Straight from the Zebra's Mouth

Done.

2009-12-26T14:37:00.003+03:00

It's been over three months since I have finished my service in South Africa and returned to the United States.

This last entry is pretty intimidating to try to write. I have so many feelings about my service, and so many of them are conflicting. My blog, when I've actually gotten around to writing in it, has only scraped the very surface of my experience (with the exception of the John Cena entry- one of the most profound and penetrating pieces written about South Africa in recent history).

As I am writing this, so many memories and images are running through my head. So many faces I want to see again, so many bodies I want to hug again, so many chickens I want to kill again.

I still have a lot of confusion about what all happened down there. There's still so much for me to process.

I've brought a few things back with me: a pretty table, the feeling of being an outsider, a thirst for chicken blood, an even more warped sense of humor, a little bit of outrage and indignation, an increased threshold for ambiguity and chaos, a few pounds, a passion for social and economic justice, a lot of incredible memories and relationships, and a parasite.

I'm just kidding about the parasite.

It just seems like most people I've spoken to about my experience in Peace Corps are intrigued about that above all else; everyone seem to know at least one person or another who joined Peace Corps and came back with a parasite. I wish I could be that person for all of you, but alas, I am parasiteless.

One of the most commonly asked questions I get when my service in South Africa comes up is, "was it fun?" I have such a difficult time answering that question. I think people just want me to say yes and be done with it.

Instead, my answer is an awkward, "uhm ... I learned a lot?"

I get the impression that people want me to perpetuate their image of Peace Corps Volunteerdom: getting stoned all day while digging holes and bathing in nearby streams (where you pick up your parasite.) I didn't do any of those things. Sorry, y'all.

I was going to try to keep going with what people expect my experience to be like and how my actual experience differs and what's it has been like to try to relate my experience to people who only really half care, but that's all, like, too hard.

I've written all I can write for now. It's too overwhelming and I've still got way too much to process. Maybe in another 3 months I'll work up the courage to attempt this again?

Death of a Chicken

2009-07-20T23:05:00.002+03:00

It's been a while now since I've wanted to kill a chicken for myself.
I ate meat all the time, but I can hardly remember killing a living creature intentionally. The most brutal I can remember being is a time last year when the flies were out of control and constantly buzzing my face that I invested in a can of Doom. Most of the time, if a cockroach runs across my room, I'll sweep it out.
For a long time, I've been dedicated to non-violence, in many ways. But I still just couldn't bring myself to stop eating meat.
Anyway, I couldn't reconcile my beliefs with my actions (or more appropriately, my diet.) Something had to give, and since I apparently was unsuccessful with my vegetarianism the last two times, I decided it was time to try killing.

Anyway, the point is, I killed the thing. It felt right and honest, and it's made me think about the implications of violence and life/death in general. I could go into detail of how I killed it, and I could even post a picture here. (And I will, but I will only link it, for the squeamish.)
I wont go into it, though. If you want to know what it's like, you should do it yourself.

I will mention how cute it was when my 3 year old little host brother helped me pick the feathers off, though. He wasn't all that good at it, but I can't blame him- I mean, considering the appropriate motor skills for his age group and all.

Thugonomics in the Developing World

2009-05-27T20:39:00.003+03:00

My "loving" sister, is holding captive a few desperately needed DVDs from me. She says that in order for her to send them, I must write more blog entries.
Withholding aid until I comply to her demands? What are you, Soya ... the World Bank?

She might be right, though. I probably should update more. It's just hard to think about what to write.

So I suppose I will just write about the important things in life.
One thing that pops to mind: John Cena.

Do you know who John Cena is? If not, allow me to introduce you.

John Cena is an actor, hip hop musician, and a professional wrestler.

John Cena is a multiple wrestling title holder (national and internation), and even won the 2008 Royal Rumble.
Most importantly, John Cena is an American.

This is something that few realize, but in 2007, approximately 1/3rd of all children's clothing produced here in South Africa was John Cena brand.
This may not seem impressive to you by just looking at the numbers, but the physical manifestation of these numbers is mind-blowing. John Cena backpacks, shirts, pants, probably underwear, jackets, sandals ... you name it, South African kids wear it.
Intriguingly enough, this phenomenon is not limited to the youth of the country, and sometimes you can even spot the occasional 70 year old gogo wearing a John Cena item or another.

While his acting skills in The Marine may have blown you away, the real spotlight is on his wrestling.

He has a plethora of impressive moves and a surprising number of finishing moves, including but not limited to: the Fisherman Suplex, the Spinebuster, the Driving Leg Drop Bulldog, and (the crowd-favorite) Attitude Adjustment.
You think the names are impressive? Try youtubing these babies.

There's no denying it, the man has both style and class in abundance.

John Cena, the official American Ambassador.

Being surrounded by such a thoroughly wholesome All-American icon gives me a real in here. While crossing paths, if I notice a young man has a John Cena brand clothing item, I can simply wave my hand in front of my face and say, "you can't see me!" and immediately, we are on the same page. It's as good as a secret handshake.
I once tried to immitate Cena when I went down to "pump up" my "Reebok sneakers," however I feel that this cultural reference just didn't quite make it here. Some things we must simply chalk up to being lost in translation.

Looking back at my two John Cena packed years here, I have realized just how much I have learned - and still have to learn(!) - from "The Doctor of Thuganomics." For example, the Five Knuckle Shuffle would be a neat party trick.

I believe we all have something to learn from The Doctor of Thuganomics, and not just Basic Thuganomics ...

... lessons about life.

Closing of Service? What.

2009-05-10T23:45:00.002+03:00

Much of the rest of my group is out at the bar having a beer, in someone's room playing music, or sharing a laugh over one of the three cheesy movies offered on television tonight. Many are chattering about all things ranging from morbid, depressing, frustrating, absurd or amusing (maybe all of these at the same time).

Then there's me, sitting here at my computer.

I guess I am in one of those nagging reflective moods.

We're at our Closing of Service Conference. This is the last conference we'll have with each other. This is the last that I will see of many of my friends whom I have shared a (sometimes treacherous!) path with for the past two years. And while I have only a limited amount of time with them, I have learned how important it is to get my feelings sorted out.

So if you haven't gathered this already, I am finishing up soon!

Yep, that's right, it's been about two years now. Go ahead and scan through my blog entries then, if you don't believe me. They're all there- starting from July 2007.

It's a little hard to believe that I'm almost going to go home. I'm ready, but I'm not.
It sure hasn't been all roses out here in the thornveldt, in fact it's mostly just thorns. But sometimes you learn just how tender those thorns can actually be.
Okay, that was a load of horseshit. Thorns aren't tender, they're sharp and painful.
However, when you have something stuck in your teeth, a thorn plucked off of a tree can be your best friend.
I hope you're not trying to read into this crap about thorns as any sort of metaphor, because I am actually just talking about thorns right now.
There's really only so much you can say about thorns, though.

Anyway.
Despite the tremendously difficult time I've had learning to adapt to this place, and perhaps because of it, I have come to love this country and my experience here.
Above all, I have learned a lot.

I couldn't expect that a breakdown of all the lessons that I have learned here from direct experience to be helpful to anyone else, but hey, this blog isn't just for you guys, it's for me too. With that in mind, I'd like to reflect upon my latest lesson.

Though it may sound pessimistic, cynical, jaded, or whatever negative synonym you prefer, I have learned to abandon hope. Hope, as useful and inspiration as it is for many people, has finally finished serving its purpose for me. If I insisted on keeping it, it'd only prove to be a burden.

A person can be compassionate and take action without being attached to the outcome.
Preferring an outcome, whether it is a surgeon preferring her patient to live, a professional athlete preferring her team to win, or a tightrope walker preferring not to lose balance and plunge to her death- if any of them have too strong of an emotional attachment to those outcomes, it can cloud their vision and end up being their downfall.
I prefer that the children at my school are able to read. I prefer that no one I encounter converts their HIV status. I will will work towards those goals, but suffering for someone else doesn't solve their problem.

Throughout my time here, I have battled not to internalize the problems of my surroundings.

This lesson, though it was something I understood intellectually before I came, took almost the whole two years to come to terms with. And even still, I'm struggling.

I've learned a lot here in this relatively short amount of time. I've only a few short months left, and I imagine I still have a few more lessons waiting for me.

I wonder if one of my next big lessons is going to be how to kill and prepare a chicken?

Trains, Planes and Babies.

2009-04-07T17:31:00.004+03:00

I'm in Cape Town. What a wonderful city- it has captured my heart.

I took a train from Kimberly. Upon entering the station, there was a great commotion as I went to purchase my ticket. It turned out that a woman had abandoned her baby in a toilet on the train. I instinctively shied away from the center of the chaos, while others rushed toward it. People were calling dibs on the baby! "Give it to me."

Then, of course, I was approached by two men who asked me, "Don't you want a baby?" Saucer-eyed, I replied "NoooooOOOOOoooooOOOOOoooooo!"

Confused, they inquired further. "Why don't you want a baby?"
I was in familiar territory here. I replied with my typical response about how I had too much that I wanted to do, and a baby was just far too much responsibility for me to handle at such a young age. They didn't seem to buy it, as no one here ever really does (besides a handful of people).

Babies are apparently pretty important. Who knew.

I remember one time when I was conducting an HIV and Women session with a group of homebased care workers. The issue of whether or not a woman with HIV should consider having a baby came up, and we discussed it. Eventually, in perhaps questionable judgment, I brought up that I may not even have children myself- or I might consider adoption- but having a baby myself isn't necessarily something that I desire at this point in my life. Incredulity filled the room. I was told that I was not a proper woman.
Well, duh.

Anyway, I turned down the chance of being a mother, yet again. The police were notified, and the baby was whisked away in the ambulance.

I lied in the title of this blog entry. No planes, sorry.

The Mystery Case of Why No One is at School Today

2009-03-23T12:09:00.002+03:00

Walking to school today, I saw no children outside- in their uniforms but not in class. Unusual, for sure.
There was no singing in the morning.
None of the teachers' cars were present as I rolled in.
There were no children hanging upside-down dangerously from already-bending-too-far-tree-branches.
There were no dogs sniffing around the grounds in search of spare bits the zero-nutrient snacks sold by the hawkers just outside the school grounds. Nor were there chickens.
There were no children playing around the water pump that only has water every once in a while.
There was no one working on the new pit toilets.
There were no teachers in the staff room singing as they grade their papers.
There were no classes left unattended and chaotic.
There were no children to still be slightly scared of me and greet me shyly ... even after I've been here for a year and a half.
No belts being used as weapons, and no need for me to scold little boys to put them back on properly.
No grocery store bags, rice or mealie bag backpacks.
No "hello, how are you?"s followed by bashful faces buried in hands.
Nothing.
No one.

No text messages returned, no one to answer my phonecalls ...

Why the heck wasn't there anyone at school today????

It's That Time of the Year Again!

2009-03-19T00:16:00.004+03:00

That's right.
It's time for me to shamelessly beg for donations for KLM. I've lost so much shame here.
It's time for the Longtom Marathon, and I need to raise $100. I know that we're all a bit tight these days, so I am not asking for much. $10 if you can spare it, more if you can, less if you can't. I'll even accept $1. I will. I'll accept it with extreme gratitude.

How to help me out:
Go to the KLM website ( www.klm-foundation.org )to make a donation- just click on the 'donate' photo. Make sure to put my name ("Megan Clapp," if you've forgotten!) in the white box where it asks for the Longtom person you want to sponsor.

As a thank you, I am planning to collect vials of my sweat during the race and send them to those who donated- so after you donate, go on and shoot me an email with your mailing address!

I'm a Lazy Blogger. Must Be Because I'm a Woman.

2009-03-11T00:49:00.006+03:00

You may have noticed that I haven't updated my blog in a while.

Sorry.

I just spent this weekend at another PCV's site doing a Life Skills training with her students at the FET college. They were an incredible group of kids, and I had a blast doing it.
Arlean set the training up and was looking to have sessions from 7am to 10pm. I talked her out of this plan, using the excuse that "the kids wont be able to absorb the information," when in reality I just plum didn't want to facilitate that much.
What we ended up doing was pretty perfect.
We started out with HIV information- the same we did at my high school. Then we focused on communication, decision-making, goals, and then on gender issues.

The gender roles session was ... interesting.
I found myself getting a little worked up at one point when one of the males said something to the effect of, "while men and women are 50/50 in the eyes of the law, we all know that men are still better than women." I lost it a little bit, which was very unprofessional of me! I challenged him by saying, "you think you're better than me? You just said you're better than me. Look me in the eye and tell me you're better than me."
I said it with a laugh, but I was definitely far more aggressive than I would have liked to have been. He avoided meeting my eyes and kind of stammered, "not ... right now ..."

I felt bad, I was a bit of a bully. But like hell I am going to take that kind of disrespect from a kid!

Later, another young man stood up and said a piece about how wrong it is that a man could go and claim he is better than his mother just because of his gender, even after she birthed him and raised him. How anyone who claims that they are better than anyone is better than no one. His comments were met with applause from the group.

One thing that I have noticed that has been met with great resistance every time we do a gender session, is whether or not women can dig graves. This has been resisted by both men and women. No one here has ever seen women participate in grave digging during the funerals, so many people can't even fathom that a woman could do such a thing. I was once told that, "women can dig a hole, but not a grave."
It took quite a while to convince the group this time around that women are physically capable of digging a grave (though it may take longer than a man- unless you're my mom who could probably outdig plenty of dudes.) One young man said, "if a woman can dig the foundation of a house, why can't she dig a grave?"
Eventually, most came around to accept that it is physically possible for women to do such a thing, though they weren't likely to see it happen or encourage it. That's fine, whatever!
The point was to demonstrate what culture tends to dictate. What culture tells us we can and can't do on account of our gender. It's clear that these gender roles are in a great transition right now.

At one point in the gender discussion, I compared the oppression of black people to the oppression of women. That seemed to make an impression. Clearly the oppression of black people was wrong, and white people said much of the same crap that many males say about women. "They're inferior in this capacity or that capacity," "they can't do this or that as well as we can," "blub blub blub, blah blah blah, I'm full of crap in this way or in that way."

Anyway. I guess my point was that the session was pretty interesting.

I bring all this up, mostly because I find myself becoming more and more a feminist. Some of it is sparked by pure outrage at the oppression that women here suffer- the constant physical threat, the way that men will often grab women on the street as means of "flirting," the all too often abandonment of women once they're impregnated.

I find that I often have to fight my own mind. It can be so easy to blame males, to be angry and hate men for all the crap that they pull. It can be hard to remember that they're suffering, too. They're also being oppressed by the same roles and expectations that lead them to oppress others.
And then, of course, there are some incredible men here. Sometimes at our soccer games, some of my teammates will bring their children along. They'll tickle them, teach them how to kick the ball, give them love and attention. Little else here makes me happier than seeing a dad spending time with his child.

I don't really know where I'm going with this entry, I just felt like I had to post one since it's been so long.

2009: Already Ridiculous

2009-01-07T20:24:00.000+03:00

It's already been a hell of an eventful year, and we're only one week in. I'll spare everyone the details, because it is my suffering and glory, not yours. You can't have them. Get your own.

I will talk about my past couple days, though. I helped Erin run a leadership camp. We went to a pleasant little place with 35 kids from two schools. It was very likely the first trip away from home for many. There seem to be a couple of firsts- first cans of pop, first time splashing around in a pool (holy cow, was that a nightmare for both of us former camp counselors). Thankfully, most kids displayed the appropriate amount of fear.

At the end of the workshop, we had some special guests come in. The South African Police Service. They came to give a talk on the dangers of drugs.
Part of their talk included giving the children some "sweets"- actual bags of marijuana. There the children were, sitting there- sniffing, fondling, and thoroughly examining their own little bags of weed distributed to them by the SAPS. Granted, they were not theirs to keep- but I am not convinced that they had counted how many bags they gave out, nor were they impenetrable.

Over all, I felt that it was generally quite a successful presentation, and the children learned a lot.

And finally, there was a really sweet dog at the resort:

2008-12-09T15:50:00.003+03:00

I'm at the office in Pretoria right now. I have an ear infection. I can't hear out of my right ear, which was such a shame a few minutes ago as I only half heard the dude who sat next to me at the Pigly Wigly talk to me about how psychiatrists were responsible for the Holocaust.

I was sitting there at the table, reading my all-time favorite newspaper, the Daily Sun, as I shook my head in disgust over an article about some of the horrific injustices of the world. He took that opportunity to ridicule me for reading newspapers at all. Then he proceeded to tell me about how Hitler had 6 psychiatrists, Mugabe has 3, and everyone who has ever started a war only did so on account of Big Pharma. I debated whether or not I should tell him that I am planning to join the field of psychology, which he deemed "psychiatry's little brother."

It was all very interesting, and stupid, and a little bit scary. This guy had such an intense and passionate hatred for psychiatrists and psychologists. He even went so far as to say that he didn't consider them human. At that point, I decided I should just listen, and let him spew his vitriol rather than to bother trying to reason with him.

Afterwards, he reached out to shake my hand. In retrospect, I can't figure out if I hesisted to take it because he was crazy and probably would want me dead if he had any idea who I was and plan to be, or if it was because he had a horrible case of pinkeye that he kept rubbing at throughout our conversation.

Anyway, I'm in the city now. We just came from Durban, where we helped out with the training on the Life Skills Manual (my Peace Corps Bible). I'll be serving at a meditation course starting on the 12th. It'll be good for me to sit again and recenter myself.

I've got a lot of other crap on my mind lately, but I've got to sort through it all before I put any of it up here. So ... give me a few days, yeah?

The Big Event

2008-10-27T10:30:00.004+03:00

Friday was the big event. It was the culmination of all the Peer Mentors' effort in the form of our last session on how the HI virus is transmitted, a celebration of sorts, and a testing drive. I was a little skeptical at first, but it turned out to be a giant success.

I invited my APCD, who is more or less my Peace Corps boss, to come to the event. I also invited some other volunteers to the event to come and help. Four PCVs came over the course of the campaign, Mike and A.J. came beforehand to help with the kids' training, and Katherine and Adam came to help with the event.

The event wasn't quite as important as all the sessions the kids had been going into the classrooms and giving. I wanted Lydia to see a session. And she saw one, she did!

We needed to combine two classes, which we've had to do all this week on account of scheduling problems. ("Oh, by the way, Lerato, the learners are going to be writing examinations this week." WHAT?????? AGH!!!!!!) So we had a classroom packed with students, and we had teachers (who were generally very flexible and considerate of our sessions) that would come in and pass out papers or make kids come up and get them during the middle of the kids' presentation. People were coming in and out of the classroom the entire time. It was CHAOS.
AND THERE WAS A DOG OUTSIDE THE CLASSROOM (more on this later).

Regardless, the Peer Mentors handled it with grace and class. Much better than I did. According to Adam's account I was pretty obviously fuming at least one point during the session. All I can say is that it was a good thing that the kids were in charge and not me!

So Lydia got to witness this typical chaos and she seemed to think it went fabulously. Well ... it did, to be honest. Through all the ridiculous amount of distraction and absurdity, it was obvious that the class was getting the information.
I feel confident that the majority of the students at Onkabetse Thuto High School now clearly understand how HIV is transmitted.
And more importanly, they know how to protect themselves.

After we concluded the sessions it was time for the event.
We were originally supposed to start after school until the day before someone said to me, "but if you start after school, everyone will be gone! We've got to start after short break."
AGH!
Okay, so I got permission to start around 10 to 11, after the kids had finished cleaning their classrooms.

10 rolls around, still cleaning. 11 rolls around ... most kids are standing around and not doing anything. Why can't we start? Oh, there's one classroom that refuses to clean their room.
At this point ... I'm stressing out. We've spent a lot of money and done a lot of work, and I have no idea if we'll even get this thing off the ground.
12 o'clock, the principal gives us permission to start.
The music turns on, and all is right and well in the world.

Erin, who I love so dearly, and who has helped so tremendously, started the day off by announcing that she was going to test for HIV. Soon after, many students followed her, and there was a LONG LINE of kids waiting to get tested for HIV.

We kicked off our event with a candlelighting ceremony for those who have passed on because of HIV/AIDS. The wind was strong, so uh, it wasn't so successful. But we tried. We tried.

Then we went on to do a condom demonstration. We had a couple of representatives from LoveLife, which is a fantastic organization (that I hope to work with in the future), who helped to get the energy going by getting some volunteers to come up and show how to put a condom on.

After a couple of volunteers, one who used his TEETH (eek! don't do this), one of my Peer Mentors came up to do it properly. And I must say, he did a damn good job and was very professional.

After the condom demonstration, we had a two poets read their poems, some jika ma jika (a dance competition) and then we did a little HIV Jeopardy.

Just a quick note- remember earlier when I mentioned the dog? Well, you may have noticed it in most of the pictures I've posted. If you didn't notice, you can do a little Where's Waldo'ing.
Anyway, that dog, Dookie, is Erin's dog who followed her to school. Over a half hour walk. He stuck around the whole time. He slept outside the door of the classroom we were teaching in, and even found his way into the office while we were eating lunch. It was completely absurd. He also terrorized some donkeys, so that was cool.

Enough about the dog.

The main point of the event was the testing. Overall, we had 37 high school students who got tested for HIV, and there was a waiting list for at least 23 more kids to get tested. This way exceeded my expectations, and I am beyond pleased with the way things turned out, even if it did almost give me an ulcer.

Onkabetse HIV Awareness Campaign

2008-10-17T13:55:00.002+03:00

This week has easily been one of the most gratifying weeks of my life.
My Peer Mentors have put in a lot of hard work towards getting ready for this HIV education campaign, and it is very clear.
It helps that this kids are incredibly bright and gifted in a variety of ways- but the hard work and dedication ... that's been the key.

It has been a real pleasure to go into all the classrooms and watch as these guys so easily demand respect out of their peers by using their skillful facilitation and passing on their solid understanding of HIV. They set the tone when talking about sex and anatomy by being super professional and demonstrating a level of maturity that has blown me away!

I have witnessed several "a-ha" moments that good teachers become so addicted to seeing on the faces of their students. I truly believe, with the bottom of my heart, that our combined efforts have really set a lot of learners straight about many of the myths and facts that are going around the community- and there certainly are some interesting myths going around.

There have been a lot of interesting comments and questions that have come from the classes. Some kids want to know, is sex a form of exercise? - To which I answer, "why yes ... sex CAN be a sort of exercise- but so can running in front of a train! ALWAYS USE A CONDOM!" CONDOMS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

One of the most rewarding moments of the campaign was after my kids ran one of their amazing sessions, and a young man from grade 12 came up to me afterward, thanked us for what we were doing, and asked if he could join in the efforts. YES! Yes. Yes, my dear friend, you can.

It's really encouraging to hear the kids at the school talking about the campaign- and they are. They're excited about learning about the virus, and I think they're really excited to be talking frankly about sex.

It has become so incredibly clear that an Abstinence Only form of education would be so completely ineffectual, preachy and ridiculous. Through the questions the kids have asked, it is ABUNDANTLY clear that a large portion of kids are having sex. Behavior change is hard enough as it is ... to try to get them to stop having sex when they've already started is a far cry from realistic. I want these kids wearing condoms. Condoms!!!!
We will support the kids who are choosing not to have sex by affirming their behavior and encouraging abstinence as their safest and most reliable protection against HIV, other STIs, and "falling pregnant."
By the way, the term "falling pregnant," while referring to a very serious situation that can range anywhere between devastation and jubilation, is a rather hilariously tragic term.

One of the biggest, hottest topics in the classrooms is always the topic of testing.
People are terrified of testing. And indeed, I can't very well blame them.
I remember taking an HIV test myself in order to join Peace Corps, and it was completely uncomfortable. And I cannot even think of a single time in my life where I may have been exposed to HIV- but the fear still resonated in the core of my being. "What if I DO have HIV? What then?"
I could hardly imagine the kind of fear that some of these kids would be facing. It is obvious that many of these kids have been engaging in unprotected sex. The infection rate among adults in the village is around 40%.
There is ample reason to be terrified.

We have also been promoting a healthy lifestyle, and been working hard on encouraging people to support those living with HIV- and they've really seemed to respond to the message. We've been working towards addressing the stigma of testing. I think this generation has been inundated with information about HIV- this week has been focused on trying to help them sort out the good information from the bad. They've been made aware of the fact that HIV is a problem in this country- it's been our impetus to make sure that people recognize that this problem is one that they need to own themselves.

One thing has become pronounced- the kids in the Peer Mentors have definitely owned the battle against HIV as their own battle.

During almost every class, after we've announced that we're putting on a testing drive at the school, there's been a wild reaction. A lot of "Aw hell nah!"s, and a lot of other, assorted, mixed reactions. It's got the kids talking. They're talking to their teachers about their fears, their reluctance to know their status ... it's a big deal.

This next week will be more hard work.

We'll see if we can pull this event off.
Wish us luck.

Onkabetse Peer Mentors

2008-09-16T23:41:00.001+03:00

It is officially bragging time.

I love these kids.
First, let me explain how the group was formed.

A few months ago, I went into the classrooms at the highschool, and had the learners nominate a boy and girl from their class who they would feel comfortable going to if they had a problem. I told them they should choose people who they could trust, felt were good role models and were leaders in their community. Of the 60 or so learners who were nominated, 20 or so applied- and these 7 have emerged as the most committed and INCREDIBLE kids.

We have been doing life skills training every week, which includes lessons in communication skills, decision making, goal-setting and HIV education.

During the first few lessons, when we were focusing on HIV education, they got inspired. Something lit them up- perhaps it was the newly formed understanding of how the virus is transmitted, maybe it was the recognition of how it impacts their community- whatever the reason, they were motivated towards action. They wanted to do something; they wanted to teach their community about what they themselves had just learned.

So that brings us to this month and the next. We're putting on an HIV Awareness campaign at their high school. They will be going in pairs to facilitate the same sessions that I gave to them earlier this year. One will be on the Myths and Facts about HIV, and the other will be how the virus is transmitted, and how to protect themselves.
At the end of the two weeks that we will be going into the classrooms to give these sessions, we will be throwing a celebration event/testing drive.

These kids are doing the planning and the work.

After this campaign, we're looking to go into other schools to do similar sessions.

They're awesome.

Last weekend, we met to do a session. The session was about looking at complicated issues and critically evaluating them. We did a mock trial, where we simulated a court case about a man with HIV and his doctor.

(welcome to my court room)

In this mock trial, the doctor had tested a man for HIV, which came back positive. The doctor tried to convince the man to tell his girlfriends about his status, but the man refused. The doctor ended breaking his oath of confidentiality up telling the girlfriends.

(defense's first witness to the stand, please)

The Peer Mentors acted out this court case, taking on the roles of these characters, placing themselves in their shoes, and critically evaluating the situation.
With a bit of help from Gannon, we had them not only explore a complicated and profound subject, but they simulated a court proceeding. It was a critical thinking lesson, social issue exploration, and democratic education all in one.
They were fantastic.

The discussion that followed gave me a lot of faith in them as leaders of not only their community, but perhaps, one day, their country.

So, yeah, the point of this entry was the brag about how amazing these kids are, and I think I've done that pretty successfully.

Kusasa

2008-09-03T22:30:00.000+03:00

I got a new cat! And he's sitting on my lap as I type this.

His name is Kusasa (which means "tomorrow" in Siswati), and he was previously the cat of a volunteer from the group that came just before us.
- She finished her service and needed a place for Kusasa to go.
- I've desperately wanted a cat.
Sometimes the world just makes sense.

I had to come into Pretoria this weekend for other reasons, and so it was a convenient time for me to pick up Kusasa.
Keep in mind that Pretoria is about a 6 hour public taxi journey from my place of residence.
Also keep in mind that most Africans that I have met have a deep hatred/fear of cats.

Yesterday, I picked Kusasa up from a friend. Another friend was going to the same taxi rank as I was, so she was waiting in the cab while I picked him up. I had little time to make friendly with this poor cat. His first real introduction was me stuffing him into a cardboard box and taking him into a series of terrifying vehicles.

Upon entering the rank and finding the taxi to Mafikeng, I observed more than one sideways glance at the box with a ginger cat's head sticking out of it.

Boy, I tell you what- my adrenaline was pumping at that point.
I honestly did not know if I was going to be able to take this cat on the taxi with me. I didn't know what his temperament was like. If he was anything like some of the cats I've owned before, this was going to be some serious trouble.

I climbed into the taxi, and ... well, to be honest, I got about the same response as I usually do.
Apparently, a white chick with a cat on a public taxi is not a whole lot more sensational than a white chick without a cat on a public taxi. Only this time, people mostly talked about the cat instead of me being white.

I tried to keep Kusasa covered, so as to avoid any potential hysteria that his presence might induce. It is not uncommon for people to think of cats as evil, or tools of witchcraft here.

Fortunately, I ended up sitting next to a delightful old lady who thought the situation was perfectly comical. I was inclined to agree with her. We went off, and at that point no one had expressed any serious complaints about the cat being in the taxi.

During the ride, Kusasa hyperventilated some, but for the most part he was very well behaved. He was adamant about not being boxed in and being able to watch the landscape go by. That was fine by me, but it meant that he was exposed.

I believe that the taxi driver first became aware of his presence when we stopped halfway at the gas station and he saw his little head peeping out. He went off on a tangent in Setswana about how much he hated cats and how displeased he was about the situation. I apologized and explained that I had no other choice.
Another good natured older woman who was getting out of the taxi mentioned something to him in Setswana that I could only imagine was along the lines of "you know how those white people are with their pets."
Anyway, I bought the driver a coke and I think that placated him a bit.

We reached my ouse, and he acclimated to my place very quickly.
Within minutes of him being in my room, he recovered from the traumatic experience and started purring under my loving caress.
I believe Kusasa's going to fit very nicely into my world here.
We even have our litterboxes next to each other's.

I think we've got a good thing going here.

Don't Y'all Worry

2008-08-31T22:18:00.000+03:00

So I got a note of concern from a couple of people regarding my last entry. Please, allow me to reaffirm that I am just fine.
Serving here in South Africa is hard, but that's what I signed up for.

I know that I've reflected a bit on this previously, but I have an incredible amount of privilege.
One of the weightier aspects of privilege that tends to dominate my thoughts is the fact that I can leave whenever I want to.
If at any point I want to go home, I can just call Peace Corps. Once they get the call, they will come pick me up, and I can be out of the country in a matter of days.

That simple fact alone sets me apart from those in my village. It's something I have acknowledged from the beginning- but the longer I stay, the more I realize how pervasive that factor is in my life here.
And while it is sometimes hard to accept that I am presented with this advantage simply on account of the circumstances I was born into- I am presented with an opportunity to make a choice. Every day.
Every day that I wake up and remain here- it is my choice. Though sometimes it is not always obvious why it is the case- ultimately, I want to be here.

Okay, I hope that put some people at ease.
Love you all! Over and out.

Isolation

2008-08-21T22:49:00.004+03:00

Let me tell you a little story about last night.
Last night was a rough night.
While serving in Peace Corps often leads to a profound sense of belonging and a sense of solidarity with humanity, it just as often leads to feelings of intense isolation. At least, that has been the case for me.

For various reasons, I have lately felt very ... alone in life. But this is nothing new.
Throughout my adolescence and most of my adult life, I've carried with me a profound sense of being alone. (Yes, even despite my incredible family and friends.)
I wont get into any existential ramblings here. But I will just say that I knew that this was something that I would have to confront even further in my Peace Corps service, and that it was a very big factor in why I joined.
I wanted to explore my sense of isolation further, because even though it can be difficult and painful- acknowledging that I'm alone in this life has, in a way, provided me with tremendous inner strength.

That being said, I knew it would be hard. But knowing ahead of time that something will be hard ... well, it doesn't make it any easier, now does it?

Anyway, like I said, last night was rough.
I was in bed, quite sad.

As I was laying there and thinking to myself something along the lines of "oh woe is me, life is so hard, buuuhuuuhuuuu," the map above my bed slowly started to fall off of the wall.
It slid down and landed squarely on my back.
The symbolism was just too much for me, and, not bothering to move myself or the map, I burst into a fit of laughter.
It was a tipping point. I laid like that for about ten minutes, just soaking it all in.

I felt like I had the weight of the world on my shoulders, and all this time, all I had to do was stick it back on the wall.

(Because it was just a map. Maps aren't that heavy.)

On the Road Again

2008-08-07T12:50:00.000+03:00

I'm sitting here at my computer, stalling. I need to wash my clothes before I hit the road tomorrow.

Normally, I hire a woman from the village to do my laundry (that's right, I'm soooo bourgeoisie), but it's short notice, and I don't have a lot of clothes to do. Plus, it's mostly underwear that needs washing and it is BAD MANNERS to get someone else to wash your skivvies. I'm okay with this, because, well, I mean, just ... it's kinda personal anyway, you know?

I'll be going to the training of the new volunteers. They've come in just about three weeks or so ago.

I'm looking forward to meeting the new group. There's obviously something about the nature of Peace Corps that draws a generally respectable crowd. It'll also be interesting to relive, through them, the anxieties and challenges that we all faced at the start.

I remember meeting PCVs from the previous groups that came into our own training. It was encouraging, because most of them gave the impression of being comfortable, confident and solid in their service. It gave me hope that I could be there one day as well.

I like to think that I've adjusted well to my life here.
I FEEL adjusted.
I don't really know how else to measure adjustment, though. I mean, I eat liver and onions now, for crying out loud.
I don't even veer away from the donkeys when I walk past them. (They're like part of the landscape. A very loud, ridiculous part of the landscape.)
I can tell you everything that is going on in Generations (the favorite South African soapie).
And perhaps most impressively, I can squash a random man's marriage proposal, in Setswana, in under 10 seconds flat- sometimes I can even crack jokes and get them to laugh while I'm doing it.

I guess even if I don't fix the world, at least I'm having a good time trying.

The "Threat Food"

2008-07-21T10:05:00.001+03:00

Once upon a time, when I was just a wee lassie, my mother used to threaten me.
I would ask her, "Mom, what's for dinner??" and she would respond, "liver and onions!" to which I would shrivel up my nose in disgust and go, "ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww."

Fast forward to September, 2007. It is the end of my Pre-Service Training for the Peace Corps in South Africa, and I am on my site visit (the first time that I got to see my new home, Setlagole). I am staying at my principal's house, and it is time to cook dinner. I figured I would endear myself to her a little, and cook dinner for us. I ask her what I should cook. She tells me that there are some chicken livers in the freezer. Hmmm.

Well, I had never cooked chicken livers before, so I ask how I should prepare them. She tells me I should cut up an onion and fry them together. (Understand that I hated onions up until coming here to South Africa)

So there I was
cooking up some liver and onions

the food that my mother used to amuse herself with by threatening to cook it for us for dinner

the food that I later used to threaten the children that I worked with for snack time.

But guess what, everybody? It's actually pretty delicious.

It's Been a While ...

2008-07-16T09:28:00.002+03:00

So it has been some time since my last update, I guess. I got a subtle hint from my father that it was time to update when he forwarded me an email sent to him by a concerned friend. Well played, dad.

I suppose I will start by explaining just why I haven't updated for so long. First and foremost, I hadn't any access to a computer for the past two weeks- but before that is a different story.
Last month, I'd say I was something close to depressed. Not depressed in the way I once was, but rather, I had lost my enthusiasm. I was frustrated with work because I felt like I was getting nothing done (a rather justified feeling). I was empathetically hurt by the suffering and pain of the people of this country, and in neighboring Zimbabwe. I felt debilitated and isolated by the cultural divide between myself and the people around me. I knew I was in a bad head space, and just didn't feel like writing about all that to my family and friends who are reading this blog.

The past two weeks for my vacation I went to another Vipassana Meditation course. It is a course that is ten days long, and of those ten you cannot speak for 9 of them. You learn three techniques of meditation, and during those ten days, you do a sort of deep operation to purify your mind.

I learned about this Vipassana while I was in India with my mother, and we visited one of her friends that my parents worked with at an orphanage several years ago. Her name was Mrs. Modok, and she was by far one of the most amazing people I've ever met. Immediately, you felt a presence that was at peace with herself and the world. She radiated compassion. I wanted to be like Mrs. Modok (and I still do). I found out that she runs a center for Vipassana in Pune, and that that is her method for turning awesome.

I had to try it, and I did. It was the best thing I have ever done, and it is the best thing that I will continue to do. I just finished my fourth course, which was so important for me to take here. I let go of a lot of anger and frustration. I feel far more at peace, and I have regained the drive for my work. I am much more equipped to take on my job. It may simply be that I am more at peace with my limited power to do anything here, but that perspective has empowered me to at least do what I can. Just last month, I was about paralyzed with frustration. Now here I am, ready to go.

I'm meeting this Saturday with my Peer Mentors again. They are some of the most fantastic kids I have ever met, and I firmly believe that they're the reason I'm here.

A few months ago, when we first started exploring the subject of HIV, they got so inspired by this newfound understanding of the virus and how it spread that one of them raised his hand and said, "Can we make a resolution? Can we resolve to put on some kind of awareness campaign or testing drive?" It was far and away the most profoundly awesome experience that I have had here. I will never forget that moment, or Godfrey for as long as I live.

So this Saturday, we'll be meeting to start planning our event.

It is really nice to have my motivation back.

Current Events

2008-05-22T10:23:00.003+03:00

Hello all.
I imagine that a number of you have seen or heard about some of the conflict going on down here in SA. For those of you who aren't aware, this link may give you a little glimpse:

SA leader orders army to deploy

If you're reading this blog, I assume that that means that you care about me/my welfare to one certain degree or another. (Thanks for that, by the way.)
I just wanted to put everyone's mind at ease, and let you know that I am okay, and I will be okay.

There is a website for volunteers and for incoming volunteers to SA to interact before they come. A place for them to ask for information, establish communication with one another and voice concerns. One of the incoming volunteers understandably asked about our safety in regards to these events, and I took some time to write out a pretty thorough response. I am just going to paste that response here, because it hits on some major explanations, issues and will hopefully shed a little more light on what is happening.

Keep in mind that it is written for people who are a few months away from coming here and serving themselves:

First and foremost: speaking as a volunteer in a rural area, I am not seeing any of this violence that is making the headlines. Of course it's extremely concerning, disappointing and depressing, but my life is largely unaffected.
Definitely, there are issues with xenophobia here. I have heard xenophobic remarks from people in my daily interactions but there hasn't been any action on those sentiments. Some volunteers struggle more or less than others regarding this issue depending on their site.

The aggression seems to be mostly focused on other African immigrants. This is happening for a few reasons. As a result of the economic situation in this country, unemployment is high, and unskilled jobs are both scarce and coveted. African immigrants are being seen as taking those jobs. Further, many immigrants (especially from Zimbabwe) have been made scapegoats for many of the crimes being committed in the area. Of course, there is some legitimacy to these claims, considering their situation in their home country and the desperation that many are faced with.

This, compounded with the fact that black South Africans are still affected by a psychological legacy of oppression. After generations of Apartheid, it is not going to go quickly either. It is far and away one of the most difficult phenomenons that you will deal with when you come here.

Keeping the aforementioned in mind, Americans are not the target. Americans generally are not seen as competition, but instead looked at as bringing in opportunity and skill. The whole situation sucks and can be disheartening, but I do not feel that my safety has been compromised by the current events.

Furthermore, I have faith that Peace Corps has a grasp on the situation- they are in contact with us when they need to be, and we have all been briefed on emergency plans, god-forbid we ever need them. I truly do not imagine that we will.

Of course, I am speaking as a white female living in a rural area (but I don't speak for all of them). I think it would be valuable to hear from some African American PCVs (or of any other race) and also some PCVs living in more urban sites to see how they have been affected or not-affected.

All of that being said, I wanted to comment on the psychological impact that these events have had on me. I don't know how much these sentiments are echoed in other volunteers, so I can only speak for myself.

Serving in South Africa is hard. It is a country that is in an incredible transition period. As I mentioned before, there is a very powerful legacy of oppression that you will run up against time and time again. There have been times when I thought to myself, or even to aloud other volunteers "God, why didn't they send me to Ghana or Zambia or something?"
On the other hand, I've come to a point where I've realized that I wouldn't trade my assignment given the choice. We have a unique experience here- living in a place with so much complexity and so many interesting facets. It has transformed me, and opened my eyes up to several realities that I never would have been exposed to anywhere else. Absolutely, my village is influenced by what's going on in the rest of the country and what's going on (or not going on) in the government; but for the most part ... it's just my village. People here are living their lives. People are surviving, growing, dying, and carrying on in their own way. I have had some rough experiences, and some amazing experience. More importantly, I have learned some extremely valuable lessons.

Bottom line: it hasn't been easy, and in all likelihood, it wont be easy for you either. There will be times when you question your purpose here, or your effectiveness, or whether or not you think it is worth sticking around. I think it is important to be honest with yourself as to whether or not you are up to serving here- but I also think it's important to hear that there are people here who think that it is worth all the trouble and heartache.

Back in the 'Gole

2008-04-29T09:50:00.005+03:00

Welp, I'm back in my village now. Vacation was excellent (thanks mom, dad and Soya, for being such troopers), but I'm ready to get back to WORK.

It was good to confirm that my village had not forgotten who I was while I was away. This became apparent to me upon my first run again in the village. The children had their tires out, ready to run alongside me, pretending that they were cars. The adolescent boys were perched on stoops, ready to cat call me as I ran by. The grandmas hanging up the laundry and snorting their snuff, the old men tinkering around their yards, the toddlers rolling around in the dirt, the donkeys kicking each other in their faces ... yes, the world was still in order.

I'm particularly excited about today, because today, my best friend here (ERIN GANNON) is moving into the village just next to mine!
I am excited because now we can hang out and do our nails and our hair and have pillow fights and watch movies and talk about boys like alllllllllllllllll the time now!
Oh, and I suppose that we could do some joint projects together.

Anyhow, I am going to keep this brief, because I've got some other business to take care of. (I am a productive member of 2 societies, simultaneously. isn't that impressive?)

I just wanted to give a couple of high lights of my vacation:

- Sitting back and watching my parents' attempts to adapt to Africa Time.
- Showers. I got to take showers, and that was cool.
- Getting to see my parents. :)
- Getting into arguments with my parents and then reaching common ground, resulting in much more meaningful relationships.
- Running the half-marathon (THANKS FOR YOUR CONTRIBUTIONS: Mitch, Uncle Allen, Emily, Jenny and Beth!) and getting stress fractures in my feet. For the record, I ran it in 2 hours and 3 minutes, which is approximately 13 miles run at 9 minutes.
- My mommy mommy and my host mother getting to meet one another.

- Getting to see my sister! (... and her bringing me a lot of awesome stuff. Thanks, SoyaGaboya.)

- All sorts of amazing animals (except baboons, baboons are HORRIBLE little creatures)
- Almost breaking an axle due to the canyon-esque potholes in Botswana.
- VICTORIA FALLS!

- I got spanked by a babboon. (You can expect a guest entry from my sister on this)
- FEARLESSLY plunging off of a bridge into the gorge below:

Anyway, I'm going to wrap it up for now. I will try to update more regularly, but you see, I am a very busy woman.

Hey All

2008-03-14T09:58:00.004+03:00

Just a little friendly reminder that my BIRTHDAY is coming up ...
and for my BIRTHDAY present, I would love it if you could help me raise some funds for the Longtom. I need to raise at least 75 bucks if I want to enter the race, and it'd be really embarrassing if I wasn't allowed to run on my BIRTHDAY!!!!!!!!!!

To help me not look like a big DORK:
- Go to http://www.klm-foundation.org/
- Click on the "Donate" photo
- Donate!
- Make sure that my name, "MEGAN CLAPP" is in the box asking for the runner's name.

Come on, guys! You don't want me to look like a fool out there, right? Right?!?!?!

I'm going to put myself a little bit out there for you all right now

2008-03-04T23:29:00.003+03:00

It's been quite a day.
I'm getting my Peer Mentoring program off the ground. The mentors, about 12 high school students, have been chosen, and they're a really great group.

But this post is not about that. I am sure you'll hear about my projects in more detail later, when they're up and running.

There is a boy in my program. He is really bright. He is very compassionate, and he is motivated to help people. I am proud to have him in my program.

I had a conversation with him and it was ... I have a lot of feelings about it. But first, I want to talk a little bit about my life.

I've had a good life. I've had really excellent parents (shout out to mom and dad- what's UP), and a near perfect childhood (still wish you guys would've bought me that EZ Bake Oven). My parents are damn good parents. Heck, they even went to almost every single sporting event that I had, even through college- traveling to Texas, Canada, Washington, Utah ... they've been there for me a lot. My parents supported me in practically everything I did, except for when I dyed my hair red. Mom didn't support that.
I've had a lot of privilege, and not only because I was the youngest child. First of all, I grew up in America. I'm beginning to understand the implications of what that means. Second, I was born with white skin. As much as I hate what it means to say this, that has given me a tremendous advantage, and will continue to give me an advantage, in most parts of the world. I came from a supportive, functional family, that has been financially stable. The only other factor that would have contributed to the privileges bestowed upon me from the world, would have been being born a boy. Of course, I am not saying that I would have had an easier life, but instead that I might be earning $0.15 more an hour as a male.
Growing up, I was pretty smart, athletic, and didn't have any severe disfigurements. I had a blessed life.

Despite all of these things, during my adolescence I was severely depressed and even suicidal. This was a major episode in my life, and it has played a huge part in who I am today. I can't totally pin down all the reasons why I was depressed- but I can think of a few.

First, I was angry that I wasn't perfect. I am not going to lie, this still irritates me a little to this day. But only a little.

Second, I couldn't hang with the superficial world that was high school. I wasn't the prettiest girl, I wasn't the most popular, and those are the things that seemed to matter most at the time! Ridiculous, I know, but I think that I had a fundamental resentment towards the whole situation. I knew there was more to life, but couldn't quite put my finger on it, and it was frustrating.

Third, and I think, perhaps most important, I was angry at God. I didn't grow up strictly religious- but my grandma used to take me to Sunday school, I was baptized, etc. Entering into the real world from childhood is not an easy thing- especially when you had one as reasonable as my own. Once you start recognizing that all the world doesn't operate on reason, and with a sense of fairness and justice- that is an awfully hard thing to accept. I hated that there was suffering in the world, and I thought that God was just being a big, giant jerk.
I've grown up a little, and come to a few realizations on this matter, but I wont go into it. Basically, I will now just say that, God and I- we've come to an understanding.

But beyond all of that, there was also an underlying sense of guilt for feeling the way that I felt. I felt miserable for so long, and for reasons that I still sometimes think are a little bit silly. Of course, that didn't mean that they weren't real feelings, and that they weren't justified in their own way. What it did mean, though, is that I knew that I was living a charmed life, but STILL couldn't stop suffering feelings of profound misery.

Thankfully, those feelings are in the past now. The experience of being suicidal was not an easy one to go through by any means, but to this day, I consider it to be one of the best things that happened to me. I learned a lot about myself in that time, and I think I came out of it as a better person.

I've brought all this all up for a reason, I promise.

Today, I had a conversation with the aforementioned boy. He came to me to talk about life. We sat down, and he started to unload some of his story. This kid ... he's been through a lot. When he was 12 or so, his mother ran away, and later died of AIDS. He used to get beaten, and is currently being emotionally abused at the house he is staying at now. His father is sick.

Here he is, though, this incredibly bright boy, with so many challenges in his life. Just the simple fact that he is where he is, living how he does, speaks volumes of his resilience and wisdom. I believe that in his heart of hearts, he truly wants to face his demons, and help others while he's at it.

At one point during the talk, he admitted to me that he had had thoughts about ending his life. I couldn't help but feel a profound connection with him on that level.

Part of me thought to myself "how could you even have the AUDACITY to compare what you went through with what this boy has gone through?" The other part of me acknowledged that all beings suffer.

I think that that has been one of the greatest gifts that has been bestowed upon me. I have lived an extremely privileged life. But despite all of my privilege, despite my caring and competent parents, despite my relative social grace ... I was still miserable. I've learned that privilege does not necessarily equal happiness, and that has been the greatest privilege of them all.
I have learned that the only way for me to feel like I've earned any of the privileges that I've had is to do whatever I can to help other people to have the same ones, or even better.

I don't know how to end this entry, because I don't feel like this is the right place, or the right way to end it- but I cannot think of anything more to say.

Why hello, everybody! Do you want to do something for me??

2008-03-01T22:25:00.004+03:00

I know that you do! You love me, and you think what I'm doing is great! And I think that you're great! And that combination means great things. GREAT THINGS.

So. Before I give my update on my day today, I am going to tell you a little bit about the Longtom and the KLM Foundation.

On March 29 (my BIRTHDAY- for further incentive to help) I will be running in a half marathon (21.1k) held in Sabie, Mpumalanga, just outside of Kruger.

The main reason for taking part is to support the KLM foundation. Their website is: www.klm-foundation.org ; please check it out. I won't go into all the details of what they do since you can read that on the site, but I'll just say that the organization was founded by two PCVs who served here in South Africa a few years ago. They decided to hook up with the Longtom marathon as a fundraiser; they fund a worthy, needy child to attend an excellent secondary school in Mpumalanga - Uplands College.
The child they choose is very carefully selected, going through a four-tier process of elimination.
The four children who have been chosen in the past four years so far are excelling in all respects.
And god. The one thing that this country needs most are competent leaders. Giving these kids a chance to get a good education can mean one heck of a difference.

Any amount is appreciated. And it is tax-deductible. 10 bucks, 20 bucks, 8,000 bucks ... it's cool because YOU get to decide. And remember, the amount of money that you donate is directly proportional to the karma points you receive!!!

How to help me out:
Go to the KLM website ( www.klm-foundation.org )to make a donation- just click on the 'donate' photo. Make sure to put my name ("Megan Clapp," if you've forgotten!) in the white box where it asks for the Longtom person you want to sponsor.

Without further adieu, I'd like to tell you give you a run down of my day today.

Today:

It wasn't a spectacular day. Instead, it was pretty typical. But it was EXTRA typical today.

The local municipality was to play a soccer tournament today in Vryburg with 3 other municipalities in the region. Here's how the events unfolded:
I woke up and left the house by 7 a.m. with the intention of meeting someone- and upon arrival to his house, he's gone. Of course! He said to meet me at 7:30, and I arrived at 7:29. How on earth did someone leave AHEAD OF SCHEDULE in this country? Anyway.
I figured he went to the municipality. Nope, not there. Wandered around some until a guy called me over and asked me if I was going to Vryburg to play. I was then reunited with my friend who, oops, told me the wrong time.
We hang around for about an hour, pick some people up, which takes another hour. Drive to Vryburg (an hour), get to the field (no one's there), look around for other fields for about an hour ...
So what time is it now? 12? Well, somewhere in between all those events, another hour had passed- it should've been 1.
So we go to the grocery store to get some food for the day and we hang out there for about a half hour before I decide that, hey, some guy had gone off to buy a table just now, so heck, I need to get my running shoes while I am here.
Got my running shoes, and was stressing out a little (residual Americanism) about making the guys wait for me. Of course, when I get back, there are three or four other dudes out doing something else, so we had to wait for them. All together, that excursion was another hour and a half.
So it's 2:30. We finally get ahold of someone from the local municipality and get a game organized (surprise, the tournament didn't happen).
3:30 rolls around, and we play!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
5, game ends, we get out of the stadium and the guys decide to go to a pub to watch the end of the Chiefs game (I stay in the bus to read- I don't like being around men who have been drinking). From there they decide to go to KFC to hang out for another hour.
7 o'clock, we head home, get back to the village by 8, drop people off- hit a donkey with the bus (he was fine), and one of the men shouted out in English, probably for my benefit, "Oabile, you are committing DONKEY GENOCIDE."
Then we went on to hit a pig with the bus (not as fine), and some other guys in the bus shouted "PIG GENOCIDE!!!!!!!!!!"
We stopped to survey the damage, and put the dead pig in the trunk. He'll make a fine dinner.

And now
I am home.
at 9.

Quick summary: I took 14 hours of my day to buy a pair of running shoes and play one game of soccer. Yup. Africa.

Final note:
Thank you SO MUCH to all of you who've sent me packages ... Mom, Dad, Soya, Uncle Allen, Jeanie. You guys have played a very big part in keeping me sane!

Hm, you know what

2008-02-13T23:10:00.002+03:00

I was thinking
Maybe I will wake up early to stop by that new drive-through Starbucks they've just built here in my village.
It's so strange, where they've decided to place it ... right across the dirt path from the OTHER Starbucks. I really don't understand.
I suppose if I were to decide where the new Starbucks would be built, I would have put it in between that big thorn bush and the rainwater-lake where the kids swim and the donkeys poop.

Oh, life.

2008-01-28T18:39:00.001+03:00

So, it's been a while since my last update. I think that that is mostly on account that life here is just beginning to feel like life again. I'm in South Africa now. I've been here for some time now. I'll be here for some time longer. It's life. I've got a job, I've got a 'social network', I've got things to do, crap to take care of. I've got to see a man about a zebra, you know?

I just came back from IST (In-Service Training), where I got back together with all of my fellow volunteers. We spoke about the things we're doing, the things we're going to do, and the things we couldn't possibly do. All the possibilities, the problems, the factors, the opportunities, the realities, our hopes, our dreams, our fears- in short, we talked about everything. Except kitchen sinks- we didn't talk about those.

Coming back from that, there was one point that was further so drilled into my head since I have been here. This world is so complex. This life has endless layers, endless angles, endless ways to see things. Since I have been here, my brain has been completely reformatted. I see the world so much more fluidly. I feel things and am so much more aware of how temporary it all is.

I'm just trying to surf the wave that is life.
Talk about an EXTEME sport, am I right?????????

In spite of all of the insight that I myself have gathered, I have nothing insightful to say.
Hehe, sorryyyyyyyyy.

A few pictures

2008-01-07T16:08:00.000+03:00

I suppose that it is time for me to put a couple of pictures up, eh?

Boitumelo, one of my sisters, holding my nephew, being terrified by my new puppy DIDIMALA!!!!!!

Maeroba, my other sister, holding Didimala:

Christmas in Durban:

Kids playing in the rain-lake:

Yes. Yes, it is also 2008 here in Africa.

2008-01-04T12:20:00.001+03:00

I will be spending every moment of this year in Africa. Isn't that exciting?

Sorry I haven't updated in a while- it's been pretty busy.
Just wrapping up my first vacation here. We went to Durban, which is in KwaZulu Natal, and spent practically the whole time on the beach. It was all dandy and swell except for a few things:

- I was sick the majority of the time
- The sun here is way burnier.
- I got stung by a jerk jellyfish.

When I got stung, I didn't have any pee. So a friend of mine went into the ocean and peed into a bottle for me. I poured it on my leg, and it didn't really work. So I had a horrible stinging leg with someone else's pee all over it.

Vacation's ending soon (tomorrow) and I'm ready to go back.
It was nice, obviously (especially the showers), but I am excited to get back to my village and start working again. I also felt like a bit of a fish out of water on the other coast, because I just didn't know any Zulu. It's such a comfort to be able to greet and speak enough to ingratiate myself just a bit among the Tswana- and I had none of that on the east.

Race relations on that side are also a bit different. And to be honest, I think it is a bit rougher there.

I have a theory on what's going on here:
Where I live used to be what was called Baphutatswana- and it was basically a black homeland for the Tswana people. A lot of pretty terrible things happened just at the end of the Apartheid and in some ways made it pretty uncomfortable for most white people to stick around (it sure wasn't easy on blacks either, though.) The ones that did would for the most part need to be relatively racially tolerant. That's my theory anyway.

My shopping town, Mafikeng, I believe is one of the blackest towns in SA. If I were to estimate, there'd be about a 4% white population. Of course, in my village, the white population is me.
But what that means is that there is a smaller white population, and they are generally not openly jerks to black people. What I've gathered on my vacation, is that that is not necessarily the case everywhere. That was an extremely rough realization to come to. I knew it was the case- but seeing it in person (on more than one occasion) is a different story.

In some ways it was surprising because practically all the white people that I know in Mafikeng are pretty damn neat. They definitely don't have the same mindset that I've come across a bit more frequently in other towns.

Race relations here are by far the biggest challenge that I am facing. Things are so, so, so complex. There are decades of history of oppression and injustice that influence the collective psyche of this country- and every part of the country is affected in different ways.

I am constantly reminded of my own race, constantly confronted with what being white implies, every single day. Coming from the Bay Area, which is more or less the most racially diverse, and possibly one of the most racially tolerant areas in the world- it can be bewildering at times.
It can be a lot of pressure, too. Along with my awareness there is a sense of responsibility that I have in every single interaction that I partake in. In some ways, I represent all white people, or all Americans, or women, or zebras or whatever minority I am at the time.

It can be overwhelming, sure. It makes practically every moment of my life here active service.
Though, in its own way, it is also a profound honor.

I'm looking forward to 2008.

Shedding my stripes

2007-12-02T15:25:00.000+03:00

This has gone on long enough.
The time has come for me to come clean. The time has come to tell you all the truth:

I am not, in fact, a zebra.
Instead, I am a human being.

I wont call what I have been living up until this moment a “masquerade.” If I did that, I would be unfair to myself. I never actively tried to deceive anyone into believing that I was a zebra … I just never bothered to clarify.
It’s true, yes, I played on peoples’ fantasies, and allowed them to believe that I was something that I wasn’t- but can you honestly tell me that you have never done that, yourself?

I’m sorry if I hurt anyone by allowing them to buy into the zebra façade. I’m sorry that I didn’t come outright and declare my humanity. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

If it makes anyone that I’ve harmed feel any better- I, too, suffer for this deceit.
It appears as though my village has bought into web of lies that I didn’t actually spin, but that I was fully aware of and took no efforts to stop.
So here I am. A zebra, living in a house, working at their schools, speaking their language, eating their food … would you just look at that ridiculous zebra walking down the street carrying grocery bags!

Yes, yes, I brought this upon myself.

I’m in too deep now. There’s no way out of this mess. Their impression of me as a zebra is now so deeply entrenched that if I exposed myself now, it would only bring devastation. How could anyone trust me again? No … I must play my part as the village‘s, domesticated zebra for the next two years.

On the bright side- my zebra status does present me with a certain kind of freedom. Unlike all the other humans in the village- if I want to act like a zebra, I can damn well act like a zebra. Because really, how could they fault a zebra for acting like a zebra? They can’t. They just can’t.

A few here that are close to me, I think they may know. Or they at least have a subconscious idea. Maybe one day I will reveal to them the truth. But the timing must be just right.
After all, recognizing another creature as a human being is no light matter.
Especially after believing that they were otherwise for so long.

South African Bubbles

2007-12-01T21:52:00.000+03:00

Sometimes after a good rain, we get flying insects. These flying insects are a similar build, but smaller size than the bird-like insects that soar into my window with loud thuds every night. They have clear wings, the shape of an elongated tear drop. If the wind has blown just right a day or so after the swarms of these insects have died, you’ll see little clusters of their wings- hundreds of wings- huddled in a corner, or caught on the edge of the grass patches. Puddles of wings. An eerie reminder of the creatures that take over for a day, and then disappear until the next rainfall when the next generation attempts to avenge their fathers’ and ancestors’ untimely downfall. Of course, only to suffer the same fate. Mother nature has a wicked sense of humor.

They crawl out of holes, one by one, in a rhythmic fashion. Little flying-incest-soldiers, marching off to battle. First their bodies emerge, then their wings pop out, they take a few steps, and then off they go. From far away the swarms look like a fog over the village. When you see it close up, it looks just how it is: like hundreds and hundreds of flying insects.

It’s not so bad, though. They’re generally pretty considerate. They very rarely fly into your face if you’re walking through them, they more or less stick to their designated area (outside,) and they don’t really do much but fly around and look slightly menacing. It’s hard to know just what their purpose is. But then again, it seems a bit hypocritical to berate them for embodying such a fundamental attribute to life itself: purposelessness.

On the other hand, they do serve a function. It is probably not the function that was intended for them when nature molded these organisms into what they’ve become- but who is really to know that anyway? They turn into the little South African version of an American child’s bubbles. Blown specifically for them to chase and pop. A fun game for children to play.

Directions: Stand outside the flying-insect holes and frantically run around. Chase and clap the creatures in between your hands. Giggle with glee when you get one. No need to wipe your hands until you‘re done. Not to worry, there’s an endless supply.
The cost: a small battalion of flickers of life that would have died within the coming hours anyway.

Maybe. Just maybe …
Maybe Mother Earth knew all along what she was doing. From the very instant that fate began to weave its intricate pattern of the flying insects’ evolution- specifically choosing an adaptive pressure here, a mating selection pattern there; Mother Earth knew all along that they were to become the South African child’s bubbles.

After all, it’s a universal fact that children need bubbles.

Setlagole's Sky has Fallen

2007-11-28T12:08:00.000+03:00

A couple of weeks ago, our backyard was swarming with chickens. One night a mother hen of about 8 chicks disappeared. Just earlier that day, she had been conducting her life as she had for so long. At times, clucking around in search of food, other times resting with all of her babies huddled up beneath her belly. Life was business as usual.

By nightfall, that would all change. It was storming, which means that any noise in our yard is obliterated by the rainfall on our tins roofs. There could be an entire orchestra playing just outside of our windows, and there could be no way for us to know. So whether or not this mother hen made a fuss, it would not have mattered.

My host mother believes that someone came into our yard and stole her. I don’t doubt her, not one bit. There were no feathers, or any real sign of struggle that would indicate a predator coming in to kill and eat her. But sometimes I wonder if, during that stormy night, she had a little too much time to think. With 8 sleeping babies wearing her down each day, demanding every ounce of her attention, maybe it got to be too much. Perhaps she realized that the storm outside was a direct reflection of the storm inside of her, and she had to get out. With the pressure mounting, she broke. She flew the coup.

Whatever the reason for the disappearance, it had a devastating impact on the community. With the mother hen gone, 8 little chickadees dwindled down to 7, then to 5, to 4, then to 3 ... I knew they wouldn’t survive, but I didn’t realize just how they would stop surviving. I saw their numbers fall, but not how they were falling. Then one day, I noticed that the 2 remaining chicks tried to join another group of chicks that still had their mother. The mother became mad, and attacked one of the chicks, killing it. At that moment, in my mind, chickens had lost their innocence. I understand that perhaps they never truly had innocence; innocence is probably all just an illusion anyway.

A couple of days later, I saw the remaining chick hanging around one of the three almost grown-up chickens. It was trying to slip under the older chicken when it was resting, and I noticed that the chicken didn’t care. I didn’t understand- why did this one tolerate it? From what I learned of chickens within the last few days, they didn’t strike me as the altruistic type. This almost grown-up chicken was not letting the chick stick around out of the goodness of its heart. Then my host mother told me that the three almost grown-up chickens were sick. That explained why it was letting the little chick climb all over it. The next day, all three of those chickens died. With the only friend it had left dying, and killer hen roaming around- the last chick had very little reason to stick around, and even more reason to leave. But a lone chick is hardly equipped to deal with this harsh world.

Through the course of events, there was only one grown hen remaining with her 5 chicks to look after. She was the killer hen. About a week ago, she and her family disappeared also. It is another mystery to me where they went. Perhaps, guilt ridden, and paranoid of being found out, she planned an escape. Exactly who she was afraid of being found out by is but another obscurity to this human peering in on a chicken’s world.

I can’t imagine her plan panned out very well. After all, it is a rough world for a chicken- especially a single mother chicken of 5. I doubt she reached whatever destination she aimed for. With all these dogs and cars around, the odds are grim. I have a dour feeling that she may also have been captured, and her chicks sold into chick slavery. It is a cruel world, but who is to say whether any one of those players would have done anything different if the roles were exchanged.

Within three weeks, the chicken population of my backyard went from approximately 18 chicks and chickens, to 0. I was completely unaware that the lives of chickens were so complex and dramatic- filled with mystery, mayhem and murder. I can’t say that it surprises me, as life is life and life is hard- regardless of the level you happen to be playing on.

Banyana Banyana

2007-10-27T14:00:00.000+03:00

So last week, I had my first practice with my new girls soccer team at my primary school.
Here they are:

They are going to be KILLER!!!!!
Who they'll destroy ... I have no idea. There probably isn't another girls team around for miles and miles. But perhaps I will start one up at my other school, too. Then no matter who wins, I win!

As a result of never ever playing organized soccer and probably only touching the ball a few times, they're a bit lacking in skill. What they lack in skill, however, they make up for in BRUTALITY!!!!!! (I mean that in a good way, of course.)
These girls. I have never seen little girls go into tackles like these ones. It's really exciting.
At the first practice, we had a pretty large audience of students from the school. There were over a hundred kids out there watching the practice- cheering them on from the sidelines. I was smiling the entire practice.
There was a slightly smaller crowd this time, but it was still pretty substantial. About the equivalent of some of my college games ... I haven't really decided how I feel about that.

Anyway. They have a lot of potential, and it is obvious that they want to be there and work hard. I was late to practice this week and the girls were already out there warming up. It was only the second practice and they're already on top of it!

On a totally unrelated note, there are probably 20+ flies flying around my room right now. It's driving my a little bit crazy. I'm thinking it's time to break out the DOOM Super (the slightly faster killing, slightly more humane line of DOOM.)

I guess I'll close this up with an action shot from this week:

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Oh and as a final thought- if anyone reading this happens to have any extra soccer balls, pennies, cones, etc. that they're willing to part with, I think my girls and I would be more than happy to take them off of your hands ...

Some pictures for my father

2007-10-14T16:38:00.000+03:00

So, my dad has asked me to post some pictures. Well, fine. I'll do it. I hope you feel special, dad.

I suppose it is appropriate to start off with this picture of me looking awkward. It is appropriate because I more or less operate in a perpetual state of awkward. It's not so bad anymore- I've come to terms with it, and being awkward is just kinda normal now.

Anyway:

This picture was taken at my principal's brother's funeral, while I was being introduced to 200+ funeral attendees. I don't even need to tell you about how uncomfortable I felt up there while they talked about me for 20 minutes (did I mention I was at a funeral?) because you can see it pretty clearly on my face. I believe that at this point in the speech my principal is warning the men not to ask me to be their girlfriend.
While I was on my site visit seeing my permanent site for the first time, my principal's older brother died. So for my first weekend there, I attended a funeral. This was not the first funeral that I've been to here, and I know that this wont be the last one that I attend during my service. Death is so common around here, and funerals are a time for the community to come together. As with every event here, there was much beautiful singing. Again, as with every event here, there was much preaching.

For the funeral, they slaughtered a cow. Here are the men cutting her up! I'll link it, just because it is not 100% pleasant:
Men cutting up cow

I don't want to talk about funerals anymore. I hate them. Moving on.

Now we come to a picture of me with my best friend here, Erin aka Refilwe:

As you can maybe see in this picture, Erin is more or less 100% Irish Catholic. Over here, however, she's considered "coloured."
We decided she earned this classification because of her textured hair.

If you're not familiar with South Africa and the race classifications, here's a break down:
There are four races- white, black, Indian and coloured. Oh, and then there is "China," but I think they fit under coloured? I haven't quite figured it out. It's a bit of a catch-all category? Ultimately, it seems to be pretty arbitrary.

It was especially screwed up under the Apartheid when people were separated into groups according to race. If you so much looked like you had any mixed ancestry, you'd often be removed from your family and relocated to a coloured section.
Listening to some of the stories are mind-blowing. I might be a bit fuzzy on the details, but apparently they had some tests to determine whether or not you were considered coloured. One of those tests was if they stuck a pencil in your hair and it stayed, you were considered black; if it fell out, you were coloured. I can hardly imagine the idea of your entire life being determined by whether or not a pencil stayed in your hair ... completely absurd.

Anyway, onto a more pleasant subject- the children!
Children are pretty amazing, regardless of which continent you're on. With that being said, I will just post some pictures of children!

Starting with my host brother from my training site. Here he is as an 'old man.' He took some feathers from a duster for his beard.

He's a silly dude, constantly entertaining- singing, dancing, acting. I have some really great footage of him doing his old man dance, but alas, it takes too long to upload.

Then we come to the children at school. Here they are, all lined up for morning assembly. They sing and pray in the morning, and it's really quite beautiful. Of course, there's still a level of discomfort for me when it comes to the praying at school, but what're you gonna do.

Here are some children from my second schools, after they surrounded me. They do that sometimes. Flock to me.

And now for some pictures of some children around my hood.

We have a group of girls that come over to our yard a few times a week to pick mulberries from our mulberry tree.

Okay, I think that'll do.
Hope you're happy now!

Brace yourself, this is going to be a long one.

2007-10-04T19:27:00.000+03:00

So long in fact, that I am going to give an overview here of the things I will cover:
- The amazing stew I made, and the implications of said stew
- The cow that I saw give birth
- The soccer that I played yesterday
- A long overdue job description

So without further adieu, I will start with my amazing stew. Hah.

I have a new recipe. It's unbelievable. I wont bore you with the details about how good it tasted and how it was basically a spiritual experience eating it. No, no, I wont do that.
I only bring it up because I felt I had to tell someone. I can't tell anyone here in my village. I can't tell them, because it will only make them want me to marry them/their brother/their son even more! No! If they knew what I was capable of in the kitchen ... it would just break their hearts to know what my future holds- to know that I am going to live alone for the rest of my life (that's if you don't count the 14 cats.)
I tell you what, though- had they known, they may very well have changed my name again- I wonder what the Setswana word for "culinary genius" is?

Moving on, I saw a cow give birth. She's outside eating the placenta right now, and the calf is all wobbly. The whole scene is pretty charming, minus the slime. The slime's kinda gross. What do you say to that, Uncle Allen? Does it bring you back to the farm?

OKAY. NOW. SOCCER. I finally played in my new village.
Let me tell you about why I think that it was divine intervention that brought me here to Setlagole.

I have a soccer field here in my village.
Not only a field, but a stadium. I have a stadium.
The field has grass on it.
The goals have nets.

Just let that sink in for a couple of seconds.

Has it sunk in yet?

Maybe that doesn't really strike you as unusual, but let me give you a description of a typical rural South African field:
A large open patch of dirt, rocks and cow/goat/dog droppings. Sometimes there are goals, but there are NEVER nets. And there is never grass, but instead there are bushes with thorns on it that are about 2 inches long.
Of course, not all the fields are unkempt. Many fields are nice, decently level dirt with few rocks. Regardless, they are no where near the quality that I have here! I feel so privileged.
Anyway, I played yesterday for the first time. I showed up and learned that it was the teachers of the local high school playing the police station of Delereyville, a nearby town. There are games every Wednesday. Of course, the players are all men. Women rarely play soccer here- they play netball, which is a kind of variation on basketball. So when I asked them if I could play, they were highly amused.

"You play soccer, eh? Heh heh heh. You're going to play on our team, eh? Heh heh heh ..."

I ended up playing outside half, my very worst position, and the one I hate the most! The game was paused at one point, due to the heavy rain and then eventual hail- but resumed with hilarious results. The puddles made the game absolutely unpredictable.
I didn't show extremely well, but I could hang. They were pleasantly surprised and even invited me back. Hopefully, by the time that the novelty of this white chick playing soccer with them wears off, I'll be in shape and have my touch back so that I will be a welcome addition anyway!

I just decided that I don't want to type up my job description right now. It's too long and Generations is about to come on.
For those of you who don't know what Generations is, it is the best/worst soap opera you will ever watch. It is very popular and extremely addicting.
I have to keep my priorities, you know.

Children's Games

2007-10-01T18:38:00.000+03:00

Let me teach you a game that the children play here. It's really easy, but I am not entirely sure how much fun it actually is.
Okay. The name of the game is "Watch Megan Work."
All you have to do is sit down (or stand up) in relative proximity to me. Make sure that I am deep in the middle of a project, or trying to clean/organize my living space.
Next: watch.
While you watch, you can giggle and talk to your friends, but that is entirely optional. There is no actual point, it's all about style.

This game can be played with 1 to 15 people. Actually, I'm sure it can be more (and I am sure I will find out soon,) but 15 was the maximum number of players I had playing today. The average game lasts about 15 - 20 minutes. Although, I had a record breaker today with one child watching me for at least an hour.

So here, they watch me. But when you play at home the ideal situation would be to find someone that sticks out like a sore thumb, and then wait for them to start working. Once they start working, find your spot and just watch. That's all you have to do!

And so now I have a problem ...

2007-09-29T20:59:00.000+03:00

On account of the aforementioned gigantic, bird-like insects requiring mass amounts of DOOM to die, I have a great conundrum:
Should I open my door to allow the deathly fumes to leave my room and thus allow more gigantic, bird-like insects to enter? Or risk suffering the same fate that not long ago I put those abominable creatures through?
I pose this question to you, the reader, as a sort of practice in Peace-Corps-South-Africa-Survival-Decision-Making.

A Day in the Life of Lerato's Ears

2007-09-29T19:29:00.000+03:00

First off, you may have noticed that I spelled my name differently this time around. I think that this might be the proper way of spelling my name ... but I can't know these things for sure.

Moving on.

My ears hear stories day in and day out, and I feel that it is high time for my ears to tell their story.

I will start from right now and move backwards throughout the week.

Right now, there is music playing from a house nearby. This is not unusual. In fact, it is far more unusual for there not to be any music playing. It is pretty nice, to tell you the truth. I only really hear the bass line and it is nice to have a rhythm to set your daily activities to. Sometimes I even know the song. The other day Beyonce was on the speakers and I couldn't help but feel a little bit like I was at home- of course, that was until a goat ran across my path (a new reality check that I have grown quite fond of.)

Last night there was also music, but it wasn't from the speakers. I believe there is a ZCC (Zionist Christian Church) that meets at neighboring house. Friday nights are a night to stay up all hours of the night and sing the whole way through.
I like my personal Friday night soundtrack. It is a nice break from the usual chorus of dogs quarreling and donkeys dramatically hee-hawing. Though, I must admit, they're charming in their own right.

Wednesday night there was a storm. Oh, by the way, I have a tin roof. If you've never experienced an electrical storm while staying in a room with a tin roof, let me tell you: you're missing out. Boy, is it LOUD. Especially considering the fact that the thunder here is way louder than in America! I swear! I don't know how or even if this is possible, but I'm willing to put 1 rand 50 on it that it is true. And just so you know, that is enough to buy a scrumptious pineapple popsicle. So I hope you can tell that this is no light matter to me.

More on tin roofs: doves may be the symbol of peace, but after living in a room with a tin roof, that idea has just become ridiculous to me. 12+ times a day, I first hear the landing and scratching of the doves' claws on my roof, followed by a bickering of sorts. Why are they fighting on my roof? I have my theories.
I sometimes like to think of my roof as the "flag post" on the playground at lunchtime. One bully dove will say to another, smaller, vulnerable dove, "yo, I'll meet you on Megan's tin roof at every single hour of the day, every single day, especially in the wee-hours of the morn, and YOU'RE GONNA GET IT!" And of course the other dove, not wanting to appear a coward, obliges. And alas there is a dove-beat down. Right there, on top of my tin roof, where every detail is amplified for my listening pleasure.

A new noise has introduced itself to my ears just now. It is the noise of a gigantic, bird-like insect, stuck in between my curtains and the open window. No, no. Make that two gigantic, bird-like insects. And no Dad, there is no Clark here. This ordeal must be solved the old fashioned way- with a big ol' can of "DOOM." And so I will conclude this entry as I have pressing matters to attend to.

What is going on here

2007-09-23T15:29:00.000+03:00

I just went outside to use the pit toilet just now, and as soon as I opened the door, I saw a donkey on my front step. I said to the donkey, "Donkey, what are you doing on my front step?" He did not answer, he only chewed. What he was chewing, I could only imagine (there is not a lot to chew around here.)
We exchanged glances, and he troddled off. That was the end of that adventure.

Still, I needed to go to the toilet.
Let me show you my pit toilet:

After using the toilet and then navigating my way back through the herd of cows, I made a brief stop in the main house of my host family to visit for a little bit.

I entered the living room and found a gathering of family/friends. Upon the sight of an apparently terrifying white devil-esque woman (me,) a small girl screamed and started crying. She continued to cry and hide in her mother's breast for the five minutes I was there. I am not going to lie, it made me laugh.
I left the room earlier than I anticipated- I didn't want to stress the poor girl out. Plus, it gave me an excuse to go back to being the recluse I so desperately have to be every once in a while.

I hope that one day, she will come to recognize that I am not actually evil, but instead a lovable, cuddly little creature- much like a fluffy bunny.

Welp!

2007-09-22T20:15:00.000+03:00

Dumelang! (Greetings, in Setswana.) I'm all up in this piece! (That means "I am here, doing this thing," in kind-of English.)
My computer's hooked up to dial-up now via my cellphone, I have a mini-fridge (OMG!), kitchen area, LIGHT(!!!) and I am just waiting for my bed and wardrobe. I feel like I am at home now! I am not sure if I am living what might be called "Peace Corps Lite," but I have a feeling that I am going to have more than enough other challenges facing me that will make up for my awesome living situation. Heh. :/

I really love my new host family, but I have not spent a whole lot of time with them just yet. I want to establish myself as a bit of a hermit. Okay, that is not intentional, it is just happening this way. I JUST LIKE TO BE ALONE SOMETIMES, OKAY. I haven't gotten to be alone for a day in forever. I love being alone. I just hope that my need to be alone doesn't interfere with my integration into the community.

Oh, by the way ... I am no longer "Tshegofatso" which means "gift" or "grace." I am now "Lorato," which means "love." My principals decided that they wanted to give me a new African name, which is fine. I am hoping that I will lose a little bit of the weight I gained that came along with having the nickname "Fatso." Although, I'm not going to lie, the nickname Fatso is really still very funny to me. Hehe, Fatso.

officially a PCV

2007-09-21T20:54:00.000+03:00

so it is official. I swore in yesterday and then drove 8 hours to my permanent site: setlagole. i love it here. I have a really good feeling about my host family and the community. I am entering this in with my new super high tech phone. Best phone i will ever own ... And i had to come to africa to get it. Oh, Africa.

The Advantage of the Bucket Bath

2007-09-01T12:54:00.000+03:00

So. The bucket bath. Let me tell you about it. First, you fill your basin up with about 2 inches of water. You wash your face. Then, with a cup of water set aside to rinse, you stick your head in and wash your hair (this can be very tricky.) If you're lucky, you have a basin big enough to sit in- and by sitting in it, I don't mean fitting your entire body in it, you probably hang your feet outside of it, which is fine because you want to wash those last. Scrub-a-dub-dub away, and then you can towel off and step in and wash your feet. The details change, but that is more or less the typical procedure for the bucket bath.

Let me tell you the coolest part of the bucket bath: it's the filthy water at the end. Yeah, it's kind of gross that you are using progressively nastier water as you go, but at the end ... at the end you see just exactly how much dirt has come off of your body. You sure don't get that satisfaction after you shower! So to all you suckers out there, taking showers: I pity you.

In other news: I got my first "you're getting too fat!" comment from my host mother yesterday. I believe that 90% of the female trainees have received a comment of the sort since arriving- for a while I was feeling a little left out. I mean, I am not so sure that I am really gaining so much weight! But it is definitely plausible ... I do eat about a loaf of bread every day (not an exaggeration. ) And it is not intended as an insult- it is supposed to be a compliment. "Oh you're enjoying Motswedi so much! You're eating so well!" Etc.

People are quick here to comment on weight. It can be pretty uncomfortable for an American broad to hear it, but keeping in mind how differently shape is perceived here can be also pretty relieving- there is a ridiculous pressure to be thin put on us in the States, and that is simply not the case here. Still though- shut up, okay.

MAIL

2007-08-11T10:46:00.000+03:00

Oh, and real quick: SEND ME MAIL!!!!!! I want letters so badly.

Megan Clapp, PCV
U. S. Peace Corps
PO Box 9536
Pretoria 0001
SOUTH AFRICA

A Sea of Roosters

2007-08-11T10:07:00.000+03:00

Every morning when I wake at 5:30, I hear a chorus outside my window. A glorious chorus of crowing. It starts with one rooster, and it spreads far across the land. Then when the light breaks and I go out to empty my bucket of urine that I keep in my room for when I need to take a leak at night- I find myself in the middle of a vast ocean of crowing. I can hear hundreds and hundreds of roosters crowing for miles and miles. Roosters, man. They're ridiculous.

I've been here in South Africa now for about 22 days - and to the best of my knowledge, I am alive and well. Training and adjusting is consuming and demanding. Holy hell. But it is also really pretty fantastic. I have already made some lifelong palships. It happens quick here- when you've got another person alongside you in situation after situation of pure awkward ... the bonds develop fast and strong. On that note- I'd like to talk about awkwardness. We had a PCV that came to help us with our training, and he gave us a pearl of wisdom: after a while of operating in a perpetual state of awkwardness, it starts feeling normal. I think I'm getting closer and closer to that stage. It's pretty liberating, to be honest.

Okay, the details. I am living with a family in a rural village in the North West Territory. I am learning Setswana (albeit very slowly.) There are frustration and joys and frustrations and joys and whoooooa boy. It's intense.

We observed a school two weeks ago, and are going to be working with them again this week. The schools ... oh boy. Part of me was a little apprehensive about my skill sets and what I had to offer at my future site - and that same part of me still feels that - but to a much lesser extent now. I can see much to work with.

The schools, the teacher and the children have sooo many challenges to face. Most influential is fighting the legacy of the Bantu Education system implemented under the Apartheid. That topic could be its own entry. It could be its own book. It could be its own library. But to touch on it a little, the systematic oppression that the block population faced, especially in the schools, is almost overwhelming. It was so brutal and so damn destructive. Education has been revised, but to undo the damage will take generations.

The residual effects of the Bantu Education couple with the HIV/AIDS issue ... I don't know how to end this sentence, to be honest. There is a significant problem of parents dying off, leaving orphans - or if they're lucky, they might have a grandparent or relative take them in. Then there are the children themselves dying. Oi. And of course, anywhere you go, anyone you ask- no one has any real AIDS problems. People are dying from other things, not AIDS. Granted, there are plenty of other contributing factors to the tremendous death rate, but people are definitely turning their heads. I almost can't blame them.

Anyway, to wrap things up a little bit- I'm doing well. It's challenging, that's for sure. But that's just exactly what I asked for. I'm going to change this place. The whole thing. I am going to change this place, and then I am change all of Africa. Then I will go home and fix America. Then all of North America. Then I will move on to Asia, then South America, then Europe then Australia ... but I'm not sure I will be able to do much about Antarctica. As painful as it is for me to admit, I think Antarctica is going to the wolves. I've felt that it has been going that direction for a long time now. You have to pick and choose your battles - I mean, I have to be realistic about my abilities.

"Peace Corps Eve"

2007-07-19T05:52:00.000+03:00

Tonight's not my last night in the States ... it's my "Peace Corps Eve." Okay. This is going to be a short entry, and it is not going to be properly broken down because the enter key does not work on this computer. I would have started a new paragraph right here, but I can't. OH WELL! Now's a good a time as ever to start being flexible, now isn't it? To sum things up: A. I've met a lot of great people. B. I don't have a lot of time at the moment, and I wont for a while. C. I leave for South Africa tomorrow morning. D. I would have started each of these points on a new line, but sometimes life simply cannot be how you think it should.

Keep your hat on, we may end up miles from here ...

2007-07-16T11:37:00.000+03:00

Welp.
It's 1:40am, and I am leaving for the airport in T minus 4 hours. As most of you know, I'm going to South Africa and serving in the Peace Corps for 2+ years. Yep, that's the plan.

I decided to go with the blog versus the email newsletter, because the newsletter just feels so ... invasive. Oh, I don't know. I think, more than that, that I will just feel much more comfortable writing dumb crap if I feel like people aren't being pressured to read it. And God knows, I love writing dumb crap.
Anyway!

I'm packed. I'm ready to go.
Physically, I've been ready to go for a couple of days now. Emotionally, I've been ready to go for months and months. I love my life here. I love my family, I love my friends, I love the opportunities and jobs that I've had- but I am ready for something else. I'm ready for a change.

So what do you say, South Africa, you think you can show me an adventure?