9/27/2010

What do you think makes a good PB&J? Once upon a time, I was convinced it was the jelly. After experimenting further here, I believe that it's actually the bread. I've been thinking about this every morning as I walk to school. Is there a perfect pb&j, or are there only increasingly better pb&j's???

I've been at site for just over a week now; Peace Corps has some 'guidelines' for how much we should talk about our location (security risk, et al). I will say the name of my site translates - loosely - into English as "In danger". I take this as a good sign...stay positive.

The village is beautiful; it's green (a color I was starting to assume did not exist in South Africa), and lush. It's spread out over rolling hills dotted with palms, sand paths and banana groves.

I've been going to the school for the last few days; there are nearly 1000 learners and about 30 teachers. This is massive by rural South African standards. Everyone has been rushing to finish the term and exams after the strike, so I've been trying to figure things out on my own a little more.

I learned this new word...invigillate? Invigilate? Envigilate? Angazi, idk. Whatever. It means to watch a class testing. I know, I was as disappointed as you are when I realized it's not a spell from Harry Potter.

Speaking of exams...holy crap. South Africans have it tough. So I've been helping the Grade 12 learners review for their Matric, the national test that determines if they pass and graduate. Specifically, I've been helping with Physical Science. I learned today (during my lesson) that they are responsible for: Mechanics, Thermodynamics, E&M, some relativity, General and Organic Chem, some P Chem (!!), Mechanics of Materials, and history of science.

All this, in three years. One class. And to top it off, they are learning it in English, not their native tongue. Imagine learning college level Chemistry and Physics - in Japanese - in high school, and you will get a glimpse of what these kids are going through.

Now imagine it all comes down to one test...12 years of schooling, one test. My heart just skipped. Or it didn't. I'm not actually sure.

So, to the thousands of SA who read my blog, know that I am here for you, to do what I can as you prepare. But I definitely do not envy you.

If you'll excuse me, I've got a sandwich to make.

-monaghan

Officially a Volunteer :)

It happened. Finally. I finished training. I'm a PCV.

Oh...how rude of me. Hello, how are you? Sanibonani, ninjani? Dumelang, le kai? It's been awhile, friends. So the last month and...well, and a month, has been - everywhere. I can't come up with one single adjective to cover it. I wash my clothes by hand now; I bathed in a bucket, and pretty much handled all my other business in a pit in the backyard. It's not so bad, really. No splashback.

So what can I say for training? About 40 hours a week of information, ranging from the local language (Zulu for myself) to technical sessions on being an effective teacher in the South African context, to safety and medical sessions. I don't want to write too much about my experience in PST, as it literally finished yesterday and I haven't had enough time to digest it, process it, and prepackage it for your entertainment. Give me at least a month on that one; but don't worry. It'll be good.

So I'm stuck. I have serious writer's block right now. No joke. Hard to believe, right? I guess I could write about the incredible dichotomy between the first world standards in the urban sprawl of Pretoria and the rural outpost villages where witch doctors are still common and feared. I could talk about the 4 hour wedding, and dancing to the spontaneous singing that filled the church. I could talk about pap and chicken....actually, I'd rather not talk about pap and chicken. Not yet.

I could talk about the first time I felt myself as 'white' for the first time in the village. For the first time, I felt self conscious of a trait that I had no control over. I think this is one of those unexpected road blocks that comes up in cultural collisions; I could get past the lack of water for four days, my host mom's constant nagging to iron my clothes, and even the huge spiders that stalk me...but that feeling, that was tough.

I could talk about my experience at the Voortrekker Museum, and my experiencing the Afrikaner culture. How I have asked myself, who is truly an African? How many generations of family living in South Africa before you were born are required to consider yourself an African? Does someone of white descent have any less claim to the land now than indigenous Africans? Would that, in turn, endanger my claim of being American? These are all questions I still wrestle with.

I could talk about playing teaching about a hundred 4th and 5th graders how to properly dance, the Ryan way, in a school courtyard at lunch. They were pretty good, I have to be honest. Not as good as me, but they're getting there.

I could talk about slaughtering my first cow. Actually...nah, I'll wait on that one. Didn't smell though. Aren't you glad? I sure as hell was.

There's a lot I could talk about. But I've got a while, so I'll space it out. For now, I'll just say its had its good moments, its had its bad moments.

I scored an advanced level on my Zulu language skills. Sorry, I have to brag. :)

I miss you. Yes, you. Homesickness - and I probably don't really need to go off on that again - comes and goes, but really, I feel somedays like I'm missing a vital part of myself, without the people I care so deeply about to share the experience directly. I guess that's what the internet is for; talking to the wind, and hoping it answers back.

I'll leave it at that, for tonight.

Ngikuthanda nengikukhulumba.
:)



-Monaghan