I went for a long run through the village on Saturday evening.
On one of the dirt paths far from the tar road, two older men were walking together.
As I made to rush by them, muttering a hasty San'bonan', one men called to me..."Give me money!"
This is nothing new, or unexpected. The village is nestled on the edge of the Kosi Bay lake system - a vibrant, diverse ecosystem culminating in endless expanse of undeveloped shoreline. There are a lot of tourists who pass through.
I paused to say, "Sorry baba, I'm a volunteer at Sizaminqubeko. Anginawo imali, I'm broke."
What he did next has affected me so much that I haven't stopped thinking about it in two days.
He offered his hand to shake and lowered his head, and said "Ah wena utisha uRyan [you are Teacher Ryan], 'fundisa 'bantwana bami [you teach my children]. Ang'thath imali [I will not take your money]."
Bucket bathing, pit latrines, fighting prehistoric insects, no running water and complaining about the heat twelve times a day. Going through the motions, lacking creature comforts because it's what the locals do, it all makes for some decent sentimentality that maybe I'll look back on and laugh about.
But these alone do not a villager make.
I'm coming to think that over time you are offered relatively few honest glimpses of clarity - when you realize that the people who live around you are not pictures from an article on the evolving globalized economies of the third world in Time, and the reed roofs are not props for glossed up shots used in African game reserve advertisements selling Exoticism. They're neighbors, friends, family. And as often as the days come when you feel you are sharing the honest humanity of the world's hyper rich in distant and shimmering, high definition broadcast America, so also do the days come when the village quietly shares its own humanity with you.
Like that old man.
I think that, right there, was when I actually became part of this village.
-Ryan
Monday, January 31, 2011
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
01-05-2011
Happy (belated) New Year, Internet. Unyaka omusha omuhle (omu-belated).
It has been raining for almost thirteen hours, and I have watched almost ten episodes of 30 Rock in the last two days. I also invented a new exercise called the Tarzan. It’s a pushup where you see how many times you can beat your chest after pushing yourself off the floor. It’s still in testing.
Christmas in South Africa is…unique. One guy I met in Durban summed it up nicely: (and I quote, because I agree with him) “it’s just too damn hot in Africa for Christmas.” Totally agree, and I’m from South Florida. Christmas at 70 degrees, with A/C? Fine. Christmas at 104 degrees, and a tin roof? Not so much.
I think most people in South Africa realize this; I was invited to stay with an Afrikaner family near my site for Christmas. Instead of Bing Crosby and Jingle Bells, we listened to Neil Diamond and house music. Instead of It’s a Wonderful Life on Christmas Eve, we watched Get Him to the Greek. Not…quite the same. But the family was there, so really, it’s the thought that counts?
I had a great time. Mike, his wife Amanda and their two daughters live on the outskirts of town, in a neighboring village. Mike is fascinating, and probably certifiable. Born and raised in Morningside, one of the wealthier residential districts of Durban, he became disillusioned with the rat race of the business world he felt groomed for. He had some choice things to say about “the mortgages and the laptops”; it takes an articulate man to use certain words in the English language the way he did. In the end, he decided to quit his job, sell everything, and carve out his own piece of wild South Africa with what he could fit in his truck. He moved his family into the village, lived with them in a tent for two years as he built – with his own hands – his house overlooking the lakes. And now? He runs a generator repair business in town. He has become fluent in Zulu, and respected by his neighbors (we spent part of the day on Christmas delivering gifts to some of the households nearby). His house is completely off the grid; land purchased flat out from the induna, electricity from the generators he fixes, water from the bore hole he dug, no phone contracts, no cable, nothing. His greatest pride seems to be the fact that, if he wanted to close his shop tomorrow and leave forever, he could. All he needs room for is his family and his dogs.
After dinner on Christmas, we had a fairly in depth discussion on what his take, as a white South African, was on the HIV epidemic and how it’s being addressed by the new government of the country. At one point, he said “for an American, you and I have a lot in common.” I laughed it off. “Not so sure about that, Mike.” The man shoots crocodiles, for God’s sake. But it did make me think about packing up my own life into the Santa Fe in Gainesville, days before flying to Africa. I had donated about eighty percent of my stuff to either friends, Goodwill or the Solid Waste Authority (there’s a joke in there somewhere), and as I pulled onto 13th street from Bivens Cove for the last time, I realized that everything I now owned in this world was packed into my car…strange until I condensed it again, the night before Philly. Everything I needed or thought I might need now in a suitcase, a back pack, a laptop bag and a guitar case, leaving everything else behind. Maybe, at least partially in this way, we had sometihng in common.
Getting back on topic, Christmas was lekker. New Year’s will be another blog post, maybe. I hope that everyone had a wonderful holiday and New Year’s celebration. I say this a lot, but know that you are loved and missed.
Happy 2011.
-Ryan
Oh and, total side note while I’m typing about packing, imagine it’s ten o’clock at night, there is a pile of clothes and books around you, and you’re holding a pair of socks trying to picture what walking through a stereotyped African village is like to know if they’re durable for two years. Actually, don’t imagine it; try it. Skip the pile of clothes / books though.
It has been raining for almost thirteen hours, and I have watched almost ten episodes of 30 Rock in the last two days. I also invented a new exercise called the Tarzan. It’s a pushup where you see how many times you can beat your chest after pushing yourself off the floor. It’s still in testing.
Christmas in South Africa is…unique. One guy I met in Durban summed it up nicely: (and I quote, because I agree with him) “it’s just too damn hot in Africa for Christmas.” Totally agree, and I’m from South Florida. Christmas at 70 degrees, with A/C? Fine. Christmas at 104 degrees, and a tin roof? Not so much.
I think most people in South Africa realize this; I was invited to stay with an Afrikaner family near my site for Christmas. Instead of Bing Crosby and Jingle Bells, we listened to Neil Diamond and house music. Instead of It’s a Wonderful Life on Christmas Eve, we watched Get Him to the Greek. Not…quite the same. But the family was there, so really, it’s the thought that counts?
I had a great time. Mike, his wife Amanda and their two daughters live on the outskirts of town, in a neighboring village. Mike is fascinating, and probably certifiable. Born and raised in Morningside, one of the wealthier residential districts of Durban, he became disillusioned with the rat race of the business world he felt groomed for. He had some choice things to say about “the mortgages and the laptops”; it takes an articulate man to use certain words in the English language the way he did. In the end, he decided to quit his job, sell everything, and carve out his own piece of wild South Africa with what he could fit in his truck. He moved his family into the village, lived with them in a tent for two years as he built – with his own hands – his house overlooking the lakes. And now? He runs a generator repair business in town. He has become fluent in Zulu, and respected by his neighbors (we spent part of the day on Christmas delivering gifts to some of the households nearby). His house is completely off the grid; land purchased flat out from the induna, electricity from the generators he fixes, water from the bore hole he dug, no phone contracts, no cable, nothing. His greatest pride seems to be the fact that, if he wanted to close his shop tomorrow and leave forever, he could. All he needs room for is his family and his dogs.
After dinner on Christmas, we had a fairly in depth discussion on what his take, as a white South African, was on the HIV epidemic and how it’s being addressed by the new government of the country. At one point, he said “for an American, you and I have a lot in common.” I laughed it off. “Not so sure about that, Mike.” The man shoots crocodiles, for God’s sake. But it did make me think about packing up my own life into the Santa Fe in Gainesville, days before flying to Africa. I had donated about eighty percent of my stuff to either friends, Goodwill or the Solid Waste Authority (there’s a joke in there somewhere), and as I pulled onto 13th street from Bivens Cove for the last time, I realized that everything I now owned in this world was packed into my car…strange until I condensed it again, the night before Philly. Everything I needed or thought I might need now in a suitcase, a back pack, a laptop bag and a guitar case, leaving everything else behind. Maybe, at least partially in this way, we had sometihng in common.
Getting back on topic, Christmas was lekker. New Year’s will be another blog post, maybe. I hope that everyone had a wonderful holiday and New Year’s celebration. I say this a lot, but know that you are loved and missed.
Happy 2011.
-Ryan
Oh and, total side note while I’m typing about packing, imagine it’s ten o’clock at night, there is a pile of clothes and books around you, and you’re holding a pair of socks trying to picture what walking through a stereotyped African village is like to know if they’re durable for two years. Actually, don’t imagine it; try it. Skip the pile of clothes / books though.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
11/25/2010
Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. By far.
It has been a bit of a culture shock today to meet people, greet them with "Happy Thanksgiving", and hear virtually nothing in return. Obviously, South Africa needs me, if only to teach them about this eating contest every November. Maybe next year I'll write a grant for some turkey and stuffing. At least a can of cranberry sauce.
I had a great day today; I took a day trip to Richard's Bay with a couple other volunteers, exploring a mall (this is a big deal when your nearest shop has goats living in it) and reveling in being American.
Some things are different about the malls in South Africa; for one, you have to pay to use the restroom. (Yeah...I know). It's not much - R2, or about fifteen cents back home - and when I saw flush toilets and sinks with running water to wash your hands as wastefully as your heart desires, I had to smile, step back and wonder how my standards have changed so drastically in a few months. To be thankful - even willing to pay! - for a real bathroom experience again, on Thanksgiving Day, made me wonder about other things of which I'm thankful.
1) I'm thankful to live in a village where being (somewhat) socially awkward is misconstrued as being culturally unaware. I'm really going to miss this back Stateside.
2) I'm thankful for my wonderful learners, the staff, educators, and community of which I am becoming a part of, here in South Africa. It is for them I'm here, and I do my best everyday not to forget it.
3) I'm thankful for Stoney Ginger Beer; it's the strongest soda I've ever had, like drinking ginger concentrate. There are many, many foods I will never miss about South Africa. This is not one of them.
4) I'm thankful for the fact that, even in the most rural stretches of the world, there are still stunningly beautiful women. This speaks for itself.
5) I'm thankful for all my loved ones. The emails / letters/ phone calls keep me through, and sane, more than you realize.
6) I'm thankful for the occasional night occasional night when the shaky power goes out. On those nights I can see the stars clearer than ever.
About three weeks ago, I started volunteering at a local HIV clinic in a neighboring village with another volunteer. Men, women, even children from surrounding villages - often with no means of transport - come here for testing, medication, and counseling on life with a chronic illness. Nervous patients wait for blood tests to learn if they've contracted the disease; others, some visibly ravaged by the effects, wait for hours for free ARV medication supplied from the government to prolong and improve their quality of life. In the ongoing struggle with this devastating epidemic ravaging Southern Africa, these are the front lines: a small, rural clinic resembling a middle school portable on the side of a pothole strewn tar road, run entirely by volunteers, government donations, and faith.
Each day before the clinic opens at 8, the people gather in a semicircle of broken plastic lawn chairs, and sing hymns of praise that are among the most poignantly beautiful songs I have ever heard, a glimpse of the immediacy of human life. Seemingly they have no connection to one another but tribal ancestry and modern ailment. Yet for a few moments each Monday and Wednesday, they sing together, for one another, and - though I do not know the words - I hear no despair in their voices. They smile. They laugh. They still remain human beings. They face mountains I can hardly imagine, and still they climb. Ever hopeful, ever thankful.
Enjoy today, your food, your homes, your loved ones - wherever they are and wherever you are. Always keep learning. Always be thankful.
Power's going out soon. Time for some much needed star gazin'.
-Ryan
It has been a bit of a culture shock today to meet people, greet them with "Happy Thanksgiving", and hear virtually nothing in return. Obviously, South Africa needs me, if only to teach them about this eating contest every November. Maybe next year I'll write a grant for some turkey and stuffing. At least a can of cranberry sauce.
I had a great day today; I took a day trip to Richard's Bay with a couple other volunteers, exploring a mall (this is a big deal when your nearest shop has goats living in it) and reveling in being American.
Some things are different about the malls in South Africa; for one, you have to pay to use the restroom. (Yeah...I know). It's not much - R2, or about fifteen cents back home - and when I saw flush toilets and sinks with running water to wash your hands as wastefully as your heart desires, I had to smile, step back and wonder how my standards have changed so drastically in a few months. To be thankful - even willing to pay! - for a real bathroom experience again, on Thanksgiving Day, made me wonder about other things of which I'm thankful.
1) I'm thankful to live in a village where being (somewhat) socially awkward is misconstrued as being culturally unaware. I'm really going to miss this back Stateside.
2) I'm thankful for my wonderful learners, the staff, educators, and community of which I am becoming a part of, here in South Africa. It is for them I'm here, and I do my best everyday not to forget it.
3) I'm thankful for Stoney Ginger Beer; it's the strongest soda I've ever had, like drinking ginger concentrate. There are many, many foods I will never miss about South Africa. This is not one of them.
4) I'm thankful for the fact that, even in the most rural stretches of the world, there are still stunningly beautiful women. This speaks for itself.
5) I'm thankful for all my loved ones. The emails / letters/ phone calls keep me through, and sane, more than you realize.
6) I'm thankful for the occasional night occasional night when the shaky power goes out. On those nights I can see the stars clearer than ever.
About three weeks ago, I started volunteering at a local HIV clinic in a neighboring village with another volunteer. Men, women, even children from surrounding villages - often with no means of transport - come here for testing, medication, and counseling on life with a chronic illness. Nervous patients wait for blood tests to learn if they've contracted the disease; others, some visibly ravaged by the effects, wait for hours for free ARV medication supplied from the government to prolong and improve their quality of life. In the ongoing struggle with this devastating epidemic ravaging Southern Africa, these are the front lines: a small, rural clinic resembling a middle school portable on the side of a pothole strewn tar road, run entirely by volunteers, government donations, and faith.
Each day before the clinic opens at 8, the people gather in a semicircle of broken plastic lawn chairs, and sing hymns of praise that are among the most poignantly beautiful songs I have ever heard, a glimpse of the immediacy of human life. Seemingly they have no connection to one another but tribal ancestry and modern ailment. Yet for a few moments each Monday and Wednesday, they sing together, for one another, and - though I do not know the words - I hear no despair in their voices. They smile. They laugh. They still remain human beings. They face mountains I can hardly imagine, and still they climb. Ever hopeful, ever thankful.
Enjoy today, your food, your homes, your loved ones - wherever they are and wherever you are. Always keep learning. Always be thankful.
Power's going out soon. Time for some much needed star gazin'.
-Ryan
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
10/13/2010
I've been pretty bored today. I've been working on revisions in math, physical sciences, and English for the grade 12 learners (see my previous post for some info on what physical science is like) alongside my normal observation period...but since I still don't have my own classes yet, I've got a lot of free time on my hands while the other educators are busy marking exams. Free time is bad when you're me. I'm kind of Bon Jovi, minus the hair and voice and money: all I do is think. Want to know about what? No? Well, then skip this post.
I said in a previous post that I wouldn't talk about my feelings during PST until some time had passed. This is only fair. PST was a microcosm of Peace Corps experience as a whole, I'm inclined to believe, although seen through skewed, bloodshot eyes. It's supposed to be a way to dip your feet into the waters of South Africa without the shock of the freezing plunge. And yet, despite their best efforts, we were submerged. You could call it a baptism, admitting and perhaps cleansing the preconceptions you did not know you had. Enough time has passed on this, that I think it's safe to look.
I've been wrestling with a couple ideas since PST that are, I feel, not unrelated; the concept of Who is an African and the concept of Feeling the color of my skin. I can't cover both of these in one post. I can't cover both of these in one lifetime. They are fed by outlooks prone to change, adapt and evolve over the course of my service in South Africa and beyond. So this post is only going to be about Feeling White. About the sensation - never felt so prevalently before - of literally wearing my skin. I remember walking the streets of my village and hearing children yell "kua, kua!" after me. Men and women only cared to approach me - or distance themselves from me - because of my race, and told me to my face. I was seen only for what Being White meant for them. It's not a battle I ever thought I would fight, inside my own head. Coming to my homestay one day after training at the College, I told my host mother (in broken Zulu) "I am not kua. I am Ryan."
One exercise during training was to create an agreement spectrum - two extremes were chosen (I agree or I do not agree) with the statement read, and every trainee walked along the spectrum, distinguishing themselves by how much they agreed or not. When the statement "I'm proud of my race" was read, I was the only white person who agreed.
I suppose I could be controversial...this is the Internet, so why not? I'm proud to be white. There is history and culture, ancestry and tradition, sorrow and love and loss and hope inseparably infused into who I am and where I come from. I am not proud of injustice. I am not proud of segregation, of genocide and discrimination which smears a people's stereotype on a person's inner truth. But I did not come to Africa to turn my life into an apology for racial injustice by teaching English classes; to me, this implies the belief that the people of rural South Africa cannot stand on their own without foreign help. I believe they can. No, in fact, I know they can; I see them do it every day. My job is to help them realize this potential. When all is said and done, humanitarian work should not be about what I do for them; it should be about what they have done for themselves. Africa does not need to be saved. She is far too proud for that.
It's taken my time in South Africa - and what little time it's really been - to even broach this concept for myself. I have heard about it extensively from the African American perspective back in the States; where a black man consciously feels black, and the weight that history and prejudice brings with it. It's not a burden I would choose.
I will never be an African American, and I will never fully relate to that experience. But, as one PCV put it, I am becoming an American African, and I can begin to feel this new weight growing. And I wonder, is it new to me here? Or has it been there, unrealized, all along?
Welcome to my South Africa. Send me peanut butter.
Ryan
I said in a previous post that I wouldn't talk about my feelings during PST until some time had passed. This is only fair. PST was a microcosm of Peace Corps experience as a whole, I'm inclined to believe, although seen through skewed, bloodshot eyes. It's supposed to be a way to dip your feet into the waters of South Africa without the shock of the freezing plunge. And yet, despite their best efforts, we were submerged. You could call it a baptism, admitting and perhaps cleansing the preconceptions you did not know you had. Enough time has passed on this, that I think it's safe to look.
I've been wrestling with a couple ideas since PST that are, I feel, not unrelated; the concept of Who is an African and the concept of Feeling the color of my skin. I can't cover both of these in one post. I can't cover both of these in one lifetime. They are fed by outlooks prone to change, adapt and evolve over the course of my service in South Africa and beyond. So this post is only going to be about Feeling White. About the sensation - never felt so prevalently before - of literally wearing my skin. I remember walking the streets of my village and hearing children yell "kua, kua!" after me. Men and women only cared to approach me - or distance themselves from me - because of my race, and told me to my face. I was seen only for what Being White meant for them. It's not a battle I ever thought I would fight, inside my own head. Coming to my homestay one day after training at the College, I told my host mother (in broken Zulu) "I am not kua. I am Ryan."
One exercise during training was to create an agreement spectrum - two extremes were chosen (I agree or I do not agree) with the statement read, and every trainee walked along the spectrum, distinguishing themselves by how much they agreed or not. When the statement "I'm proud of my race" was read, I was the only white person who agreed.
I suppose I could be controversial...this is the Internet, so why not? I'm proud to be white. There is history and culture, ancestry and tradition, sorrow and love and loss and hope inseparably infused into who I am and where I come from. I am not proud of injustice. I am not proud of segregation, of genocide and discrimination which smears a people's stereotype on a person's inner truth. But I did not come to Africa to turn my life into an apology for racial injustice by teaching English classes; to me, this implies the belief that the people of rural South Africa cannot stand on their own without foreign help. I believe they can. No, in fact, I know they can; I see them do it every day. My job is to help them realize this potential. When all is said and done, humanitarian work should not be about what I do for them; it should be about what they have done for themselves. Africa does not need to be saved. She is far too proud for that.
It's taken my time in South Africa - and what little time it's really been - to even broach this concept for myself. I have heard about it extensively from the African American perspective back in the States; where a black man consciously feels black, and the weight that history and prejudice brings with it. It's not a burden I would choose.
I will never be an African American, and I will never fully relate to that experience. But, as one PCV put it, I am becoming an American African, and I can begin to feel this new weight growing. And I wonder, is it new to me here? Or has it been there, unrealized, all along?
Welcome to my South Africa. Send me peanut butter.
Ryan
Monday, September 27, 2010
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
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
Thursday, September 16, 2010
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
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Staging
I just accidentally all of staging.
^
So yea...staging was pretty sweet. Like cotton candy covered in whipped cream sweet. Only if that's real whip cream though. Is it whip cream or whipped cream? This is important.
Staging is intense, and flies fast. I've met most of my fellow trainees (there are about 53 of us, I think? ) and everyone I've talked to is pretty awesome. Awesome, enough, that I should put awe some as two separate words. My roommate, for example, discussed Godel's proofs with me over dinner. He just told me I shouldn't write about him. His name is Mike. He doesn't know I'm blogging about him...and when he reads this, he'll be surprised it's not about a Spanish speaking agent from Washington State.
So yeah, Staging. Got some vaccinations, had a lot of discussions about what to expect in service which culminated in...have no expectations. Go with it. I think that's pretty much the way I've tried to approach it, as best as possible, but obviously I have my weaknesses. I like my creature comforts. I like youtube. I like conditioner. I like KFC...and I'm leaving without ever having the double down. :(
If I learned anything from reading Fear and Loathing (Hunter Thompson's masterpiece, read it if you have an open mind), it's that sometimes you just need to buy the ticket, and take the ride. Don't do the drugs, per se, but open your mind to the possibilities beyond the immediacies in front of you. The world is yearning for you to hop in, and just see what happens. I've got a great support system here now, with people who are diving in just like me, trying to have no expectations. And, what's even better, is I've got a great support system back in the states. Good friends are hard to come by. Thanks for coming by? lol (I said lol as I typed this. I didn't actually lol)
After this, is pre service training. That will last for a few weeks, ending in either late August or early/mid September (I really am not too sure. I've heard different information from different sources...again, no expectations).
Please write. Send me letters, postcards, business cards, photo ids, gum wrappers (with unchewed gum still in them, I will miss gum the most). If you're up for playing mail chess, or any game over the mail, I'm totally down. I've got about 3 takers write now.
My address is in a previous post...I think from a couple days ago.
Be eazzzzy like George and Wheezy,
-Ryan Monaghan
Please write. M
P.S. Mrs. A, thanks for the cookies.
^
So yea...staging was pretty sweet. Like cotton candy covered in whipped cream sweet. Only if that's real whip cream though. Is it whip cream or whipped cream? This is important.
Staging is intense, and flies fast. I've met most of my fellow trainees (there are about 53 of us, I think? ) and everyone I've talked to is pretty awesome. Awesome, enough, that I should put awe some as two separate words. My roommate, for example, discussed Godel's proofs with me over dinner. He just told me I shouldn't write about him. His name is Mike. He doesn't know I'm blogging about him...and when he reads this, he'll be surprised it's not about a Spanish speaking agent from Washington State.
So yeah, Staging. Got some vaccinations, had a lot of discussions about what to expect in service which culminated in...have no expectations. Go with it. I think that's pretty much the way I've tried to approach it, as best as possible, but obviously I have my weaknesses. I like my creature comforts. I like youtube. I like conditioner. I like KFC...and I'm leaving without ever having the double down. :(
If I learned anything from reading Fear and Loathing (Hunter Thompson's masterpiece, read it if you have an open mind), it's that sometimes you just need to buy the ticket, and take the ride. Don't do the drugs, per se, but open your mind to the possibilities beyond the immediacies in front of you. The world is yearning for you to hop in, and just see what happens. I've got a great support system here now, with people who are diving in just like me, trying to have no expectations. And, what's even better, is I've got a great support system back in the states. Good friends are hard to come by. Thanks for coming by? lol (I said lol as I typed this. I didn't actually lol)
After this, is pre service training. That will last for a few weeks, ending in either late August or early/mid September (I really am not too sure. I've heard different information from different sources...again, no expectations).
Please write. Send me letters, postcards, business cards, photo ids, gum wrappers (with unchewed gum still in them, I will miss gum the most). If you're up for playing mail chess, or any game over the mail, I'm totally down. I've got about 3 takers write now.
My address is in a previous post...I think from a couple days ago.
Be eazzzzy like George and Wheezy,
-Ryan Monaghan
Please write. M
P.S. Mrs. A, thanks for the cookies.
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