As of April 6, I am in my last 6 months of Peace Corps service. On the one hand, that is a good thought: less than six months until I finish up, leave my village, and head off into the Great Unknown. On the other hand, there is so much left to be done here before I leave that it gets stressful to think about sometimes.How did this happen? The past six weeks, since I wrote “Time”, have gone by in a blur. Perhaps this is because so much has happened to keep me busy; I haven’t had time to really sit back and digest it all. Soon after I wrote that entry, I was mugged (it truly IS a South African rite of passage—in fact, soon afterwards, my host brother Tumisho was also mugged), I went to Erica’s site for a fantastic carnival (at which I was a ridiculous clown), and then the first school term was over.
The end of each school term means a school holiday, ranging anywhere from 1 week to over 5 weeks. This March/April holiday was 2 ½ weeks long, and so just as school ended, I was off.
First, I went to Pretoria. I spend the first week of my vacation relaxing there, reacquainting myself with civilization (easy internet access, cinemas, nightlife) and doing work at the Peace Corps office. (I also got bed bugs from the backpackers, but that’s another story.)
Since late 2005, I have always had my near future mapped out. I would take the Foreign Service Exam during my Peace Corps Service (and nail it!), return home, pass my oral interview with flying colors (obviously!), and soon head off for a rewarding career in the State Department. Imagine my surprise when, looking at the State Department website at the Peace Corps office, I discovered that the Foreign Service Exam isn’t even being offered internationally this year. (Gulp!)
All of a sudden, I panicked. What to do? I could wait until I return home before taking the exam, but the process from exam until employment could take two years or more. Spending the next two years of my life after returning home, sleeping on my mother’s futon, waiting for the exam and employment procedure, would not be the best thing for my career.
At this point, my options are open. I’ve signed up for the GRE in June, although I haven’t started studying and don’t have any of the study guides yet….but, hey, I’m not worried. That’s one option. Or I could get a job working for another international (N)GO. Or I could end up somewhere I haven’t even considered yet. As I said above, when I leave South Africa, I am heading off into the Great Unknown.
Anyway, after Pretoria, I traveled eastward to Sabie, where I spent a fun weekend with about 60 other PCVs (and some of their visitors from the USA, like Erica’s dad for example). I ran the Longtom Half Marathon on a brisk morning, finishing in my goal time of 1:50. That night, Erica and I held an event that we had planned for the rest of our fellow PCVs: the Longtom-off. This was an idea that had been brewing for quite some time.
What exactly IS a Longtom-off, you ask? Let me explain. There are two groups of PCVs in South Africa: SA 14 and SA 15 (the 14th and 15th groups of PCVs to arrive in South Africa). SA
14, of which I am a member, arrived in August 2005. SA 15 arrived in July 2006. Our groups tend to have a minor obsession with lankiness, and it turns out that Tom Brownlee, from SA 14, and Tom Kulkinski, from SA 15, both just happen to be very lanky (or LONG, if you will). In the spirit of inter-group competition, Erica (who is SA 15) and I (SA 14) organized the Long-Tom-Off, and the night after the race, we held the contest. There were five grueling events (including a “Peeping Tom contest” and “Tom trivia”) which culminated in a lank-off—basically a competition to see who could prove themselves as the lankiest. Our reigning champion had been Dan Ondrusek, but that night Tom Kulkinski won the lank-off and, thus, the Longtom-off. My hat is off to you, Tom Kulkinski.After the success of the Longtom-off, I was off….Bree, Nicolette, and I went to Johannesburg, aka Jo’Burg, aka Jozi, aka Murder City. (The last one is not an official nickname, but it might as well be) In almost 20 months in South Africa, I had still not been to Jo’Burg. Since arriving in South Africa, we had always been told to beware the Big Bad City. We were told the true statistic that any PCV who takes a public taxi into the Jo’Burg taxi rank will be mugged within an average of 45 minutes (in fact, it is now forbidden for any PCV to be at the Jo’Burg taxi rank—possibly the only place in South Africa we are strictly forbidden from going at any time). We saw Tsotsi. Plus, when my host brother James was shot in the neck in Hillbrow (one of the worst parts of Jo’Burg), I knew to take the threat seriously.
Bree, Nicolette, and I did NOT take a taxi to the Jo’Burg taxi rank. Instead we took public taxis to the Jo’Burg airport (O.R. Tambo International) and got picked up by the backpackers we were going to stay at. That night we decided to go out to the Market Theater in Newtown, so we had a private taxi pick us up from the backpackers and drive us there. It turns out that the driver didn’t know exactly where he was going and got lost, driving us through the outskirts of HILLBROW! Yikes. I instinctively locked my door and slouched down in my seat as we drove through. He did finally end up getting us to our destination, though, safe and sound.
During the day, Jo’Burg is lively, crowded, and busy. But at night, the streets in the city center empty out and it becomes shady, and dangerous. Driving through that first night, we saw Jo’Burg at its shadiest. I asked myself, why did you come here?? But the next day, in the sunlight, things looked much better. Jo’Burg is actually a very lively city during the day, and downtown Jo’Burg is the only place in South Africa that reminds me of New York City. Jo’Burg itself is huge and sprawling; the downtown is only one small part of the city. On that day, the backpackers organized to take us to the Apartheid Museum and to Soweto.
The Apartheid Museum is an amazing place. It’s easy to forget about the past when walking around the fancy malls and quiet suburbs of South Africa, but the past is always there. The Apartheid Museum confronts you with South Africa’s history—all of that ugliness just stares you right in the face. I highly recommend it to anyone who ever visits this incredible country.
After leaving the museum, we continued on to Soweto. SOWETO….the SO-uth WE-st TO-wnships. The place is the beating heart of black life in South Africa. I’d imagined the place for such a long time, and going there was truly an experience. Driving through Diepkloof, where we entered the townships, I was surprised to see nice, big, brick-and-tile houses. These were the “suburbs” of Soweto, the nicer part where you move once you have some money and are out of poverty. But soon we were driving into the heart of the township. To be quite honest, Soweto looks similar to so many of the other townships I’ve seen in South Africa, but the scale of the place is huge….it just goes on forever.
We made some interesting stops along the way in Soweto, including the Hector Pieterson memorial and museum, Nelson Mandela’s old house, and the Regina Mundi Catholic Church, but for me the most memorable part of the entire place was going to an informal settlement. An informal settlement is just an area where extremely poor people, who cannot afford to live anywhere else, settle and build their shacks. The place we went, the Motsoaledi Informal Settlement, was just a series of tin shacks stretching far into the distance. The poor residents of the settlement sat around in chairs, or on the floor, or walked around the dirt and mud streets. The tin shacks stretched on into the distance. I’m sure that this was quite a sight for most tourists, but to me it just reminded me of a poorer version of my village.
Ordinarily I’m turned off by what you could call “human zoos”—places you visit where you can look at people who might seem strange, quaint, or barbaric to you, where you can take pictures of them. “Look at their primitive culture! Isn’t it just so odd?” That whole thing does not appeal to me at all. Thankfully, this was not like that. The residents of the Motsoaledi Informal Settlement came together and decided to find a way to bring some income into their community. So they started offering tours to anyone who wanted to visit…that was what we did. We were shown around the settlement by a man (I forget his name) who actually lives there. The whole thing is an income-generating project for them, and I really respect that.
Bree, Nicolette, and I were not alone…there were 5 other people from our backpackers who were also with us. We walked around the settlement, and the others did the usual tourist thing, looking around with awe, taking pictures. As for us, we spoke to the tour guide for a while, and then he discovered that we can speak South African languages. (Bree and I can speak Shangaan; Nicolette can speak isiNdebele) This really impressed him for some reason; I guess most people who take the tour don’t speak South African languages. Townships like Soweto are filled with people who might be from all parts of the country; they are melting-pots of languages where people have to communicate with one another. Many people in townships can probably speak quite a few South African languages. The tour guide was very impressed with my Shangaan, so every time he saw a Shangaan person, or someone who could speak Shangaan, he would call them over and tell them to talk to me. They would immediately become surprised that I could communicate with them. This guy speaks Shangaan? I could see the incredulity in their faces—but it was something I’m used to, because I get reactions like that all of the time.
So as we walked around the settlement, I was paraded out, introduced to lots of people. It was amusing to see how this affected everyone. Even the other backpackers with us were amused. I don’t even know that much Shangaan, but after living here for so long, I have been able to learn to speak Shangaan with a Shangaan accent, and I think that was the most surprising thing for people. By the way I speak, people seem to think that I know a lot more than I actually do. (If they speak to me for long enough, they soon discover how misleading my Shangaan accent really is, when I have to shrug my head and say “A ndzi twisisi”—I don’t understand.)
There were also lots of children in the settlement. Small kids, used to seeing lots of strange foreigners. The children in my village are very shy at first, especially the young ones. But these little kids, they just ran up to us, hugged our legs, reached up to hold our hands, walked with us. It surprised me. But, in retrospect, it shouldn’t be that surprising. These
As we left the settlement, the tour guide told us how much he enjoyed having us on his tour. He said it was the best tour he’d done so far this year, because it was the first time that he had people that could, and were willing to, speak to the locals. Usually tourists will come in, take pictures, and leave. We actually spoke to the locals, greeted them, didn’t treat them like animals in a zoo…and it had an effect. It made our tour guide’s day, and it brought big smiles to everyone we spoke to. We only spent 20 minutes in the settlement, but that is the biggest thing I will remember about my visit to Soweto.
We spent another day in Jo’Burg, but nothing else was as noteworthy as the visit to Soweto. We went out that night to the very young, trendy Melville area. The next morning we got a rental car and drove to Sandton, which is an upper-class, “fancier” part of Jo’Burg. Then we drove into the city center and walked around Newtown. We also had a very shady drive through sketchy parts of downtown Jo’Burg on our way from Newtown to the airport. (I was going to get off at the airport; Bree and Nicolette would continue on to Pretoria) I’m not scared of Jo’Burg the way I was before, and I am happy that I had the chance to go and see the place for itself. I’m looking forward to going back sometime—taking all precautions, of course.
From Jo’Burg, I flew to Cape Town. The flight itself is about 2 hours long; it cost me 1000 Rand round-trip ($140 USD)…not bad.
Cape Town was beautiful, as always. This was my third trip to the “Mother City” in less than a year. I was there for five days, during which time I ran another half-marathon, the Two Oceans Half Marathon. The Two Oceans is an amazing, beautiful, and very well-run race. The day after the race, I climbed Table Mountain again….but doing the climb after running two half-marathons (and only one day after finishing one) might not have been the best idea. My legs were sore!
In Cape Town I did the “tourist” thing—in addition to Table Mountain, I went to Cape Point and to Stellenbosch, saw the breathtaking views along Chapman’s Peak Drive, hung out at the Waterfront and ate at fancy restaurants. I saw the movie “300.” Cait, Meagan, and Jillian found a hole-in-the-wall Mexican Restaurant (possibly the only one in the entire country of South Africa) where we all ate Mexican food that reminded us of home. Jenny, Erica, and I went to the Buena Vista Social Café. I went with Erica and her dad to The Africa Café. We drank Dr. Peppers and Cherry Cokes at the only place any of us had ever found them in South Africa.
It was a nice trip, a break from life in South Africa. But soon it was over, and I flew back to Jo’Burg. From the airport, I found a way to get to the backpackers in Pretoria for only 23 Rand ($3.20 USD) using public taxis—otherwise I would have had to pay 250 Rand for a private taxi. I felt very good about my ingenuity, although it was actually my friend Eric who had found the public taxi route to the airport. The next day I returned home to my village, and back into my life as a Peace Corps Volunteer.
During the past 2 ½ weeks back at site, I haven’t gotten too much done at school. But then again, as I mentioned in “Time”, my previous entry, I wasn’t expecting to. I’ve only given one workshop so far; I’ve also observed some classes and I did two demonstration lessons. At school, that’s about it. At Makgubuketja Primary School, where the teachers don’t like me, I have given the principal an ultimatum: sometime during the next week or so she is going to call a staff meeting and ask the educators if they want me to come into their classes and help them, or not. (So far, the influence of bad teachers has really gotten in my way) Either they’re going to start cooperating with me more, or I’m not going to go there anymore except to give workshops occasionally. We’ll see what happens.
Things have been going better with VAST-related issues, however. After having to make some last-minute changes to my proposal, I re-submitted it and got approval!!! All I had to do was sign some consent forms and get a member of my committee to sign an acknowledgement form. I did this last week, and so all of my VAST work, in regards to the proposal, is done! Now that I’m approved, all I have to do is wait until the $5,000 USD (35,800 Rand) is deposited into my account. Then the real work begins. (I’ve posted some excerpts from my VAST proposal on the blog, below)
Erica and I have also had some very productive meetings since returning from Cape Town. We went to the Coca Cola headquarters in Polokwane, met with the manager of Special Events, and got his agreement to attend our events with a Coca Cola truck, stage, and free Coca Cola for our guests. Then, we met a woman named Rachel Sethosa, who runs an HIV/AIDS NGO in Polokwane. She is an amazing woman…dedicated, hard-working and HIV-positive since 1989. Let me repeat that….this woman has been HIV POSITIVE for EIGHTEEN YEARS. In a country like South Africa, that’s almost unheard of. It’s amazing, and she has agreed to come to our VAST events and speak. I am so excited for people in my village to hear that HIV does not equal misery and death.
Our recent meeting with the Red Cross was just as productive. Not only will they be at our events, but they will be bringing HIV Ambassadors (HIV-positive speakers), and they will also be bringing HIV counselors to assist the one HIV counselor who works at the local clinic in my village. This is going to be VERY helpful, since one person alone would not be able to administer over 600 HIV tests in one month, especially on busy days where there might be a rush or a long line of people to test.
All of these meetings have been very beneficial, but they have meant time away from my schools, since meetings are usually on school days. But I’m not complaining…I’m getting more done at these meetings than I would at the schools, anyway.
Obviously, scheduling issues often cause things to be slow at school and tend to get in the way of me getting a lot of work done. But, recently, there is also something else: death. When a teacher dies, usually all of the teachers from the Circuit go to the memorial service. Twice now, in two weeks, teachers have left school early to go to the memorial service of a fellow teacher. These teachers who have been passing away aren’t teachers at my school or in my village, but two deaths in two weeks are a lot: death seems to be in the air.
And it isn’t just that. Two weeks ago I found out that Marcus, my host father from Moletji, my training village where I lived from August – October 2005, passed away. He was 59 years old. So, last weekend, I went (and Erica went with me) back to Moletji for the first time since I was sworn in as a Peace Corps Volunteer on October 13, 2005. It was a surreal experience. The house where I had lived was full of people, and there were many more sitting in a tent outside. I was not able to attend the funeral (it started at 7am and I wouldn’t have been able to get there so early in the morning) but I am happy that I was able to go back and visit the family. I expressed my condolences to my Moletji host mother, saw a lot of family and family friends from the village whom I had not seen in 1 ½ years. And then I left again.
That same week, I found out that my grand-uncle (my “Chotai Dada”) had passed away in Toronto. While it wasn’t surprising to me, since he was over 90 years old, it was deeply saddening. And then only a few days ago I heard that one of my sister’s good friends (a great kid, whom I had also known for many years) was killed in a motorcycle accident near his home. It seems as if death is everywhere, and even my life at home cannot escape it. Now my Aunt (my beloved “Phuppoojaan”) in Toronto is very sick as well, and I am praying that she gets better soon. There’s been too much death recently.
And that’s the way it goes….life goes on, for most of us. For me, life will continue as it has. We’ll see if things get busier at my schools. I know for a fact that things will get busier as I get deeper and deeper into the planning of my VAST event. These next few months are critical for the success of the event. I’ll be busy studying for the GREs, trying to work at school, and running around to all sorts of meetings for VAST.
I’m reminded of a quote I read in a recent issue of The Economist. In an article about Russian fatalism, an interviewed Russian said something to the extent of, “Life is dangerous. Nobody has ever survived it.”
As I’ve said before, a Peace Corps Volunteer’s work is never done.

