The Grapes of Wrath

So although I will have more to post later about my further adventures in my first South African home, I'm going to move on to my new (and final) location. The transition from being a Peace Corps Trainee to a Peace Corps Volunteer was not without its share of Peace Corps moments (namely, tons of baggage, fifty people all scrambling to do different things, complaining about such and such, no longer any respect for our poor, bedraggled PC Training Intructor, Victor, etc, etc). In the midst of all this, we were sworn in as true, honest-to-God PCVs. For the first time in 8 weeks, we were able to get dressed up and have a ceremony to commenorate this momentous occasion in all our lives. It wasn't quite as formal as all that, but it was very nice, and considering we'd all had a very nice time the night before, hanging out like dirty, sloppy Americans, it was just the thing to top off our training experience. At the ceremony, we sang both the American and South African anthems, then took the same pledge that members of Congress take (sorry, Brice, beat you to the punch). Anyway, after much photo-taking and general to-do (of course I'd forgotten my camera), we were off, perhaps never to see each other again (except during Mid-Service Training, In-Service Training, Close of Service stuff, etc, etc). It's surprising how quickly you become grand friends with 36 other people when you put them in a situation like this.

Then after much hugging and Good Lucks!, I was out to the parking lot to find that, actually, I would not be setting out on this voyage of discovery all alone, at least not just yet. In fact, I would be traveling the rest of that day with five other PCVs who were all going to the same general part of the country. That was the good part. However, we then realized that, in our supervisors' efforts to save what little money their organizations could afford, we would all be riding together in one mini-van taxi, along with our six supervisors and three drivers/guys to help with luggage (that's fifteen). Additionally, we had our six bedding comforters, six large blankets, pillows, twelve overstuffed pieces of luggage, twelve carry-on bags, and approximately 36 random articles ranging from bags of books to portable fans to water filters, crock-pots and electric kettles (I like my electric kettle). Did I mention that this was in one khumbi? And that it had a prominently displayed sign that said, "Maximum 13 passengers, 0 kg luggage?" Anyway, it was quite an experience, one person having to stand for three hours in the middle of all our stuff literally packed to the ceiling around us, and the roof piled on top with the stuff that might have actually killed us had we wrecked. (I remember thinking that if we did in fact wreck, I didn't know if we'd be fine because we were so well padded, or if we'd all die slow, tragic, sweaty deaths buried under a mountain of stuff from which they'd never be able to retrieve our mangled forms.) Anyway, we eventually picked up a trailer, reloaded it and set off again. Surprisingly, we and all our stuff arrived at our individual sites safe and in one piece.

The area of the country in which I am now posted is on the eastern coast of the Indian Ocean near Richards Bay. It's absolutely gorgeous, lush and green and semi-tropical, with light misting rains several days a week. The wide stretches of green are even more pronounced because of the fields of sugarcane and groves of tall, thin gum trees making up the majority of local vegetation. When the wind blows through these trees, hard and insistently as it so often does here, it sounds like the ocean at home, being back on the water with the wind rushing past your ears and the water chopping along under the boat. Fruit trees grow huge and abundantly; mango trees like oaks and avocado trees dropping fruit the size of grapefruits are found throughout the region, including, happily, in my yard.

The beach is not too far removed, only a short drive away (supposedly a short walk as well, but I've not yet had someone show me where to go). The beach was amazing, white sand stretching on for probably 300 yards, waves crashing at one end, and on the other side a small cliff-like wall of sand and rock covered with trees and home to numerous vervet monkeys running around and onto the sand. For some reason, the locals don't use the beach much, and many talk as though the last time they went was many years ago; there were only a few other people out the day I went with a friend. If this were in the States, it would be covered in condos and beach chairs and colorful, tacky umbrellas. Needless to say, if I can figure out how to walk there, and talk down my host family's fears of me going by myself, this is going to become my new retreat. I think this is very appropriate that I should be living here on the beach, and come from the beach at home, as my Zulu name is Lwandle--I may have mentioned this somewhere else, but the name means "ocean" and "traveler."

My host family at my final site is really wonderful, a mother and father (JZ and Mike) with two young sons (Thalente and Sipheto), all of them as sweet and kind as I could hope for. My host mother is a kindergarten teacher at a school just a three minute walk down the road, and my host father works at one of the local industries on the docks (Richards Bay is a fairly large port), but they are both quite entrepreneurial as well, she selling bags and shoes on the weekends, and he owning several small business ventures as well as some real estate. The family is quite well off, and the home is a two bedroom with a kitchen and living room, and, glory of glories, a bathroom (my new standard of high living)! There is no running water inside, but there's a large barrel of water in the bathroom they refill everyday with a hose that is used to flush the toilet and take a bath. So no more bucket baths for me! Although I still have to heat my own water (in my electric kettle!), this is a small price to pay in order to lay down in a tub.

My pointing out that the family is well off has less to do with gloating on their behalf than it has to do with commending them for the ways in which they use their status. As I've written before, the families often live together in sort of compounds, and my host family has five or six other smaller homes surrounding theirs. Additionally, they help support many of these family members, and have become surrogate parents to many related children whose parents have died. When I first met my host dad, he proudly told me he had 13 children. I tried to politely hide my disbelief and untintentional judgement. I now realize he means he is supporting that many. I've not heard how any of these other relatives have died, and I think often if someone is ill, especially in the case of HIV due to the local stigma, they are not public about it; instead, as the person sickens and weakens, they simply become more closeted and hidden in their homes, and later they are simply said to have died because they were ill.

On that topic, the organization I'm working for is one of several satellite stations of an NGO called NOAH Ark (Nurturing Orphans of Aids for Humanity). This is an OVC (Orphans and Vulnerable Children) organization which identifies children who are orphans (not necessarily of AIDS) or classified as "vulnerable" meaning they are living in some sort of undesirable circumstances, meaning their parent(s)/guardian is too sick to care for them, there is abuse in the home, or they are living in a child-headed household. The org is based at the nearby school that my host mother works at, and we provide hot, (somewhat) healthy lunches to them daily. The org also assists in geting the children's birth certificates if they don't already have one so that they can apply for governmental assistace, as well as provide the children with school uniforms, blankets, or any other available items. Currently they feed about 300 children daily, and have a daycare for those too young to be in school.

As this has become a long post, I'll stop here for now and only say that, I'm sure you'll all be thrilled to know I now have my first South African infestation. I think this must be some form of bedbugs, but whatever it is, I have the dreaded itchy bump disease, bane of good explorers and travelers throughout time immemorable. So wish me well, and more effective fingernails. Salani kahle!

P.S. At this point, I've lost the cable to my camera to upload my photos, so I'll put up ones of my new site in a later post.