If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; Even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me – Psalm 139: 9,10
It’s been an interesting few days. Sunday afternoon I went for a run, in an area where there are usually lots of pedestrians and cars driving by. About five minutes in, I saw two young black guys approaching on the same side of the street. There was nothing unusual about this scenario but I had just a moment of unease. No one else was nearby. A month ago I wouldn’t have worn my earphones on a run and would’ve given them a wide berth when crossing. I’m still careful but probably not as alert as I was before. Interestingly, just a few minutes before, I had been thinking about a sister in downtown Durban who had someone try to steal her necklace off her. I was wondering how I would react in a situation like that.
As I came up to the guys I greeted them and one of them said something. I thought he was asking for money but he tapped his wrist. I was relieved he just wanted to know what time it was so I pulled out my phone to look. It was 1:24. I figured he wouldn’t understand what I said so I turned it toward him (I did not hand it to him, as has been jokingly reported). When I did that, he grabbed my hand and tried to pry the phone away. Neither of us made a sound as we struggled. We looked each other straight in the eye and wrestled for the phone for a few seconds. His friend just stood there watching, which was amazing since with a little teamwork there is no doubt they would have had my phone.
Finally, the guy just let go. We still had our eyes locked for a few seconds as I was backing away. Right when I started to turn and run, my running app beeped in my ears (the earphones hadn’t come out during the struggle), and said, “Start running.” I did. I kept looking back and they were casually walking along in the other direction.
I ran for a minute or so, but I was shaking really badly and just wanted to go home. But I didn’t want to turn around and go back in their direction. As I rounded the corner I saw two guys in professional-looking clothes discussing some kind of electrical box on the side of the road. I went up to them and told them what happened, and that I lived just around the block but didn’t want to walk back that way. One of them offered to drive me back. Obviously there was some hesitation, but it seemed the best course of action at that point.
After I got back and told the story a few times – including calling my mother at 6 am her time so she wouldn’t read it on Facebook – I knew if I didn’t go right back out I would be scared to go at all. So I went a different route, left my iPhone and earphones home, and took my volunteer phone with me (I can’t make calls on my iPhone so I have a cheap pay-as-you-go phone). I was on high-alert the whole time but I’m glad I went.
As the day went on and I had more time for it to sink in, I felt more and more shaken up. But after a couple of hours of hiding out in my room, and an evening visit to the Beelers’, I felt much better.
Of course I put this on Facebook and the variety of reactions (from there and from others I told) was interesting. It made me think about the way people respond to potential danger. Some were adamant that I shouldn’t ever go running by myself again, some made jokes about the situation, and some expressed that I should be careful but not let it stop me. I was especially grateful for the way my mother reacted. She’s pretty good at not making me responsible for her opinions on a subject. Of course she was half asleep and probably doesn’t remember the conversation.
All of this sounds really stupid in hindsight. I know now not to get complacent, and to be friendly but not naive. I am very aware of my surroundings and originally asked several people whether running by myself was a safe thing to do, and the consensus was that as long as I run in the daytime, the odds of something serious happening are very low. Other volunteers and locals run in this area and this is the first incident of this type. I’ve since been told that another strategy potential phone-stealers will use is to ask if you have a cigarette and then grab your stuff when you come close. A guy in the Spar parking lot asked me that the other day. Luckily I don’t smoke, and now I know not to start.
My philosophy on this kind of thing is to take reasonable precautions (not wearing earphones; crossing the street when someone approaches, even if it feels rude; having my volunteer phone with me) but not to let fear cripple me. It’s a level of risk I’m comfortable taking in exchange for the physical and mental benefits I get from running.
Later that afternoon, Matt and Liz and I decided to take a spur-of-the-moment trip to St. Lucia (not the island – sorry for the confusion, Facebook people). We left Monday morning and stayed two nights. We went on several game drives (safaris), which will be blogged after I’ve gone through all my pictures.
But now it’s time to go for a run.
(In other news, I just triply impressed the new girl who was being trained at Spar. A. I taught her how to scroll through to find the credit option, B. I knew her name, Thando, means “love” in Zulu, and C. I said “ngiyabonga” [thank you – singular, as opposed to “siyabonga,” which is plural, but used more commonly].)
Happy Thanksgiving! Our “American Thanksgiving in South Africa” celebration is tomorrow. I have a lot to be thankful for.
Blogging in my pajamas, with the windows open, a glass of Grapetizer, and Bob Marley blasting from next door – recipe for a great night.
Reflections
I don’t know why, but I’m feeling really sentimental tonight. Maybe it’s the music coming from the business next door (more on that later). I don’t have much access to music here, so any time I hear any, it reminds me of home and gives me a reflective feeling. (Sometimes I walk down every aisle at Spar, just so I can listen to American music for as long as possible.) I’m not feeling sentimental about home; I’m feeling overwhelmed with thankfulness for the experience I’m having. I’m realizing how special and life-changing my time here has been, and will continue to be – not in any one huge way, but in a hundred little ways. I’m glad I’m aware of it while it’s going on, because there’s nothing like realizing after an experience is over that it fundamentally changed you and you didn’t even know it was happening. I want to be more aware of the moments that change my life.
Liz and Matt and I ate dinner together tonight (leftovers from the never-ending Alfredo sauce). I hadn’t had much social contact the last couple of days, so it was nice. Later I started reflecting on the mish-mash of volunteers I’ve lived in close quarters with during my time in Durban. There have been times, before I got here, when tons of volunteers lived at the hall. I think that would’ve been fun, but I’m quite content with my experience living here with just a few others. I consider myself blessed to be able to have a room to myself (most of the time) and to be with other volunteers who feel comfortable sitting in a room together, talking or not talking.
This time of year is really busy, and the regular projects – and my time here – are coming to a close. I’ve still got four and a half weeks left, which is almost 1/3 of my total time, but it will be different. So I’ve been thinking about the new friends I’ve made. Matt, who I spent almost all my time with for the first two months, and still do a considerable amount. And now Liz, who’s only been here a week – but it was just in time, because she’s possibly the only other person who would’ve gone into the crocodile ring with me. Crissie, who helped me in my attempted monkey-sightings and shared in my joy when I finally got a really awesome one. Glenn, um, let’s see, what is Glenn good for? He’s got awesome hair and a cool accent, and didn’t get upset that time I accidentally caressed his toe. And the three little boys, who keep things interesting with their adorableness.
It’s been really enlightening to have discussions with all of them about their experiences growing up in a part of Christadelphia I wasn’t really aware of – and to hear how similar my background is to some of theirs, despite being from three different continents.
Liz and Matt are leaving in two weeks, and I’ll have two and a half more weeks here without them. I’m anticipating being really sad for a day, and then figuring out what kind of shenanigans I can come up with that even Liz wouldn’t go for.
There’s that proverb about never stepping into the same river twice. It’s true. If I end up back in Durban at some point, it will be different. That’s okay. The work being done here unites people, and draws together those with the same focus and foundation – it’s a formula guaranteed to create bonds. But this time and these friendships will always be special.
Actually, I looked that quote up and it has a second part. “No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man” – Heraclitus (which is a ridiculous name, by the way).
Jamaican Christmas Party
The business next door had their Christmas party this afternoon and evening (still going strong at 11:30 actually). Apparently the theme was loud Bob Marley music and Jamaican hats. I even saw a van full of wanna-be Rastas that had relocated to the parking lot of Spar, smoking something I couldn’t quite identify by smell. Everyone else parked in our parking lot (we have a shared gate between us) so I was glad they moved across the street.
After dinner I sat outside in my pajamas with a cup of coffee and listened to their music from the steps. I was soon joined by a girl with rainbow hair who was trying to find a quiet corner from which to make a phone call.
Later I was sitting in my room and heard drumming and yelling (I love drumming; not so crazy about yelling) so I went to check it out. I lurked in the area of our shared gate until the bartender lady told me, “They’re being taught how to drum.” I thought about grabbing my Jamaican hat and sneaking in, but I was still wearing my pajamas, so I thought that might be a little too weird.
Kitchen Acrobatics
My simple statement that, “I feel like doing kitchen acrobatics,” led to a 20-minute session of planking (exercise planking, as well as the Internet-photo-trend planking) and other attempted feats of strength and endurance between Liz and me. I’ve reached the one-minute mark on my elbow planks, and Liz gave it a try and made it to 30 seconds on her first attempt, which I thought was pretty impressive.
[These are not the hard planks.]
The only moment Matt looked up from his laptop was when I did my best attempt at a yoga tree thing on the kitchen island. (I cleaned it afterward – trust me, it’s cleaner than it was before – although I hope no Westville AB’s are blog-followers.)
I then showed Liz my newest exercise and was glad to see it was ridiculously hard for her too. It’s a “Bar Method” exercise – they’re really hard but fun (youtube them; they’re quick and make you feel strong). If you want to try this one, sit on the floor with your back to a kitchen counter or something similar (you’re supposed to use a ballet bar for these, so sitting beneath a counter and reaching up to use the rim to hold onto is a good substitute). Bend your knees and then alternate raising one leg and then the other. This part takes effort but isn’t too hard. Next, lift both legs at the same time and see how long you can hold them off the floor, still bent, using your hands on the “bar” for leverage and keeping your back straight against the surface behind you. A couple of weeks ago I could just do about 10 seconds at a time, but now I’m up to about 45.
Oops, I Killed A Praying Mantis
According to internet lore (but deemed to be untrue by Snopes), it is illegal to kill a praying mantis. I do feel bad; I really do – but I needed sleep.
This creature flew in my window at 12:30 am. Like he owned the place. I thought it was a flying stick (I was half-asleep, after all). He flew in slowly and casually, with full confidence that he could outwit me. I managed to take a picture, and then tried to shoo him toward the door with a notebook. He disappeared for several minutes and then re-appeared. On. My. Shoulder. I hyperventilated silently, so as not to wake my sleeping comrades. I slapped at him and didn’t see where he went. I went back to bed, only to spot him a few minutes later, on the bulletin board 2 feet from my head. I tried to gently coax him to the window, but he disappeared again, somewhere in the vicinity of my bed. A few minutes later he appeared again, flying around the room like a maniac. I cornered him and whacked him to death with a stack of papers. I left his corpse in the floor. It’s still there. The maid doesn’t come till Wednesday, so I guess I’ll have to move it at some point. But I’m hoping it will serve as a warning to all other creatures contemplating crossing my threshold.
This
Matt Helms, today I drove past a guy driving a pick-up truck (not common here) who looked exactly like you, pre-“Shave Heard Round the World.” It made me miss you – well, Sharon, actually ;). I figured it was worth a blog shout-out.
[I think he was even wearing this shirt.]
Thanksgiving
I just figured something out. I know Americans are notorious for being ignorant about the rest of the world (as is pointed out to me every day, by those people who live somewhere else and have funny accents). I knew that Christmas and Halloween aren’t as big a deal here as in the US. I assumed it was the same with Thanksgiving – that people celebrated it, but just on a lower scale. But I noticed that there aren’t any Thanksgiving decorations in any of the stores (they have their Christmas stuff out next to their beachwear). Then it finally hit me. Thanksgiving isn’t just low-key here. They don’t have it. Oh. Upon further contemplation, it made perfect since that they wouldn’t have a holiday to celebrate American’s independence from England. I feel really stupid. However, I’m going to feel a lot better on Friday when I’m eating an authentic American Thanksgiving dinner (Friday’s the best we could do since people have to work Thursday and get up early on Friday)…with English people, and Australians, and South Africans. I hope we get to wear pilgrim hats…in fact, I’m going to make sure we wear pilgrim hats.
Ahh, I’m really enjoying this music. In the last ten minutes they’ve played, “One Love,” and “No Woman, No Cry” (not the Fugees version, obviously). I’ve been waiting all night for “Thrift Shop,” but I guess Africa isn’t quite ready for that.
More Precious Than Gold
I have a friend who often sends out Bible verse emails. He hadn’t sent one in a while, and the other day sent this: “That the trial of your faith, being much more precious than of gold that perisheth, though it be tried with fire, might be found unto praise and honour and glory at the appearing of Jesus Christ” – 1 Peter 1:7.
I’ve read this many times, but the wonder of it suddenly hit me. That’s really cool! Most people have heard the analogies about the process of gold being refined, and how it’s a beautiful type of faith. But I’d never really contemplated this verse and what it’s saying. Obviously God doesn’t care about gold, so the comparison isn’t, “God cares about your faith more than He cares about gold.” It’s “God cares about your faith more than man cares about gold.” Man cares about gold a lot! People work for it, steal it, protect it, or even die for it. If God considers our faith more precious than gold, so should we. We should work for it, steal it (I’m thinking there’s a metaphorical parallel – but maybe not), protect it, or even die for it.
One commentary on this verse says, “Gold is the most precious of metals, faith is more precious far; the proof of faith is more momentous beyond all comparison than the proof of gold.”
Gold is proved by how well it withstands fiery trial; so is faith. Untried faith might still be faith, but the only way to get the little (or big) impurities out is through trial. The outcome of those trials is infinitely precious to God – it’s your salvation.
Just something I was thinking about.
“In this you greatly rejoice, even though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been distressed by various trials, so that the proof of your faith, being more precious than gold which is perishable, even though tested by fire, may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ; and though you have not seen Him, you love Him, and though you do not see Him now, but believe in Him, you greatly rejoice with joy inexpressible and full of glory, obtaining as the outcome of your faith the salvation of your souls.”
Time For Bed
Now they’re playing a weird techno version of “Stuck On You.” It’s time to call it a night.
Happy’s is not my favorite project. I think some past volunteers have loved going there, but Matt and I aren’t crazy about it. (Especially not Matt.) Since I work with special needs’ kids it probably seemed like a natural fit; but I’m not doing therapy with them, so it’s a whole different ballgame. But it made sense for me to take over the lesson when I got here, since Matt had been doing it for a while. It’s taken several weeks for me to feel comfortable driving there, because it ends up being a 4-5 stop trip, between picking up people and dropping them off; and I don’t know my way around very well, so he’s had to go anyway. But I figured I’d try it today; so Liz, Maxwell, and I (plus two other guys who we were supposed to drop off, but Maxwell forgot and gave me directions straight to Happy’s) set off.
On the way Maxwell asked Liz and me, “So, in USA and the UK, do either of you have dating partners?” It took us both a minute to figure out what he said, and then what he meant. “Oh, boyfriends?” I asked finally. I’m not sure we ever got around to answering his question because we were laughing at his choice of words continuously until we arrived at Happy’s.
Once there, we discovered the place was practically empty – just a few older kids hanging around. The ladies who worked there said the kids have gone home for the year (the school year runs mid-January through early-December, but the kids start to trail off after their final exams are over – which they are).
I won’t be here when they start back up, so it’s quite possible I won’t ever see those kids again. Then I felt bad, remembering that the last time I talked to Teddy I told him he could help interpret my lesson next time. That would have been last week, but we canceled all other projects so we could do a work day at Lamontville. Teddy’s concern for the little girl he’s been looking out for slowly began to outweigh the annoyance of his constant clinging on my arm and asking for phone numbers and not letting me shut the door. I’m gonna miss that guy. I had Maxwell check the dorm to make sure he wasn’t one of the ones still there, but he was gone.
I suddenly got all sentimental and wished I had known last time I was there that it would be the last time, and that I’d taken more pictures over the time I’d been there. We took a few to help ease the blow.
[Maxwell was originally standing on the other side of the sign and Liz told him to stand by me. We concluded he should pretend he was my “dating partner.” I can only assume his eyes are closed in contemplation of that wonderful thought.]
[“We welcome you.”]
There’s a quote from “The Catcher in the Rye” – “I don’t care if it’s a sad good-bye or a bad good-bye, but when I leave a place I like to know I’m leaving it.” (This was not that sad; I’ve just always liked that quote and this seemed like an appropriate place.)
Random Thoughts
Today’s Google doodle is marking the 50th anniversary of something…the debut of Dr. Who. Interesting choice.
The other day I wrote this on Facebook: “After less than a week of spending most of my time with a volunteer from the UK, my inner voice has developed a strong British accent.” It’s totally true. And it’s not always just my inner voice. The other day, I’m embarrassed to admit that I suddenly realized I had just sung the entire chorus of “Here Comes Santa Claus” out loud, in a British accent. Luckily I was by myself.
In news that could potentially exacerbate the above, Liz and I are going to be roommates for a week. There are 5 Aussies coming, 2 of whom are single girls – so we could either each take one or let them room together. We get on swimmingly (as the British might say), so we figured rather than take the chance that either of them are raging extroverts, we would room together while they’re here.
The other night I heard a hadida in my sleep and incorporated it into my dream as a vuvuzela (you remember, they became infamous during the 2010 World Cup Soccer thingy in South Africa). That must have been some combination.
I used a new conditioner the day I ate crocodile. Thanks to the wonderful way the brain works, I now taste crocodile every time I smell my conditioner. I didn’t particularly like the taste of crocodile.
See that quote up there? That’s supposed to motivate me while I’m running?! Ridiculous…
On a related note, these are not my thankfulness posts (I’ve slacked way off on those), but with all the rainy-day running, I’ve found myself thankful for several things:
For the drivers who kindly navigate around the rain-filled potholes, or at least make a valiant effort.
For my iPod and the ability to alternate between just two songs for 45 minutes. Today it was “The Boys of Fall” – not because I know (or care) anything about football, but because I miss Fall – and “Carry On” by Fun. – because it’s awesome.
That it’s warm enough for me to run in the rain without coming home as a Popsicle.
That I have successfully yielded to oncoming traffic for several days in a row.
“May your past be the sound of your feet upon the ground.”
To Spar or Not to Spar
Embarrassingly, I have discovered that I’ve been using the word “spar” as the generic word for “grocery store,” when it’s really just a specific chain. From now on, I will say “grocery store,” or maybe proper-noun-Spar, since it’s already in my vocabulary.
Tonight I skipped out on cell group and dinner at the Beelers’ – half not feeling well, half needing a quiet night. I walked to Spar, hoping my pajama pants would pass for yoga pants (I met Liz and Matt in the parking lot coming back and was given a look that suggested they did not).
One of the cashiers has really got the credit card thing down pat. Before she even scanned it she smiled and said, “Credit, hay?” (“Hay” is the equivalent of “eh.” I have managed not to pick that one up so far. I do find myself saying, “Howzit?” and “Cheers” occasionally.)
Little Boys
Have you ever heard that a vampire can’t come into your house unless you invite him in? (I don’t know if this is classic vampire lore or just from “The Lost Boys.”) Anyway, the same is true of little boys. Crissie apparently has given her 3 boys specific instructions to stay out of the meeting hall and not approach the volunteers’ rooms unless invited. She tells me I’ve made a horrible mistake by letting them in my room. But sometimes the sound of little Australian accents is just too much to take.
My newest game with them is to go to my window and make the loud call of the hadida when they’re playing in the yard. They take this as their signal to come harass me. I got major cool points the other day when they came inside (they tried to sneak up but I heard them breathing) and saw “The Dark Knight” laying on my table. “You watch Batman??” one of them asked. I nodded. “Do you like it?” “Yep.” I can only assume their excitement was because Heath Ledger was Australian. (The DVD was actually Matt’s, but I do quite like it.)
Today I heard them (plus a Szabo) running around and I hadida’d at them. I peeked around my curtain as they put their heads together and thought they were coming up with a brilliant scheme. They ran up the hill toward my room, and as they got to the door I pulled back the curtain and screamed loudly, which caused them to jump and scream as well.
I didn’t offer to let them in this time, since their feet were wet. But one of them stuck his head in the door and said, curiously, “It smells like toast.” Hmm…I’ll have to look into that.
They stood out under the awning and discovered that the sound of the rain on the balloon one of them was holding made a perfect drumming sound, which they accompanied by raucous dancing and yelling “cuckoo” (not quite a hadida call but close), and then by attempting to bounce the water drops off of the balloon and into my open window.
I greatly enjoy observing the shenanigans of little boys.
File This Under:
Philosophies of life that are only peripherally related to anything going on in Africa.
Hand-raising – when I’m teaching a group of kids, regardless of age, I don’t require them to raise their hands – in fact, I often ask them not to. Yet as an adult, I often raise my hand in group settings.
I’d rather kids learn to speak when it’s socially appropriate – when no one else is speaking, when they’re not supposed to be otherwise occupied, and when they actually have something to say. I find that once they have their hand in the air, that’s all they’re focused on – raising it higher and higher, waving it around to get your attention, and then it gets all tired and they have to support it with the other hand, and then switch arms – so much trouble. Plus they tune out everything you say until you call on them. That’s not how life works. You listen, you speak, you give, you take, etc. I mean, it doesn’t scar them irreparably, but it just seems like a shortcut to actually learning appropriate human-interaction skills. They need all the help they can get these days.
However, if I’m in a meeting and have something to say, I find myself raising my hand. For one thing, it gets a laugh. Secondly, it guarantees I actually get to talk. My voice doesn’t carry. It’s far less embarrassing to raise my hand and be called on than it is to attempt to speak 13 times and be unintentionally cut off every time – never knowing when to fight for my right to be the loudest person in the room and when to try to trail off gracefully and pretend I was finished. There’s always that one person who sees you get cut off and watches to see how you react, while giving you a look of sympathetic pity. No thanks, I’ll raise my hand.
Insanity by Mosquito
Every night I am plagued by one mosquito. I know it’s not the same one every time unless he’s a zombiesquito, because he dies in a death clap each night.
But the last few nights I haven’t been able to get him. All night long, just as I begin to drift off, he buzzes in my ear. I hit the button to make my phone light up, and as soon as he’s in my sights I clap at him, and miss. Or I feel him on my cheek and slap myself, and miss. Miss him at least. It seems to just make him mad and cause him to buzz louder.
Where does a mosquito go when you miss him? He’s there one second and then the vibration from the clap must open up a worm hole into another dimension because he completely disappears for 1-2 minutes – just long enough for me to drift off again. This literally lasted 5 hours one night.
It’s not the worst problem in the world, but it’s incredibly annoying. I’ve tried pulling the sheet over my head and putting one pillow over my ear so he can’t see me and I can’t hear him. It doesn’t work – for either of us. So I lie there, calculating exactly how many hours I can get in if I miraculously fall asleep at that very moment – 6, 5, 4, 3…it’s amazing how quickly sleep-deprivation takes its toll.
Last night I clicked the lamp on several times and waited, but whether it was light or dark when he approached, I missed him every time. Finally, at 4:30, I sat up and groggily turned around so that I was sitting cross-legged facing my pillow. I sat motionless, with just my phone for light. 1 minute, 2 minutes…3…4…okay, this is getting less fun by the second. I gave up.
I had been horizontal for 3 seconds when I heard the buzz…
There are only so many sequences of three consecutive self-slaps to the face that a person can take before it starts to ruin your day. Would crying help? I wondered. Maybe he would take pity on me and move next door. I decided it wouldn’t. I got up and turned the rickety ceiling fan on, just to have some noise that might compete.
It helped a little. Then I realized I wasn’t just hearing the mosquito, I was actually feeling a tiny gust of wind as he flew past my nose. One more slap. Ouch.
I never did get him. He lives to bite another day (I’ve heard the buzzing ones aren’t the same as the biting ones actually, but who knows). I’ve become a bit paranoid. All day I’ve heard phantom buzzing in my ear. Instead of sensing the presence of an absent arm or leg, I’m detecting a nuisance that has apparently seared itself into my psyche. I don’t know what’s real anymore.
Thankfulness Posts
Nov. 21 – Today I’m thankful for challenges. I fizzled out in the middle of my run because my back started hurting, but I came home and was able to increase my planking time – a 300% increase in about a week. It’s the small things.
Nov 22 – Today I’m thankful for aspirin, or whatever kind of pills those were, and for lamb curry, a KitKat, a Dr. Pepper, and a quiet night at home.
Some Pictures
The kids at Mariannhill were eating a snack when I came in to teach phonics the other day. I discovered that cliques start early. This is where the “cool kids” sit to eat lunch. We’ll call them – The Clicky Clique. (Get it? Because they make clicky sounds that I can’t make?)
Really big snail that one of the little boys happily grabbed and brought inside. It was bigger than his little 6-year-old hand.
New mural at Lamontville. I think it says, “Love is patient; love is kind.”
I think I’ve finally got this rhythm-y song down, as taught by the girls at Lamontville, and shown in the video below. In return, they have masterfully learned the “square dance” (I use the term loosely) I made up for them to do at our Noah’s Ark play in a couple of weeks. They picked it up like it was nothing. No sneak peaks, but I’m expecting it to be pretty funny.
First of all, in perhaps the coolest moment of my life, today a guy said, “Hakuna Matata” to me and he wasn’t quoting “The Lion King” – he was speaking his native language. Okay, maybe it wasn’t worth the italics…but it was certainly awesome.
This morning we went in search of adventure, and adventure is what we found. I still have the aftertaste of crocodile in my mouth…
Matt, Liz, and I set off in search of a place in the “Valley of 1,000 Hills,” where we were told we could watch an authentic Zulu tribal dance and learn about huts and customs and stuff.
When we got there (it should have taken 15 minutes; we took a few wrong turns so it took 1 hour and 45 minutes – but we got to see some beautiful scenery), we learned that for 330 R ($33.00) we could take a game drive, see the crocs and snakes (we skipped the snakes, except for a glance at a Burmese python that was on the way to the crocs), and watch the dancing.
We had a few minutes to grab some lunch before the game drive started. Liz and I were excited to see that hot croc (like a hot dog) and croc burgers were on the menu, but we didn’t have time to wait for them.
We loaded onto the vehicle – a 4×4 jeep kind of thing with 4 rows of seats and open sides. The guide informed us it would be quite a bumpy ride, especially in the very back. I ended up sitting there anyway so that we would all have a clear view for taking pictures. I had a brief moment of panic as we were going down some steep hills, because the guide announced we would be coming back the same way. Matt and Liz, both aware of my aversion to driving up inclines (which mostly just manifests in grimacing and a whimper once in a while), glanced back at me. Too late now.
As soon as we got inside the fenced area, we saw a mommy and baby impala. Our guide (I’m sure he said his name…let’s call him Petunia) said the baby was probably just a day old. We had to wait for several minutes because the mommy impala wasn’t the brightest antelope in the herd, and jumped up on a ledge that her baby couldn’t climb. “Stupid mommy,” the guide said. They were finally reunited when the baby got resourceful and figured out another way up. “Clever baby,” the guide said.
Just around the next bend we spotted zebras. I had to tell Liz and Matt the story of me driving through the back roads in the Ozark Mountains (in Arkansas) and suddenly happening upon a creature that appeared to be half-zebra/half-donkey. I deemed it a “zebronkey” and when I went home and googled it, found out that’s exactly what it was. It felt like I had stumbled onto the Island of Dr. Moreau.
But these zebras were all zebra. They were stunning creatures up close – I’d never fully appreciated them before. I asked the guide what sound zebras make, because I’ve always wondered (but not enough to google) and he said they hee haw like donkeys and neigh like horses. As if on cue, one let out a neigh.
Once we moved on from there, Petunia pointed up a hill in the distance, where zebras, wildebeests, and giraffes were barely visible. When I saw the giraffe – clearly identifiable despite the distance – it felt like something out of Jurassic Park. It was unreal. Once I think I actually caught a picture of a brontosaurus.
The guide suddenly asked, “Is everyone up for a 4×4 up the hill?” Everyone else said yes, but I didn’t answer. Apparently he actually wanted vocal consent from everyone, because he asked, “And the one in the back?” “Sure,” I said a little weakly.
It wasn’t too bad (I jokingly remarked that it was better than Matt’s driving – which was entirely false and does not require retribution of any sort) and as we crested the hill and pulled up right next to the giraffe, I realized how vastly different it is to see this kind of animal in person, as opposed to the zoo. Absolutely breathtaking. The pictures speak for themselves, so I will stop.
Here’s a video of some giraffe interaction:
As we left the large groups of big animals, we saw this cool plant that’s similar to a cactus. It has a milky substance inside that can blind and poison you. It’s nickname is “fisherman’s dream.” The guide told us that the Zulus would find an area heavily populated by fish (a body of water, no doubt) and put some of this plant in the water. It would suffocate the fish and they would float to the top, making a fishing expedition a much shorter experience. Then they would have to cook the fish until it was almost burnt in order to neutralize the poison.
I thought I got a video of us going over a “see-saw” bump, but it didn’t record. The guide warned me, in the very back, to hang on and we went over a huge bump that made me scream and bolt up in the air. This isn’t it, but another video of our bumpy ride.
On the way back we saw a wildebeest up close. By the way, I put my foot out to scale the distance, not to kick the wildebeest.
Matt said something really rude to him in this clip:
When we got back, we had a few minutes to go see the crocodiles before time for the dancing to start.
[What if you’re without sin?]
The crocs were kind of cool, but they mostly just stayed in one place; so I was unimpressed until I saw this sign:
I asked the guide what it was about and he said for 120 R ($12) you buy a meal at the coffee shop and they bring a nice table cloth and you eat in the enclosure with the crocs; afterward you get a nice certificate. I was game right away. Liz took a few minutes, but decided to join me. Matt bravely videoed the whole thing from a very safe distance.
We ordered our meal (Liz got a croc burger and I got a croc dog), signed our waiver, and waited with a group of 5 young Mormon men. They let us go first. I wasn’t scared because statistically the odds were next to nothing that anything bad would happen. The guide said no one had ever died. He told us what he would do if one tried to run toward us (poke it in the nose with a stick), but I asked if that had ever happened and he said no. He gave us these comforting words: “They don’t attack in groups, so if one attacks you it will just be that one.”
They eased us in by having us walk through a couple of areas that just had little crocs. When we entered, the guide gave us these directions: “Stay on the right by the fence. If I tell you to drop everything, run and high jump (yeah, right) over the fence. Don’t head toward the water or you’re done for.” You can tell by the very genuine whimper that it was scarier than I anticipated at first. Liz and I were trembling for the first few minutes.
When we got our food, I said, “I’m praying for my food,” and we both posed for a picture as we prayed. It seemed especially prudent.
At the very beginning of the video clip below one of the guides made a biting motion with his hand on my leg when my eyes were closed (I just realized it’s captured in the photo too), which scared me to death. The first 20 seconds on this one are good and that’s it, but I couldn’t figure out how to shorten it.
In case you were wondering, Liz’s meal was yummy; mine was somewhat disgusting – it had bits of gristle that I had to spit out, and was extremely salty. I asked if I would still get the certificate if I didn’t finish it, and as soon as the guide said yes, I was done.
[I like this one because without the background it just looks like a lovely picnic at the park.]
After we ate, they wanted us to come closer so they could take pictures of us dying. That’s not me cackling at the beginning; I think it’s the old guy who was talking to Matt (who also asks a funny question at one point on the video, below). After seeing how much fun the guide was having with that stick, I wanted to get it on the action.
We survived dining with crocs and got our certificates.
Then it was time for the dancing.
Though that was what we had come for, it was the least-exciting event of the day – but still entertaining. Here’s a short video:
There was nothing left but to sign the guest book, buy a few souvenirs, and head out.
Our trip home was much shorter. I may or may not have flashed my croc certificate at two Zulu guys standing at a stop light. When we got home, Matt randomly asked if we wanted him to make dinner, and of course we said yes. So we had delicious chicken alfredo made by our very own Italian chef.
It was quite a day. I don’t know if it topped the monkeys, but it was close.
A while back Bro. Norm Fadelle asked if I wanted to submit reports to the WCF website, like the volunteers who are WCF-sponsored do. Of course I said yes. Then I forgot about it. Then I remembered and it made me feel a little giddy, so I got to work on it. I wasn’t sure how the format should differ from a blog entry – should it be funny, should it only be focused on projects or should it include bits of African life? So I did a little browsing through the other volunteer reports and this is what I ended up submitting. I just got an email saying it’s up on the website. Here’s the link: http://wcfoundation.org/jessica-miller-south-africa-septoct-2013/
Mid-point Evaluation
I intended to post my thoughts at the midpoint of my time in South Africa – which was a week ago – and never got around to it. So here is my evaluation of 7 weeks in SA, a week late.
Things I love:
I love the projects I’m involved with. It took me about a month to get my schedule organized in a way I was fully satisfied with. For a while I felt like I wasn’t doing enough stuff that was directly Bible-oriented, which is really what I came for; or enough stuff that I really felt a passion for. Luckily, there are plenty of existing projects and plenty of encouragement to start your own, so I feel like with the edition of the Tuesday class with the teen girls (which is Bible-oriented and focuses on practical application – which I love), and the two days a week of phonics lessons (which aren’t directly Bible-oriented but are something I really enjoy and can see measurable results from), I’m very happy with my current schedule.
I love that my running is finally back on track after several weeks of frustration. I’m not running as far as I used to yet, but I’m running faster, and I should be running 20 minutes at a time by the end of the week.
Things I want to change:
I want to spend more time at the BEC. I get re-energized every time I spend an afternoon there, which happens most Tuesdays. I had intended to also go on Friday afternoons because there’s a gap between our COPT meeting and Happy’s, but usually other things come up. It’s also a nice time to socialize with the other volunteers because we all have a little bit of flexibility, due to the unpredictable length of the COPT meeting. And honestly, sometimes I get a quick nap since we’re up early. Actually, maybe I should add that Friday afternoon nap to the list of “things I love” and just be content with my current schedule.
Something else I plan to make an effort on is more Beeler time. Kim and I discussed the other day that we live .8 miles apart and don’t see each other nearly as often as we should. We finally found a morning we can work together – Wednesdays when she goes with me to Mariannhill and does a Bible story after I teach phonics – so that should help. She emphasized that I need to feel completely free to just call and invite myself over when I have time; which I used to do frequently when I was going to college in Fayetteville, and was not busy because I never went to class. It’s a different dynamic now, but that’s definitely something to work on. I’ve also intended to take the Beeler girl (again with the blog anonymity thing), out for coffee (or whatever 11-year-olds drink) every other week, but scheduling hasn’t worked out on that yet.
More cooking is also something I should do. Or any cooking, for that matter. Lunch and dinner invitations are plentiful here, and the spar is so close that it’s easy to grab some samosas or sushi (made in front of you by real Asians – it’s yummy). New goal – cook one meal a week.
Lastly, more game nights. Wherever I go I tend to become the game night scheduler, and I’ve just tonight scheduled the second one for next Monday (officially a “volunteers’ game night” to keep to a manageable-sized crowd, but anyone else who wants to come is welcome). Now I need to come up with games (besides the standbys) to make everyone embarrass themselves.
Surprises:
I’m surprised at how quickly living in Africa has become normal, and how little homesickness I’ve had. I miss people, for sure…and I miss Starbucks, and Chick Fil A, and Fall – but I haven’t had a single moment of actually wanting to go home. I absolutely loathe the time difference though – Virginia is 7 hours behind and Arkansas is 8. The only times I can reliably talk to people are late at night; and when I wake up in the morning I know no one there will even be out of bed until mid-afternoon here.
I’m also surprised at how little I want to drive here. I’m quite competent at driving now (well, on the Avanza that I normally drive; I had to drive the Corsa back from the Beelers’ the other night and it was a different story). But I don’t love it like I do back home. I think it’s because driving a stick-shift isn’t second nature yet, so instead of being relaxing, driving is one more “job” to do. It’s fun, but it’s work.
And that is my mid-point evaluation. Not as interesting as I thought it would be. Oh well. Hopefully you stopped reading halfway through.
Asian Adventure
Matt had been craving Chinese food, so last night he, Liz, and I set off to go to a place that everyone recommended.
Half way through the meal I recalled that I might have heard someone say that Chinese food here still has lots of MSG in it. Chinese food was the only thing I could ever accurately predict would give me a migraine as a child, presumably because of the mass doses of MSG. Slowly most restaurants either cut back or cut it out all together, and I could once again eat it happily.
On the way back I started feeling a little funny. I never just get a headache straightaway, I get the migraine “aura” first – which for me means my hand goes numb, then my arm, then my mouth and tongue; and I sometimes get jumbled speech like I’ve had a stroke, and have chunks missing from my field of vision. That’s the fun part, because once that goes away the severe headache comes and lasts for 24-36 hours. I was feeling a bit tingly, but hoping it was just the power of suggestion, especially since I was scheduled to teach Sunday school at Clermont the next day.
When we got back home, Matt hit the button for the gate to open and nothing happened. Liz tried hers, and still nothing. I got out and shook it, to no avail. Matt phoned Glenn, who came down and tried it from the other side. He messed around with it for a couple of minutes and couldn’t get it to open. I was about to ask him to go up and rummage through my room to find my migraine medicine and pass it through the bars, but then he found the manual switch and opened it right up.
I felt a little dizzy for a while and slightly headache-y, but went to bed and woke up this morning feeling fine. I’m happy to know that either MSG no longer affects me in the same way, or I misheard and Chinese food doesn’t contain MSG here anymore either. Whichever it is, I’m glad to know I can safely eat Chinese in SA – because we have plenty of leftovers. That darn gate is still not working though, so it’s set on manual – which means it’s not locked but just slid closed. I always forget to lock my door at night, but it would probably be a good thing to do as long as the gate isn’t working.
Sunday
Today was a busy, but interesting day. It started with teaching Sunday school at Clermont. It was the first time I’ve actually taught there (I’ve gone a couple of times thinking I was going to teach but haven’t because of a scheduling issue that was the result of the communication barrier). I was told I had an hour. That was a long time to talk to kids who couldn’t understand a word I was saying. Luckily, Bro. Funo was there to interpret.
I used the oldest teaching stall tactic in the world. “Let’s all go around and say our names. I won’t be able to pronounce yours, but it’ll kill 10 minutes.” (Maybe I didn’t say that last part.) This was quite the exercise. It went something like this:
“Okay, what’s your name?”
“[Something clicky.]”
“What was that?”
“[Something clicky.]”
“Let me try. Is it ‘[something decidedly unclicky, and possibly offensive]’?”
[Gasps of horror…okay, not really.]
Finally, I would look to Funo for him to say it in a more Anglicized way (which sometimes was literally changing a name like “Mdamignalixa” into… “Braden” – not just for me though; many of them have “English names” for the dumb white people to use).
I would then nod and smile, pretending that I heard. Occasionally I would try to repeat it, softly enough that any errors would stand a chance of going undetected.
Repeat the process for the next kid.
This took a while. Then I moved on to stall tactic number two. “Let’s sing some songs.” Now, when you say that to American kids – particularly a crowd of young boys – you’re not so much stalling as you are signing yourself up for 5 minutes of torture, in the form of “accidentally mixed-up lyrics” such as “I have bought me a wife; I have married a cow” (followed, of course, by uproariously laughter, as if they think they were the first generation to discover this gem). But Zulus do singing the way the Colonel does chicken (that was so awful…I’m going to leave it; feel free to ridicule or provide a better analogy). This is what I got:
This is my favorite song that they do with the kids. All I understand is, “bonga” which means, “thank you.” I love how eager the pre-teen boys are to sing. They haven’t quite learned their part yet, so each week Bro. Funo and Bro. Mdu work on it with them.
When I had no other option but to begin the lesson, we started. When the new building opened and we got a lot more neighborhood Sunday school kids, they started over in Genesis. I wasn’t there last week so I didn’t know what lesson they had done, so I was planning to do either Cain and Abel or Noah’s Ark. It turned out to be time for Cain and Abel. It helped that one child had brought in a huge stick – almost a log – so he got to be Cain when we acted it out. With Funo interpreting, it all went very well and we finished right on time. I was heartened to see that Cain had apparently learned his lesson, because during the break I noticed he and “Abel” were passing out juice together – which required a very well-coordinated mutual balancing of the tray.
I’ve begun to embrace the awkward misunderstandings due to language. Today someone asked Liz a question, and I – for once – understood what they said. Liz didn’t. I just watched in amusement as they worked it out themselves, with several, “What?”s and “I’m sorry, I don’t understand you”s. Afterward I told her it was nice to see it isn’t just me.
I set up the table for the memorial service (I’m pretty sure it was the first time I’ve ever done that, after 12 years of being baptized), and had a funny exchange with Funo in the process. I had filled the wine cups (they use port here, as opposed to Manichewitz or Mogen David, which are common in the US – it’s very strong, and they fill the tiny glasses so full you have to take two gulps) and walked in the kitchen to look for the bread.
Funo said something that sounded like, “We have to wait for the brethren,” and then more words I didn’t really listen to. It seemed reasonable, but in the meantime, I asked, “So where’s the bread?”
“Uh, I sent the kids to the store to get it,” he told me with a funny look.
“Oh…is that what you just said?”
“Yes,” he laughed.
“This language barrier is a humbling thing,” I told him.
“What?” he asked…
Bro. Siphwe was visiting so he gave the exhortation. There were several non-Zulu speakers there today, so Funo interpreted the service (Siphwe speaks excellent English as well, but I guess it was easier that way). If it’s only me, they usually just announce the Bible verses in English and interpret a bit here and there, which is fine. I can read along and hone my ear for Zulu. And really, especially during the memorial service, it’s amazing how few words are necessary when you know you share a common foundation. Where Liz and I were sitting, right in the middle of the room with Funo on one side and Siphwe on the other, I felt like I was watching a ping-pong match, constantly looking from one to the other. It definitely kept me awake though.
Siphwe spoke about the glory of God. It was a very good exhortation. I meant to ask him, but I’m pretty sure I picked up that the word “glory” is “gulu-gulu,” because he kept saying that over and over. Cool word.
One thing I love about Zulu services is all the singing. I’m not a very confident singer so I tend to bow out on the high notes, but I love to listen to the singing here. Bro. Charlie worked with some of the brethren to make a Zulu hymn book, so that helps with singing along a little. They don’t sing at all the “proper” times, but will sometimes break out in song during a transition from the exhorter to the presider, or other times that would seem strange in America. It’s also hard sometimes to tell when to sing, because one person leads and sings the first couple of notes of each line, and then everyone else joins in. I’ll get it down eventually.
I finally captured some of their beautiful harmonizing, on “Akeyko Ofana No Jesu” (“There’s No One Like Jesus”). It’s worth a listen.
After meeting at Clermont I caught the tail end of Westville’s exhortation and memorial service, and then Liz, the Wrights, and I went to lunch at the Blewetts’.
[I got excited when I saw this because I thought it was an Arkansas Razorback. I was sad to discover it was really a warthog. I might get one as a souvenir anyway.]
[This is Liz, me, and Crissie. You could go so many ways with it: three blondes sit on an outside sofa…an Englishwoman, an American, and an Australian have lunch at the Blewetts’…the joke opportunities are endless.]
I had just enough time to go for a quick run before we headed to the (other) Blewetts’ for an Ignite 2020 Strategy Meeting. Not much to say, other than I love meetings. And free food. But especially meetings.
(I tried to google “Zulu word for glory” just now, and got this message. Never seen that before. Oh well, we’ll stick with “gulu-gulu”.)
Speaking of screen shots, I think the relatives of the other volunteers are boosting my blog-reading numbers. If anyone has a great uncle in Antarctica, I’d really like to move into that market next.
Adventure Alert
Yesterday I told Matt and Liz, “I think we should go on an adventure on Monday. The more ridiculous the better.” So we’ve been taking suggestions – among them are a zip-line-giant-swing-out-into-the-middle-of-nowhere thingy that sounds insane and fun, but not necessarily worth the price; and a traditional Zulu ceremony of some sort. So we’ll see what tomorrow holds.
Isaiah 35
At the end of Siphwe’s talk this morning on the glory of God, he asked us all to read Isaiah 35 for next week. It’s a beautiful chapter, so I thought I’d post it.
The wilderness and the solitary place shall be glad for them; and the desert shall rejoice, and blossom as the rose. It shall blossom abundantly, and rejoice even with joy and singing: the glory of Lebanon shall be given unto it, the excellency of Carmel and Sharon, they shall see the glory of the Lord, and the excellency of our God. Strengthen ye the weak hands, and confirm the feeble knees. Say to them that are of a fearful heart, Be strong, fear not: behold, your God will come with vengeance, even God with a recompence; he will come and save you. Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf shall be unstopped. Then shall the lame man leap as an hart, and the tongue of the dumb sing: for in the wilderness shall waters break out, and streams in the desert. And the parched ground shall become a pool, and the thirsty land springs of water: in the habitation of dragons, where each lay, shall be grass with reeds and rushes. And an highway shall be there, and a way, and it shall be called The way of holiness; the unclean shall not pass over it; but it shall be for those: the wayfaring men, though fools, shall not err therein. No lion shall be there, nor any ravenous beast shall go up thereon, it shall not be found there; but the redeemed shall walk there: And the ransomed of the Lord shall return, and come to Zion with songs and everlasting joy upon their heads: they shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away.
There’s a Zulu dance step that involves lifting one leg really high without bending your knee, and then bringing it down and hitting the ground really hard. It looks painful. Last night I accidentally discovered the origin of this move, as I walked back from getting my laundry at midnight and couldn’t quite see where the one step was. From the way my hip felt afterward, I can only assume that this dance move led to the invention of the field of chiropractic.
Fresh Blood
We have a new volunteer here for the next 4 weeks – Liz, from the UK. She got here Thursday night and fell right in step with us. Yesterday I said to Matt, as we watched her painting (see below) even after about half the crowd had stopped, “Look at her, so new and eager to work.”
The dynamics of the volunteer group are interesting. Everyone gets along very well for the most part (obviously I wouldn’t advertize on the blog if they didn’t, but they do). As a whole, it’s a very cohesive group, which is pretty amazing considering the number of cooks in the kitchen sometimes, and the different backgrounds of all the volunteers.
The night Liz got here, almost all the volunteers (Wrights, Szabos, Charlie and me – Matt was picking Liz up at the airport) were being hosted for dinner by the Beelers. One of the guys asked some other people who had met her before what she was like. This was my introduction to the “tell us what we’re in for” discussion (which was all lovely in Liz’s case). As he jokingly acted worried, Crissie said, “Oh come on, Jess turned out fine,” which prompted me to ask, “Wait, what did you hear about me?” She deemed me to be less shy and much more outgoing than reports had indicated. I attribute much of that to the relaxed, friendly atmosphere here – and the millions of Zulu kids who make me humiliate myself on a daily basis.
I’m especially happy to have Liz here because it’s another person for the children to climb on and harass.
Painting at Lamontville
Yesterday about 50 people helped paint the inside and outside of the Lamontville Good News Centre. It was cool to see everyone come together – the volunteers, local ecclesial members, and a lot of the youth who use the building. The competency level and work ethic varied drastically among the crowd, but everyone chipped in and had it mostly done in about 3 hours. Then, as always happens in SA, the brai (barbecue) was brought out, and Glenn cooked up some sausages (which I was happy to discover were beef – I’d been avoiding these sausages for the past two months, thinking they were pork).
[Matt somehow missed the fact that the table had just been painted bright yellow, and decided to rest his hand on it.]
I’m not from South Africa obviously, and I have no idea what Apartheid was actually like, but to me, moments like this epitomize post-Apartheid SA – black and white, rich and poor, working together for a common goal. It was a beautiful thing to be a part of.
In the theme of “no good deed goes unpunished,” when we got back I offered to wash everyone’s paint-covered clothes, and the only one to take me up on it was Crissie – who determined after the fact that she had a memory card in her pocket. 😦
[I love this picture of the two Szabo boys. The older one (I’m always hesitant to use other people’s kids’ names on my blog, in case the parents don’t like it) had paint all over him and I pointed out it looked like lipstick on his arm. I asked him to pose like this for a picture and his little brother jumped in at the last second.]
Bless the Rains Down in Africa
I just watched the music video for “Africa” by Toto, on youtube. Don’t judge; it was something I had to do – mostly because it’s been in my head for a week as a result of the constant drizzly rain. It made me giggle with stupidity (both its, for existing, and mine, for watching it). It also made me giggle with how awkwardly the phrase, “As sure as Kilimanjaro rises like Olympus above the Serengeti” fits into the space its given. We will never speak of this incident again.
As a bonus, if you haven’t seen this version of The 12 Days of Christmas (it’s relevant):
watch it. It’s hilarious. The “Africa” part starts at 2:00 but you have to watch the whole thing for it to be funny. I kind of think maybe I saw these guys in concert once, but maybe I just had a lot of them on my iPod.
Onion Ring Thankfulness
Today I’m thankful that I found a reasonable approximation of French’s fried onion rings at Woolworth’s (the grocery store, not the department store). Now I need to experiment with making my own cream of mushroom soup (I’ve heard there is nothing quite like it here). I’m planning a trial run of green bean casserole tonight, so that my favorite Thanksgiving dish won’t be a disappointment in a couple of weeks.
Mobile BEC Craziness
Today the children were insane. More so than usual. Since the opening of the new building in Clermont, we’ve been setting up the mobile BEC there instead of our previous location (across from the huge church where I got proposed to – yeah, I miss it). The only downside to this is that there are always 5-10 children running around us as we try to spread the gospel. When Jesus said, “Suffer the little children,” I don’t quite think this is what he meant. It may not be politically correct (and I don’t mean anything negative racially; I think it’s the result of any poverty and violence-saturated society), but I’ve said since I got here that these kids seem to live by the law of the jungle when they’re on their own turf. They kick and punch and steal each other’s lollipops, and whack us when they don’t get their way. However, once they’re in a structured environment, such as Sunday school or the creche, they thrive and are extremely obedient, helpful, and kind. We don’t have any structure for them at the mobile BEC (I keep forgetting to bring the face paint with us – I think that would help), so they run wild.
[This is the eye-rolling kid. I grabbed him and turned him around to face Liz and pointed to his eyes. He had no idea what I wanted at first, but finally figured it out. Then he happily waited for me to give it my best attempt so we could have a picture taken. I am unskilled at eye-rolling, but I do notice that I think I’m the tannest I’ve ever been in my life.]
A Zulu brother from Clermont is usually with us on Saturdays, and shoos the children away if they start misbehaving. He wasn’t there today, and we don’t seem to have this same power. I think it has something to do with the stick he picks up and waves at them and has used occasionally. I don’t get irritated very easily – almost never, in fact – but today they were driving me crazy. Every time I sat down one would jump on me from behind and strangle me until I could pry him off. Once another kid jumped on the back of that kid, and the three of us conked heads. One of them kept grabbing for my bottled ginger beer, and when I said, “Hey, no, go away, quit, stop,” etc., he would mimic me, saying, “Hey hey hey, go go go go go go go,” though he had no idea what it meant. Finally, I picked up a stick and waved it around (I wasn’t going to hit anyone, and I’m pretty sure the grin on my face made that clear). He backed up and started half-laughing/half-whimpering. But his little friend picked up another stick and waved it at me. I decided we should probably just both put our sticks down before someone (probably me) got hurt.
I needed a break, so I offered to walk down the block to the tuck shop to get drinks for us all. I don’t know if it was for protection or for annoyance, but Matt pointed at me and barked to a little girl, “Hey, go with her!” so my little friend and I headed off down the street. An old man approached us at one point, so I reached out my hand for the little girl to come to me. When he saw us holding hands he smiled. “Black,” he said, touching her arm, and then repeated something like, “You’re with black.”
[“Black”]
[The kids are never excited about baby chickens. And they really don’t like dogs.]
When we got to the tuck shop, I noticed there were bars all around and you couldn’t pick out your own snacks anymore. “Did you get robbed?” I asked the guy behind the counter. I wasn’t sure if he understood me at first and then he gave me a look (those looks transcend language-barriers) and said, “I never get robbed.” “Oh,” I said, “the bars are new.” “Yes, for safety,” he told me. Pretty sure he got robbed.
I got my drink and asked the guy if he had some kind of little inexpensive sweet for the girl, whose hands were the only visible part of her as she struggled to reach up to the counter. All he had was a lollipop, which I wasn’t thrilled with because it would mean she would still have it when we got back and would probably become a target. But we got it.
When we stepped outside, there was a man standing there, watching as I reached for the lollipop and the little girl refused to give it to me. “I’m not going to steal it,” I told her. “I’m going to open it for you.” He laughed and repeated what I said in Zulu, and she handed it over. As I started to give it back, I asked the man, “How do you say ‘please’?” Matt and I had been discussing that when we were giving stuff to the kids earlier, and I knew the spelling of it but not how to say it (it’s clicky). He didn’t understand me, so I gave it my best effort. “How do you say ‘please’? Is it ‘ngicela’?” He just laughed at me. I gave the girl her lollipop. She immediately dropped the wrapper on the ground. I made her pick it up, but I think she had no idea that littering isn’t cool. A few seconds later she tossed it under a bush with a pile of trash and a bunch of (probably drunk) guys standing around. I didn’t make her go after it that time.
On our way back, I heard a voice from across the street, inside the door way of a house. It was a young man yelling, “Hi.” I returned his greeting and then he yelled, “Can I have a sip?” I laughed and said, “Sorry, no.” I seriously wondered if anyone had ever answered that question with a “yes.”
We passed a man with a metal rod for a leg on our way there. As we headed back I greeted him and he asked if I could help him. He had on a nice pair of shoes, professionally-fitted to his prosthetic leg, but he said they were size 10 and he needed size 9. At times like that it feels really trite to say, “Hey, have you ever been to our church?” I told him sorry, but I didn’t have access to shoes or have money to give him, and then said, “Hey, have you ever been to our church?” I pointed down the road and he said he would come.
Not long after I got back it started raining, so we packed up a little early to hit the road. The kids swarmed the car – one in the front honking the horn, 3 or 4 through the hatchback as we loaded supplies. Matt finally trapped one of them inside, hoping it would be a lesson to the others. In America that would be a sure trip to the police station…
At some point while I was gone, a young man who had an obvious mental impairment – and seemed to not speak English or Zulu – had sat down by Liz at the BEC station. From then on he followed us wherever we went – up the stairs to the building, etc. When we started to leave he followed us to the car, and I really thought he might be like one of the little kids and try to climb inside, and I would have to threaten him with my stick. (Joking.)
We finally got them out of the hatchback and got it closed, but one of the kids jumped up and hung from the rear windshield wiper. I grabbed him off just before it snapped in two. We thought one of them was hanging on to the back of the car as we drove away, but we never heard a thud, so we must have been mistaken (unless he’s still there).
We arrived home with little muddy footprints on our legs, but pretty much intact. I did notice about an hour later that one entire side of my face was sticky – I have no idea how that could have happened without my noticing it. Next time I’m definitely bringing face paint and sweets: every time you don’t kick us for ten minutes you get a flower drawn on your face and a yummy Fizzer (they’re actually quite disgusting but kids love them).
Outhouse Improvisation
The other day Kim and I were headed to the Mariannhill Good News Centre to teach phonics and read a Bible story, and on the way we went by Sis. Vester and Bro. Phinda’s house to see the beginning of the new wall construction.
On the walk between the two buildings, Rick pointed out his favorite piece of African engineering. The hinges on the outhouse are old shoes. Ingenious!
It’s hard not to feel guilty about skipping Bible class when it’s being held about 100 feet away from you just down the hill and everyone knows you’re home. But I did. There are so many social activities here that sometimes I just have to retreat a little. I thought I would have a nice relaxing evening by myself.
So I sat on my bed with my phone plugged into my laptop to upload some pictures, and popped open a cold Dr. Pepper that had been in the freezer for a couple of hours too long. It proceeded to spew its contents like it had just eaten bad sushi. I realized the best option was to just sit there and let it happen, rather than jumping up to run to the sink and have it spew all along the way. It lasted forever, like a sticky, sugary Mt. St. Helen’s all over my lap. But thankfully it completely avoided my laptop and didn’t hurt my phone (although I broke my case trying to take it off to clean it). After changing the mattress and the sheets, and showering, I was no worse for wear – just mourning the loss of half a Dr. Pepper, and wondering if it was retribution for not going to Bible class. But with all the laughing going on down there they couldn’t have been doing too much study anyway.
9 Things
There’s this thing going around on Facebook. I usually try to avoid silly Facebook trends, but I got caught up and “liked” someone’s status, which apparently is considered a legally-binding contract guaranteeing that I, also, will tell 9 things about myself. In blog form, of course.
1. I won two school-wide spelling bees, one in 4th grade and one in 7th. I would brag about this except that in 4th grade when I progressed to the county spelling bee, the word I got eliminated on was “literate.” Ten-year-old me didn’t quite appreciate the irony, but my adult self can just picture the word-maker-uppers sitting there snickering and saying, “Hey, watch this one!”
2. Anyone who has ever had a pet guinea pig is familiar with the shrieking sound they make when you open the refrigerator door. I wanted to train my guinea pig to quit making that sound (it’s called wheeking, I believe) in that context, and instead do it when I rang a bell. It was pretty easy – I no longer reinforced her with food when the fridge was opened, and instead waited about ten minutes and then rang a bell and delivered food. It worked like a charm…until she got confused and stopped wheeking at all. I felt kind of bad. But I slept better.
3. In 5th grade I was on crutches 5 times (sprained each ankle twice and had some weird hip disease that lasted a while). I got so fast on those things – I would design obstacle courses at recess and my friends and I would pass off the crutches to race, and I would beat everyone’s time despite my injuries.
I missed something like 57 days of school that year, which was technically too many to pass, and there were rumblings that I would have to repeat. I don’t know why that didn’t happen but I’m glad because I hated school from start to finish.
This was the beginning of a long line of strange illnesses and anomalies that continued all through high school, until I was eventually home-schooled for most of the last 3 years because of chronic mono and frequent migraines. I use the term “home-schooled” very loosely. There were a lot of videos I fast-forwarded through and books I pretended to read. I pretty much did no school work the last two years (don’t tell my mother). I don’t recommend this – my grasp of history and higher mathematics is very weak. But I learned a whole lot about soap operas. I am now down to an average of one migraine a year.
4. I like that I’ve never met anyone else (outside of work contacts) who does the same job as me. However, this makes it very hard to explain what exactly I do, and most people seem to think I’m either a special ed teacher or an occupational therapist. Both of those are great things, but miles away from my job.
5. I’m trying to become a minimalist. I like the idea of not having stuff. My nomadic lifestyle the past couple of years has shown me how little I need, and seeing the poverty in Africa has shown me how blessed I am to have what I have.
6. In keeping with this, my ultimate career goal is to get my master’s or doctorate, and then my board certification, in behavior analysis, and have clients all over the country, who I pop in on every few weeks while traveling all over the place in an RV. I would supplement my income by writing ABA textbooks and curriculum, as well as completely “true” stories about my RV adventures.
I’ve actually looked into this, and apparently RV parks save some jobs for permanent travelers, so technically I could probably travel the country cleaning bathrooms – but I don’t actually clean my own very often so that’s probably not the best idea.
I always thought I would live in Arkansas forever, mostly because I couldn’t imagine not living near my mother. Now I’ve lived in 4 different states and 1 foreign country in the past 3 years, and I’ve realized I would probably be okay living a full-time nomadic lifestyle.
7. I took an obscenely long road trip by myself this summer – 10,000 miles in a big circle around the US (accompanying Facebook album is here: https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10151538057346160.1073741825.644416159&type=1&l=c0bbde795f ).
I have a history of ridiculous road trips – my mother and I once drove from Arkansas to Nova Scotia. The one this summer was inspired by my intent to hit my 50th state, Montana, before I left for Africa. It was awesome. My favorite states are Utah and South Dakota.
8. I’m in South Africa at the moment. I leave on Christmas Day. I’m pretty sure I could live here for a long time. Maybe this list is a good way to break it to a few people gently that I’ll probably come back next year and stay longer.
9. A couple of years ago I was living in Arkansas freelancing as an applied behavior analysis therapist, but all my training was pretty much just what I could dig up on the Internet – the ABA scene in Arkansas was woefully inadequate at the time; it’s slowly improving. I knew just enough to know what I didn’t know.
So I went to this training in Kentucky, where a guy who runs probably the most well-known ABA clinic in the country – in New York – was doing a two-day workshop. I asked a couple of questions that he liked, and when I casually asked if he was hiring he encouraged me to apply. I was going that direction for a Bible school a few weeks later and was able to get an interview. They told me it looked good, but they had one more person to interview. I didn’t get the job.
A couple of months later I emailed to ask about a program I had heard they were running (I didn’t really care about that program, but wanted to stay on their radar), and I got a phone call the next day offering me a job. It turns out the person they interviewed after me (who got the job) was a girl from Kentucky, who also applied after attending that training. She had her master’s and board certification in ABA, as did most of the other employees – when I worked there I was the only one not currently possessing or working on certification, so I considered it a blessing to be given the opportunity. It turned out to be the most stress-inducing, intense, dreading-every-day job I ever had. They had an extremely high turnover rate and most people lasted less than 6 months. The girl from Kentucky and I became good friends and are still in contact. I left after 4 months and she left not long after.
To make the whole experience worse, I got to NY at the end of December, and that January was the snowiest on record – I think NYC (30 miles away) got 60″ that month. I love snow, but I had no idea what to do with it all. I was living on the bottom level of a huge scary house with a ridiculously long driveway that I had no idea how to shovel. I was absolutely miserable for 4 months. I thought I was terrible at my job, but realized afterward that I learned skills there that have greatly benefited me everywhere else I go (plus the name of that clinic looks great on a resume). I learned a ton – both about the science of ABA, but also about perseverance, and when to leave a situation for your sanity’s sake. In that way it was the best job I’ve ever had, but I’ve been relieved to find that the things that made it so awful were unique to that situation and I’ve had a blast at the clinics where I’ve worked since.
The coolest part of the experience was that I ended work in early April, but had to pay that month’s rent. So I spent that month exploring NYC as cheaply as possible, plus having other fun adventures.
Here are some of my favorite pictures from this time, taken at Bear Mountain.
It’s Hot
Today was hot. While doing mobile BEC, I found myself inside the building at Clermont hanging out with a 5-year-old, the son of some volunteers. We had this conversation. (Read his part in a sweet little South African accent.)
Him: “It’s hot. You should take your shirt off.”
Me: “Girls don’t really take their shirts off.”
Him: “Mine does.” [No idea what that means.]
A couple of silent moments.
Him: “You don’t have any kids?”
Me: “Nope.”
Him: “Cuz God didn’t make any kids for you?”
Me: “No, not yet.”
Him: “Not yet?”
Me: “Maybe some day.”
Him: “Oh, maybe in like a million weeks?”
Me: “Sounds about right.”
Thankfulness Posts
I’ve skipped the last two days. I’m still thankful for stuff (particularly, at the moment, the Dr. Pepper narrowly missing the laptop); I just haven’t felt the need to broadcast it. The last one I posted was:
Nov. 14: “Seems like these thankfulness posts are either really serious or really frivolous, with not much in the middle. So today, to help remedy that, I’m thankful for the efforts that have been made around the globe to help end poverty…and for cupcakes.”
Tuesdays (I wrote this on Tuesday)
Tuesdays are fun. I start the morning teaching phonics at the Lamontville crèche, then spend about 4 hours at the BEC in Durban, and then head back to Lamontville to do a discussion class with the teen girls.
Here are some videos from phonics this morning. The first one is too much of me and not enough of them, but it’s just to show a baseline of how little English the kids know at this age (also, to show off my Zulu – not my singing). The second two videos show some of the kids demonstrating what they’ve learned the past two weeks, when we’ve talked mostly about the letters A and B. It’s actually mostly just to show some cute kids. For some reason my English is really over-enunciated – I don’t think I always do that…
[Disclaimer: the gang signs these kids are making are actually attempts to imitate me signing the letters, although they choose some weird times to do it. And I was definitely not sticking my tongue out at them – this time.]
The teachers – Rose and Phunzili (Petunia was pretty close, eh? I’ve since corrected this with the other volunteers but they’re set on Petunia) – are so excited about the kids learning. Phunzili took notes when I was going through the letters. I love that kind of humble enthusiasm and I would happily teach phonics all day long if they would let me. I’m hoping in a couple of weeks they’ll be able to teach the lesson. Once they get that down, I want to meet with them and teach them how to help the kids put the sounds together. I have no doubt some of these kids, particularly the little boy in the second clip – whose name is something like Uyanda – could be reading in a couple of months. In fact, I have it in the back of my mind to see if I can snag this boy for some one-on-one lessons, maybe in December when everything shuts down.
This afternoon at the BEC, I happened upon a protest as I was walking back from drinking coffee at McDonald’s. (Yes, I stopped in the intersection to take a picture because it was the only place I could be relatively sure someone wouldn’t grab my phone.) I don’t know what they were protesting but the one guy with the sign was very happy I was videoing him.
[I thought it was a catchy little tune. The only word I recognized was “presidente.”]
I’m planning to do a blog entry on the class I do with the teenage girls on Tuesday afternoons. It’s been fun and informative for me, and hopefully for them as well.
Purple Streamers – Not Just For Girls Anymore
This is Bro. Peter’s bike. He’s a German guy who was hired to be the car guard for the ecclesia and ended up getting baptized. Now he lives in a little building behind my room. I don’t think he knows my name but he always says, “Shalom. It’s a beautiful day!”
Throwback Thursday
I’ve never participated in Throwback Thursday, because, honestly, I wasn’t that cute of a kid. But some of the blog posts I’m working on are still in progress, so I thought I’d focus on frivolity tonight. These are the best of the few pictures I have access to, being in Africa and on a new laptop.
Martha Chiles showed me this a while back. (I believe we concluded it was taken at Canadian Bible School when I was 6 – I love my mother for buying me awesome shoes but not quite getting the sock part right. Also, Daniel…ridiculous.)
I’m guessing I’m about 3 here. Apparently my dress was a hand-me-down from a little Catholic girl whose name started with a B. That other kid is Kyle, my brother. I’m amazed that the photographer got us to hold hands – maybe the novelty of having a little sister hadn’t worn off yet.
This one is cool because it’s my future sister-in-law and me when we were 5-years-old at Kentucky Bible School. We hung out that one year and then my brother and I met her again when she and I were 15. They got married two years later. I like her much better than him. We did a re-take over the holidays last year. Here it is:
Today was our day off, so Matt and I ventured to the UK Emporium (which I previously referred to as “the American store” – close enough), about 25 minutes away.
On the way we discussed whether they would be likely to have Reese’s cups and Matt said he didn’t remember seeing them when he was there before. Our main goal was Dr. Pepper. Anything else would be a bonus.
This little store is hidden away on the bottom level of a parking garage. As I stopped to take a picture of the sign, I saw something wonderful in the background.
“Look!” I said, before we were even inside. “On the back wall!”
We entered, observing a moment of silence as we approached the peanutybutterychocolatey goodness.
Finally, Matt spoke. “It’s a Christmas miracle!”
Ten minutes later we checked out. Our combined holdings: 7 packages of Reese’s cups (3 per package), one bag of Reese’s pieces (mine), a 6-pack each of Dr. Pepper plus two cold ones for the car, two cans of fruit filling (black currant – whatever that is – and cherry, for a dessert I want to make), and a container of Cadbury’s chocolate sauce, for a Reese’s cup replica I’m planning to attempt (though it’s less necessary now).
The grand total was 465.30 R ($46) – by far my most expensive purchase so far in Africa. As we left I told the lady at the counter, “You have made us very happy.” She didn’t seem to understand how serious I was – what with her unlimited access to the store room (which we peeked into) full of American and British goodies.
On the way out I remarked that if we got mugged, they could have my credit card and iPhone, but I would put up a fight for the Reese’s and Dr. Pepper.
After this we sat in the car in the parking garage, where Matt devoured a whole package of cups before I had managed to open my Reese’s pieces. “I feel like a heroin addict,” he said, as he licked the wrapper (I told him to, but still).
Then something horrible happened. “I dropped one!” I exclaimed, looking down at the orange chunk of happiness laying at my feet.
“Five second rule,” Matt reminded me.
I wasn’t sure that applied in this car, which has perpetually soggy, filthy carpet because of the standing water that accumulates every time it rains.
I popped it in anyway. “I just ate malaria,” I told him. It was totally worth it.
As soon as we got home I made my FB thankfulness post for the day: “WE FOUND DR. PEPPER AND REESE’S PEANUT BUTTER CUPS!!!! Sorry, that was obnoxious. But we did. And that’s what I’m thankful for today.”
Apparently Matt and I are now the possessors both of desired items and valuable information. Sonya commented on my FB status, saying, “So many questions…” I told her I’d share a Reese’s cup with her, and she replied, “That reminds me of an old saying that goes something like: give a girl a peanut-butter cup and she’ll eat for a day, tell the girl where the peanut-butter cup store is and she’ll never go hungry again.”
I think we’re going to milk this one for a while. (That was not a very bad attempt at a pun. There’s just no other way to say it.)
Acts
I’ve been reading the book of Acts as part of my daily Bible readings. It hit me that I’ve never truly appreciated that book. It has all the elements of a great adventure story – bad guys turned good guys, bad guys staying good guys, shipwrecks, snake bites, tongues of fire, courtroom drama, treachery, unbelievable courage, and – of course – the token Ethiopian eunuch. Pretty cool stuff.
I think the daily Bible reading plan is a great idea. I’ve only done it consistently for the past two years. Before that I just kinda read here and there, when I felt like it – or I’d make it to about March and quit. Once I started doing the reading plan consistently it was systematic and gave me an overall familiarity with the scriptures that I never had before. I love the idea that so many Christadelphians use the same reading plan. It makes me feel in sync. But the disadvantage, of course, is never quite getting deep into one subject. It’s easy to check the readings off and go on with your life.
The book of Acts is a great example of missing the congruity of the story by dividing it up and reading it over the course of a month. So I decided today to find a good, modern version (not The Message) and just read it as an adventure story, straight through. Kinda like Swiss Family Robinson (which I read for the first time on my Kindle a while back and loved).
Why did I never do this before?
Some of my favorite parts:
Peter healing the disabled guy. Peter’s one of my favorite Bible people. I think that was the first miracle he did – probably the biggest adrenaline rush ever.
I also like this part: Suddenly an angel of the Lord appeared and a light shone in the cell. He struck Peter on the side and woke him up. “Quick, get up!” he said, and the chains fell off Peter’s wrists.
I just find it pretty funny that the angel whacked him on the side and shouted at him.
Also, this whole thing: For as I passed by, and beheld your devotions, I found an altar with this inscription, To The Unknown God. Whom therefore ye ignorantly worship, him declare I unto you. God that made the world and all things therein, seeing that he is Lord of heaven and earth, dwelleth not in temples made with hands; Neither is worshipped with men’s hands, as though he needed any thing, seeing he giveth to all life, and breath, and all things; And hath made of one blood all nations of men for to dwell on all the face of the earth, and hath determined the times before appointed, and the bounds of their habitation; That they should seek the Lord, if haply they might feel after him, and find him, though he be not far from every one of us.
And this: Then spake the Lord to Paul in the night by a vision, Be not afraid, but speak, and hold not thy peace: For I am with thee, and no man shall set on thee to hurt thee: for I have much people in this city.
One more: When we heard this, we and the people there pleaded with Paul not to go up to Jerusalem. Then Paul answered, “Why are you weeping and breaking my heart? I am ready not only to be bound, but also to die in Jerusalem for the name of the Lord Jesus.” When he would not be dissuaded, we gave up and said, “The Lord’s will be done.”
So much better than The Godfather.
In Other News
I’ve got to get this whole being a pedestrian in Africa thing down. I’ve never had a moment’s confusion while driving on the “wrong” side of the road. In fact, I think despite only driving 1-2 times a week, I’m shaping up to be a very competent stick-shifter. It’s half art/half science and I find great satisfaction every time I transition from 1st to 5th (with the necessary steps in between) with nary a jolt – it doesn’t happen often, but when it does it’s beautiful.
But for some reason I get totally discombobulated when I’m jogging, trying to remember which way traffic flows so I can run opposite it. I had my first (very) near miss today when I jumped back at the last second after stepping out in front of a car that was on the “wrong” side. I’ve slightly changed my philosophy now – cars are bigger than me and are therefore always on the “right” side.
Thankfully I wasn’t chewing gum at the same time.
On a positive note, nothing makes me feel quite so hardcore as running in the rain. Plus now I feel better about the Reese’s and Dr. Pepper I’ve waited all day for and am about to devour.
I was searching for Bible verses on peace today. The first 3 pages of results for my search were mostly related to peace offerings. I found myself scrolling down to get to the end of that section. Then I thought, why am I skipping all these, as if they have no relevance to what I’m really trying to find? I think when you grow up hearing the phrase “peace offering” in an academic context – learning about the different offerings in the Old Testament – you can miss the point of what it really means. I couldn’t even tell you exactly what the peace offerings were about – how they differed from burnt offerings and sin offerings, etc. – but I find it remarkable that God cares about our peace; so much so that we have entire chapters telling us how to maintain (or regain) peace with God, with our neighbors, with our brethren.
I remember a sister once saying, “we’re supposed to be peace-makers, not peace-keepers.” I don’t know exactly what she meant by this, but I see two lessons in it: 1. “Make” is an action verb – you sometimes have to go out of your way to make peace, and 2. “Keeping the peace” – avoiding conflict for any reason – is not the same as making peace, and isn’t beneficial to anyone.
Ps. 119:165 – Great peace have they which love thy law: and nothing shall offend them.
Is. 26:3 – Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee: because he trusteth in thee.
Mark 9:50 – Salt is good: but if the salt have lost his saltness, wherewith will ye season it? Have salt in yourselves, and have peace one with another.
Jn. 16:33 – These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.
Rom. 8:6 – For to be carnally minded is death; but to be spiritually minded is life and peace.
Ph. 4:7 – And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.
Col. 3:15 – And let the peace of God rule in your hearts, to the which also ye are called in one body; and be ye thankful.
Jam. 3:17, 18 – But the wisdom that is from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, and easy to be intreated, full of mercy and good fruits, without partiality, and without hypocrisy. And the fruit of righteousness is sown in peace of them that make peace.
That selection of verses gives clear instructions on how to get peace and what its results are.
How to get it – love God’s law, keep your mind stayed on God, have salt in yourselves, be in Christ, be spiritually minded
What it results in – hearts and minds kept by peace, peace ruling in your heart, wisdom
Some of them seem to be a “chicken or the egg” scenario – does being peaceful make you wise, or does being wise make you peaceful? I guess striving for a little of both wouldn’t hurt.
Okay, Now For the Choreography
For some reason the subject of square dancing came up a while back (while Hannah Fadelle was here visiting; I’m sure it was her fault). We were at the home of Yvette, the volunteer coordinator, for dinner, and we mentioned it, which led to her asking what it was. We couldn’t really explain it, so we had to demonstrate as best we could, with our best do-si-dos and promenades. I know nothing about square dancing other than what I’ve seen on TV. I think we did a short unit on it in P.E. because, well, I’m from Arkansas. I can’t imagine Hannah knew anything more than I did, being from a state north of the Mason-Dixon line. As far as general dancing ability, my experience is limited to a move I call a pirouette, but which is almost certainly nothing like a pirouette. It is performed randomly, for entertainment value, and only in certain company (my former roommate in Orlando may be the only living witness).
Fast forward a few weeks, to Yvette, Matt, and I deciding to plan an end-of-the-year play to be performed by the youth from Lamontville (honestly I think Matt’s just along for the ride). Somehow I found myself put in charge of choreography…actually, I think maybe I volunteered…the details are fuzzy.
I organized the kids’ music program at Kentucky Bible School for 5 years, but I didn’t have to write my own songs and there was no dancing involved. But that process taught me three things – 1. kids are pretty much game for anything, 2. it all comes together in the end, and 3. the things that don’t go according to plan end up being the best parts (as always, art mirrors life).
So I’m in the process of making up songs about Noah’s ark, including a square dance number about loading the animals. I’m completely out of my league (and my comfort zone), but I’m planning on having fun along the way.
Thoughts Typed Into My Phone Upon Being Awoken at 4:30 am
Dear people who repeatedly set off neighborhood alarms at 4:30 am,
It’s already light outside. Wouldn’t your dirty misdeeds be better suited for darkness? I don’t want to tell you how to do your job or anything, but I’d much rather be rudely woken up at midnight when I still have plenty of time to sleep and when it’s still dark. We’re on the fourth alarm in under 30 minutes.
PS – my door isn’t even locked so I’ve foiled your plan.
Ugh, now you’ve woken up the birds.
What We Have Here…
Last night after seeing Thor, Matt and I ate dinner at Mugg & Bean, a little coffee shop in the mall. I ordered a burger that came with bacon but I didn’t want the bacon (no, I didn’t just order a bacon cheeseburger with no bacon – that would be stupid; it had other stuff I wanted). When I said I didn’t want the bacon, the waiter asked something like, “Maca?”
Hmm…I thought. I have absolutely no idea what he’s saying. Surprise. This is when I’m always tempted to say, “Let’s just stop this right now and not embarrass ourselves [me]. Decide what you think I should have and bring it to me.”
Instead I said, “What?”
Again with the “Maca.”
Don’t say it, don’t say it, I told myself. It’s never what you think it is. Don’t engage; do NOT engage!
“…Macaroni?” I asked finally, waiting for Matt to laugh. What? It’s a food.
“Macon,” the guy said, a little more clearly this time, and then went on to explain that it’s like bacon but made from beef. Okay, I can do that.
When he left I waited for Matt’s ridicule at my communication failure. But he shrugged and said, “I thought he said ‘macaroni’ too.”
It turned out to be nothing like bacon (or macaroni), but it was good.
Speaking of Which
Here are some observations made at the Westville Mall:
Don’t ask this lady if she’s okay.
Why? Cuz she’s a mannequin, dummy.
When you go into the bathroom, don’t be surprised to see a lady coming out of the stall holding her KFC take-out bag. (I refrained from taking a picture. I have some tact.)
It’s time to buy your calendars for next year.
Moons? Pretty cool.
Pig tails? Um, let me know when you have macon on a calendar.
Skittles: apparently the least-favorite candy in South Africa too.
I never realized death was a potential outcome of the 3D movie experience.
Random Sunday Pictures
I wanted a picture of the words on the screen, but the Szabos were perfectly posed, so I included them. This is the second attempt. During the first, Matt elbowed me, almost causing me to drop my phone, and leading to a very blurry photo. I guess he thought that would be less distracting to everyone else than just letting me take the photo.
It’s a flower. A purple one. Purple’s my favorite color. I don’t have much else to say about this.
Thankfulness for Nov. 8 – Today I’m thankful for a peace-filled Sunday and renewed energy – physical, mental, and spiritual. That’s what Sundays should be about. And tomorrow’s my day off…woohoo!
Lastly, in important news, I’ve been here 7 weeks. I finally used a clothes hanger today. I’m growing in so many ways.
[Pictures my sister-in-law sent me, of my nephew talking to me on the phone. I kinda miss him a little.]
I finally found a running route that feels relatively safe and has just enough hills to be challenging but not enough to kill my ankle. I’ve started my running app over at Week 3 and I’m hoping I can pick up a little speed this time.
Goals are more likely to be met if you write them down (I don’t know if this is true; it could just be that people who write goals down are also people who are more likely to attain goals – but whatever). So here’s my goal – to be able to run for 60 minutes (continuously) by the time I go home. Ambitious, but semi-attainable; and if I make it 3/4 of the way I’ll be happy.
Here’s the standard protocol I’ve developed for running as safely as possible: keep my music low enough that I can hear someone approach from behind; when I cross paths with someone and no one else is around, keep one hand in my pocket (cue Alanis Morissette song) holding onto my iPhone, smile, wave, say “hi,” make eye contact, and then turn around to check that they keep walking when they pass. (You know, trust but verify.)
I passed this sign today and hadn’t noticed it before. It’s times like this I wish I didn’t have an irrational fear of snakes. Maybe I’ll come back with a local.
Happy’s
Yesterday I felt nauseated as soon as I got to Happy’s. I don’t think I’m getting sick. It was just one of those days where I wasn’t sure I could handle the unwashed and unbandaged open wounds, the kids chewing on trash, and the general dirtiness of the whole situation. It was bad enough outside but once I stepped inside the building, the stagnant air mixed with not-so-appealing smells almost sent me over the edge. I went back out and warned Matt that I might not make it through and then went back in. A few minutes into the lesson I forgot all about it and was fine.
We talked about examples of good and bad friends in the Bible. Still thinking of my little friend who’s been having trouble there, I asked the kids to try to make a new friend this week and to be kind and helpful to each other.
At one point a little Albino boy (probably the politically correct way to say this is “a little boy who has Albinism”) took something out of his mouth and tossed it across the room. Upon a closer gaze I saw that it was gum. I almost didn’t say anything; the rooms and grounds outside frequently have trash and food laying around. I started to go on with the lesson and then decided that letting a peer step in your chewed gum (probably barefoot) was a pretty good definition of not being a good friend. So I asked him to pick it up. He stared at me. I said it again. He continued to stare. Wow, I thought, he’s really going to just ignore me. Then I remembered these are Zulu-speaking kids and had Maxwell interpret. The kid got right out of his seat and picked up the gum. Come to think of it, I don’t recall what he did with it. It’s quite possible it went back in his mouth.
Back to the little girl – she’s had an open wound on her hand for the past two weeks – it looked okay and didn’t seem to be infected, so I just reminded her to keep it clean. This week she also had a mostly-healed wound under her eye from falling on some rocks. That’s one of the hardest things about Happy’s – seeing how they seem to have to just fend for themselves when they’re hurt.
Bro. Charlie (from Australia – Crissie’s dad) went with us yesterday to take some pictures and videos. I noticed this kid playing by the tires of Charlie’s car and went to check it out. He had very expertly lodged a nail up against the tire, so that when Charlie pulled forward he would most likely have gotten a flat.
Our man Teddy, who is usually the first to greet us and the last to leave us, was his usual self as we got in the car – standing by my open door, asking for our phone numbers and telling us how he was looking after the little girl. “I’m looking after three ladies this week,” he told me. Right on, dude.
I asked him to remind me what that girl’s name is and he watched with amusement as I tried to pronounce it, click and all.
“I like your Zulu,” he told me, smiling.
“I like it too,” I said. “I can do this”: I proceeded to perform my best Zulu clicks, to which Teddy dead-panned, “Calling the chickens?”
Funny.
“Okay, Teddy, we gotta shut the door,” I told him.
“Oh, I wanted to talk to him about something,” he motioned toward Bro. Maxwell, who was sitting beside me.
“Oh really? Teddy, here’s a new English word for you – ‘stalling’.”
“Excuse me?”
“Thinking of an excuse not to shut the door,” I told him. “It’s called stalling.”
Sheepish grin.
“That’s ok,” I told him. “I reward creativity. Think of a good enough reason and I’ll give you a minute.”
He came up with something so quickly that I think he must have really had it on his mind. He asked Maxwell in Zulu if he could work with us.
We all kind of hemmed and hawed. I love to throw Americanisms at him so I said, “You can be our eyes and ears on the ground.”
“Excuse?”
Never mind.
We finally worked out that he can help interpret the story I tell next week. He seemed happy. But I saw him silently judge me when I pronounced, “sala kahle” (bye) wrong as we drove away.
[This is a common kind of deformity that is seen at Happy’s.]
African Improvisation
When using an iron as a hand weight (what else would I use it for?), don’t forget to check it for water. When discarding the iron and using an unopened bag of sugar as a hand weight, don’t forget to check it for holes.
In completely unrelated news, if anyone needs nectar for their hummingbird feeder, I can supply it.
Sounds of Africa (It says “right now” – it’s actually a couple of days ago)
There are so many sounds in Africa. It’s never completely silent. If it’s daytime, you hear birds. If it’s nighttime, you hear insects. Both are loud enough for people to hear through Skype when I’m inside my room.
Right now I’m lying in the grass, doing my daily readings on my phone and enjoying the breeze.
I hear the sounds of the maid next door sitting outside on the stairs, clipping her finger nails. Amazing how distinct that sound is; I just glanced over to verify and sure enough, that’s what she’s doing. She’s also got a yucky-sounding cough, but so do I.
From downstairs I hear the sounds of some torturous interaction between Matt and two of the little Australian boys. Sounds like karate chops interspersed with shrieks of pain.
I also hear a frog or cricket or some other non-interesting creature. Then there’s the ever-present call of the hadidas. Right now there’s another bird singing a very distinct rhythm. I won’t try to replicate it but it’s cool. Okay I will – do DOO do-do-do-do, do DOO do-do-do-do. There it is. You feel like you’re in Africa right now, don’t you?
Occasionally I hear the wind blow a leaf or a tree branch and I jump and assume I’m about to be eaten by a black mamba. A dog barks, followed by the sound of another scream from downstairs. Okay, I’ve got to go check that out.
I discovered what they were doing was a combination of watching unfortunate sports mishaps and beating each other. As Matt wrestled with the 6-year-old, his 8-year-old brother and I sat there watching. “Do you want me to beat you up?” I finally asked him, casually. “Yes!” he replied excitedly, throwing himself on top of me for torture to commence. I was happy to comply.
I spent about 20 minutes trying to capture the hadida’s sound and finally got a pretty good sample. It’s by far my favorite sound in Africa.
Friday Morning COPT Meeting
Every Friday morning at 7:30, we have a Community Outreach Program Trust (COPT) meeting. This means waking up at 7:23, leaving my room at 7:25, and driving 5 minutes to the Blewetts’ house, where the meeting is held, over coffee and snacks. I enjoy these meetings, despite the early hour. It’s great to be in an environment focused on outreach, where issues are discussed in a positive way with biblical concepts at the forefront. I always come away inspired by the all the potential that exists.
John 4:35 – “…Lift up your eyes, and look on the fields; for they are white already to harvest.”
Getting Keys (I’m Out of Creative TItles)
The other day I walked to the Westville Mall to get an extra set of keys made for the new Clermont building. I got a good taste of South African roadside construction as I navigated broken chunks of sidewalk and narrowly dodged an unmarked hole that dropped 5 or 6 feet.
Back to the keys – we use those old-fashioned ones that are kind of cool looking – I’m sure they have a name, but I don’t know it. I was wondering how long it would take to get copies and what the process would be like, since they’re a lot different than the keys I’m used to. Turns out there was no process. They just looked at the number and handed me a key to match. That must come in really handy for people who just want to buy one of each and keep trying until they find the one that fits your door. Oh well, I guess that’s what the security gates are for.
Thankfulness
Nov. 8 – Not picking and choosing what to be thankful for today. It’s all good. Rom. 8:28 – “…all things work together for good…”
Nov. 9 – I’m thankful for my mommy, who for some reason is always awake when I wake up, even though it’s the middle of the night in Arkansas. I don’t know if she has intentionally arranged her sleeping habits to correspond with mine or if she’s just way too addicted to Candy Crush – but I almost always get a Facebook message from her as soon as I log on. It just says “Hi,” and then apparently she falls asleep by the time I respond.
[I think she was being weird on purpose…I can never tell.]
In the continuing trend of monkey pictures, I stumbled upon this – it’s me in 30 years:
Matt just appeared at my window to tell me the American store I was hoping to go to today (a place I keep hearing about that is my only possible hope of getting a Dr. Pepper on this continent) closed at noon.
Instead he suggested, “I was thinking we could go to the mall.”
Next Comes Africa 