most have never even heard of celery.
I went down to Cape Town for Thanksgiving and to have a little break from the dry desert that is Kimberley. As soon as I arrived I felt a little more like myself again. The first day we went to a middle eastern/Asian bazaar for lunch (hello hummus and tahini) followed by a lovely hike to the top of Lion’s Head, ocean views from every side. On Thanksgiving I went for a wonderful run and then we hit up Camps Bay beach (could have been Southern California, Miami, or Hawaii) and as cold as the water was I wanted to stay in it forever…I can’t believe how much I miss and love the salty ocean water. Friday, Lizzy (Port Elizabeth intern) and I did a lot of exploratory walking around Cape Town’s city center and the V & A waterfront and then spent the afternoon relaxing on a quieter beach with Emma and Jeremy (Maseru, Lesotho interns). Saturday was the last string for Emma and I; it was at the Old Biscuit Mill food market that we decided that we would not be returning to our sites (unfortunately as I am writing this, I have to admit that I am back safely in Kimberley). We finished off my last day in Cape Town with a picnic on the beach.
I went down to Cape Town for Thanksgiving and to have a little break from the dry desert that is Kimberley. As soon as I arrived I felt a little more like myself again. The first day we went to a middle eastern/Asian bazaar for lunch (hello hummus and tahini) followed by a lovely hike to the top of Lion’s Head, ocean views from every side. On Thanksgiving I went for a wonderful run and then we hit up Camps Bay beach (could have been Southern California, Miami, or Hawaii) and as cold as the water was I wanted to stay in it forever…I can’t believe how much I miss and love the salty ocean water. Friday, Lizzy (Port Elizabeth intern) and I did a lot of exploratory walking around Cape Town’s city center and the V & A waterfront and then spent the afternoon relaxing on a quieter beach with Emma and Jeremy (Maseru, Lesotho interns). Saturday was the last string for Emma and I; it was at the Old Biscuit Mill food market that we decided that we would not be returning to our sites (unfortunately as I am writing this, I have to admit that I am back safely in Kimberley). We finished off my last day in Cape Town with a picnic on the beach.
Monday, November 29, 2010
A Little Late
So at this point I am posting a blog that was written about 3 weeks to a month ago. I am sorry for the delay. I see that I haven't posted one blog since October, which is bad and I need to get back to writing again.
Many days, when I need a break from the office and a quiet, cute place to work, I venture down the street to Wilhelmina’s to enjoy a pot of tea, a cup of coffee, and some insanely delicious little treat. Everyday my piece of cake, cupcake, brownie, or pie comes out decorated in some meticulously creative way. There is always some fruit sliced and arranged on the side, with some flower (today we have a pansy) and some sauce. Today my brownie comes complete with a coffeecake crumble on top then some sauce and ice cream, of course plus the slices of apples and oranges and my sweet pansy. As I enjoy my chamomile tea from some delicate china, I wonder why I never have a camera with me when I am here. I will have to start bringing one. (I should be honest and say that probably will not happen). Sorry, break for a bite. The report: the brownie is warm and gooey, which is complemented by the crunch of the crumble and walnuts and the cold, vanilla ice cream. Forget the Big Hole if you are coming to Kimberley and just come to this quaint little café to enjoy whatever sweets they are offering that day. I have yet to have something that I didn’t like here, though I tried the strawberry cheesecake and I didn’t like it, too cheesy, but that is how all of the cheesecakes are here.
I guess this short blurb about my hideout makes it seem like we don’t do much work here, but oh contraire, my friends. I worked my first ever 60-hour-week last week; too bad for cost share I can only claim 40 hours. Maybe I am in the makings of a workaholic, hmmm. It would be a bad thing if I hated my job (like an old roommate I had) and worked these hours, but luckily there is not too much to hate about my job, aside from my colleague Thuso Jones, of course. (Thuso if you ever read this, I think only you will understand). Thuso and I have a nice love-hate relationship; okay I’m beginning to think I have that relationship with most people. Maybe it is me. It’s cool though because it brings a little comedy into the office. For the most part I think we all have a nice rapport in the GRS Kim office. Some days there are misunderstanding, miscommunications, and frustrations, but at the end of the day we usually manage to laugh about something.
This week we have a few visitors in the office; one from Cape Town and one from Port Elizabeth. We have Matt Streng here from CT and he is the Director of Programs. Then we have Mpumi here from Port Elizabeth; he used to be the site coordinator there, but was recently promoted to something else, but I have no idea what. He does something with systems; he keeps telling me that he is going to analyze our systems, whatever that means. Maybe I will learn tomorrow at our 3-5 hour meeting. Hope it is not boring.
Today I played the role of assistant coach at an intervention. Unfortunately, it was at a school where the kids spoke very little English and mostly Afrikaans, so communication was limited, but it was still solid. I think mostly the kids just liked having a different face, especially a white one from America. I am finding that when you really get involved with the kids and enjoy yourself with the program, it makes the kids want to interact and behave, while also having some fun. I think kids respond to assertiveness with a little humor. Once you allow yourself to become angry or frustrated with the kids, they are given all control of the situation. Our coaches need to be careful with that; some of them have a short temper, which can pass the control of the class right over to the kids very quickly. Some of our coaches are really good with the kids and they always seem to get the results that we all work to achieve. I feel like it is always the same coaches that come out of practice 6 and get the kids to open up and it is always the same coaches who come out and say that their kids don’t want the intervention to end or for the coaches to leave.
Now it sounds like all work and no play, but not to worry I do get some playtime. About a month ago I was in Bloemfontein for the Macufe Festival. It was a weeklong festival featuring different music styles, different arts and crafts, different cultural events, and all culminated in the Macufe Cup (S.A. premiership game) on Sunday. We caught the Jazz night and the Macufe Cup game. Both were pretty spectacular. I think a lot that comes from good company (i.e. some of the Maseru crew, crazy local South Africans). I then headed up to Maseru for the Maseru Charity concert a few weekends ago to see Freshlyground play (think Waka Waka with Shakira). It is always just nice to get out of Kim for a while.
Many days, when I need a break from the office and a quiet, cute place to work, I venture down the street to Wilhelmina’s to enjoy a pot of tea, a cup of coffee, and some insanely delicious little treat. Everyday my piece of cake, cupcake, brownie, or pie comes out decorated in some meticulously creative way. There is always some fruit sliced and arranged on the side, with some flower (today we have a pansy) and some sauce. Today my brownie comes complete with a coffeecake crumble on top then some sauce and ice cream, of course plus the slices of apples and oranges and my sweet pansy. As I enjoy my chamomile tea from some delicate china, I wonder why I never have a camera with me when I am here. I will have to start bringing one. (I should be honest and say that probably will not happen). Sorry, break for a bite. The report: the brownie is warm and gooey, which is complemented by the crunch of the crumble and walnuts and the cold, vanilla ice cream. Forget the Big Hole if you are coming to Kimberley and just come to this quaint little café to enjoy whatever sweets they are offering that day. I have yet to have something that I didn’t like here, though I tried the strawberry cheesecake and I didn’t like it, too cheesy, but that is how all of the cheesecakes are here.
I guess this short blurb about my hideout makes it seem like we don’t do much work here, but oh contraire, my friends. I worked my first ever 60-hour-week last week; too bad for cost share I can only claim 40 hours. Maybe I am in the makings of a workaholic, hmmm. It would be a bad thing if I hated my job (like an old roommate I had) and worked these hours, but luckily there is not too much to hate about my job, aside from my colleague Thuso Jones, of course. (Thuso if you ever read this, I think only you will understand). Thuso and I have a nice love-hate relationship; okay I’m beginning to think I have that relationship with most people. Maybe it is me. It’s cool though because it brings a little comedy into the office. For the most part I think we all have a nice rapport in the GRS Kim office. Some days there are misunderstanding, miscommunications, and frustrations, but at the end of the day we usually manage to laugh about something.
This week we have a few visitors in the office; one from Cape Town and one from Port Elizabeth. We have Matt Streng here from CT and he is the Director of Programs. Then we have Mpumi here from Port Elizabeth; he used to be the site coordinator there, but was recently promoted to something else, but I have no idea what. He does something with systems; he keeps telling me that he is going to analyze our systems, whatever that means. Maybe I will learn tomorrow at our 3-5 hour meeting. Hope it is not boring.
Today I played the role of assistant coach at an intervention. Unfortunately, it was at a school where the kids spoke very little English and mostly Afrikaans, so communication was limited, but it was still solid. I think mostly the kids just liked having a different face, especially a white one from America. I am finding that when you really get involved with the kids and enjoy yourself with the program, it makes the kids want to interact and behave, while also having some fun. I think kids respond to assertiveness with a little humor. Once you allow yourself to become angry or frustrated with the kids, they are given all control of the situation. Our coaches need to be careful with that; some of them have a short temper, which can pass the control of the class right over to the kids very quickly. Some of our coaches are really good with the kids and they always seem to get the results that we all work to achieve. I feel like it is always the same coaches that come out of practice 6 and get the kids to open up and it is always the same coaches who come out and say that their kids don’t want the intervention to end or for the coaches to leave.
Now it sounds like all work and no play, but not to worry I do get some playtime. About a month ago I was in Bloemfontein for the Macufe Festival. It was a weeklong festival featuring different music styles, different arts and crafts, different cultural events, and all culminated in the Macufe Cup (S.A. premiership game) on Sunday. We caught the Jazz night and the Macufe Cup game. Both were pretty spectacular. I think a lot that comes from good company (i.e. some of the Maseru crew, crazy local South Africans). I then headed up to Maseru for the Maseru Charity concert a few weekends ago to see Freshlyground play (think Waka Waka with Shakira). It is always just nice to get out of Kim for a while.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Similar Story in Malawi
Please read the blog two before this one first called "What I Have Been Waiting For." I was browsing the GRS website when I came across this story and it reiterated the power of story and the pain and suffering these people deal with on a daily basis. It relates to that same practice 6 that I haven't been able to understand up until these last few days. This is a story that was told by a young boy named Tsalani and his GRS Malawi Coach Felix and was written by GRS Intern Eren Munir.
"In 2008, Grassroot Soccer began a partnership with the Baylor College of Medicine’s Children’s Foundation and the Abbott Fund in Lilongwe, Malawi. This innovative program goes beyond delivering the GRS HIV prevention curriculum with youth, providing integrated HIV testing to all participants and their families. The program has expanded rapidly since 2008, graduating over 1,500 children and testing over 2000 youth and community members through home-based testing and record-breaking community testing tournaments.
Tsalani’s story, below, provides a window into the pain and loss that HIV has inflicted on the life of a young boy in Malawi. GRS has played a major role in helping him to find his voice and share what he has learned with others. 'Every time I share my story, I may be saving someone’s life,' Tsalani states with confidence.
Walking to school in his usual manner, Tsalani looked down at the road in silence, holding a distant gaze. At only 12 years old, he didn’t know how to confront his feelings after the death of his brother. He felt guilty for not doing more to help and angry that his community failed to lend any support when they needed it most. On that day, Tsalani recalls, 'I felt completely alone.' His brother had been his parent, caretaker, and best friend.
Living by themselves, the two brothers had been forced to take on adult responsibilities early in life. Tsalani’s 18-year-old brother did everything he could to provide for himself and his brother, but the pressure was overwhelming, and soon his late nights working to raise funds for Tsalani’s school fees became filled with drugs, alcohol and women.
Tsalani did everything he could to stop his brother’s new behavior but he couldn’t reach him. Desperate, he turned to his brother’s two best friends for help and vividly remembers their answer; 'Tsalani, we gave up on helping your brother a long time ago. In this community, you cannot do what he has been doing and get away with it. All we have left to do is pray for him.' He sought help from other community members but the answer was the same. Soon, Tsalani’s brother became sick, and the entire community seemed to think he was already gone.
As his brother became sicker, Tsalani spent some of the hardest days of his life watching after his brother. He rarely attended school and sat alongside his brother almost every night as his health declined. He tried to get his brother to go to a hospital, but he refused. The shame was too great. After six months, his brother died.
The months following his brother’s death were full of heartache and worry. As Tsalani explains, 'I had to start thinking about my future because I had no one to look after me'. When Tsalani visited the village to shop for food, he heard whispers of 'HIV/AIDS' from community members. Tsalani knew of the virus but didn’t realize for many months that it had been his brother’s killer.
Eventually, Tsalani found relatives to live with and returned to school, but the pain remained until he met Felix Kayira. Felix was part of an HIV and AIDS education program with an organization called Grassroot Soccer. With the memory of his brother ingrained in his mind, Tsalani had not forgotten about the dangers of HIV and AIDS, and he joined GRS. Felix remembers those early days with a smile, remarking that, “Tsalani became a man on a mission. The more information I gave him about HIV/AIDS, the more he wanted to know”.
During a practice called 'My Coach’s Story,' Tsalani rose to share his personal experience with HIV, and nobody could have imagined the impact his words would have. As he spoke, every emotion imaginable seemed to emanate from his body, describing the death of his brother. After he finished his story he exhaled, and as the air left his lungs, a new, determined young man emerged.
Tsalani found inspiration in that moment to continue to tell his story and has shared it openly with friends, community members and other GRS participants. It’s impossible to know how many lives he has changed, but he is humble and wishes not to be thanked for his openness. All he wants is to keep sharing, because, for Tsalani, 'every time I share my story, I may be saving someone’s life.'"
"In 2008, Grassroot Soccer began a partnership with the Baylor College of Medicine’s Children’s Foundation and the Abbott Fund in Lilongwe, Malawi. This innovative program goes beyond delivering the GRS HIV prevention curriculum with youth, providing integrated HIV testing to all participants and their families. The program has expanded rapidly since 2008, graduating over 1,500 children and testing over 2000 youth and community members through home-based testing and record-breaking community testing tournaments.
Tsalani’s story, below, provides a window into the pain and loss that HIV has inflicted on the life of a young boy in Malawi. GRS has played a major role in helping him to find his voice and share what he has learned with others. 'Every time I share my story, I may be saving someone’s life,' Tsalani states with confidence.
Walking to school in his usual manner, Tsalani looked down at the road in silence, holding a distant gaze. At only 12 years old, he didn’t know how to confront his feelings after the death of his brother. He felt guilty for not doing more to help and angry that his community failed to lend any support when they needed it most. On that day, Tsalani recalls, 'I felt completely alone.' His brother had been his parent, caretaker, and best friend.
Living by themselves, the two brothers had been forced to take on adult responsibilities early in life. Tsalani’s 18-year-old brother did everything he could to provide for himself and his brother, but the pressure was overwhelming, and soon his late nights working to raise funds for Tsalani’s school fees became filled with drugs, alcohol and women.
Tsalani did everything he could to stop his brother’s new behavior but he couldn’t reach him. Desperate, he turned to his brother’s two best friends for help and vividly remembers their answer; 'Tsalani, we gave up on helping your brother a long time ago. In this community, you cannot do what he has been doing and get away with it. All we have left to do is pray for him.' He sought help from other community members but the answer was the same. Soon, Tsalani’s brother became sick, and the entire community seemed to think he was already gone.
As his brother became sicker, Tsalani spent some of the hardest days of his life watching after his brother. He rarely attended school and sat alongside his brother almost every night as his health declined. He tried to get his brother to go to a hospital, but he refused. The shame was too great. After six months, his brother died.
The months following his brother’s death were full of heartache and worry. As Tsalani explains, 'I had to start thinking about my future because I had no one to look after me'. When Tsalani visited the village to shop for food, he heard whispers of 'HIV/AIDS' from community members. Tsalani knew of the virus but didn’t realize for many months that it had been his brother’s killer.
Eventually, Tsalani found relatives to live with and returned to school, but the pain remained until he met Felix Kayira. Felix was part of an HIV and AIDS education program with an organization called Grassroot Soccer. With the memory of his brother ingrained in his mind, Tsalani had not forgotten about the dangers of HIV and AIDS, and he joined GRS. Felix remembers those early days with a smile, remarking that, “Tsalani became a man on a mission. The more information I gave him about HIV/AIDS, the more he wanted to know”.
During a practice called 'My Coach’s Story,' Tsalani rose to share his personal experience with HIV, and nobody could have imagined the impact his words would have. As he spoke, every emotion imaginable seemed to emanate from his body, describing the death of his brother. After he finished his story he exhaled, and as the air left his lungs, a new, determined young man emerged.
Tsalani found inspiration in that moment to continue to tell his story and has shared it openly with friends, community members and other GRS participants. It’s impossible to know how many lives he has changed, but he is humble and wishes not to be thanked for his openness. All he wants is to keep sharing, because, for Tsalani, 'every time I share my story, I may be saving someone’s life.'"
Let There Be Light
I thought I had put my small portable heater away for good last week. It was so warm; I was really wondering how it could possibly get any hotter come summer. There were a few nights where I had to sleep with my large fan on and I think I still woke up periodically sweating throughout the night. Surprise, surprise, I pulled the heater back out today after waking up freezing this morning. It is sort of like being in Delaware where you have no idea what the weather will be the next day or in the middle of the day. At least in Florida you always know; in the summer it will rain mid-afternoon for about and hour or so, so get your outdoor activities out of the way in the morning and in the winter it will be freezing in the morning and late at night, but you can assume that it will be warm enough for just a long sleeve shirt or less during the day.
I’ll have you know that I just sat in the dark for 15 minutes with my headlamp reading because we thought our electricity was out (i.e. Albert said it was out and I didn’t question because they light switches didn’t work). It “went out” around 6 p.m. when I was working on the computer after work, but it wasn’t yet dark enough to be a problem or notice that we seemed to be the only ones without electricity. I think we also accepted it because earlier this week the water was cut off across Kimberley until the next morning and another day we all lost electricity. The water goes out all the time because there are major pipes that burst and spew water everywhere. In the area that the pipe is it could look like a flood, even though it never ever rains here. After reading for a bit, I stood up to look out the window, turned off my headlamp and just wondered for a second how long it would be out this time. At that moment I noticed that the lights in the neighboring house were on and that the outdoor lights in our complex were on. I decided that the best thing for me to do would be to go to our landlord’s house to ask him if he knew was what wrong with just our small building. Unfortunately, though their lights were on, there was no answer. Defeated, I returned to my small apartment/house surrendering to the idea that I would spend my evening in darkness. I was looking at the electricity reader (we have to prepay for electricity here), which read full considering I bought new electricity yesterday and I noticed the switchboard for the electricity in the house. I then noticed that the main switch was stuck halfway between green and red so I switched it to green. Nothing, still no lights, no refrigerator white noise. So I switched off the smaller switches and then back on again in an effort to reset them. Still nothing. I then switched the main switch to red, because really what other option did I have and poof, magic, we now have our electricity working again. It is very much a necessity because now I can turn my heater on, go take a hot shower, and snuggle in my warm bed and watch a movie.
I’ll have you know that I just sat in the dark for 15 minutes with my headlamp reading because we thought our electricity was out (i.e. Albert said it was out and I didn’t question because they light switches didn’t work). It “went out” around 6 p.m. when I was working on the computer after work, but it wasn’t yet dark enough to be a problem or notice that we seemed to be the only ones without electricity. I think we also accepted it because earlier this week the water was cut off across Kimberley until the next morning and another day we all lost electricity. The water goes out all the time because there are major pipes that burst and spew water everywhere. In the area that the pipe is it could look like a flood, even though it never ever rains here. After reading for a bit, I stood up to look out the window, turned off my headlamp and just wondered for a second how long it would be out this time. At that moment I noticed that the lights in the neighboring house were on and that the outdoor lights in our complex were on. I decided that the best thing for me to do would be to go to our landlord’s house to ask him if he knew was what wrong with just our small building. Unfortunately, though their lights were on, there was no answer. Defeated, I returned to my small apartment/house surrendering to the idea that I would spend my evening in darkness. I was looking at the electricity reader (we have to prepay for electricity here), which read full considering I bought new electricity yesterday and I noticed the switchboard for the electricity in the house. I then noticed that the main switch was stuck halfway between green and red so I switched it to green. Nothing, still no lights, no refrigerator white noise. So I switched off the smaller switches and then back on again in an effort to reset them. Still nothing. I then switched the main switch to red, because really what other option did I have and poof, magic, we now have our electricity working again. It is very much a necessity because now I can turn my heater on, go take a hot shower, and snuggle in my warm bed and watch a movie.
What I Have Been Waiting For
You know it’s one thing to hear a child’s tragic story from a distance, but it’s another entirely when you get to have a connection to that child. When you can put a face to a story and hug that child. That’s what it is really about. It’s that’s connection that makes all of this worthwhile. Everyday that we go to an intervention and I join a class, I get to become a part of it. I get one step closer to the direct contact with the kids; I get to pray that if they understand English that my words sink somewhere into their brains, that just my presence can have some effect on them.
These are sixth, seventh, and eighth graders that are just like any other sixth, seventh, and eighth grades across that globe. They may live under different circumstances, they may adhere to different cultural behaviors, but in the end just are just kids. Kids that because of their living circumstance may never have a chance to change their situation, to get out of their communities and see the world and learn about it, in fact they may never even be able to fathom the opportunities other children have. Opportunities most of us take for granted.
Today we did practice 6 from the curriculum at our intervention at Greenpoint (one of the township communities), forever my least favorite practice. Practice 6 is called “Our Stories” and the whole idea of the practice is to try to get the kids to open up and start talking about HIV/AIDS and their personal stories relating to resilience. Great idea in principal, but difficult to execute. The problem is that we work with 12-14 year olds and the last thing they want to do is take anything seriously. Most of my interaction with this practice has led me to lose faith in this practice and sometimes question the whole curriculum. It makes me crazy. The kids make up stories, most of which do not even make sense, they laugh at classmates, even when the classmate breaks down from a real, serious, and difficult story. I never see practice 6 have the effect it should have. However, every time we have done practice 6, all of the other coaches from the classes that of course I was not a part of tell these amazing stories about the kids opening up and sharing truly powerful stories. To me, most days, it is a waste of our time and the “American people’s money” as Mandla would say. (Side note: USAID is our largest funder. Other side note: On the USAID’s symbol, below USAID it reads “From the American People,” trust me another discussion for another time). Anyways…when I found out today that we would be doing practice 6 at a school where the kids mainly speak Afrikaans, I grabbed my book and had every intention of spending the afternoon reading about Zimbabwe in the car. Clifford, one of the coaches, had a better idea. I would join his class (he promised to translate and I couldn’t exactly voice that I hated practice 6). Some days I feel like I am a distraction to the classes when I am around, but I guess that is not always true because otherwise the coaches wouldn’t insist for me to be there. So I agreed/was pulled into the classroom.
I am not sure if I explained this previously, but for the kids to graduate the program they must attend 6 out of the 9 practices. Greenpoint has been proving to be a very difficult school to work with because the kids are out of control, they are not interested, and the administrators do not want to give us a lot of time because of the strike recovery plan. Yea, remember that one; it seems like forever ago now. Anyways as an office we decided that we are low on numbers this quarter and that we would just go to Greenpoint through practice 6. We would just graduate whatever kids showed up to all six so we could just get our numbers and be done with it. So today we had planned to do practice 6, type those names into the computer and send them over to Cape Town. Then there was a slight turn of events.
As always with practice 6, most of the kids in the class did not want to take it seriously, no one wanted to share, and those kids who had stories to tell they were too embarrassed or nervous to tell their stories in front of the whole class. So I just sat there for 25 minutes while the coaches explained the importance of sharing their stories, threatened to take away their certificates, and anything else they could do to make the kids participate, thinking about how much I still hated practice 6 and about how I really should talk to those curriculum and training people about this nonsense. After pleading with the kids, we decided that we would just let the kids go and if there was anyone who wanted to share their stories or talk to us privately that they could stay after to do so. 12 kids stayed after. I only spoke directly with two girls, but I heard about some of the other stories and they ranged from beatings, to rape to deaths of family members. One story was about a group of kids who had been followed by a black car. Sensing danger all of the boys ran away leaving a young girl in the dust. She was captured, raped, and died the next day in the hospital. One of the stories I heard was about a girl’s aunt who was HIV positive and pregnant. In 2007 the aunt died and left the baby (and everyone unsure of whether or not the baby was positive) and the rest of that story got lost in translation. The other 12-year-old girl shared a story about her mother who had TB. She told us that her mother drank a lot and didn’t take care of her and her sister and that her stepfather also drank a lot and would beat the mother and the girls. This 12- year-old girl had to assume the role of caretaker at a very young age. An age where she should be worried about playing with friends, not what to feed her sister. The girls have since moved out and live with their cousins and the mother passed away in August.
I was talking to my dad about it earlier and he was like “man, this is some real depressing stuff.” (I probably shouldn’t quote because I know those were not the exact words, but something along those lines). And that’s the truth, it is horrifyingly depressing, but here’s the thing, these are real people, just people exactly like you and me. And this is their real world. This is the reason that I am here. To you it may just be another story on a piece of paper or a computer screen, but for me, for the first time, it is a real story belonging to a girl, with a face and a name. Someone that I listened to, that I looked in the eyes and told that she was brave for telling her story, that I comforted, someone that I got to share a special connection with.
These are sixth, seventh, and eighth graders that are just like any other sixth, seventh, and eighth grades across that globe. They may live under different circumstances, they may adhere to different cultural behaviors, but in the end just are just kids. Kids that because of their living circumstance may never have a chance to change their situation, to get out of their communities and see the world and learn about it, in fact they may never even be able to fathom the opportunities other children have. Opportunities most of us take for granted.
Today we did practice 6 from the curriculum at our intervention at Greenpoint (one of the township communities), forever my least favorite practice. Practice 6 is called “Our Stories” and the whole idea of the practice is to try to get the kids to open up and start talking about HIV/AIDS and their personal stories relating to resilience. Great idea in principal, but difficult to execute. The problem is that we work with 12-14 year olds and the last thing they want to do is take anything seriously. Most of my interaction with this practice has led me to lose faith in this practice and sometimes question the whole curriculum. It makes me crazy. The kids make up stories, most of which do not even make sense, they laugh at classmates, even when the classmate breaks down from a real, serious, and difficult story. I never see practice 6 have the effect it should have. However, every time we have done practice 6, all of the other coaches from the classes that of course I was not a part of tell these amazing stories about the kids opening up and sharing truly powerful stories. To me, most days, it is a waste of our time and the “American people’s money” as Mandla would say. (Side note: USAID is our largest funder. Other side note: On the USAID’s symbol, below USAID it reads “From the American People,” trust me another discussion for another time). Anyways…when I found out today that we would be doing practice 6 at a school where the kids mainly speak Afrikaans, I grabbed my book and had every intention of spending the afternoon reading about Zimbabwe in the car. Clifford, one of the coaches, had a better idea. I would join his class (he promised to translate and I couldn’t exactly voice that I hated practice 6). Some days I feel like I am a distraction to the classes when I am around, but I guess that is not always true because otherwise the coaches wouldn’t insist for me to be there. So I agreed/was pulled into the classroom.
I am not sure if I explained this previously, but for the kids to graduate the program they must attend 6 out of the 9 practices. Greenpoint has been proving to be a very difficult school to work with because the kids are out of control, they are not interested, and the administrators do not want to give us a lot of time because of the strike recovery plan. Yea, remember that one; it seems like forever ago now. Anyways as an office we decided that we are low on numbers this quarter and that we would just go to Greenpoint through practice 6. We would just graduate whatever kids showed up to all six so we could just get our numbers and be done with it. So today we had planned to do practice 6, type those names into the computer and send them over to Cape Town. Then there was a slight turn of events.
As always with practice 6, most of the kids in the class did not want to take it seriously, no one wanted to share, and those kids who had stories to tell they were too embarrassed or nervous to tell their stories in front of the whole class. So I just sat there for 25 minutes while the coaches explained the importance of sharing their stories, threatened to take away their certificates, and anything else they could do to make the kids participate, thinking about how much I still hated practice 6 and about how I really should talk to those curriculum and training people about this nonsense. After pleading with the kids, we decided that we would just let the kids go and if there was anyone who wanted to share their stories or talk to us privately that they could stay after to do so. 12 kids stayed after. I only spoke directly with two girls, but I heard about some of the other stories and they ranged from beatings, to rape to deaths of family members. One story was about a group of kids who had been followed by a black car. Sensing danger all of the boys ran away leaving a young girl in the dust. She was captured, raped, and died the next day in the hospital. One of the stories I heard was about a girl’s aunt who was HIV positive and pregnant. In 2007 the aunt died and left the baby (and everyone unsure of whether or not the baby was positive) and the rest of that story got lost in translation. The other 12-year-old girl shared a story about her mother who had TB. She told us that her mother drank a lot and didn’t take care of her and her sister and that her stepfather also drank a lot and would beat the mother and the girls. This 12- year-old girl had to assume the role of caretaker at a very young age. An age where she should be worried about playing with friends, not what to feed her sister. The girls have since moved out and live with their cousins and the mother passed away in August.
I was talking to my dad about it earlier and he was like “man, this is some real depressing stuff.” (I probably shouldn’t quote because I know those were not the exact words, but something along those lines). And that’s the truth, it is horrifyingly depressing, but here’s the thing, these are real people, just people exactly like you and me. And this is their real world. This is the reason that I am here. To you it may just be another story on a piece of paper or a computer screen, but for me, for the first time, it is a real story belonging to a girl, with a face and a name. Someone that I listened to, that I looked in the eyes and told that she was brave for telling her story, that I comforted, someone that I got to share a special connection with.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
We Shall Meet
“I think people are beginning to realize that you can’t have pockets of prosperity in one part of the word and huge deserts of poverty and deprivation and thing that you can have a stable and secure world.”
---Archbishop Desmond Tutu
Well said, Tutu, well said. You know just a little food for thought. I decided next on the top of my list (that’s my life list of course) is to meet Desmond Tutu. Do I think it is possible? Maybe, maybe not. But I do feel as though I have a much greater shot at it while I am living in South Africa than when I move back to the States. He just seems like a pretty cool dude. Maybe that is not something you say about an archbishop, but if I were him (which I am not), I would take it as a compliment. I am basing this concept of him on a 3-page article/interview I read in the S.A. publication “Soul.” Now that is some serious stuff. I know, I know, it is not the most credited or educational source, but it definitely did spark my interest to want to know more. Part of that more would be meeting the man.
I have to say when I became public knowledge that Desmond Tutu, who as long been a big supporter of Semester at Sea, would be joining the Fall 2010 voyage, I wanted to scream. I found myself experiencing mixed emotions of jealousy and rage. We were the 100th voyage and we got nothing except for the glory of being able to say that we traveled on the 100th voyage of Semester at Sea. It may also be the experience that will get me into the Circumnavigator’s Club, yea that’s right, but that’s not the point. I know it shouldn’t be about getting things (most of the time? Sometimes?), but to have the opportunity to sit down at dinner or play games in the piano bar with someone as influential and famous on the world stage would be epic. Imagine being able to say that you lived on the same ship as Archbishop Desmond Tutu for 4 months. Now do you get it?
While I am making it a mission to meet the man this year (I can extend the time limit if this poses a problem), I will unfortunately have to wait another 3 months until December when his little traveling around the world stint is over. Oh, wait he is also joining the enrichment voyage so probably not until after January. Lucky. I missed him twice. Good thing is this give me some time to really learn some more about him.
---Archbishop Desmond Tutu
Well said, Tutu, well said. You know just a little food for thought. I decided next on the top of my list (that’s my life list of course) is to meet Desmond Tutu. Do I think it is possible? Maybe, maybe not. But I do feel as though I have a much greater shot at it while I am living in South Africa than when I move back to the States. He just seems like a pretty cool dude. Maybe that is not something you say about an archbishop, but if I were him (which I am not), I would take it as a compliment. I am basing this concept of him on a 3-page article/interview I read in the S.A. publication “Soul.” Now that is some serious stuff. I know, I know, it is not the most credited or educational source, but it definitely did spark my interest to want to know more. Part of that more would be meeting the man.
I have to say when I became public knowledge that Desmond Tutu, who as long been a big supporter of Semester at Sea, would be joining the Fall 2010 voyage, I wanted to scream. I found myself experiencing mixed emotions of jealousy and rage. We were the 100th voyage and we got nothing except for the glory of being able to say that we traveled on the 100th voyage of Semester at Sea. It may also be the experience that will get me into the Circumnavigator’s Club, yea that’s right, but that’s not the point. I know it shouldn’t be about getting things (most of the time? Sometimes?), but to have the opportunity to sit down at dinner or play games in the piano bar with someone as influential and famous on the world stage would be epic. Imagine being able to say that you lived on the same ship as Archbishop Desmond Tutu for 4 months. Now do you get it?
While I am making it a mission to meet the man this year (I can extend the time limit if this poses a problem), I will unfortunately have to wait another 3 months until December when his little traveling around the world stint is over. Oh, wait he is also joining the enrichment voyage so probably not until after January. Lucky. I missed him twice. Good thing is this give me some time to really learn some more about him.
It's the Simple Things
So here I am spending a year in the world. Actually I think really I spend every year somewhere in the world. That would make sense. I am spending a year out in the foreign world, exploring, learning, and working (to some extent). My year in the world involves me spending a lot more time in one specific location than I am used to, one that will allow for a ton of writing, reading, and some self-reflection. I am learning quickly that I pretty much need to be by an ocean; I am becoming rather tired of the dry cough attacks that keep me from my much-needed sleep. I am also learning through my process of writing that sometimes I am afraid to really “take a stand.” I am afraid to say what I really want to say about different issues and problems because I fear everyone’s responses. Well not everyone’s, just those who disagree with my perspective and what I have to say. I guess that comes with the territory of writing your thoughts and posting them on the web for all to see. Luckily for me, most people don’t comment or have much to say at all to my perspective on the world. I don’t know yet if that is a good thing or a bad thing; we will just have to see.
Thanks Mom for all the informative articles about the continent I am living on so that I may continue to educate those following me this year. For those who don’t know and I would assume that is most people reading this, everyday my mom sends me 3-5 sometimes more emails from her new favorite news source allafrica.com. The funny part is that I send her 3-5 sometimes more emails regarding news articles from the nytimes.com or cnn.com. The other cool thing is that she is sort of my personal research assistant. If I make a comment on something that I plan to discuss further at a later point, I can pretty much expect an email the following day with all of the news articles and information one could need to make their point, if you catch my drift.
One follow-up that I decided to discuss further relates to the number of funeral service businesses that we see around us at all times and sure enough I have a great article that informed me more on the situation. I made a comment earlier about the life expectancy and the prevalence of AIDS in Lesotho, but I never really went into a whole lot of detail about South Africa. I shared a personal story in a way, but then I received an email from my allafrica.com specialist discussing the mortality of children in South Africa and I have to say it is pretty distressing. So here’s the deal: about 75,000 children under the age of five die in S.A. every year; this means that nearly 200 children die everyday. It is interesting to find out that HIV accounts for a lot of these deaths because these are children born with the disease from HIV-positive women. Out of the 1 million babies born per year in S.A., almost 300,000 are born to HIV-positive mothers. Something else I learned, this comes from a local source, Thembi, to be exact, is that women cannot “have their tube’s tied” until they have had at least 4 children, 3 children if they are HIV positive or had C-sections. Now sometimes I think that unless there is something that can stop women from passing on HIV through childbirth, wouldn’t it make sense not to allow these women to have children. I mean reading that back, I know it sounds horrible, but there has got to be some way to stop passing on this disease and this could be a start. Actually, that just sound ludicrous because I have no idea how you could control that. I know there are things out there and in the works that are trying to prevent the mother-child transmission, but still…at least if the mother cannot afford proper medication for herself and the child. In the article the statement has been made that HIV was severely ignored for too long which allowed it to reach the levels that it has reached today and that there has been a delay in the strategies created to prevent the mother-to-child transmission. Hmmm, interesting.
So of the children that die every day and every year, 57% die from HIV. 100 of these children are dying from HIV and the other 100 are dying from completely treatable and preventative illness like diarrhea and pneumonia. These are things that could be prevented with proper housing, water, and sanitation. Simple basic human needs.
Thanks Mom for all the informative articles about the continent I am living on so that I may continue to educate those following me this year. For those who don’t know and I would assume that is most people reading this, everyday my mom sends me 3-5 sometimes more emails from her new favorite news source allafrica.com. The funny part is that I send her 3-5 sometimes more emails regarding news articles from the nytimes.com or cnn.com. The other cool thing is that she is sort of my personal research assistant. If I make a comment on something that I plan to discuss further at a later point, I can pretty much expect an email the following day with all of the news articles and information one could need to make their point, if you catch my drift.
One follow-up that I decided to discuss further relates to the number of funeral service businesses that we see around us at all times and sure enough I have a great article that informed me more on the situation. I made a comment earlier about the life expectancy and the prevalence of AIDS in Lesotho, but I never really went into a whole lot of detail about South Africa. I shared a personal story in a way, but then I received an email from my allafrica.com specialist discussing the mortality of children in South Africa and I have to say it is pretty distressing. So here’s the deal: about 75,000 children under the age of five die in S.A. every year; this means that nearly 200 children die everyday. It is interesting to find out that HIV accounts for a lot of these deaths because these are children born with the disease from HIV-positive women. Out of the 1 million babies born per year in S.A., almost 300,000 are born to HIV-positive mothers. Something else I learned, this comes from a local source, Thembi, to be exact, is that women cannot “have their tube’s tied” until they have had at least 4 children, 3 children if they are HIV positive or had C-sections. Now sometimes I think that unless there is something that can stop women from passing on HIV through childbirth, wouldn’t it make sense not to allow these women to have children. I mean reading that back, I know it sounds horrible, but there has got to be some way to stop passing on this disease and this could be a start. Actually, that just sound ludicrous because I have no idea how you could control that. I know there are things out there and in the works that are trying to prevent the mother-child transmission, but still…at least if the mother cannot afford proper medication for herself and the child. In the article the statement has been made that HIV was severely ignored for too long which allowed it to reach the levels that it has reached today and that there has been a delay in the strategies created to prevent the mother-to-child transmission. Hmmm, interesting.
So of the children that die every day and every year, 57% die from HIV. 100 of these children are dying from HIV and the other 100 are dying from completely treatable and preventative illness like diarrhea and pneumonia. These are things that could be prevented with proper housing, water, and sanitation. Simple basic human needs.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
A GRS Update
I realized after reading some other intern's blogs that I may not exactly be doing GRS a great service through my blog, because I normally discuss only my life and fail to mention what is going on in the organization on a larger scale. So I am going to try to intersperse my life stories with some relevant GRS news for those of you that do not regularly check the GRS website, but do manage to read my blog. Oh, first, we have reached over 350,000 graduates. Big kilo for GRS! The latest news article is pretty fun and something you all can look out for in the months to come. I guess a while back Grassroot Soccer won a grant from British Airways that provided us with 10 worldwide roundtrip tickets (uh, lucky, wonder who got to use those, haha, probably Tommy Clark and company), 5 free global shipments (whatever that means), and $1,000 towards hotel accommodation. Now British Airways has selected GRS to be the face of the new Face-to-Face campaign. Tommy Clark (for those who don’t know, though most of you should is one of the GRS founders and the CEO) was interviewed on camera for this campaign and his full page advertisement will run in the following print media coming up, as in already out this week:
Business Week ----February 2011 TBD
The Economist ----September 25th, 2010
The Economist ----February 2011 TBD
Forbes ----October 11th, 2010
Fortune ----February 2011 TBD
Time: Global Business Section ----November 1st, 2010
The Week ----October 1st, 2010
The Week ----November 12th, 2010
The New Yorker ----November 1st, 2010
Entrepreneur ----December, 2010
Fast Company ----December 2010/January 2011
Inc ----November, 2010
Harvard Business Review ----March, 2011
The Atlantic ----January/February 2011
Sherman’s Travel ----Winter 2010/2011
Business Traveler ----December 2010/January 2011
Keep an eye out for me, maybe hold on to a copy for me, so I may actually see it upon return to the U.S. Cheers.
Business Week ----February 2011 TBD
The Economist ----September 25th, 2010
The Economist ----February 2011 TBD
Forbes ----October 11th, 2010
Fortune ----February 2011 TBD
Time: Global Business Section ----November 1st, 2010
The Week ----October 1st, 2010
The Week ----November 12th, 2010
The New Yorker ----November 1st, 2010
Entrepreneur ----December, 2010
Fast Company ----December 2010/January 2011
Inc ----November, 2010
Harvard Business Review ----March, 2011
The Atlantic ----January/February 2011
Sherman’s Travel ----Winter 2010/2011
Business Traveler ----December 2010/January 2011
Keep an eye out for me, maybe hold on to a copy for me, so I may actually see it upon return to the U.S. Cheers.
Let's All Try to Do a Little Something
Lunch break: Macdonald’s and a quick safari. Would most people put those two together? I am working in Bloemfontein this week and I had an opportunity to grab a quick lunch with some of the people working in Lesotho (yes, I did also just spend the weekend with them). I met them at Macdonald’s for a fast lunch; they don’t have Macdonald’s in Maseru, so they have to get as much as possible when they are visiting. When I say as much a possible, I think they had three separate meals there in one day. After lunch we decided to run up to Naval Hill in Bloem, which as it happens is basically a free safari in the middle of the city. We pulled through the gates to be greeted by two giraffes just chilling 4 feet from the side of our car. We drove around and saw some wildebeests and antelope and in an hour I was back at work.
If you recall, I mentioned that the Kim office appears to be reaching a sustainable point, where it could function without the intern support. On the other hand I am learning very quickly that Bloemfontein could some serious intern support. There is a great group of coaches that work hard, but they definitely could use some administrative backup. I also do not understand why Bloemfontein is not its own site as opposed to a sister site overseen by the Kimberley office. I mean I am sure there is some reason it is set up like this, but Bloemfontein as a city is several times larger than Kimberley and not far behind Kimberley, CT, PE, or Soweto with its targets for FY 11 (Fiscal Year, it starts October 1st). I could see the interns being placed in Bloemfontein next year as opposed to Kimberley because there is a lot a growth to be had in Bloem and a ton of opportunity that could be seized, but I think they need a little push and a site coordinator that works on the same level as Mandla does in the Kimberley office.
The Bloemfontein team is doing everything in their power to make me South African. I have been renamed because of course this the first step to becoming proudly South African. I have been reborn and named Khethiwe (pronounced K-T-Way), which means “the chosen one.” Chosen for what I have not determined yet, maybe it is just chosen to be the Bloemfontein intern, but maybe there is something else that will show itself as the year moves along. A few times I have been introduced around as Khethiwe (secret: I don’t even know how to spell it yet) and people do a double take, sometimes laugh, and further inquire about this name for an American white girl. Additionally, they decided that in order to become South African, you must eat like a South African. I wish this upon no one. Yesterday I was basically force fed intestines. That’s right, intestines. No worries though because Playa (nickname for Pule, one of the coaches) said “they are clean intestines, not dirty intestines.” Thanks Playa, that makes me feel so much better about it. This is a girl that less than a year ago was vegan, has not eaten red meat in a very long time, and prefers to eat in a vegetarian fashion with the occasional chicken dish when protein is needed. Intestines. I was then introduced to liver. Mm…mmm…mmm, not! Luckily I just had to watch them handle it, cut it, cook it, and eat it, but I did not actually have to take part in this one. Apparently as Westerners we are very wasteful and should use all the parts of the animal, not throw it away. I just wish we would stop eating animals all together, parts or the whole thing.
This week while I am in Bloem I am supposed to primarily be acting as administrative support, but I can tell you that I haven’t been doing much in the way of administrative functions. This week is the September holidays (they are on a year round schedule for school with some breaks in September, December/January, March/April, and July) so we do not have any interventions going on. Now in Kim, the coaches are just off this week and are doing whatever they do when they are not acting as SKILLZ coaches, but here in Bloem we have a full team community service initiative running. For two days we went over to the Unity Primary School and worked to help them clean the school with some of the students (they call them learners here). We have been raking and digging and clearing out weeds around the school so they can put into some grassy areas and start a vegetable garden. I think it sounds awesome and I was super glad we could help in any little way. I think it is wonderful for schools to have vegetable gardens; really any type of garden would be great. Then, today we had the unique opportunity to go to an orphanage called Operatice and spend some time with the children there. I believe there were probably about 15 children ranging from 3 months to 15 years old. We had the chance to do some of our energizers with the children, dance, play some soccer, and play with some hula-hoops we brought.
I, actually, had a really special experience today at this orphanage. It is probably due to the fact that I am white and look very different than everyone else from a small child’s perspective (well from a lot of people’s perspectives), but that doesn’t make it any less special in my mind. When we got there, we walked up to the children that were waiting for us and started talking to them. I couldn’t really communicate that well because most of the children were really too young and hadn’t developed their English skills yet, so I just said my hellos and high fived some of the kids. After a few minutes in the group this approximately 1 and a half-year-old girl walks by a few of the other coaches pointing at me and grabs my hand. She then proceeded to give me a tour of the house (through walking and pointing of course because our verbal communication was very limited). She immediately melted my heart, keep in mind I generally do not like small children all that much. For the rest of the day she made me carry her around, play some small games with her and she sat on my lap in all the situations where we were sitting around talking. If we were walking her small hand grasped one or two of my fingers. At the end of our visit when we were leaving I waved goodbye to her and she waved back. All the “moms” of the orphanage told me I could take her if I wanted to, haha. I don’t think I am quite ready for that, but it really was a treasured couple of hours. I was having one of those days where I felt like an outsider; from the coaches all speaking in Sesotho and Setswana to the occasional challenges that driving offers me, and this little girl changed the pace of my day and made me really happy to be where I am doing what I am doing. Though she may never know the effect she had on me today and she will probably never even remember me, I know I will never forget the way she just walked up to me and turned my day around in a split second.
Here’s the thing, people, especially in Africa, generally do not like the whole “Save Africa” campaign and mentality, probably because it implies that in some way Africa needs saving. I don’t think that Africa needs saving, I think yea, Africa (well first of all I am totally generalizing when I say Africa), rather parts of Africa could use some help here and there. You know it would be nice if they and we could clear out this HIV/AIDS epidemic or at least get it down to manageable levels (well getting rid of it entirely would be ideal) and provide the basic needs for everyone, but they by no means “need saving.” In fact, I think there is a ton of things we could learn from Africa and the African people. Today when we left the orphanage, we left heaps of clothing that the coaches had compiled from their homes to donate. It blows my mind to think of really how little they even have in comparison to a lot of people I know, and still they give every little bit they possibly can. They gave clothing, their time and their energy for nothing; it was purely service that as a team they decided to do while they were not working for the week. That is truly something; really incredibly inspirational on so many levels. I am sort of secretly (well not so secretively anymore) hoping that this may inspire some of the people who are reading this blog to take some time out and give something back to their communities. It doesn’t have to be a big, grand gesture, just something small that can make a big difference in one person’s life and that’s all it really takes. See if you can RAK someone today. Random Act of Kindness for no other reason that it is a nice thing to do and ask them to pass it on. All you have to do is help someone out in anyway, tell them they have been RAKed and ask them to pass it on. It could be as simple as handing someone a flower you picked from the garden or in a personal case leaving a short note telling the person how important they are too you with a tea bag of a type of tea you know they have been wanting to try. You never really know how big of a different these small things can make in someone’s day.
Wow, I guess Bloem is having more of an effect on me than I ever would have thought.
If you recall, I mentioned that the Kim office appears to be reaching a sustainable point, where it could function without the intern support. On the other hand I am learning very quickly that Bloemfontein could some serious intern support. There is a great group of coaches that work hard, but they definitely could use some administrative backup. I also do not understand why Bloemfontein is not its own site as opposed to a sister site overseen by the Kimberley office. I mean I am sure there is some reason it is set up like this, but Bloemfontein as a city is several times larger than Kimberley and not far behind Kimberley, CT, PE, or Soweto with its targets for FY 11 (Fiscal Year, it starts October 1st). I could see the interns being placed in Bloemfontein next year as opposed to Kimberley because there is a lot a growth to be had in Bloem and a ton of opportunity that could be seized, but I think they need a little push and a site coordinator that works on the same level as Mandla does in the Kimberley office.
The Bloemfontein team is doing everything in their power to make me South African. I have been renamed because of course this the first step to becoming proudly South African. I have been reborn and named Khethiwe (pronounced K-T-Way), which means “the chosen one.” Chosen for what I have not determined yet, maybe it is just chosen to be the Bloemfontein intern, but maybe there is something else that will show itself as the year moves along. A few times I have been introduced around as Khethiwe (secret: I don’t even know how to spell it yet) and people do a double take, sometimes laugh, and further inquire about this name for an American white girl. Additionally, they decided that in order to become South African, you must eat like a South African. I wish this upon no one. Yesterday I was basically force fed intestines. That’s right, intestines. No worries though because Playa (nickname for Pule, one of the coaches) said “they are clean intestines, not dirty intestines.” Thanks Playa, that makes me feel so much better about it. This is a girl that less than a year ago was vegan, has not eaten red meat in a very long time, and prefers to eat in a vegetarian fashion with the occasional chicken dish when protein is needed. Intestines. I was then introduced to liver. Mm…mmm…mmm, not! Luckily I just had to watch them handle it, cut it, cook it, and eat it, but I did not actually have to take part in this one. Apparently as Westerners we are very wasteful and should use all the parts of the animal, not throw it away. I just wish we would stop eating animals all together, parts or the whole thing.
This week while I am in Bloem I am supposed to primarily be acting as administrative support, but I can tell you that I haven’t been doing much in the way of administrative functions. This week is the September holidays (they are on a year round schedule for school with some breaks in September, December/January, March/April, and July) so we do not have any interventions going on. Now in Kim, the coaches are just off this week and are doing whatever they do when they are not acting as SKILLZ coaches, but here in Bloem we have a full team community service initiative running. For two days we went over to the Unity Primary School and worked to help them clean the school with some of the students (they call them learners here). We have been raking and digging and clearing out weeds around the school so they can put into some grassy areas and start a vegetable garden. I think it sounds awesome and I was super glad we could help in any little way. I think it is wonderful for schools to have vegetable gardens; really any type of garden would be great. Then, today we had the unique opportunity to go to an orphanage called Operatice and spend some time with the children there. I believe there were probably about 15 children ranging from 3 months to 15 years old. We had the chance to do some of our energizers with the children, dance, play some soccer, and play with some hula-hoops we brought.
I, actually, had a really special experience today at this orphanage. It is probably due to the fact that I am white and look very different than everyone else from a small child’s perspective (well from a lot of people’s perspectives), but that doesn’t make it any less special in my mind. When we got there, we walked up to the children that were waiting for us and started talking to them. I couldn’t really communicate that well because most of the children were really too young and hadn’t developed their English skills yet, so I just said my hellos and high fived some of the kids. After a few minutes in the group this approximately 1 and a half-year-old girl walks by a few of the other coaches pointing at me and grabs my hand. She then proceeded to give me a tour of the house (through walking and pointing of course because our verbal communication was very limited). She immediately melted my heart, keep in mind I generally do not like small children all that much. For the rest of the day she made me carry her around, play some small games with her and she sat on my lap in all the situations where we were sitting around talking. If we were walking her small hand grasped one or two of my fingers. At the end of our visit when we were leaving I waved goodbye to her and she waved back. All the “moms” of the orphanage told me I could take her if I wanted to, haha. I don’t think I am quite ready for that, but it really was a treasured couple of hours. I was having one of those days where I felt like an outsider; from the coaches all speaking in Sesotho and Setswana to the occasional challenges that driving offers me, and this little girl changed the pace of my day and made me really happy to be where I am doing what I am doing. Though she may never know the effect she had on me today and she will probably never even remember me, I know I will never forget the way she just walked up to me and turned my day around in a split second.
Here’s the thing, people, especially in Africa, generally do not like the whole “Save Africa” campaign and mentality, probably because it implies that in some way Africa needs saving. I don’t think that Africa needs saving, I think yea, Africa (well first of all I am totally generalizing when I say Africa), rather parts of Africa could use some help here and there. You know it would be nice if they and we could clear out this HIV/AIDS epidemic or at least get it down to manageable levels (well getting rid of it entirely would be ideal) and provide the basic needs for everyone, but they by no means “need saving.” In fact, I think there is a ton of things we could learn from Africa and the African people. Today when we left the orphanage, we left heaps of clothing that the coaches had compiled from their homes to donate. It blows my mind to think of really how little they even have in comparison to a lot of people I know, and still they give every little bit they possibly can. They gave clothing, their time and their energy for nothing; it was purely service that as a team they decided to do while they were not working for the week. That is truly something; really incredibly inspirational on so many levels. I am sort of secretly (well not so secretively anymore) hoping that this may inspire some of the people who are reading this blog to take some time out and give something back to their communities. It doesn’t have to be a big, grand gesture, just something small that can make a big difference in one person’s life and that’s all it really takes. See if you can RAK someone today. Random Act of Kindness for no other reason that it is a nice thing to do and ask them to pass it on. All you have to do is help someone out in anyway, tell them they have been RAKed and ask them to pass it on. It could be as simple as handing someone a flower you picked from the garden or in a personal case leaving a short note telling the person how important they are too you with a tea bag of a type of tea you know they have been wanting to try. You never really know how big of a different these small things can make in someone’s day.
Wow, I guess Bloem is having more of an effect on me than I ever would have thought.
Finally a Weekend Away
A weekend away was very much needed. Kimberley is not a bad place, but it certainly is not the most exciting place I have ever been. Friday was Heritage Day in South Africa so Albert and I rented a car and stole away to Lesotho for the weekend. There are two GRS interns and two GRS fellows working in Maseru for the year, which as it happens is only about 3 hours from Kimberley. The perfect weekend getaway. The interns and the fellows actually work for Kick 4 Life, an affiliate organization based in the U.K. so they do some work that is similar to what we do and some that is very different. It seemed to me that they get to have a much more hands on approach in their jobs, as they are developing specific curriculums for Lesotho and running additional projects to the basic interventions and VCTs. The organization is also a little newer, so I think there is more work to be done. Be it a good thing more than a bad thing, Kimberley is reaching a point where it might be able to function without intern support very soon. It was a cool experience to see how their office functions and the work that they do for some comparison purposes. I really think that it would be beneficial for interns to move around a little and get an opportunity to see different sites, their systems, and see how the organization works in all the different locations. By the way, I was super jealous of their office as well, it was spacious, energetic, though probably distracting at times, and seemed like the place to be.
Lesotho (pronounced Le-soo-too) is a small African country that is entirely surrounded by South Africa. It is actually a country within a country. After a little bit of research I have found that Lesotho has had a very interesting history that moved from leader to leader, government to government until they finally gained independence from Britain 1966. It then continued to change hands quite often. The more I read about these countries the more I am just utterly confused by their histories and it makes me wonder if their own people can even keep track of it. I can’t even keep track of U.S. history and that is fairly straightforward by comparison; there weren’t coups or times where one king ruled, then another and back again. I just don’t get it. You can tell immediately when you cross the border into Lesotho that you are entering a different country and one that definitely fits into the developing countries category, if not the lesser developing countries.
Thanks to Semester at Sea I have become very good at checking CIA World Factbook for comparison purposes and I found some interesting information on Lesotho. As always I did the research following the visit. This allows for me to go into places open-minded and slightly uninformed, therefore skipping the judgments phase and I like to do the research after to see what surprises me. As I said before Lesotho is not quite as privileged as a lot of countries and at times felt like a whole other world. It absolutely blew me out of the water when I read that the average life expectancy at birth is 40 years old. Could you imagine? They are number two in the world for their death rate and the death rate is almost exactly that of the birth rate. I guess that is one way to keep a population at a steady number. We had been talking in the car on the drive about the absurd amounts of funeral homes/businesses there are between Lesotho and South Africa; now it sort of makes more sense. Additionally a week ago at an intervention graduation in Kimberley we had a situation where one of the student’s had passed away before receiving her certificate and it barely seemed like a big deal at all (keep in mind we work with 12-13 year olds). We merely bowed our heads in silence for a few seconds and then moved on, laughed, and had a good time. Strange. The HIV/AIDS prevalence rate in Lesotho is 1 in every three people. One in every three people. Mom, Dad, Pope and one of you has it. Really crazy things to think about. I don’t even know how to respond to these statistics. I knew there was a good amount of poverty there, I knew there were plenty of diseases and other problems affecting this country, but I had no idea about this death rate and the prevalence rate of HIV/AIDS. Just to help put this into perspective in case one in three doesn’t sound crazy enough, in South Africa the prevalence rate is one in six. I do not have any intention of just painting a morbid, terrible picture of a wonderful little country, but I wanted people to get an idea of what is really out there. On the other side of the spectrum, the literacy rate in Lesotho is at 84.4%, which I think is remarkably high considering all things.
Yes this country has its difficulties, but it truly is spectacular. The country is unbelievably beautiful, with unspoiled mountains, rivers, and villages and warm and welcoming people. The thing about Lesotho is that despite all of the modernization and globalization/Americanization of the world today, it has managed to hold on to its rich culture and traditions. The people are also very proud of their heritage and want to show you and teach you what it means to be Basotho (yes, I purposely put a “B” not an “L”). In the world today we are slowly watching entire languages disappear, traditional music and dances, and customs that have been passed on for centuries, poof…gone, because more and more people are speaking English and listening to American and European music and letting go of their own heritage. I’m sorry to say, but you can just see America seeping into these countries on so many levels. MacDonald’s, the O.C., the latest Eminem song; it is everywhere. What would we do if in a century’s time we were all basically the same without different cultures and traditions? It really makes me wonder if it possible for a country to move forward in the necessary ways (i.e. abilities to fulfill the basic human needs) without losing the wealth of customs and traditions that exist and have existed forever.
We started out our visit with an evening at the Lesotho Sun (nicest hotel probably in Maseru), where were dined and wined and dined some more on an all-inclusive buffet dinner for R60 ($8). We then burned off some of those calories in a little nightclub with the locals, especially Kwan and Poco, our Korean and Spanish friends (I’m just kidding, they were Basotho, but those were the names they gave us). Kwan wanted us to join his krump dance class (dirty style of hip-hop dance) though we all declined because we figured that was probably not something we were gifted to be doing (it also helps that I am not actually from Maseru, so that might be rather difficult). Also we somehow managed to skip through the R40 entry fee and sneak right through the gate and passed the guards with a bunch of other white people that actually paid…oh well!
The following morning I consumed by first bagel since I have been in Southern Africa. Everywhere we go they have cream cheese, all different kinds, even Philadelphia cream cheese, but nowhere have we been able to find to bagels to go with the cream cheese, no one has even heard the word bagel, until we got to Maseru. Sure enough they sell them in the Pick N’ Pay there. I made the mistake of comparing them to a grocery store at home, specifically Whole Foods, and thought that maybe if we made the request in our Pick N’ Pay in Kimberley, they could get some. Umm hello Kristin, where are you living again? Uh, probably not. I think it was maybe worth the thought, but then again maybe it was just a waste of brain space. After the bagel we headed out to the market in town where mainly we just wandered around trying not to get hit by taxi vans and inquiring about the price of chickens for sale. Only R55 ($7) for a chicken in case you were wondering.
Later that afternoon we grabbed some ice creams and hit the road for Malealea, the sleepy, mountain town where we would spend the next two days relaxing. We got there around 2:30 p.m. after winding our way up and through villages and around mountains. We decided to do a quick hike down to the waterfall there without a guide; no worries we got this (I’ll tell you now it is probably quite helpful to have a guide as we learned later). That lasted us all of about a 3-minute walk down to the trail, where we ran into our newest friend, Milo. Milo is a 14 year-old boy who works as a tourist guide because he cannot afford school fees to continue high school. He spoke solid English and obviously Sesotho (again I meant to use the “S”), plus a few words of Spanish and basic French; pretty good for someone who was 14 and not in school any longer. I found out that he had an 18-year-old sister and a 21-year-old brother and they all lived with their mother (no father). He loves hip-hop music, especially Chris Brown (don’t ask me how our music made it into this town in the mountains…cell phones…crazy) and wants to continue to be a tourist guide when he grows up. I can imagine that it would be difficult to dream bigger dreams when you don’t really even know what the possibilities are that exist out there. We have the opposite problem of endless possibilities; we can do whatever we want, be whoever we want to be, which makes our lives difficult because we never want to choose. These boys and girls living in these mountains and in hard-to-reach towns/villages can only imagine the life that revolves around the Malealea Lodge or the local bar. I wonder sometimes which one is better: too many options or none at all.
Traveling is such a brilliant experience and an awesome opportunity to meet people from around the world and learn more and more about all different places in the world, not just the one you are currently in. I met a guy who was from France, but was living in Reunion, a small island next to Mauritius (you all should know where that is if you were following me on Semester at Sea). He was some sort of biophysicist that was in South Africa for a conference and was now backpacking around Lesotho. I saw him buying some intense maps for his 3-day hike through the Lesotho mountains from Malealea to Semonkong. Awesome, but crazy intense. We also had dinner with a woman named Susana from Germany. She currently works in Jo-burg, but will be shipping back off to Germany in a few weeks because her yearlong contract will be ending. She then hopes to land herself in London, not a bad place. She also just finished her MBA from University of Chicago and has spent ample amounts of time at the Chicago and Singapore campuses. She told us that in the last 4 weeks she had found herself on four different continents. Pretty cool if I may say so myself.
In the Malealea Lodge we stayed in these small simple huts that perfectly provided for a great night sleep, but they had huts that ranged from basic to fairly luxurious in case you were interested. I woke up Sunday morning in just sheer awe of the beauty surrounding me. I was so inspired I just wanted to sit there and read and write for the entire day. With a cup of tea it would have been perfect. Unfortunately this was not possible because we needed to get back to Maseru by midday for Doug’s soccer game. I did get a few hours that morning to enjoy a nice muffin and a pot of tea while recording some of my thoughts in my journal. There’s the intellectual side of me again, haha! We made our descent back down to Maseru, enjoyed a lovely lunch, watched some soccer, and then said our goodbyes to the Lesotho interns and company. We spent about an hour and half chilling at the border trying to get back into South Africa. Before we knew it we were back in Kimberley and I was unpacked and repacked for my week in Bloemfontein. A little bit of there and back and back again.
Lesotho (pronounced Le-soo-too) is a small African country that is entirely surrounded by South Africa. It is actually a country within a country. After a little bit of research I have found that Lesotho has had a very interesting history that moved from leader to leader, government to government until they finally gained independence from Britain 1966. It then continued to change hands quite often. The more I read about these countries the more I am just utterly confused by their histories and it makes me wonder if their own people can even keep track of it. I can’t even keep track of U.S. history and that is fairly straightforward by comparison; there weren’t coups or times where one king ruled, then another and back again. I just don’t get it. You can tell immediately when you cross the border into Lesotho that you are entering a different country and one that definitely fits into the developing countries category, if not the lesser developing countries.
Thanks to Semester at Sea I have become very good at checking CIA World Factbook for comparison purposes and I found some interesting information on Lesotho. As always I did the research following the visit. This allows for me to go into places open-minded and slightly uninformed, therefore skipping the judgments phase and I like to do the research after to see what surprises me. As I said before Lesotho is not quite as privileged as a lot of countries and at times felt like a whole other world. It absolutely blew me out of the water when I read that the average life expectancy at birth is 40 years old. Could you imagine? They are number two in the world for their death rate and the death rate is almost exactly that of the birth rate. I guess that is one way to keep a population at a steady number. We had been talking in the car on the drive about the absurd amounts of funeral homes/businesses there are between Lesotho and South Africa; now it sort of makes more sense. Additionally a week ago at an intervention graduation in Kimberley we had a situation where one of the student’s had passed away before receiving her certificate and it barely seemed like a big deal at all (keep in mind we work with 12-13 year olds). We merely bowed our heads in silence for a few seconds and then moved on, laughed, and had a good time. Strange. The HIV/AIDS prevalence rate in Lesotho is 1 in every three people. One in every three people. Mom, Dad, Pope and one of you has it. Really crazy things to think about. I don’t even know how to respond to these statistics. I knew there was a good amount of poverty there, I knew there were plenty of diseases and other problems affecting this country, but I had no idea about this death rate and the prevalence rate of HIV/AIDS. Just to help put this into perspective in case one in three doesn’t sound crazy enough, in South Africa the prevalence rate is one in six. I do not have any intention of just painting a morbid, terrible picture of a wonderful little country, but I wanted people to get an idea of what is really out there. On the other side of the spectrum, the literacy rate in Lesotho is at 84.4%, which I think is remarkably high considering all things.
Yes this country has its difficulties, but it truly is spectacular. The country is unbelievably beautiful, with unspoiled mountains, rivers, and villages and warm and welcoming people. The thing about Lesotho is that despite all of the modernization and globalization/Americanization of the world today, it has managed to hold on to its rich culture and traditions. The people are also very proud of their heritage and want to show you and teach you what it means to be Basotho (yes, I purposely put a “B” not an “L”). In the world today we are slowly watching entire languages disappear, traditional music and dances, and customs that have been passed on for centuries, poof…gone, because more and more people are speaking English and listening to American and European music and letting go of their own heritage. I’m sorry to say, but you can just see America seeping into these countries on so many levels. MacDonald’s, the O.C., the latest Eminem song; it is everywhere. What would we do if in a century’s time we were all basically the same without different cultures and traditions? It really makes me wonder if it possible for a country to move forward in the necessary ways (i.e. abilities to fulfill the basic human needs) without losing the wealth of customs and traditions that exist and have existed forever.
We started out our visit with an evening at the Lesotho Sun (nicest hotel probably in Maseru), where were dined and wined and dined some more on an all-inclusive buffet dinner for R60 ($8). We then burned off some of those calories in a little nightclub with the locals, especially Kwan and Poco, our Korean and Spanish friends (I’m just kidding, they were Basotho, but those were the names they gave us). Kwan wanted us to join his krump dance class (dirty style of hip-hop dance) though we all declined because we figured that was probably not something we were gifted to be doing (it also helps that I am not actually from Maseru, so that might be rather difficult). Also we somehow managed to skip through the R40 entry fee and sneak right through the gate and passed the guards with a bunch of other white people that actually paid…oh well!
The following morning I consumed by first bagel since I have been in Southern Africa. Everywhere we go they have cream cheese, all different kinds, even Philadelphia cream cheese, but nowhere have we been able to find to bagels to go with the cream cheese, no one has even heard the word bagel, until we got to Maseru. Sure enough they sell them in the Pick N’ Pay there. I made the mistake of comparing them to a grocery store at home, specifically Whole Foods, and thought that maybe if we made the request in our Pick N’ Pay in Kimberley, they could get some. Umm hello Kristin, where are you living again? Uh, probably not. I think it was maybe worth the thought, but then again maybe it was just a waste of brain space. After the bagel we headed out to the market in town where mainly we just wandered around trying not to get hit by taxi vans and inquiring about the price of chickens for sale. Only R55 ($7) for a chicken in case you were wondering.
Later that afternoon we grabbed some ice creams and hit the road for Malealea, the sleepy, mountain town where we would spend the next two days relaxing. We got there around 2:30 p.m. after winding our way up and through villages and around mountains. We decided to do a quick hike down to the waterfall there without a guide; no worries we got this (I’ll tell you now it is probably quite helpful to have a guide as we learned later). That lasted us all of about a 3-minute walk down to the trail, where we ran into our newest friend, Milo. Milo is a 14 year-old boy who works as a tourist guide because he cannot afford school fees to continue high school. He spoke solid English and obviously Sesotho (again I meant to use the “S”), plus a few words of Spanish and basic French; pretty good for someone who was 14 and not in school any longer. I found out that he had an 18-year-old sister and a 21-year-old brother and they all lived with their mother (no father). He loves hip-hop music, especially Chris Brown (don’t ask me how our music made it into this town in the mountains…cell phones…crazy) and wants to continue to be a tourist guide when he grows up. I can imagine that it would be difficult to dream bigger dreams when you don’t really even know what the possibilities are that exist out there. We have the opposite problem of endless possibilities; we can do whatever we want, be whoever we want to be, which makes our lives difficult because we never want to choose. These boys and girls living in these mountains and in hard-to-reach towns/villages can only imagine the life that revolves around the Malealea Lodge or the local bar. I wonder sometimes which one is better: too many options or none at all.
Traveling is such a brilliant experience and an awesome opportunity to meet people from around the world and learn more and more about all different places in the world, not just the one you are currently in. I met a guy who was from France, but was living in Reunion, a small island next to Mauritius (you all should know where that is if you were following me on Semester at Sea). He was some sort of biophysicist that was in South Africa for a conference and was now backpacking around Lesotho. I saw him buying some intense maps for his 3-day hike through the Lesotho mountains from Malealea to Semonkong. Awesome, but crazy intense. We also had dinner with a woman named Susana from Germany. She currently works in Jo-burg, but will be shipping back off to Germany in a few weeks because her yearlong contract will be ending. She then hopes to land herself in London, not a bad place. She also just finished her MBA from University of Chicago and has spent ample amounts of time at the Chicago and Singapore campuses. She told us that in the last 4 weeks she had found herself on four different continents. Pretty cool if I may say so myself.
In the Malealea Lodge we stayed in these small simple huts that perfectly provided for a great night sleep, but they had huts that ranged from basic to fairly luxurious in case you were interested. I woke up Sunday morning in just sheer awe of the beauty surrounding me. I was so inspired I just wanted to sit there and read and write for the entire day. With a cup of tea it would have been perfect. Unfortunately this was not possible because we needed to get back to Maseru by midday for Doug’s soccer game. I did get a few hours that morning to enjoy a nice muffin and a pot of tea while recording some of my thoughts in my journal. There’s the intellectual side of me again, haha! We made our descent back down to Maseru, enjoyed a lovely lunch, watched some soccer, and then said our goodbyes to the Lesotho interns and company. We spent about an hour and half chilling at the border trying to get back into South Africa. Before we knew it we were back in Kimberley and I was unpacked and repacked for my week in Bloemfontein. A little bit of there and back and back again.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
I Live and I Learn
Ugh, I cannot get over my urge to look over my right shoulder when I am backing out. I practically turn my head all the way around to see when backing up, then halfway through the process I realize that it would make my life of whole lot easier if I just looked over my left shoulder. It’s amazing how completely habitual these things are and how much of a challenge it can be to get out of them. Knowing me I will finally get rid of all my U.S.-related habits in June and pick up the South African habits in July right before I come home and have to start all over again.
Last night we had dinner with out landlord and his family. It was really nice for them to go out of their way to have us over and get to know us. They have three little girls, one is 10, one is 6, and the other is 6 months. It was sweet; they spoke to us in English and it was adorable because English is not their first language and not the one they are used to using all of the time. We were over at their house for 3 hours talking about everything under the sun. He said he went to Cuba about 2 years ago and I was so jealous. We also discussed all of the places that we should visit while we are over here and when to go; it was nice to have someone who knows the lay of the land give us some pointers. When dinner was over we just walked out their door, took 5 steps, and we were back at our doors.
Work has been decently busy. Mandla is in Bloemfontein for the week and I am set to head there next week. We had a graduation yesterday and we have about 2 interventions a day running right now. I also have been working on switching us over to the new system of doing financial reconciliations. On Tuesday we had a big conference call with the head office in Cape Town so that three weeks into the month they could tell us that there was going to be a new way of doing the financial reconciliation. I start pasting receipts, numbering them, and entering them into the computer week one, so I had to go back and reenter all the receipts into the new form. Luckily they didn’t make me remove all of the receipts, separate them, and renumber them. That would not have been fun. At least they told me this week before I go to Bloemfontein and do it for them too.
At the interventions this week I have had the opportunity to play with some of the kids, sit in on some of the interventions, and get more involved. On Monday I got to play soccer with some little boys during the intervention and on Tuesday I jumped rope with some girls at a school. I feel so stupid because I keep forgetting to bring my camera. Thank goodness I will be doing this for a year. I went into one intervention on Tuesday and all the kids kept looking back at me in the classroom, so I decided to step out so I wouldn’t be a complete distraction. Wednesday morning we had our first encounter with Practice 6: Our Stories. I was excited because I have been waiting to hear some of the coach’s stories and I thought it would also be interesting to hear some of the kid’s stories. Unfortunately, I went into the wrong class. I was in the class where barely anyone understood or spoke English and the coaches didn’t even end up telling their stories. Also, the kids in my class were not taking it seriously and were making up stories as opposed to sharing real stories. When we all met up after the intervention, I was upset to hear that the other classes had really emotional experiences, the kids shared really great stories, and a lot of them were in English. One of the stories was so intense that a coach needs to follow up on the home situation and we have to talk to Mandla about it. They also said some kids couldn’t finish telling their stories because they were so difficult. Fortunately for me, Albert caught one of the coach’s stories on video, so we are on our way to being able to share them with all of you at home.
We are settling into a normal work routine now, so I feel like I have less interesting things to write about. Last Friday on our way back from an intervention, immigration got us. We were late to get back to the office for a conference call (the one we ended up having on Tuesday this week) and ended up in a police/immigration check. First, we are nowhere near any borders. Second, in all of my traveling I have never been stopped and asked for documentation (even when I was backpacking along the border between Mexico and Guatemala). They pulled us over and asked for Albert’s license and he gave them his U.S. and international driver’s licenses. After looking at them for a few minutes, they asked him where he was from, when he said the U.S., they decided they needed to see our papers. Of course we do not carry our passports and copies of them apparently would not do the trick, so Mandla had to go to our house, find the passports, and bring them to us, while we waited with immigration. This is such a foreign concept that we do not carry our passport, everyone (not our staff) keeps asking us why we don't and can't carry them. Hello, it is my most prized personal possession and if I lose it I am pretty screwed.Thankfully they did not throw us in the back of the immigration truck like they were doing with everyone else. If we had let Albert continue to talk to them, we might have ended up back there. Now we have copies of both the passport and the visa in each car, stamped and signed by the South African police, in case this ever happens again. You live and you learn.
Tomorrow we are off to Lesotho for the weekend. We are going down to visit Doug and Emma, the interns that are working in Maseru. Yes, my first passport stamp since I’ve been here. With all my new pages I have to get on this stamping business.
Last night we had dinner with out landlord and his family. It was really nice for them to go out of their way to have us over and get to know us. They have three little girls, one is 10, one is 6, and the other is 6 months. It was sweet; they spoke to us in English and it was adorable because English is not their first language and not the one they are used to using all of the time. We were over at their house for 3 hours talking about everything under the sun. He said he went to Cuba about 2 years ago and I was so jealous. We also discussed all of the places that we should visit while we are over here and when to go; it was nice to have someone who knows the lay of the land give us some pointers. When dinner was over we just walked out their door, took 5 steps, and we were back at our doors.
Work has been decently busy. Mandla is in Bloemfontein for the week and I am set to head there next week. We had a graduation yesterday and we have about 2 interventions a day running right now. I also have been working on switching us over to the new system of doing financial reconciliations. On Tuesday we had a big conference call with the head office in Cape Town so that three weeks into the month they could tell us that there was going to be a new way of doing the financial reconciliation. I start pasting receipts, numbering them, and entering them into the computer week one, so I had to go back and reenter all the receipts into the new form. Luckily they didn’t make me remove all of the receipts, separate them, and renumber them. That would not have been fun. At least they told me this week before I go to Bloemfontein and do it for them too.
At the interventions this week I have had the opportunity to play with some of the kids, sit in on some of the interventions, and get more involved. On Monday I got to play soccer with some little boys during the intervention and on Tuesday I jumped rope with some girls at a school. I feel so stupid because I keep forgetting to bring my camera. Thank goodness I will be doing this for a year. I went into one intervention on Tuesday and all the kids kept looking back at me in the classroom, so I decided to step out so I wouldn’t be a complete distraction. Wednesday morning we had our first encounter with Practice 6: Our Stories. I was excited because I have been waiting to hear some of the coach’s stories and I thought it would also be interesting to hear some of the kid’s stories. Unfortunately, I went into the wrong class. I was in the class where barely anyone understood or spoke English and the coaches didn’t even end up telling their stories. Also, the kids in my class were not taking it seriously and were making up stories as opposed to sharing real stories. When we all met up after the intervention, I was upset to hear that the other classes had really emotional experiences, the kids shared really great stories, and a lot of them were in English. One of the stories was so intense that a coach needs to follow up on the home situation and we have to talk to Mandla about it. They also said some kids couldn’t finish telling their stories because they were so difficult. Fortunately for me, Albert caught one of the coach’s stories on video, so we are on our way to being able to share them with all of you at home.
We are settling into a normal work routine now, so I feel like I have less interesting things to write about. Last Friday on our way back from an intervention, immigration got us. We were late to get back to the office for a conference call (the one we ended up having on Tuesday this week) and ended up in a police/immigration check. First, we are nowhere near any borders. Second, in all of my traveling I have never been stopped and asked for documentation (even when I was backpacking along the border between Mexico and Guatemala). They pulled us over and asked for Albert’s license and he gave them his U.S. and international driver’s licenses. After looking at them for a few minutes, they asked him where he was from, when he said the U.S., they decided they needed to see our papers. Of course we do not carry our passports and copies of them apparently would not do the trick, so Mandla had to go to our house, find the passports, and bring them to us, while we waited with immigration. This is such a foreign concept that we do not carry our passport, everyone (not our staff) keeps asking us why we don't and can't carry them. Hello, it is my most prized personal possession and if I lose it I am pretty screwed.Thankfully they did not throw us in the back of the immigration truck like they were doing with everyone else. If we had let Albert continue to talk to them, we might have ended up back there. Now we have copies of both the passport and the visa in each car, stamped and signed by the South African police, in case this ever happens again. You live and you learn.
Tomorrow we are off to Lesotho for the weekend. We are going down to visit Doug and Emma, the interns that are working in Maseru. Yes, my first passport stamp since I’ve been here. With all my new pages I have to get on this stamping business.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Let's Take a Moment to Discuss
Let’s talk about the words “township” and “ghetto” for a second. The other night at the bar, a few of the guys welcomed us to the “township.” A few weeks back in Bloemfontein when we were driving coaches home we were welcomed to the “ghetto.” When I was on the radio with Malik, he asked me how I find the “townships” to compare to the “ghettos” at home. Keep in mind I had been here for about 3 days when I met Malik. At that point in time I was sort of caught off guard and unsure of the right answer to that question, so I quickly made up an answer (since I was on AIR!). Now after thinking about it more, I have reached a conclusion. I find the townships utterly fascinating. There are children running around playing in the dirt and the trash wearing tattered clothing, there are adults and teens stumbling along the streets drunk, then there are people dressed immaculately well driving Audis and BMWs. There are kids who spend all of their time with the video games and there are others that you can’t get away from the books. There are homes made from tin and cardboard, there are beautifully large homes with large gates and green lawns that cold fit nicely in one of the gated communities of Palm Beach County, and there are your basic concrete Habitat for Humanity style homes that provide solely the necessary shelter. All of the school age children swarm the streets around 2 p.m. in the school uniforms, some fitting perfectly, while others not so much. Some girls have bows in their hair; some boys have matching belts and shoes, while other children don’t even have a pair of socks and walk around with large tears in their pants. I am sure there are plenty of people involved in gang violence, but there are also tons of people that volunteer/work for NGOs and non-profits, like our very own coaches. There are paved roads and dirt roads. Are you confused yet? How exactly were you picturing the townships?
Back home I am afraid to even drive down Tamarind because I was told that it was dangerous. Do I know that to be true? Yes, maybe if you look at the statistics, but no I cannot really fully make that generalization because I have never spent anytime there. I don’t even think I have driven down the road; I just cross it when I am driving down Palm Beach Lakes Blvd. Here’s the thing: danger looms everywhere. It would be impossible to deny that. Every time you get in your car, danger is just around the corner. Every time you eat that cupcake (the non-healthy kind of course), danger looms in the form of high blood sugar, cholesterol, etc. So here is my conclusion. I cannot make this comparison because I have never experienced the “ghetto.” I just accepted what was told to me to be true and left it at that. It’s almost sad that I have spent way more time in the “township” in a country I have spent 5 weeks in than I have ever spent in the “ghetto” in a country I’ve lived in for 22 years. And why is it that I feel safer in the township here than the ghetto at home? Is it that it is just the unknown for me or is it truly more dangerous?
After doing some research, I found that in South Africa “township” originally meant segregated town. Under apartheid it referred to the residential development that confined the non-whites that lived near or worked in white-only communities. This would probably explain why Albert and I are always the only white people to be found whenever we are there. It would also explain the diversity because everyone who was not white, regardless of their socioeconomic status, had to live there.
Back home I am afraid to even drive down Tamarind because I was told that it was dangerous. Do I know that to be true? Yes, maybe if you look at the statistics, but no I cannot really fully make that generalization because I have never spent anytime there. I don’t even think I have driven down the road; I just cross it when I am driving down Palm Beach Lakes Blvd. Here’s the thing: danger looms everywhere. It would be impossible to deny that. Every time you get in your car, danger is just around the corner. Every time you eat that cupcake (the non-healthy kind of course), danger looms in the form of high blood sugar, cholesterol, etc. So here is my conclusion. I cannot make this comparison because I have never experienced the “ghetto.” I just accepted what was told to me to be true and left it at that. It’s almost sad that I have spent way more time in the “township” in a country I have spent 5 weeks in than I have ever spent in the “ghetto” in a country I’ve lived in for 22 years. And why is it that I feel safer in the township here than the ghetto at home? Is it that it is just the unknown for me or is it truly more dangerous?
After doing some research, I found that in South Africa “township” originally meant segregated town. Under apartheid it referred to the residential development that confined the non-whites that lived near or worked in white-only communities. This would probably explain why Albert and I are always the only white people to be found whenever we are there. It would also explain the diversity because everyone who was not white, regardless of their socioeconomic status, had to live there.
I Went Out in the Township
There is just something so unbelievably special about the township that does not exist anywhere else in the world. Albert and I sort of live a double life because we actually live in upper class white neighborhoods and interact with the upper class at restaurants and malls, but we spend all day working with the coaches and in the townships; something that most white South Africans never do. Saturday night we decided to go out in Roodepan (another section of the township) with two of the coaches to watch the Kaiser Chiefs play the Orlando Pirates. These are two Johannesburg national teams. Going out there I sort of knew that I would be the only white girl and that I would in some ways have to keep my guard up and be very aware of what was going on around me at all times. I just know that anytime you start to fully let your guard down something bad can happen. This is not just for life over here, but anywhere; it is always necessary to be aware of your surroundings and have a plan in case something starts to become dangerous or questionable. So before we left the house I ran through some ground rules with Albert, like that he couldn’t just disappear and leave me alone without first checking to make sure that I was comfortable or that the coaches were around. Sometimes in traveling situations I hate being a little white girl, because sometimes I feel like I am being paranoid, but I also know what can happen if you are not prepared.
We went out with Mzala and Casper (or Casavin, they call him Casper because he has such light colored skin). At first we thought that Mzala and Casper were the same age because they are always together and looked to be about the same age. I already knew that Casper was 22, so I just assumed that Mzala was somewhere in his early 20s as well. However, yesterday he told us that he is 30 and I could not believe it. He told us that he raised Casper and groomed him into the soccer player he is today. I started to look closer to see if there were any giveaways of Mzala’s age, but other than the fact that he has a few more scars than Casper, he still did not look 30 to me. Albert wondered if the scars were maybe a good indication of age, that maybe by every five years someone would have a few more scars, but at this point we have no conclusive evidence to support that idea. Scars could just say something about the person and there behavior as opposed to it being an age thing.
I cannot tell you how many times Mzala tried to warn us about where we were going and how many times he checked in on us while we were there. He continually told us that next time we can go out somewhere in Kim and was profusely apologizing for the venue, but I don’t think he understood that it was so much fun and such a nice breath of fresh air. We have gone out to a bar in Kimberley a few times and we never really had that great of a time, but the other night in the township we had a blast. I would choose going out there any day over the Halfway House. At the Half we have tried to talk to people, we have played pool to try to make friends, and we have gotten nowhere, but after the one night in Roodepan, we have a plethora of new friends. Of course, part of that may have to do with the novelty that we are white. I think Mzala was also slightly stressed out by the fact that I wasn’t drinking and didn’t know how to handle it, because he kept asking me if he could get me anything and he eventually told me that he felt bad that I wasn’t drinking anything. Trust me I was perfectly fine.
We walked in and all eyes were on us. I really did not know what to expect when we were heading out there, but it was perfect. Walking in my smile just grew and grew; it was awesome. We walked into the first room and there was a DJ and a bunch of people dancing, we walked into the next room and there was a bar and in the following room there were pool tables and a TV for watching the game. Something that Albert noticed, for some reason I didn’t even really think about it, was that steel bars separated the people serving drinks and the people ordering. Yesterday Thembi told us that is for when people start getting really drunk, rowdy and potentially violent. Albert and I took our seats on the side of plastic drink cartoons in the sea of black guys. A couple of guys told me I could sit on their laps; I graciously declined. Not only was I the only white girl in the entire place, but I was also the only girl watching the game. Very quickly Albert and I were forced to pick teams and since Albert choose to be for the Pirates with Mzala, I agreed to be for the Chiefs with Mzala’s friend Bailey. Bailey then proceeded to give me his jersey after I told him repeatedly that it was not necessary. I gave it back to him after a few minutes and he put it back on. We watched the game on this small TV that also sat in its own cage, which protected it. We could have watched the game in the Halfway House on huge flat screen, but what fun would that of been; there is no atmosphere there in comparison to this bar.
At half-time I accompanied Mzala into the room with the bar and he introduced me to a girl that was Graham’s “baby’s mama.” That is exactly how she was introduced to me. Graham is another coach that we work with. This is probably another discussion for another time, but I cannot believe how many people have children out of wedlock here. It doesn’t bother me at all; its kind of an interesting part of life here, but it would so taboo at home. I then joined Albert on the dance floor for a few minutes before we went back to watch the game. Another thing we picked up on during the second half of the game was how close guys are here. They are not gay at all, but they cuddle and snuggle and hold hands with each other. It’s sweet, but again just something that you would never ever see at home. After the game we played some pool and went back to dancing for a while. After about 45 minutes of dancing with all different types of people, the dance turn into somewhat of a disagreement over who was going to dance with me. I was dancing with a lady who was somewhere in the range of 60-80 years old and she was killing it. She could definitely still move it and shake it; I loved dancing with her. The problem arose when all of a sudden there were 15 people grabbing my arms and pulling me in four different directions because they all wanted to dance with me. I’m a white girl, what can I say?
For anyone who has travelled in the developing world, you can relate to this situation. Anytime you give one person a little of something, they all want it, then they all want more, and it is just the way that it is. It is not their fault; they just have never had certain things so when they are given one they immediately assume they can have more. That is a big reason why when you are travelling you have to be careful not to give things away, money, pencils, presents of any sort; they really need to be earned or they will not learn that you have to work for what you are given. After trying to fight everyone off for a few minutes, I decided this was our cue to leave, mainly because I didn’t want it to turn into any bigger of a problem. I also wasn’t really having fun dancing anymore since I had just become a puppet. Controlled and manipulated. I felt like an object; no one asked me who I wanted to dance with or what I wanted to do, they were just deciding amongst themselves. At that point I found Albert and Mzala and they escorted me out of there. I would never for ten seconds say that the evening was ruined; I had a wonderful time and it was so nice for people to in a sense accept us. Although I am still not sure if they accepted us or if they were just making fun of us, but either way it was a fantastic evening and a real chance to be a part of a world so foreign to us.
We went out with Mzala and Casper (or Casavin, they call him Casper because he has such light colored skin). At first we thought that Mzala and Casper were the same age because they are always together and looked to be about the same age. I already knew that Casper was 22, so I just assumed that Mzala was somewhere in his early 20s as well. However, yesterday he told us that he is 30 and I could not believe it. He told us that he raised Casper and groomed him into the soccer player he is today. I started to look closer to see if there were any giveaways of Mzala’s age, but other than the fact that he has a few more scars than Casper, he still did not look 30 to me. Albert wondered if the scars were maybe a good indication of age, that maybe by every five years someone would have a few more scars, but at this point we have no conclusive evidence to support that idea. Scars could just say something about the person and there behavior as opposed to it being an age thing.
I cannot tell you how many times Mzala tried to warn us about where we were going and how many times he checked in on us while we were there. He continually told us that next time we can go out somewhere in Kim and was profusely apologizing for the venue, but I don’t think he understood that it was so much fun and such a nice breath of fresh air. We have gone out to a bar in Kimberley a few times and we never really had that great of a time, but the other night in the township we had a blast. I would choose going out there any day over the Halfway House. At the Half we have tried to talk to people, we have played pool to try to make friends, and we have gotten nowhere, but after the one night in Roodepan, we have a plethora of new friends. Of course, part of that may have to do with the novelty that we are white. I think Mzala was also slightly stressed out by the fact that I wasn’t drinking and didn’t know how to handle it, because he kept asking me if he could get me anything and he eventually told me that he felt bad that I wasn’t drinking anything. Trust me I was perfectly fine.
We walked in and all eyes were on us. I really did not know what to expect when we were heading out there, but it was perfect. Walking in my smile just grew and grew; it was awesome. We walked into the first room and there was a DJ and a bunch of people dancing, we walked into the next room and there was a bar and in the following room there were pool tables and a TV for watching the game. Something that Albert noticed, for some reason I didn’t even really think about it, was that steel bars separated the people serving drinks and the people ordering. Yesterday Thembi told us that is for when people start getting really drunk, rowdy and potentially violent. Albert and I took our seats on the side of plastic drink cartoons in the sea of black guys. A couple of guys told me I could sit on their laps; I graciously declined. Not only was I the only white girl in the entire place, but I was also the only girl watching the game. Very quickly Albert and I were forced to pick teams and since Albert choose to be for the Pirates with Mzala, I agreed to be for the Chiefs with Mzala’s friend Bailey. Bailey then proceeded to give me his jersey after I told him repeatedly that it was not necessary. I gave it back to him after a few minutes and he put it back on. We watched the game on this small TV that also sat in its own cage, which protected it. We could have watched the game in the Halfway House on huge flat screen, but what fun would that of been; there is no atmosphere there in comparison to this bar.
At half-time I accompanied Mzala into the room with the bar and he introduced me to a girl that was Graham’s “baby’s mama.” That is exactly how she was introduced to me. Graham is another coach that we work with. This is probably another discussion for another time, but I cannot believe how many people have children out of wedlock here. It doesn’t bother me at all; its kind of an interesting part of life here, but it would so taboo at home. I then joined Albert on the dance floor for a few minutes before we went back to watch the game. Another thing we picked up on during the second half of the game was how close guys are here. They are not gay at all, but they cuddle and snuggle and hold hands with each other. It’s sweet, but again just something that you would never ever see at home. After the game we played some pool and went back to dancing for a while. After about 45 minutes of dancing with all different types of people, the dance turn into somewhat of a disagreement over who was going to dance with me. I was dancing with a lady who was somewhere in the range of 60-80 years old and she was killing it. She could definitely still move it and shake it; I loved dancing with her. The problem arose when all of a sudden there were 15 people grabbing my arms and pulling me in four different directions because they all wanted to dance with me. I’m a white girl, what can I say?
For anyone who has travelled in the developing world, you can relate to this situation. Anytime you give one person a little of something, they all want it, then they all want more, and it is just the way that it is. It is not their fault; they just have never had certain things so when they are given one they immediately assume they can have more. That is a big reason why when you are travelling you have to be careful not to give things away, money, pencils, presents of any sort; they really need to be earned or they will not learn that you have to work for what you are given. After trying to fight everyone off for a few minutes, I decided this was our cue to leave, mainly because I didn’t want it to turn into any bigger of a problem. I also wasn’t really having fun dancing anymore since I had just become a puppet. Controlled and manipulated. I felt like an object; no one asked me who I wanted to dance with or what I wanted to do, they were just deciding amongst themselves. At that point I found Albert and Mzala and they escorted me out of there. I would never for ten seconds say that the evening was ruined; I had a wonderful time and it was so nice for people to in a sense accept us. Although I am still not sure if they accepted us or if they were just making fun of us, but either way it was a fantastic evening and a real chance to be a part of a world so foreign to us.
Monday, September 13, 2010
It Sure Was a Festival
This Saturday we spent the day out at the Heritage Month Festival in Homevale (a section of the township). Due to obvious lack of organization and planning prior to the event I was sure the event was going to fail on so many levels. This was not our event, but we had attended some of the meetings to help out. It was mainly organized by LoveLife and Evelyn (the lady who came up with the idea for the event), but Grassroot Soccer, UNICEF, Lifeline, New Start, and Youth Aids were are present at the event adding some expertise where needed. To be honest I was pleasantly surprised to find that it actually turned out all right. Maybe it was just because I went into it with such low expectations. Of course there were several organizational malfunctions; nothing went exactly according to schedule, though I do not think that anything here runs according to any type of schedule. If you want your event to actually start at 9 a.m. you have to set the start time for 7:30 a.m. if you catch my drift. I also think that the entire event was saved by the performing arts sector of it. There was a sports component that involved soccer, basketball, netball, boxing, and maybe a few other sports and then there was a performing arts component that consisted of dance, singing, drama, and poetry. As Grassroot Soccer representatives we were technically there to support the soccer and the sports component of the event, but we all spent most of our time watching the dance and singing. I actually was asked to sit on the judge’s panel, so I was there for the entire thing.
The dancing is so great here. Before the performing arts competition even began, we watched this group of young boys, probably 8 years old, have their own mini dance competition in the boxing ring. They were so good; each one would go up and show off their skills and crazy moves and I was just blown away. Some of them seriously rivaled the abilities of the professional dancers I have seen in movies and on TV. Pretty much anywhere there is music, there is dancing and everyone can dance. I keep thinking that it would be insane to have a South African So You Think You Can Dance and you know what, it is crazy to me, but they watch the American version on TV over here. I wonder what they even think. I mean I am sure it is fine because these are some of America’s best dancers, but here they would just be someone else on the street that had some moves.
A lot of the dancing in the competition was pretty good too, especially towards the end. There were some unbelievable performances. There was a group of young boys again, different group this time, but similar age and they were awesome too. At the very end of the competition there were two groups that went back to back and did very similar dances in which they used dance as a way to communicate. I mean I have always heard that dance is a form of expression and I have seen it used before, but never exactly in this context. Interestingly enough both dance crews decided to tell the same story. After watching the first dance I was left sort of confused and concerned because I didn’t really understand if they were just telling a story to tell a story or to leave us with some sort of message. The performance started out with two guys showing up to school (remember this was all dancing) in their school uniforms; each one took sometime to show off their moves before finding their seats in the classroom. Next came a guy dressed in a girl’s uniform wearing a wig (adding the comedy to the performance) and she came in showed off her moves and found a seat as well. Following that the teacher came in, pretended to write on the board, handed out some booklets, and pretty much taught the class. After a few minutes of dance teaching, the teacher then collected the booklets. The one girl and the boy just got checks and nods of approval and were sent back to their seats. The second boy’s work apparently was not good enough so he was beat with a stick in front of his classmates. After that scene, the teacher left the room for a minute and the kids pulled out empty beer bottles and pretended to party and fake have sex. After that the teacher came back in and the student he has previously beaten pulled out a knife (fake of course for the performance) and acted out stabbing the teacher. There was then a medic that came to save the teacher. In the first performance the teacher died and was carried off by the students, while in the second the teacher was revived.
After the first performance I was fully perplexed; I thought it was extremely interesting that this was the story the kids decided to tell. I was even more interested when the second group, which was entirely unrelated to the first, came out with almost exactly the same story and performance. It made me wonder while the second dance was going on, exactly what goes on in the schools here; is this that common of behavior that both groups decided to act it out and tell this story? While at this point I don’t really have an answer to that, I did decide that it really doesn’t differ all that much in the United States at least in some parts. I think the part of the situation that is different is that it is not as common for students to attack their teachers or for students to be beaten by their teachers, but the partying aspects fully exist in the States. I will tell you now that the second group held up a sign at the end of their performance that said something to the effect of “Stop the Violence in Schools, Education is the Key to our Future.” So while I didn’t fully understand it at the end of the first performance, I definitely got the message by the end of the second dance. I really though it was an unbelievably creative way for them to take a stand on an issue and share it with their community.
After a full day of the performing arts, I accompanied Mzala (one of the coaches) and Albert to watch another one of the coaches, Casper, play in a soccer game. It was definitely a nice way to pass the afternoon and beat us sitting around our apartment staring at walls of maps of all the places in the world I want to visit. I think Albert really enjoyed it because he beginning to get into soccer, playing with some of the coaches and trying out for some of the provincial teams. I on the other hand am exploring my intellectual side (as if I really have one) and am spending my time reading and writing. It is sort of a nice change of pace from the summer, though I have to keep reminding myself that it is okay to take some down time and not be constantly running around and working out.
The dancing is so great here. Before the performing arts competition even began, we watched this group of young boys, probably 8 years old, have their own mini dance competition in the boxing ring. They were so good; each one would go up and show off their skills and crazy moves and I was just blown away. Some of them seriously rivaled the abilities of the professional dancers I have seen in movies and on TV. Pretty much anywhere there is music, there is dancing and everyone can dance. I keep thinking that it would be insane to have a South African So You Think You Can Dance and you know what, it is crazy to me, but they watch the American version on TV over here. I wonder what they even think. I mean I am sure it is fine because these are some of America’s best dancers, but here they would just be someone else on the street that had some moves.
A lot of the dancing in the competition was pretty good too, especially towards the end. There were some unbelievable performances. There was a group of young boys again, different group this time, but similar age and they were awesome too. At the very end of the competition there were two groups that went back to back and did very similar dances in which they used dance as a way to communicate. I mean I have always heard that dance is a form of expression and I have seen it used before, but never exactly in this context. Interestingly enough both dance crews decided to tell the same story. After watching the first dance I was left sort of confused and concerned because I didn’t really understand if they were just telling a story to tell a story or to leave us with some sort of message. The performance started out with two guys showing up to school (remember this was all dancing) in their school uniforms; each one took sometime to show off their moves before finding their seats in the classroom. Next came a guy dressed in a girl’s uniform wearing a wig (adding the comedy to the performance) and she came in showed off her moves and found a seat as well. Following that the teacher came in, pretended to write on the board, handed out some booklets, and pretty much taught the class. After a few minutes of dance teaching, the teacher then collected the booklets. The one girl and the boy just got checks and nods of approval and were sent back to their seats. The second boy’s work apparently was not good enough so he was beat with a stick in front of his classmates. After that scene, the teacher left the room for a minute and the kids pulled out empty beer bottles and pretended to party and fake have sex. After that the teacher came back in and the student he has previously beaten pulled out a knife (fake of course for the performance) and acted out stabbing the teacher. There was then a medic that came to save the teacher. In the first performance the teacher died and was carried off by the students, while in the second the teacher was revived.
After the first performance I was fully perplexed; I thought it was extremely interesting that this was the story the kids decided to tell. I was even more interested when the second group, which was entirely unrelated to the first, came out with almost exactly the same story and performance. It made me wonder while the second dance was going on, exactly what goes on in the schools here; is this that common of behavior that both groups decided to act it out and tell this story? While at this point I don’t really have an answer to that, I did decide that it really doesn’t differ all that much in the United States at least in some parts. I think the part of the situation that is different is that it is not as common for students to attack their teachers or for students to be beaten by their teachers, but the partying aspects fully exist in the States. I will tell you now that the second group held up a sign at the end of their performance that said something to the effect of “Stop the Violence in Schools, Education is the Key to our Future.” So while I didn’t fully understand it at the end of the first performance, I definitely got the message by the end of the second dance. I really though it was an unbelievably creative way for them to take a stand on an issue and share it with their community.
After a full day of the performing arts, I accompanied Mzala (one of the coaches) and Albert to watch another one of the coaches, Casper, play in a soccer game. It was definitely a nice way to pass the afternoon and beat us sitting around our apartment staring at walls of maps of all the places in the world I want to visit. I think Albert really enjoyed it because he beginning to get into soccer, playing with some of the coaches and trying out for some of the provincial teams. I on the other hand am exploring my intellectual side (as if I really have one) and am spending my time reading and writing. It is sort of a nice change of pace from the summer, though I have to keep reminding myself that it is okay to take some down time and not be constantly running around and working out.
It is Very Real
The other night when I was getting ready for bed, I was telling Thembi that I am really looking forward to hearing some of the coach’s stories. I think it will help Albert and I to get a better understanding of how much HIV/AIDS affects the communities here and personalize the work we are doing. I am hoping to capture some of the stories on video as well, so that I may share them with everyone at home. I was reading a few other intern’s blogs and it seems like they have been getting a little more of a personal experience from the coaches and Albert and I haven’t exactly reached that point with our coaches yet. We are hoping soon; hopefully they will see our initiative and open up to us. Thembi said that sometimes the coaches will say that HIV hasn’t affected them, but she thinks they are just hiding something or do not really want to talk about it. It is interesting to me that we are working for an organization that prides itself on starting conversations about HIV/AIDS and we cannot even get some of our coaches to open up and talk about their personal experiences with it. She also said that her life has been affected in so many ways that she cannot imagine that there are people who have not been affected at all. Unfortunately she has not told me her full story yet, but hopefully she will tell me sometime soon.
I do have some stories that I can share with you that have been written down for our brochures. These are not necessarily the coach’s personal stories, but stories that have come from working as a Skillz coach. Right now I will share one and another time I will share the other with you. The first one is from the Kimberley coach, Joyce.
“Hi, my name is Tsheiso ‘Joyce’ Masekela. I am a Grassroot Soccer Skillz coach. I would like to tell the story of a 13-year-old girl and how she was affected by HIV. Her mother was affected by HIV and was bedridden. She had to take care of her sick mother, siblings, and act as a mother. She was too quiet in class and did not want to participate in school or in the Skillz curriculum. However, before practice 6 she shared the story of her mother with me. She chose to share it with me because she related to my coach’s story about my HIV positive aunt. After that, she was changed. She started participating, talking freely, and teaching other students. I personally experienced the power of the coach’s story in influencing participants and the support I was able to offer as a Skillz coach.”
Coaches are chosen from the community in which they serve, which makes them role models that can relate to the hardships and the issues the kids face. If Albert and I worked with the kids we wouldn’t have any idea the world they come from and our experiences and problems would not be the same as theirs. I have to say there are several times throughout the day where I find myself very jealous of the coach’s jobs and their opportunity to have a direct affect in these children’s lives. I have seen these children look at them like they are gods and I hope they realize how special that is and how amazing the work they are doing is. I also need to say that while we do come from very different worlds there are some things that exist across cultures, ages, races, and genders that I think anyone can relate to. For me I feel like in some way I can relate to that 13-year-old girl from Joyce’s story. While I have not been directly affected by HIV or AIDS, there have been times in my life where I have had to take on responsibilities that I was not ready to assume and I remember the difficulties of getting through each day in that situation. I think in everyone’s lives there are always circumstances in which you feel you are alone in the world and until you open up and share your story you don’t realize how many people have been affected in the same way. That is really the beautiful part of the coach’s story and probably a key reason it exists in this curriculum. We aren’t dealing with an easy topic to talk to kids about; this is something that is very real and very scary and something that is not always taken seriously.
I do have some stories that I can share with you that have been written down for our brochures. These are not necessarily the coach’s personal stories, but stories that have come from working as a Skillz coach. Right now I will share one and another time I will share the other with you. The first one is from the Kimberley coach, Joyce.
“Hi, my name is Tsheiso ‘Joyce’ Masekela. I am a Grassroot Soccer Skillz coach. I would like to tell the story of a 13-year-old girl and how she was affected by HIV. Her mother was affected by HIV and was bedridden. She had to take care of her sick mother, siblings, and act as a mother. She was too quiet in class and did not want to participate in school or in the Skillz curriculum. However, before practice 6 she shared the story of her mother with me. She chose to share it with me because she related to my coach’s story about my HIV positive aunt. After that, she was changed. She started participating, talking freely, and teaching other students. I personally experienced the power of the coach’s story in influencing participants and the support I was able to offer as a Skillz coach.”
Coaches are chosen from the community in which they serve, which makes them role models that can relate to the hardships and the issues the kids face. If Albert and I worked with the kids we wouldn’t have any idea the world they come from and our experiences and problems would not be the same as theirs. I have to say there are several times throughout the day where I find myself very jealous of the coach’s jobs and their opportunity to have a direct affect in these children’s lives. I have seen these children look at them like they are gods and I hope they realize how special that is and how amazing the work they are doing is. I also need to say that while we do come from very different worlds there are some things that exist across cultures, ages, races, and genders that I think anyone can relate to. For me I feel like in some way I can relate to that 13-year-old girl from Joyce’s story. While I have not been directly affected by HIV or AIDS, there have been times in my life where I have had to take on responsibilities that I was not ready to assume and I remember the difficulties of getting through each day in that situation. I think in everyone’s lives there are always circumstances in which you feel you are alone in the world and until you open up and share your story you don’t realize how many people have been affected in the same way. That is really the beautiful part of the coach’s story and probably a key reason it exists in this curriculum. We aren’t dealing with an easy topic to talk to kids about; this is something that is very real and very scary and something that is not always taken seriously.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
It Rained for Like a Second
Our first official cloudy day in Kimberley. It even rained a little! Today I have spent most of the day calling around to the schools where we had interventions running before the strike to see if we can start up again. It has been an impossibly, grueling process. Who knew something so simple could be so difficult. I call and the principal is out, then I call back and he is in the classroom, then I call back and he will call me back. Have a received a call? You bet not. This has to be done for 9 schools. We really need to get our interventions back up and running and pack 5 weeks of work into 2 weeks so we can reach our numbers by the end of our fiscal year, October 1st. Probably tomorrow we will start running around to all of these schools so that we can meet with them in person and get a real confirmation. Hopefully we will be back on in at least two schools tomorrow. We also have a meeting tomorrow with LoveLife about the Heritage Month Festival this weekend and a development course scheduled with the coaches. Probably another busy day ahead of us full of running around with our heads cut off.
Today we also met a girl from Florida who just moved to Kimberley 2 days ago to work with the Evangelical Lutheran Church of America, which is partnered with the Evangelical Lutheran Church of South Africa. She will also be here for the next 11 months and may come on part time to help us out and fill part of the shoes of the missing intern. She seemed very nice and hopefully with her we will begin to grow our group of friends here in Kimberley. She also graduated from the University of Florida in 2009. I will tell you more when I know more.
This past weekend I attended the Tri-Nations rugby match between South Africa and Australia in the Bloemfontein World Cup Stadium. I met up with a fellow intern from Lesotho to catch quite a rugby game if I’ve ever seen one. I haven’t, but it was still awesome. I played once at soccer practice. First of all my bus was running on South Africa time and arrived in Kimberley 2 hours behind schedule, which landed me in Bloemfontein right at kick-off without tickets or a place to spend the night. On top of that thank goodness Doug has a South African Sim card for his phone, because otherwise I would have never found him. Luckily the bus station in Bloem, is basically the tailgating parking lot for the stadium, so I didn’t have to go far to get to the game.
After I found Doug we went directly to the ticket window to find that tickets were now selling for R300 apiece. Knowing that we could have gotten them for cheaper earlier or from someone selling them in the parking lot, we decided to pass and head back out into the tailgating areas away from the stadium in pursuit of some tickets. On our way to find tickets we passed four huge white Afrikaner guys who told us that we were going the wrong way and that the game was the other way. They had obviously been having quite a good time for the past few hours. We told them that we knew that, but we didn’t have any tickets. One of the guys goes, “Oh, we have an extra just come with us.” Of course I replied with a “Really?,” which tipped off the presence of foreigners and made them our new best friends. However, as great as a free ticket was, we were still short a ticket because there were two of us. We made this little detail clear and our new best friends decided to purchase another ticket off of someone selling them for us. It was pretty cool being adopted by these crazy men. They spent the entire game explaining the rules, introducing us to their entire clan over and over again (their were 16 of them), feeding us local specialties (biltong or beef jerky and some sort of Slim Jim type thing), as well as American specialties like Coke and Captain Morgan, and simultaneously teaching Doug inappropriate words to shout in Afrikaans. One of the guys gave us his number and told us that if we ever come to Pretoria to give him a call because now we are family and we will stay with him. The also invited us to the Braai after the game (cookout, bar-ba-que, tailgate), but we regretfully declined because we did not yet have anywhere to spend the night.
When we decided to go to the game in the middle of last week, we didn’t really make a whole lot of plans ahead of time (or any at all) thinking that it would be easy to figure out once we got there. That is something that works when you are traveling in off times to places or when you are going somewhere where the one of the biggest games of the year is not being played. I didn’t realize how big of a sport this was and how big of a showing there would be at this place. I knew it was the game being played for second and third place in the Tri-Nations tournament, but that didn’t really mean too much to me. The amount of people there well outdid the amount I have ever seen at a professional football game in the U.S. Also this was a World Cup Stadium and there were no empty seats. After the game we met up with a few of Doug’s friends from Maseru, a girl from Kenya working for the Clinton Foundation, a girl from Italy working in an orphanage, a guy from Columbia and a guy from South Carolina that were working in the English Language Institute. As a group we drove around for 2 hours going into lodge, after hotel, after resort in search of a room and after all that time and 20 hotels later we had only found one room for two people. After our search, Doug’s friends decided to head back to Maseru and Doug and I got the one room left in all of Bloemfontein. I had made a return bus reservation, but Doug had decided to fly by the seat of his pants, so when we got to the bus station around 9:15 a.m. the next day for my bus, we found out that the only bus heading to Maseru for the day had left at 6 a.m. that morning. Luckily we are pretty good at thinking on our feet and Doug was able to find a taxi mini bus back to Lesotho, but don’t you think that between Maseru, Bloemfontein, and Kimberley, all capitals of some sort and all within an hour and a half of each other that there would be more than one bus every other day. If I had wanted to go to Bloem on Friday or Sunday that would not have been possible, I could only go to Kim on those days. I remember from when I was in Cape Town and Western Cape that buses were easy to find and public transportation was everywhere, I am quickly learning that same system does not exist in Northern Cape or the Free State.
At the end of the day today we had a strategic meeting for FY 11! This was exciting because we are gearing up for a huge year; we are doubling our staff, we are tripling our couches, plus we are doubling our interventions and graduates. So we have a lot of work to do this year to reach our targets. It was also nice because we are going to be moving into our projects, things that we can now put our names on as opposed to just finishing up the past interns work. There are a few new things being put in place in terms of teambuilding, woowoo, with the coaches and we also got a chance to get a better understanding of everyone’s role and how it will all fit together. A little excitement in the office today!! Unfortunately this could also mean the end of lots of blogging.
Today we also met a girl from Florida who just moved to Kimberley 2 days ago to work with the Evangelical Lutheran Church of America, which is partnered with the Evangelical Lutheran Church of South Africa. She will also be here for the next 11 months and may come on part time to help us out and fill part of the shoes of the missing intern. She seemed very nice and hopefully with her we will begin to grow our group of friends here in Kimberley. She also graduated from the University of Florida in 2009. I will tell you more when I know more.
This past weekend I attended the Tri-Nations rugby match between South Africa and Australia in the Bloemfontein World Cup Stadium. I met up with a fellow intern from Lesotho to catch quite a rugby game if I’ve ever seen one. I haven’t, but it was still awesome. I played once at soccer practice. First of all my bus was running on South Africa time and arrived in Kimberley 2 hours behind schedule, which landed me in Bloemfontein right at kick-off without tickets or a place to spend the night. On top of that thank goodness Doug has a South African Sim card for his phone, because otherwise I would have never found him. Luckily the bus station in Bloem, is basically the tailgating parking lot for the stadium, so I didn’t have to go far to get to the game.
After I found Doug we went directly to the ticket window to find that tickets were now selling for R300 apiece. Knowing that we could have gotten them for cheaper earlier or from someone selling them in the parking lot, we decided to pass and head back out into the tailgating areas away from the stadium in pursuit of some tickets. On our way to find tickets we passed four huge white Afrikaner guys who told us that we were going the wrong way and that the game was the other way. They had obviously been having quite a good time for the past few hours. We told them that we knew that, but we didn’t have any tickets. One of the guys goes, “Oh, we have an extra just come with us.” Of course I replied with a “Really?,” which tipped off the presence of foreigners and made them our new best friends. However, as great as a free ticket was, we were still short a ticket because there were two of us. We made this little detail clear and our new best friends decided to purchase another ticket off of someone selling them for us. It was pretty cool being adopted by these crazy men. They spent the entire game explaining the rules, introducing us to their entire clan over and over again (their were 16 of them), feeding us local specialties (biltong or beef jerky and some sort of Slim Jim type thing), as well as American specialties like Coke and Captain Morgan, and simultaneously teaching Doug inappropriate words to shout in Afrikaans. One of the guys gave us his number and told us that if we ever come to Pretoria to give him a call because now we are family and we will stay with him. The also invited us to the Braai after the game (cookout, bar-ba-que, tailgate), but we regretfully declined because we did not yet have anywhere to spend the night.
When we decided to go to the game in the middle of last week, we didn’t really make a whole lot of plans ahead of time (or any at all) thinking that it would be easy to figure out once we got there. That is something that works when you are traveling in off times to places or when you are going somewhere where the one of the biggest games of the year is not being played. I didn’t realize how big of a sport this was and how big of a showing there would be at this place. I knew it was the game being played for second and third place in the Tri-Nations tournament, but that didn’t really mean too much to me. The amount of people there well outdid the amount I have ever seen at a professional football game in the U.S. Also this was a World Cup Stadium and there were no empty seats. After the game we met up with a few of Doug’s friends from Maseru, a girl from Kenya working for the Clinton Foundation, a girl from Italy working in an orphanage, a guy from Columbia and a guy from South Carolina that were working in the English Language Institute. As a group we drove around for 2 hours going into lodge, after hotel, after resort in search of a room and after all that time and 20 hotels later we had only found one room for two people. After our search, Doug’s friends decided to head back to Maseru and Doug and I got the one room left in all of Bloemfontein. I had made a return bus reservation, but Doug had decided to fly by the seat of his pants, so when we got to the bus station around 9:15 a.m. the next day for my bus, we found out that the only bus heading to Maseru for the day had left at 6 a.m. that morning. Luckily we are pretty good at thinking on our feet and Doug was able to find a taxi mini bus back to Lesotho, but don’t you think that between Maseru, Bloemfontein, and Kimberley, all capitals of some sort and all within an hour and a half of each other that there would be more than one bus every other day. If I had wanted to go to Bloem on Friday or Sunday that would not have been possible, I could only go to Kim on those days. I remember from when I was in Cape Town and Western Cape that buses were easy to find and public transportation was everywhere, I am quickly learning that same system does not exist in Northern Cape or the Free State.
At the end of the day today we had a strategic meeting for FY 11! This was exciting because we are gearing up for a huge year; we are doubling our staff, we are tripling our couches, plus we are doubling our interventions and graduates. So we have a lot of work to do this year to reach our targets. It was also nice because we are going to be moving into our projects, things that we can now put our names on as opposed to just finishing up the past interns work. There are a few new things being put in place in terms of teambuilding, woowoo, with the coaches and we also got a chance to get a better understanding of everyone’s role and how it will all fit together. A little excitement in the office today!! Unfortunately this could also mean the end of lots of blogging.
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