Hm, you know what

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.

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

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.

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

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

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

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.