For all his faults, the poor, the disabled, the uninsured, single mothers, and oppressed minorities of the US lost one of their most dedicated and unarguably their most effective champion last night. I just hope we can do his memory justice by finally realizing his dream of universal health care that he spent his last forty years fighting for. In spite of the long shadows cast by his elder brothers, Ted Kennedy's innumerable achievements fighting for those marginalized by society during his 46 years in the Senate have no equal. Rest in peace, Senator Kennedy. We'll do our best to make sure the dream shall never die.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Sunday, August 23, 2009
The 'Tough' Part
On the agency’s website and in its recruiting materials, Peace Corps service is often touted as “the toughest job you’ll ever love”. And if you speak with a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer (RPCV) upon her arrival home in the US, odds are good that her portrayal of her service will not be too far afield from the official tagline. Speak to someone in the first six months or year into his service, however, and odds are good that the ‘tough’ part of the tagline will heavily outweigh the ‘love’ part. To my surprise, I have failed to defy those odds.
Before embarking on this chapter in my life, I (like, I would guess, most other Americans familiar with the work of the Peace Corps) envisioned the ‘tough’ part of life in the Peace Corps as learning to live without all of the many comforts most Americans have come to take for granted: electricity, running water, grocery stores, reliable personal transportation, air-conditioning, television, refrigeration, etc. Add to that vague notions of having to learn a new language, being isolated from family and friends back home, and adapting to unfamiliar cultural norms (Am I supposed to take off my shoes when I enter someone’s home? Am I supposed to make eye contact with people?), and you probably have a decent representation of the tough part of Peace Corps service in the public consciousness.
As I shared many of these preconceptions of Peace Corps service, I believed that I was particularly well suited to thrive as a Peace Corps Volunteer. As an ‘outdoor enthusiast’, I’ve long known that I have the ability to adapt to living with few creature comforts for sustained periods of time. As a long-time rock climber and runner, I’ve long known that I have a natural propensity to endure long periods of pain and misery to achieve distant goals (being a public policy graduate student certainly qualifies here as well). I’ve rarely had trouble meeting people and making new friends when placed in situations where I know no one. My prior work in politics and government and the time I spent volunteering for various organizations demonstrated a strong ethic of public service. I’d traveled to places as diverse as Costa Rica, Peru, and Bangladesh and, other than getting pick-pocketed within three hours of my first foreign trip (excluding a day or two each in Toronto and Juarez), I’d found traveling abroad to be immensely enjoyable and rewarding. What other qualities could one need to be an effective, fulfilled Peace Corps Volunteer?
In two words: Patience and Persistence. The kind of patience and persistence required to be a successful Volunteer are altogether different than what one typically conceives. By patience, I don’t mean an ability to tolerate waiting. Being tolerant of having to wait more than we’re accustomed to in the US is one of the challenges of Peace Corps that I anticipated. Although I cannot say that I enjoy waiting four hours for a khumbie to fill up for a trip that should take one hour, I’ve certainly been forced to make peace with waiting. The Patience I’ve struggled with most (and it is definitely patience with a capital ‘P’) is being at peace with the knowledge that I could be substantially more effective and more productive elsewhere. My principal motivation for entering Peace Corps was to ‘make a difference’ in the lives of those less fortunate than myself. How does one sustain one’s motivation for Peace Corps service while simultaneously holding the belief that one left behind a career and a set of volunteer activities that almost certainly made a greater difference in the lives of those less fortunate than oneself? Should such motivation even be sustained? For how long? Those are among the many questions I’ve found myself wrestling with for months.
One obvious solution to resolving my dilemma would be to simply find ways to become more effective and productive in my work. This is where Persistence comes into play. At least two or three times each week, I walk into work with a new plan to address some of the myriad causes I perceive to be limiting my effectiveness as a Volunteer. With rare exception, I walk home that evening with my plans thwarted (yet again), my self-confidence dashed and motivation to try again the next day at a perilously low level. As one of my ‘veteran’ Volunteer colleagues here in Limpopo puts it, to survive as a Volunteer, you have to somehow sustain the enthusiasm to start new projects knowing full well that pretty much any project you start is almost sure to fail to generate long-term benefits and, in some cases, may even cause long-term harm. At first I thought he was exaggerating; now I’m not so sure.
If you’ve read this far, you may be asking yourself why I’m still here. In a word: Hope. (How about that for triteness?) I hope that, one of these days, I’m going to have learned enough from all of my many, many failures that I’ll actually be able to get a non-fundraising project off the ground. One of the problems with hope is that holding on too long can lead to regret if the object of hope is never fulfilled. In the absence of progress on ‘making a difference’ over the next few months, judging whether I’ve crossed the fine line separating Persistence and unrealistic hope is likely to be one of my biggest challenges. If I’m lucky, there’ll be no need to make that judgment.
General Update:
In one week, the group of Volunteers with whom I arrived here in South Africa nearly seven months ago (i.e. SA-19) will participate in a full week of training back at our pre-service training site in Mpumalanga Province. It should be a great opportunity to reconnect with a lot of friends I have not seen in the five months since we graduated from trainees to volunteers.
Not long thereafter, I’ll have my first visitor from home! My girlfriend and I will be touring South Africa for several weeks. I couldn’t be more excited!
PS – Thanks to those of you who sent me Happy Birthday wishes over the weekend!
Monday, August 3, 2009
First SA Vacation - Climbing in Eastern Cape
In lieu of a full blog post (for the moment, at least), I would like to direct your attention to my newest Picasa photo album from the 2009 Petzl Rock & Road. From July 17-25, I participated as a guest in South Africa's premier rock climbing competition. The competition brought together most of South Africa's top-ranked sport climbers for a week-long competition at four venues across the Eastern Cape province. Perhaps the competition's biggest attraction was the addition of an international guest climber: Adam Ondra, the world's top-ranked sport climber on 8a.nu.
The week proved to be a lot of fun, and I intend to write more about it in my next blog post. In the mean time, enjoy the photos I've posted, and check out the Petzl Rock and Road website for another perspective on the week (only the most recent updates are on the first page; you'll have to go back a few pages to start at the first day).
The week proved to be a lot of fun, and I intend to write more about it in my next blog post. In the mean time, enjoy the photos I've posted, and check out the Petzl Rock and Road website for another perspective on the week (only the most recent updates are on the first page; you'll have to go back a few pages to start at the first day).
Monday, June 22, 2009
Knowledge o kae? (Where is Knowledge?)
Without exaggeration, I hear the above question about ten times per day when I'm in the office. Given the frequency I'm asked about where one might find Knowledge, one might think that the staff at Fanang Diatla Self-Help Project are budding epistemologists. As interesting a work environment that would be, the reality is that I share an office with the most-demanded member of Fanang Diatla's staff, whose name just happens to be Knowledge. (You Northern Sotho scholars at home will have noted that 'Knowledge o kae?' refers to the person whereas 'Knowledge e kae?' would refer to 'justified true belief'.)
As the financial manager and heir-apparent of an organization that receives funding from too many sources to count, Knowledge is almost constantly responding to queries from funders, other managers, administrative staff, home-based care volunteers, staff at the village clinic, bakery staff, drivers, members of the Fanang Diatla football team, and, of course, our CEO, Ms. Agnes Qwabe. These queries frequently take Knowledge away from our shared office, whether to our CEO's office, the village bank, the clinic, nearby Atok Platinum Mine, or to 'town' (aka Polokwane), but rarely does he inform me of his destination when he departs the office. Thus, my usual response to the query I hear so often is a disappointing "Ga ke tsebe" ("I don't know," which is also my usual response to the second-most common phrase I hear from my office post, "[Hole] Puncher e kae?").
Oftentimes, especially when the destination is 'town', I accompany Knowledge on his excursions. I thought, for this posting, I would write a bit about one of these such excursions to illustrate why it often takes rather longer than one would expect to accomplish even relatively simple tasks in the developing world, even when one happens to live in a part of the developing world that has relatively easy access to first-world resources and institutions.
One of my early projects here at Fanang Diatla has been to secure donations of computers to establish an information technology center at our new drop-in center (DIC) for orphans and vulnerable children. After an unsuccessful application to the Dell Foundation (they failed to mention on their website that they have appropriated all of their funds for the entire year) and unanswered queries to the Vodacom Foundation, we received an affirmative response from Computer Aid International, a UK organization that collects used computers and distributes them to schools and NGOs in developing countries. Computer Aid International agreed to donate ten used PCs to the new Fanang Diatla information technology resource center, so long as we paid for shipping and handling from London to the Port of Durban (South Africa's 2nd largest city and the busiest port in Africa). Thus, although the computers were technically 'free', Computer Aid International would not ship the computers until we deposited ₤770 (about $1,265 or R10,238) into their UK bank account. That amount, while certainly more than reasonable for ten high-quality used computers, would represent a substantial expense for a non-profit organization based in a poor, rural community where many families subsist on less than R1,000 per month (and many much less).
When I read the email from Computer Aid International on the 22nd of May, my excitement was tempered by my uncertainty regarding whether we would be able to find an organization willing to provide us the required funds within the six-week window (starting from the 13th of May, the date of our original application) for which the invoice would be valid. To my surprise, when I informed Fanang Diatla's CEO, Agnes, of the financial conditions of the donation, she assured me that finding the money to pay the shipping and handling costs would not be an issue. I just had to complete the paperwork, and she and Knowledge would ensure the funds would be available.
Within a few days, I had prepared all of the paperwork and investigated the logistics of making an international bank transfer from South Africa. My optimism that completing the transfer would be so simple even led me to email our principal bank to see if we could execute the transfer online. That's when things started going downhill. Less than 24 hours after replacing the cable that connects my phone to my laptop, which had limited my access to the internet to borrowing Knowledge's computer during the times he was out of the office, my laptop charger decided to malfunction and become a serious fire hazard, as the resistance in the wires somehow increased enough to burn through the plastic coating. The bad news: I was out a functioning laptop until I could replace the adapter. The good news: I managed to avoid burning down my house.
I found myself reassured the next day, when I called a computer shop in Polokwane that assured me that, although finding a replacement charger for a Dell laptop would be impossible, they carried a universal adapter that would get me back up-and-running for a 'mere' one-third of my monthly stipend. Despite the financial blow, having a working laptop would be more than worth the cost. To make a long story short, I'll just say that more than a week later I had discovered the limitations of 'universal' and found myself still without a working laptop. Instead, I had the pleasure of spending many hours and wasted rand dealing with the worst customer service I've experienced in my life thanks to the monopoly Dell South Africa has given to a single supplier of Dell computer accessories to out-of-warranty customers.
By the time I received my new laptop adapter, we were down to fewer than three weeks until the deadline to deposit the ₤770 into Computer Aid International's account. Also by this time, I had followed up the non-response to my email inquiry about international bank transfers with a phone call and learned that we would need to come into town to execute the transfer. Of course, organizing a trip into town is rarely a problem--except when we have a full week of visits by one of our major funders. Thus, Knowledge and I would have to delay our trip to the bank until the following Friday, eight business days from the deadline.
To ensure that things would run smoothly on Friday, I called our bank to see if we could make an early-morning appointment and to check to see what, if anything, we would have to bring in addition to the order invoice and our own bank account information (the former inquiry more to provide incentive for us to leave on-time than to ensure that we would be received promptly upon arrival). The bank representative informed me that 1) they do not make appointments and 2) we would just need to bring ourselves and both parties' banking details. Very simple.
At the bank on Friday, despite departing two hours late and being accosted by a white bank employee eager to share her life story of being abandoned by her adult children who fled the country in the 1980s and early 1990s to escape being drafted to fight the 'terrorists' in Angola and Mozambique ('terrorists', of course, being the Apartheid-era term for the ANC freedom fighters in exile), we reached the front of the queue not long after noon. Not long after being seated, however, we were informed that we were missing two essential elements of the transaction process, a letter on our official letterhead indicating approval for the transfer and, more significantly, the physical presence of at least two of the three signatories capable of authorizing a transfer from our main account. It was at that point, that I realized that the "yourselves" from my previous conversation with the bank representative meant not "your organization's Peace Corps Volunteers and Financial Manager" but "the persons with the authority to withdraw funds from your account". Thus, we returned home to Ga-Mathabatha that afternoon unsuccessful but confident that everything would be easily resolved on Monday, when we would return with the required letter and two authorized signatories.
When I arrived at the office on Monday morning with the approval in-hand, ready to head out early yet again, Knowledge kindly informed that, yet again, we'd have to delay our trip. Tuesday was a national holiday, but Limpopo Province had declared Monday to be a school holiday, which meant that all of the potential signatories would be off for the day. No problem. We'd just go on Wednesday.
Wednesday arrives. Only one week left to make the deposit. Once again I'm ready to head off to town. The signatories are back to work and free to leave for town for the day. We'll be leaving just after morning prayer. After morning prayer, Knowledge's phone rings. It's our principal contact person with the provincial Department of Health. He needs a report on the work of our caregivers, and he needs it yesterday. We're not leaving today.
Now it's Thursday. More than five weeks since I submitted the application for computers to Computer Aid International and five days until the invoice expires. One thing I learned about international bank transfers during my early research into the process is that the actual transfer can take anywhere from a few days to a week. The odds are pretty good that if Computer Aid does not receive the funds in the allotted time, they'll deny a second request believing that Fanang Diatla probably is not ready to manage a computer lab if the staff cannot even manage a simple bank transfer. Thus, I'm a bit nervous when 10am passes, and we still have not left the office. By 10:30, however, we're on the road and on our way to pick up one of the two signatories en route to town. We arrive just after noon and find the line at the bank to be mercifully short. The service agent assisting us is friendly and gives off an air of competence. Things are looking up.
Within thirty minutes, we've filled out and signed all the necessary documents and the agent has faxed all the forms to the Lebowakgomo branch of the bank, which hosts our main account. We wait. Nothing happens. The agent calls the Lebowakgomo branch. The 'advanced expert', the only person capable of handling international bank transfers at the Lebowakgomo branch, has left for lunch, but he should be back soon. One hour passes. The advanced expert has not yet returned, and Knowledge has to run off to a short meeting with some folks from the Department of Social Development. Another half-hour passes. I run across the street to get some lunch and bring back a snack from KFC to one of the signatories. Three o'clock passes. The bank closes at 3:30. My phone rings; it's Knowledge. Yes, we're still waiting. Yes, go ahead and make an angry call to the Lebowakgomo branch. It can't hurt at this point.
Ten minutes later, the agent's phone rings. It's the advanced expert. The agent corrects one of the forms, gives the form to the signatories to sign, and faxes it back to the advanced expert. The funds will be in Computer Aid's bank account on the 22nd of June. My muscles relax. My breath deepens. Knowledge returns. I smile.
As the financial manager and heir-apparent of an organization that receives funding from too many sources to count, Knowledge is almost constantly responding to queries from funders, other managers, administrative staff, home-based care volunteers, staff at the village clinic, bakery staff, drivers, members of the Fanang Diatla football team, and, of course, our CEO, Ms. Agnes Qwabe. These queries frequently take Knowledge away from our shared office, whether to our CEO's office, the village bank, the clinic, nearby Atok Platinum Mine, or to 'town' (aka Polokwane), but rarely does he inform me of his destination when he departs the office. Thus, my usual response to the query I hear so often is a disappointing "Ga ke tsebe" ("I don't know," which is also my usual response to the second-most common phrase I hear from my office post, "[Hole] Puncher e kae?").
Oftentimes, especially when the destination is 'town', I accompany Knowledge on his excursions. I thought, for this posting, I would write a bit about one of these such excursions to illustrate why it often takes rather longer than one would expect to accomplish even relatively simple tasks in the developing world, even when one happens to live in a part of the developing world that has relatively easy access to first-world resources and institutions.
One of my early projects here at Fanang Diatla has been to secure donations of computers to establish an information technology center at our new drop-in center (DIC) for orphans and vulnerable children. After an unsuccessful application to the Dell Foundation (they failed to mention on their website that they have appropriated all of their funds for the entire year) and unanswered queries to the Vodacom Foundation, we received an affirmative response from Computer Aid International, a UK organization that collects used computers and distributes them to schools and NGOs in developing countries. Computer Aid International agreed to donate ten used PCs to the new Fanang Diatla information technology resource center, so long as we paid for shipping and handling from London to the Port of Durban (South Africa's 2nd largest city and the busiest port in Africa). Thus, although the computers were technically 'free', Computer Aid International would not ship the computers until we deposited ₤770 (about $1,265 or R10,238) into their UK bank account. That amount, while certainly more than reasonable for ten high-quality used computers, would represent a substantial expense for a non-profit organization based in a poor, rural community where many families subsist on less than R1,000 per month (and many much less).
When I read the email from Computer Aid International on the 22nd of May, my excitement was tempered by my uncertainty regarding whether we would be able to find an organization willing to provide us the required funds within the six-week window (starting from the 13th of May, the date of our original application) for which the invoice would be valid. To my surprise, when I informed Fanang Diatla's CEO, Agnes, of the financial conditions of the donation, she assured me that finding the money to pay the shipping and handling costs would not be an issue. I just had to complete the paperwork, and she and Knowledge would ensure the funds would be available.
Within a few days, I had prepared all of the paperwork and investigated the logistics of making an international bank transfer from South Africa. My optimism that completing the transfer would be so simple even led me to email our principal bank to see if we could execute the transfer online. That's when things started going downhill. Less than 24 hours after replacing the cable that connects my phone to my laptop, which had limited my access to the internet to borrowing Knowledge's computer during the times he was out of the office, my laptop charger decided to malfunction and become a serious fire hazard, as the resistance in the wires somehow increased enough to burn through the plastic coating. The bad news: I was out a functioning laptop until I could replace the adapter. The good news: I managed to avoid burning down my house.
I found myself reassured the next day, when I called a computer shop in Polokwane that assured me that, although finding a replacement charger for a Dell laptop would be impossible, they carried a universal adapter that would get me back up-and-running for a 'mere' one-third of my monthly stipend. Despite the financial blow, having a working laptop would be more than worth the cost. To make a long story short, I'll just say that more than a week later I had discovered the limitations of 'universal' and found myself still without a working laptop. Instead, I had the pleasure of spending many hours and wasted rand dealing with the worst customer service I've experienced in my life thanks to the monopoly Dell South Africa has given to a single supplier of Dell computer accessories to out-of-warranty customers.
By the time I received my new laptop adapter, we were down to fewer than three weeks until the deadline to deposit the ₤770 into Computer Aid International's account. Also by this time, I had followed up the non-response to my email inquiry about international bank transfers with a phone call and learned that we would need to come into town to execute the transfer. Of course, organizing a trip into town is rarely a problem--except when we have a full week of visits by one of our major funders. Thus, Knowledge and I would have to delay our trip to the bank until the following Friday, eight business days from the deadline.
To ensure that things would run smoothly on Friday, I called our bank to see if we could make an early-morning appointment and to check to see what, if anything, we would have to bring in addition to the order invoice and our own bank account information (the former inquiry more to provide incentive for us to leave on-time than to ensure that we would be received promptly upon arrival). The bank representative informed me that 1) they do not make appointments and 2) we would just need to bring ourselves and both parties' banking details. Very simple.
At the bank on Friday, despite departing two hours late and being accosted by a white bank employee eager to share her life story of being abandoned by her adult children who fled the country in the 1980s and early 1990s to escape being drafted to fight the 'terrorists' in Angola and Mozambique ('terrorists', of course, being the Apartheid-era term for the ANC freedom fighters in exile), we reached the front of the queue not long after noon. Not long after being seated, however, we were informed that we were missing two essential elements of the transaction process, a letter on our official letterhead indicating approval for the transfer and, more significantly, the physical presence of at least two of the three signatories capable of authorizing a transfer from our main account. It was at that point, that I realized that the "yourselves" from my previous conversation with the bank representative meant not "your organization's Peace Corps Volunteers and Financial Manager" but "the persons with the authority to withdraw funds from your account". Thus, we returned home to Ga-Mathabatha that afternoon unsuccessful but confident that everything would be easily resolved on Monday, when we would return with the required letter and two authorized signatories.
When I arrived at the office on Monday morning with the approval in-hand, ready to head out early yet again, Knowledge kindly informed that, yet again, we'd have to delay our trip. Tuesday was a national holiday, but Limpopo Province had declared Monday to be a school holiday, which meant that all of the potential signatories would be off for the day. No problem. We'd just go on Wednesday.
Wednesday arrives. Only one week left to make the deposit. Once again I'm ready to head off to town. The signatories are back to work and free to leave for town for the day. We'll be leaving just after morning prayer. After morning prayer, Knowledge's phone rings. It's our principal contact person with the provincial Department of Health. He needs a report on the work of our caregivers, and he needs it yesterday. We're not leaving today.
Now it's Thursday. More than five weeks since I submitted the application for computers to Computer Aid International and five days until the invoice expires. One thing I learned about international bank transfers during my early research into the process is that the actual transfer can take anywhere from a few days to a week. The odds are pretty good that if Computer Aid does not receive the funds in the allotted time, they'll deny a second request believing that Fanang Diatla probably is not ready to manage a computer lab if the staff cannot even manage a simple bank transfer. Thus, I'm a bit nervous when 10am passes, and we still have not left the office. By 10:30, however, we're on the road and on our way to pick up one of the two signatories en route to town. We arrive just after noon and find the line at the bank to be mercifully short. The service agent assisting us is friendly and gives off an air of competence. Things are looking up.
Within thirty minutes, we've filled out and signed all the necessary documents and the agent has faxed all the forms to the Lebowakgomo branch of the bank, which hosts our main account. We wait. Nothing happens. The agent calls the Lebowakgomo branch. The 'advanced expert', the only person capable of handling international bank transfers at the Lebowakgomo branch, has left for lunch, but he should be back soon. One hour passes. The advanced expert has not yet returned, and Knowledge has to run off to a short meeting with some folks from the Department of Social Development. Another half-hour passes. I run across the street to get some lunch and bring back a snack from KFC to one of the signatories. Three o'clock passes. The bank closes at 3:30. My phone rings; it's Knowledge. Yes, we're still waiting. Yes, go ahead and make an angry call to the Lebowakgomo branch. It can't hurt at this point.
Ten minutes later, the agent's phone rings. It's the advanced expert. The agent corrects one of the forms, gives the form to the signatories to sign, and faxes it back to the advanced expert. The funds will be in Computer Aid's bank account on the 22nd of June. My muscles relax. My breath deepens. Knowledge returns. I smile.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Swearing-In Speech
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.]
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.]
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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