Posting the press release about my Peace Corps group's swearing-in ceremony reminded me that I never posted the text of my swearing-in speech. I know I've slipped a few Sepedi words into my blog here and there, but I wanted you all to get a better sense of the language I (attempt to) speak virtually everyday. For you budding Sepedi scholars at home, I've made the translation closer to literal as compared to what my friend and fellow PCV Jeff read aloud during the ceremony.
Thus, without further ado, le a ipshina [Enjoy yourselves]:
Madume. Ke rata go le dumediša bohle. Legatong la baithaupi ba Peace Corps, ke rata go le leboga bohle ge le tlile mo lehono. Ge nkabe e se thakgo eo le re filego yona, nkabe re se mo lehono go tlo kgatha tema ye ya go ba baithaupi.
[Greetings. I would like to greet you all. On behalf of all Peace Corps Volunteers, I would like to thank you all for coming here today. Without the support you all have given us, we would not be here today to become full-fledged Volunteers.]
Pele re fihla mo dikgwedi tše pedi tša go feta, ke motho e motee feela eo a bego a kile a tla mo South Afrika. Re be re sa tsebe Sepedi, isiZulu, Siswati, goba Setswana. Re be re sa tsebe setšo sa South Afrika. Re be re sa ka ra ja bogobe, morogo, mala a kgomo, goba mašotša. Go feta moo, re be re sa tsebe go bina ‘sika le khekhe’ goba ‘ngwazi’.
[Before we arrived here two months ago, only one of us had ever come to South Africa. We did not know any Sepedi, isiZulu, siSwati, or Setswana. We did not know about South African culture. We had never eaten pap, wild spinach, cow intestines, or mopane worms. And, even worse, we did not know to dance ‘cut-the-cake’ or ‘ngwazi’ {if I have a lot of bandwidth, I’ll send a demonstration video of each}.]
Ka morago ga ‘kgwedi tše pedi tša tlhahlo mo South Afrika, re kgona go dumediša le go itsebiša ka maleme a rena ao re ithutilego ona. Re kgona go lora ka Sepedi, isiZulu, Siswati, le ka Setswana. Re kgona gape le go fehla bogobe ka lefehlo, ka bokwari bjo bogolo. Godima ga fao, ba bangwe ba rena ba šetše ba kgona go bina ‘Jika Majika’. Le ge e le gore re sa tlo dira diphošo tše ntšhi kudu ge re leka go itlwaetša bophelo bja mo South Afrika, le re file motheo woo o tlo re kgontšhago go kgotlelela, le gore re dire segwera mo ditšhabeny tša rena mo South Afrika.
[After two months of guidance here in South Africa, we can greet and introduce ourselves in our target languages. We can even dream in Sepedi, isiZulu, Siswati, and Setswana. We can use a ‘wooden stick with metal loops on one end’ to stir pap with much skill. Even better, some of us are ready to compete on Jika Majika {a very popular house dancing show on eache evening}. And although we will still make many, many mistakes in our attempts to integrate into live here in South Africa, you have given us a foundation that will enable us to persevere and gain the trust and friendship of our host communities here in South Africa.]
Mo mengwageng e mebedi eo e tlago, ke a tshepa gore re tla fihlelela dilo tše ntšhi tše botse, rena gammogo le mekgahlo ya rena mo ditšhabeng. E mongwe le e mongwe wa rena o tla gola a ba a fetoga ka tsela eo re bego re sa e lebelela. Ka go šoma ka boima le ka katlego ya rena, re tla ithuta kudu ka rena, le ka fao re nyakago gore re be ka gona.
[During the next two years, I believe that we will accomplish many great things in partership with our host organizations and communities. Each of us will also grow and change in ways we could not have anticipated. Through our hardships and successes, we will learn more about ourselves and about the people we want to become.]
Re fihlile mo dibeke tše pedi feela ka morago ga go bewa setulong go mopresidente wa rena, Barack Obama, eo a thopilego dikgetho, mme a re botša gore re swanetše gore re be le kholofelo ya dilo tše botse tšeo di tlo tlago ka moso. Bjalo, ge ke eme mo pele ga lena, ke bona sehlopha sa batho bao, ka thušo ya Peace Corps, le ka thušo ya ditšhaba tša rena, ba nago le monyetla wa go dira gore kholofelo eo ya mopresidente wa rena phethagale.
[We arrived here only two weeks after the inauguration of our president, Barack Obama, who won an election on the promise of hope {literally: ...who won elections because he told us that we must hope for good things to come in the future}. Now, as I stand here before you, I see a group of people who, with the help of Peace Corps and our host communities, together have both the opportunity and the potential to fulfill that hope of our president.]
Go bagwera ba ka ba Peace Corps, ke le lakaletša katlego moo le yago go dula gona mengwaga e mebedi ka moka. Ke leboga mmušo wa rena le wa South Afrika ka tšhomišano ya dinaga tše go lwantšha HIV/AIDS. Gape ke leboga le Peace Corps bohle ba re šomišanego mmogo le bona me leetong le la rena mo Afrika Borwa.
[To my Peace Corps friends, I wish you success during your entire two years {here in South Africa}. I thank the governments of the US and South Africa for working together to fight HIV/AIDS. I also thank the entire staff of Peace Corps for working together with us on our journey here in South Africa.]
Ke a leboga. Ke leboga kudu.
[Thank you. Thank you very much.]
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Press Release About Swearing-In on Embassy Website
The website of the US Diplomatic Mission to South Africa recently featured a press release about my Peace Corps group's swearing-in ceremony last month. There are even a few photos. Enjoy!
Friday, May 8, 2009
How to Fetch an Avocado
Yesterday capped off what proved to be among the best (and most productive) of my six weeks here at site. In the morning, my host brother Vynand and I left the house at about 8:30 to hike to an abandoned avocado orchard in the mountains to the northwest of our home. I had been looking forward to this trip from the moment I heard the first rumors of avocados nestled in the heart of the nearby mountains.
Vynand's late-night plans had dashed my hopes last weekend of departing the house together at 5:30am to explore the clifflines about 15km northeast for potential climbing opportunities. This weekend, however, he decided that a morning hike would be an ideal way to expedite his recovery from a lingering cold. Thus, after giving Vynand a chance to sleep in a bit, we departed with a backpack full of water, biscuits ('cookies' in local parlance), and some extra bags to return with what I hoped would be more avocados than we could carry.
Our path followed the left fork of the rocky dirt road that passes between humpback whale-shaped mountains just north of our the house. We followed the road steadily up from the arid valley into the mountains. As with the my previous journeys into the mountains two weeks ago, we passed quickly from dodging cactus spines to marveling at grand deciduous trees. In spite of my inability to actually identify the changing species, witnessing such evident change in such a small space of time is one of the best parts of hiking in the areas surrounding my village.
Despite hiking together mostly in silence, I certainly appreciated having Vynand present alongside me--even if doing so felt a bit less adventurous than hiking alone. Virtually all of my knowledge of the area's history and lore has come from conversations with Vynand. His English is among the best I've encountered in the village, a skill he honed during his work with seven different mines over the past ten years. He also has a remarkable ability to spot baboons far in the distance (including atop the mountain adjacent to the house).
As we drew closer to our destination, Vynand recounted the history of the landmarks we happened upon along our way--the foundation of the shop at which his father worked as a serviceman decdes ago, the small quarry where many villagers obtain flat stones for their walkways and driveways, and, lastly, the site of yet another abandoned mine headquarters, complete with dilapidated concrete buildings and empty swimming pool. Unlike the mine headquarters for the andalusite mine, which was largely intact until ransacked by local villagers 2007, the headquarters of this mine died a more 'natural' death resulting from a sharp drop in global demand during the 1970s for the mine's product--asbestos.
In the weeks since my first discussion with Vynand about the abandoned avocado orchard, the dearth of details combined with my obsession with avocados gave my mind's eye license to imagine a grove of dozens of untouched avocado trees abandoned by anxious Afrikaner farmers during the height of the freedom struggle in the early 1990s. Thus, I admit to being rather underwhelmed when Vynand pointed to two trees in a small clearing just past the mine headquarters. My initial disappointment deepened when, upon approaching the two trees, we encounted a 20-foot long wooden pole with a metal hook fashioned upon the end. It appeared that the avocado trees hidden among the mountains were not the best-kept secret in Ga-Mathabatha.
Like many a cloud, this one too had its silver lining. Despite being few in number, these two avocado trees were enormous--towering at least seventy feet above the ground. And in the high branches far above our heads were at least two hundred avocados, none lower than thrity feet from the ground. I immediately thought of my climbing rope, harness, slings, and quickdraws back at the house, which would enable me to safely climb high into the trees to retrieve more avocados than we could carry the 10 or so kilometers back to the house.
In his condition, however, Vynand was not exactly enthusiastic about making a return trip home only to return later in the afternoon. Instead, Vynand grabbed a thin, sagging branch far from the trunk of one tree and began to haul himself upward. To my amazement, the branch held and Vynand was able to climb easily to the second-lowest branch, which was at least twenty feet off the ground. I then handed him the wooden pole, and we proceeded to become a two-man avocado harvesting operation with Vynand hooking and pulling the avocados from their branches and me haplessly attempting to catch and/or avoid being hit by the falling avocados. After a few misfires resulting in a few unripe avocados splitting in half upon colliding mid-descent with low-lying branches, and thereby becoming baboon food, we quickly refined our teamwork and were able to come away with twenty avocados, some at least three times the size you'd find in your average North Carolina grocery store.
All twenty are now ripening in a canvas Weaver Street Market bag hanging by my window. Although tempting, I promise I won't eat them all.
Vynand's late-night plans had dashed my hopes last weekend of departing the house together at 5:30am to explore the clifflines about 15km northeast for potential climbing opportunities. This weekend, however, he decided that a morning hike would be an ideal way to expedite his recovery from a lingering cold. Thus, after giving Vynand a chance to sleep in a bit, we departed with a backpack full of water, biscuits ('cookies' in local parlance), and some extra bags to return with what I hoped would be more avocados than we could carry.
Our path followed the left fork of the rocky dirt road that passes between humpback whale-shaped mountains just north of our the house. We followed the road steadily up from the arid valley into the mountains. As with the my previous journeys into the mountains two weeks ago, we passed quickly from dodging cactus spines to marveling at grand deciduous trees. In spite of my inability to actually identify the changing species, witnessing such evident change in such a small space of time is one of the best parts of hiking in the areas surrounding my village.
Despite hiking together mostly in silence, I certainly appreciated having Vynand present alongside me--even if doing so felt a bit less adventurous than hiking alone. Virtually all of my knowledge of the area's history and lore has come from conversations with Vynand. His English is among the best I've encountered in the village, a skill he honed during his work with seven different mines over the past ten years. He also has a remarkable ability to spot baboons far in the distance (including atop the mountain adjacent to the house).
As we drew closer to our destination, Vynand recounted the history of the landmarks we happened upon along our way--the foundation of the shop at which his father worked as a serviceman decdes ago, the small quarry where many villagers obtain flat stones for their walkways and driveways, and, lastly, the site of yet another abandoned mine headquarters, complete with dilapidated concrete buildings and empty swimming pool. Unlike the mine headquarters for the andalusite mine, which was largely intact until ransacked by local villagers 2007, the headquarters of this mine died a more 'natural' death resulting from a sharp drop in global demand during the 1970s for the mine's product--asbestos.
In the weeks since my first discussion with Vynand about the abandoned avocado orchard, the dearth of details combined with my obsession with avocados gave my mind's eye license to imagine a grove of dozens of untouched avocado trees abandoned by anxious Afrikaner farmers during the height of the freedom struggle in the early 1990s. Thus, I admit to being rather underwhelmed when Vynand pointed to two trees in a small clearing just past the mine headquarters. My initial disappointment deepened when, upon approaching the two trees, we encounted a 20-foot long wooden pole with a metal hook fashioned upon the end. It appeared that the avocado trees hidden among the mountains were not the best-kept secret in Ga-Mathabatha.
Like many a cloud, this one too had its silver lining. Despite being few in number, these two avocado trees were enormous--towering at least seventy feet above the ground. And in the high branches far above our heads were at least two hundred avocados, none lower than thrity feet from the ground. I immediately thought of my climbing rope, harness, slings, and quickdraws back at the house, which would enable me to safely climb high into the trees to retrieve more avocados than we could carry the 10 or so kilometers back to the house.
In his condition, however, Vynand was not exactly enthusiastic about making a return trip home only to return later in the afternoon. Instead, Vynand grabbed a thin, sagging branch far from the trunk of one tree and began to haul himself upward. To my amazement, the branch held and Vynand was able to climb easily to the second-lowest branch, which was at least twenty feet off the ground. I then handed him the wooden pole, and we proceeded to become a two-man avocado harvesting operation with Vynand hooking and pulling the avocados from their branches and me haplessly attempting to catch and/or avoid being hit by the falling avocados. After a few misfires resulting in a few unripe avocados splitting in half upon colliding mid-descent with low-lying branches, and thereby becoming baboon food, we quickly refined our teamwork and were able to come away with twenty avocados, some at least three times the size you'd find in your average North Carolina grocery store.
All twenty are now ripening in a canvas Weaver Street Market bag hanging by my window. Although tempting, I promise I won't eat them all.
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