The last two weeks I’ve gotten to participate in one of the highlight projects of my stint in Africa.
One Sight is a philanthropy that travels throughout the globe, providing free optometric eye care to those who need it but may be unable to afford it or access it. Working with partner organizations in their host country, they run the entire process – from the Snellen Chart (remember elementary school eye charts? ), autorefraction for accurate prescriptions , full optometric exams (cataracts, glaucoma, pterygium, diabetic retinopathy,etc) and at the end, glasses at the closest possible prescriptions. And even if you don’t need glasses: sunglasses! The sunglasses were a big deal, by the way. Kids were coming back through three or four times, complaining about how their glasses didn’t work and they needed extra sunglasses. They got stickers instead…oh well.
The process for a patient is a whirlwind. For those who had never had an eye exam before – which was the majority of the people who came – it was the equivalent of an alien abduction. Have you ever had your eyes dilated? It sucks on a normal day. Imagine being led to a room with thirty other people, listening to a stranger speak a language you don’t understand, right before they start dousing your eyes with burning medicine. Not a lot of surprise when I heard the rumor about the strange white folk coming to blind people in the villages. Oddly enough it took a few days to figure out that the person explaining the temporary effects of dilation might want to do it in Zulu.
You could say my main job was making the experience as comfortable as possible for the gogos. Most of the two weeks, I was working with the doctors doing the eye exams, as a translator. According to the optometrists, the pathology was interesting…different than what they had expected. Most likely they were referring to the man with the mole – complete with hair – growing out of his eye.
Over the course of two weeks, 6000 people passed through. Taking into account the weather (bad) and the site locations (quite rural) that’s an impressive number. The One Sight crew and the Mpilonhle NGO were awesome people. Working with South African physicians and optometrists on site to schedule follow up care for those who required it was possibly the most important part of the whole process, in a manner of speaking. In the face of the HIV epidemic, routine optometric care is a luxury at best – and, at least in my health district (serving upwards of 100000) completely absent. I met with people I know from my village there; people who had traveled nearly three hours to another village for treatment. Bringing to light the resources already available in South Africa, among people who may have previously just resolved to live with a worsening health condition, might improve the quality of life of many for years to come.
Best thing from the two weeks: an older man who had worked for several years in Joburg had a flawed cataract surgery, rendering him essentially blind. After putting on his glasses with an insane prescription, he started jumping for joy and calling out (in Zulu) all of the random objects outside he could see. The display drew some attention, and out of nowhere he was surrounded by about forty digital cameras snapping photos. After basking in his fame for about 30 minutes, he leans over and starts complaining about how we were wasting his time. I asked why, said that I didn’t understand. His response: “Cama manje! Cama manje!” Translates as: “Pee now! Pee now!” The man was, literally, going to piss himself if he was not released. Made my day.
Friday, November 4, 2011
Saturday, October 8, 2011
10-09-2011
I observed Yom Kippur yesterday. Sort of.
Yom Kippur is Hebrew for Day of Atonement, or Repentance. Coming only ten days after the new year (Rosh Hashanah) it allows for a space of time to reflect on your transgressions over the past year, and consider the year ahead. Yom Kippur became somewhat important for me because it also coincides almost perfectly with the half-way point of Peace Corps service. And since I just returned from Mid-Service Conference (or mid-service training, MST) in Pretoria on Friday afternoon – which was a lot of reflection, intentional and unintentional, by the PCVs on what the hell exactly are we doing in South Africa – it sort of continued the sentiment. In a good way.
Both MST and Yom Kippur – for me personally – had a lot in common. First off, my connection to Judaism is feeble, through relation and name only. And lately, I’ve been feeling the same way about Peace Corps, that I’m part of Peace Corps by name only and really, I’m just a teacher in the school and that white guy in the village.
Both started out as a reflection of a lot of failure and loss. The first year as a Peace Corps volunteer was tough; I showed up with what I wanted to accomplish, only to have a lot of it thrown back in my face. Or worse, ignored completely. I thought about each project I knew was just so perfect, so important and so gratifying that I had to dive right in, all else be damned. I had wasted a lot of time looking at people as victims in need of rescuing, as one of the people at MST put it. In addition, two of my closest friends in the Peace Corps both ET’d during MST; I had time to reflect on how much I’ve relied on both of them at times to steady myself here and how much they will be missed here for what time is left.
Both allowed me to see that reflection of loss and failure for what it was. Thinking about Peace Corps service, all that mattered was me. I didn’t spend time thinking about what the people needed, but what I needed to do – whether to prove to myself or justify myself or whatever, the key thing was always “what have I done” and “what have I accomplished”. Failing to do so was just that…failing. It implied that a better volunteer would have done even more, that the community might be disappointed in what I had given.
Don’t get me wrong, I have seen a lot of success in my work as well, both in and out of the classroom. But I was left, overall, feeling unfulfilled.
In the end, both ended up being about reflection on the next year – and a reevaluation. Peace Corps isn’t really about projects; or rather, the projects you take on shouldn’t be what is keeping you here. It’s about relationships, connecting with others and sharing experiences. The projects just become a little more incidental, sort of a bonus to what’s really going on. And I think I kind of like that.
Just some of the things a 25 hour fast will get you thinking about. L’shanah tovah, here’s to one more year in Africa.
:- )
-Ryan
Yom Kippur is Hebrew for Day of Atonement, or Repentance. Coming only ten days after the new year (Rosh Hashanah) it allows for a space of time to reflect on your transgressions over the past year, and consider the year ahead. Yom Kippur became somewhat important for me because it also coincides almost perfectly with the half-way point of Peace Corps service. And since I just returned from Mid-Service Conference (or mid-service training, MST) in Pretoria on Friday afternoon – which was a lot of reflection, intentional and unintentional, by the PCVs on what the hell exactly are we doing in South Africa – it sort of continued the sentiment. In a good way.
Both MST and Yom Kippur – for me personally – had a lot in common. First off, my connection to Judaism is feeble, through relation and name only. And lately, I’ve been feeling the same way about Peace Corps, that I’m part of Peace Corps by name only and really, I’m just a teacher in the school and that white guy in the village.
Both started out as a reflection of a lot of failure and loss. The first year as a Peace Corps volunteer was tough; I showed up with what I wanted to accomplish, only to have a lot of it thrown back in my face. Or worse, ignored completely. I thought about each project I knew was just so perfect, so important and so gratifying that I had to dive right in, all else be damned. I had wasted a lot of time looking at people as victims in need of rescuing, as one of the people at MST put it. In addition, two of my closest friends in the Peace Corps both ET’d during MST; I had time to reflect on how much I’ve relied on both of them at times to steady myself here and how much they will be missed here for what time is left.
Both allowed me to see that reflection of loss and failure for what it was. Thinking about Peace Corps service, all that mattered was me. I didn’t spend time thinking about what the people needed, but what I needed to do – whether to prove to myself or justify myself or whatever, the key thing was always “what have I done” and “what have I accomplished”. Failing to do so was just that…failing. It implied that a better volunteer would have done even more, that the community might be disappointed in what I had given.
Don’t get me wrong, I have seen a lot of success in my work as well, both in and out of the classroom. But I was left, overall, feeling unfulfilled.
In the end, both ended up being about reflection on the next year – and a reevaluation. Peace Corps isn’t really about projects; or rather, the projects you take on shouldn’t be what is keeping you here. It’s about relationships, connecting with others and sharing experiences. The projects just become a little more incidental, sort of a bonus to what’s really going on. And I think I kind of like that.
Just some of the things a 25 hour fast will get you thinking about. L’shanah tovah, here’s to one more year in Africa.
:- )
-Ryan
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
07-13-2011
Today at the clinic, a child that decided to display his English vernacular decided to inform me that I have a big head.
As in:
“Umlungu, Your head is big!”
While the obvious response was that it’s full of brains, I was concerned that the word “brain” might not be one he has learned yet. So instead, I decided to use the Zulu equivalent...only to realize that the Zulu version of the word “brain” was one that I had not learned yet, so best to use the next closest thing:
“Mnumzane, ikhanda lami ligcwala ngamasimba!”
Which translates, roughly, to: Sir, my head is full of poop. (The poop is the ‘ama simba’ part. Ama pluralizes it, so the sentence could also translate as: Sir, my head is full of many poops.)
I think this is a good place to mention that, in South Africa, a popular variety of chips is called Simba Chips. They have standard flavors, and then a more South African flair (personally, I think the spare rib flavor is phenomenal).
Walking home this evening, I started to wonder why in the world a company – in South Africa – would market a product called Simba Chips when it translates, in one of the most widespread languages in the country, into Feces Chips?
Doing some research…in Swahili, the word Simba means ‘lion’ (ring any bells?), which might explain why there is a lion on the cover of the chips bag. Still though, if the word poop meant something incredible or fantastic in another language, I do not think I could be convinced to buy a bag of Poop Chips.
And according to my online Zulu dictionary, the Zulu word for brain is, in fact, brain.
As in:
“Umlungu, Your head is big!”
While the obvious response was that it’s full of brains, I was concerned that the word “brain” might not be one he has learned yet. So instead, I decided to use the Zulu equivalent...only to realize that the Zulu version of the word “brain” was one that I had not learned yet, so best to use the next closest thing:
“Mnumzane, ikhanda lami ligcwala ngamasimba!”
Which translates, roughly, to: Sir, my head is full of poop. (The poop is the ‘ama simba’ part. Ama pluralizes it, so the sentence could also translate as: Sir, my head is full of many poops.)
I think this is a good place to mention that, in South Africa, a popular variety of chips is called Simba Chips. They have standard flavors, and then a more South African flair (personally, I think the spare rib flavor is phenomenal).
Walking home this evening, I started to wonder why in the world a company – in South Africa – would market a product called Simba Chips when it translates, in one of the most widespread languages in the country, into Feces Chips?
Doing some research…in Swahili, the word Simba means ‘lion’ (ring any bells?), which might explain why there is a lion on the cover of the chips bag. Still though, if the word poop meant something incredible or fantastic in another language, I do not think I could be convinced to buy a bag of Poop Chips.
And according to my online Zulu dictionary, the Zulu word for brain is, in fact, brain.
Saturday, May 7, 2011
05-07-2011
This one may feel a little like a tourist brochure. It definitely did when I wrote it.
Time Magazine, a few weeks back, had an article in its culture section about the film industry in South Africa – and how Hollywood is starting to take full of advantage of everything it offers. South Africa is jaw-droppingly beautiful, and has every type of scenery imaginable. I wasn’t surprised to read that. What did seem pretty cool, though, was this little bit of information: the South African film industry is already a billion dollar (dollar, not rand) industry employing over 25 000 South Africans. And growing. For a country with a government that, in the State of the Nation address earlier this year, announced that job creation was its number ONE priority, it seems like one industry is really pushing for that.
And where is this based out of, you ask? Not Jo’burg, the biggest and busiest city in the country. Not Pretoria, the capital steeped in heritage and history. And certainly not Manguzi.
Nope, this is the Mother City herself, the glistening tip of South Africa’s Coast. That’s right: Cape Town.
Being in Africa for almost a year now, I’ve gotten to travel a bit around the country. I’ve been to five out of nine provinces, and have seen pretty much every major city, some more than others. And I must say, from at least an attraction standpoint, Cape Town takes the cake.
To the curious traveler, I’ve got to warn you. Cape Town doesn’t always feel very… African. The buildings look a lot like lower Manhattan, although everyone seems to have a more laid back feeling. And not to sound bad, but most of the people don’t really look all that…well, African. It has a lot to do with the rich and often turbulent history of Southern Africa, especially in the days when it was passed back and forth between the British and Dutch. Slaves and indentured workers from Malaysia and the South Pacific were brought into Cape Town (back when it was still the Cape Colony) to work for the colonials. Over the generations, mixing between the native San, and the white and Asian people led to an entirely new and uniquely South African population of Cape Town ‘Coloreds’. And with them came the birth of the Afrikaans language – a mix of Dutch, Malay, Arabic and native African tongues (one thing I learned in Cape Town: the very first written Afrikaans was written with Arabic lettering, to use by the Muslim population). It’s interesting, given the sentiment tied into Afrikaans now as a language exclusively white South African, that it was never really a ‘pure European’ language at all.
And that’s why I like Cape Town – if South Africa is supposed to be the Rainbow Nation, then Cape Town is the city to see it. I love the village, but it is great to see the face South Africa tries to paint to the rest of the world.
And Cape Town’s heritage is famous and infamous. Right in the bay, visible from the hills above the city, lies Robben Island. Robben Island is famous the world over as the prison of former president Nelson Mandela. It had been used as a political prison for decades, acting almost as a training ground for the elites of modern South Africa. And what I loved most about this tour was that the tour guides we had were all former prisoners themselves, at one time or another. Many had met the great revolutionaries that have changed the country completely in the last twenty years. Everyone in the group could feel the connection to South Africa’s past making it one of the most unique tours I have ever been on. After all, it’s not many places where the guide points to a prison cell and says “and this bunk? This bunk was mine.”
The views off of both Table Mountain and the Cape Point were breathtaking. From Table Mountain, you can see the entire city stretch like a blanket beneath you, and the bay curve around the lonely Robben Island sitting directly offshore. And Cape Point, which a large sign proclaimed as the ‘Southwesternmost point of Africa’ (potentially the worst slogan I’ve ever heard…next to the can of Baked Beans that says “It’s the best you can do.”) offered even more amazing views of the entire cape terrain including Hout Bay and Kemp’s Bay.
And the beaches? Well, to be truly honest, I didn’t really care about seeing the Cape Town beaches before I left my village. I have access to the most beautiful and temperate private beach I’ve seen in my life. The Durban beaches were way too crowded for me, and the beaches in the Cape were about the same – although the water coming off the southern tip was MUCH colder. We stopped at a beach for about ten minutes; long enough for me to put my foot in the other side of the Atlantic just to say I had. For anyone who doesn’t live in northern KZN / does not have a perfect private beach of their own, the experience is probably a lot better – go for it. Just don’t stay in the water too long, amanzi ayabandayo.
There’s one thing I did not expect about Cape Town, although I guess I should have: Cape Town is expensive. At least, by South African standards. In Durban, I could get by on about a hundred rand a day, which was definitely not true for Cape Town. It’s more tourist friendly and caters to plenty of international clientele with money to spend. I’ve got no problem with this; tourism brings in revenue to support the growing infrastructure for the impoverished, and tourism is a leading sector in employment in the country. For me, though, spending what money I’ve got – remember, Peace Corps wants you to live in the village at the village standard – can be tough when it runs low. I usually feel like I get paid plenty of money to get by very comfortably in the village, but pretending to be an American tourist again becomes a bit tougher. If you plan on coming to Cape Town, and you want the full experience, be ready to spend some cash.
So overall, what are my feelings on Cape Town? Well, let me put it this way. I spent about a week in Durban over the Christmas break. When the last day came, I was pretty much ready to get back to the village. I felt like I had gotten enough of Durban for at least a few months, and was ready to get back home. But when the last day came in Cape Town, I wasn’t quite ready to leave. I felt like there was still too much to do and possibly never enough time to do it all. If I can go back before I end my service, I definitely will. And if not, when I get around to getting back to ZA, I’ll be sure to make a stop in Cape Town. Even if for nothing more than jazz and yoga again.
I’d recommend this place to anyone who comes out to visit South Africa, although be prepared – Cape Town is distinctively South African while at the same time not South African in the slightest. If you go, mention my blog. Maybe they’ll give me a discount next time I pass through.
Since I’m talking about vacations, I’ve attached a youtube link for a trip with some other volunteers a few months back. We walked from one of the beaches near Manguzi about sixty km south, to a place called Sodwana Bay. It was right at the end of the sea turtle season – we passed about two dozen nests along the way. The beaches were also completely unpopulated; these are the private beaches mentioned earlier.
Anyways, enjoy
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qTyddWMc1a0
Ryan
Time Magazine, a few weeks back, had an article in its culture section about the film industry in South Africa – and how Hollywood is starting to take full of advantage of everything it offers. South Africa is jaw-droppingly beautiful, and has every type of scenery imaginable. I wasn’t surprised to read that. What did seem pretty cool, though, was this little bit of information: the South African film industry is already a billion dollar (dollar, not rand) industry employing over 25 000 South Africans. And growing. For a country with a government that, in the State of the Nation address earlier this year, announced that job creation was its number ONE priority, it seems like one industry is really pushing for that.
And where is this based out of, you ask? Not Jo’burg, the biggest and busiest city in the country. Not Pretoria, the capital steeped in heritage and history. And certainly not Manguzi.
Nope, this is the Mother City herself, the glistening tip of South Africa’s Coast. That’s right: Cape Town.
Being in Africa for almost a year now, I’ve gotten to travel a bit around the country. I’ve been to five out of nine provinces, and have seen pretty much every major city, some more than others. And I must say, from at least an attraction standpoint, Cape Town takes the cake.
To the curious traveler, I’ve got to warn you. Cape Town doesn’t always feel very… African. The buildings look a lot like lower Manhattan, although everyone seems to have a more laid back feeling. And not to sound bad, but most of the people don’t really look all that…well, African. It has a lot to do with the rich and often turbulent history of Southern Africa, especially in the days when it was passed back and forth between the British and Dutch. Slaves and indentured workers from Malaysia and the South Pacific were brought into Cape Town (back when it was still the Cape Colony) to work for the colonials. Over the generations, mixing between the native San, and the white and Asian people led to an entirely new and uniquely South African population of Cape Town ‘Coloreds’. And with them came the birth of the Afrikaans language – a mix of Dutch, Malay, Arabic and native African tongues (one thing I learned in Cape Town: the very first written Afrikaans was written with Arabic lettering, to use by the Muslim population). It’s interesting, given the sentiment tied into Afrikaans now as a language exclusively white South African, that it was never really a ‘pure European’ language at all.
And that’s why I like Cape Town – if South Africa is supposed to be the Rainbow Nation, then Cape Town is the city to see it. I love the village, but it is great to see the face South Africa tries to paint to the rest of the world.
And Cape Town’s heritage is famous and infamous. Right in the bay, visible from the hills above the city, lies Robben Island. Robben Island is famous the world over as the prison of former president Nelson Mandela. It had been used as a political prison for decades, acting almost as a training ground for the elites of modern South Africa. And what I loved most about this tour was that the tour guides we had were all former prisoners themselves, at one time or another. Many had met the great revolutionaries that have changed the country completely in the last twenty years. Everyone in the group could feel the connection to South Africa’s past making it one of the most unique tours I have ever been on. After all, it’s not many places where the guide points to a prison cell and says “and this bunk? This bunk was mine.”
The views off of both Table Mountain and the Cape Point were breathtaking. From Table Mountain, you can see the entire city stretch like a blanket beneath you, and the bay curve around the lonely Robben Island sitting directly offshore. And Cape Point, which a large sign proclaimed as the ‘Southwesternmost point of Africa’ (potentially the worst slogan I’ve ever heard…next to the can of Baked Beans that says “It’s the best you can do.”) offered even more amazing views of the entire cape terrain including Hout Bay and Kemp’s Bay.
And the beaches? Well, to be truly honest, I didn’t really care about seeing the Cape Town beaches before I left my village. I have access to the most beautiful and temperate private beach I’ve seen in my life. The Durban beaches were way too crowded for me, and the beaches in the Cape were about the same – although the water coming off the southern tip was MUCH colder. We stopped at a beach for about ten minutes; long enough for me to put my foot in the other side of the Atlantic just to say I had. For anyone who doesn’t live in northern KZN / does not have a perfect private beach of their own, the experience is probably a lot better – go for it. Just don’t stay in the water too long, amanzi ayabandayo.
There’s one thing I did not expect about Cape Town, although I guess I should have: Cape Town is expensive. At least, by South African standards. In Durban, I could get by on about a hundred rand a day, which was definitely not true for Cape Town. It’s more tourist friendly and caters to plenty of international clientele with money to spend. I’ve got no problem with this; tourism brings in revenue to support the growing infrastructure for the impoverished, and tourism is a leading sector in employment in the country. For me, though, spending what money I’ve got – remember, Peace Corps wants you to live in the village at the village standard – can be tough when it runs low. I usually feel like I get paid plenty of money to get by very comfortably in the village, but pretending to be an American tourist again becomes a bit tougher. If you plan on coming to Cape Town, and you want the full experience, be ready to spend some cash.
So overall, what are my feelings on Cape Town? Well, let me put it this way. I spent about a week in Durban over the Christmas break. When the last day came, I was pretty much ready to get back to the village. I felt like I had gotten enough of Durban for at least a few months, and was ready to get back home. But when the last day came in Cape Town, I wasn’t quite ready to leave. I felt like there was still too much to do and possibly never enough time to do it all. If I can go back before I end my service, I definitely will. And if not, when I get around to getting back to ZA, I’ll be sure to make a stop in Cape Town. Even if for nothing more than jazz and yoga again.
I’d recommend this place to anyone who comes out to visit South Africa, although be prepared – Cape Town is distinctively South African while at the same time not South African in the slightest. If you go, mention my blog. Maybe they’ll give me a discount next time I pass through.
Since I’m talking about vacations, I’ve attached a youtube link for a trip with some other volunteers a few months back. We walked from one of the beaches near Manguzi about sixty km south, to a place called Sodwana Bay. It was right at the end of the sea turtle season – we passed about two dozen nests along the way. The beaches were also completely unpopulated; these are the private beaches mentioned earlier.
Anyways, enjoy
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qTyddWMc1a0
Ryan
Friday, April 29, 2011
04-29-2011
About two weeks back, we hit Doppler Effect in Physics. I like the Doppler Effect, especially for my class of 23 rural South African 18-20 year olds. It’s a simple topic, basically one equation with really only two situations the learners have to know. Even more, it’s intuitive – from years of tutoring and classes, I’ve never met someone who doesn’t just get the Doppler Effect. Don’t believe me? Follow my instructions:
1)Stand on side of road. Not TOO close.
2)Wait for car to come.
3)Listen to how the sound the car makes seems to get higher as it gets close to you.
4)Listen to how it drops right back down as it drives away from you.
5)Pat yourself on the back. You are now a Physicist.
So, yeah. As expected, the learners caught the gist of it pretty quickly – like math or music or love, perhaps the Doppler Effect is really just the universal language. And seeing as how it’s good to connect these scientific ideas with applications, I explained that the Doppler Effect is more useful than just watching Mr.Ryan pretend to be a car in front of the room. Wanting to take the lesson a step further, I brought up cosmology. I talked about Edwin Hubble (that guy from the satellite), and galactic redshift – in a nutshell, walking them through how the Doppler Effect explains how the Universe seems to be expanding and offers scientific credence to the Big Bang, something they had never heard of until then. I wanted to get the kids – excuse me, young adults much like myself – talking a bit about the idea of how a scientific theory can have controversial social implications, and when suddenly people started warming up to a discussion…the bell rang. My hour was up, and the next teacher was standing at the door, waiting.
This is a pretty typical (part of a) day in South Africa.
With this post and about five months – crazy that it’s already basically May, by the way – into the school year, I figure I’ll let everyone in on what I’ve been getting up to here. The main focus of my assignment is school development, a vague enough term that essentially allows the volunteer to, within reason, operate as how they and the school see fit. Most volunteers teach, primarily, either with another teacher or on their own in more unfortunate cases. Right now, I’m teaching grade 8 English, and grades 11 and 12 Physical Science. All of these classes are occasionally wonderful – although the grade 8 class has 86 learners. Imagine 86 eighth graders, in a hot African classroom, listening to someone speak in a language they don’t really understand. Pretty scary visual, I bet. The grade 11 and 12 classes are more fun, with only 19 and 23 learners respectively I’ve gotten the chance to get to know most of them by name. Since it’s a subject I feel a little more comfortable teaching than English – I’ve often had to explain to my counterpart English teacher after class that “I don’t know why that sentence is wrong, I just know that it’s wrong” and that “English is really a horrible language to begin with” – the learners and I tend to get a good vibe going in the class. Especially in Grade 11, since Grade 12 is under a lot of pressure to simply cram as much information in as possible before the daunting exams, we can have a lot more fun. Also, we can blow more things up (Zinc + Hydrochloric Acid, anyone?).
With all the stuff that comes with teaching – between grading and lesson planning and evening/Saturday/holiday classes and so on – it gets fairly time consuming, but pretty much all volunteers try to tack on other efforts, known as Secondary Projects, as well. This term, the school garden which another teacher and myself started planning last December, is finally underway. With the help of the Department of Agriculture, nearby villagers and, of course, the learners, we’ve plowed out a sizeable plot to beginning planting some good winter crops. Hopefully, this will help supplement the food scheme for the lunches at school and, if possible, will expand to be fully managed and operated by the students themselves. Still a long term goal though. But everyone, including Mr.Ryan, seems to enjoy plowing barefoot into the weeds (when it’s not hot).
Another project that’s being supported by a local NGO is a Kid’s Club for a small group of OVC qualifying learners. The term OVC stands for Orphans and Vulnerable Children, and these learners are among the neediest of needy. As the social worker at the NGO had once put it, there is even a hierarchy in survival itself. So each week on Monday (only once so far this term, due to holidays), I meet up with about twenty little kids from 6 to 14 years old. After some organizational hurdles, the first meeting we had was terrifying – especially for me. I’m not a social worker, and something about very little kids is just…off putting. Possibly repressed memories of Children of the Corn surfacing. But it went amazingly well – bonding through games and activities, the learners are provided a safe environment after school to do homework and talk with other kids, two grade 12 learners, and myself about any problems they may be facing at school or home. It’s been a great way for me to connect more with the learners in the Primary School, because I feel like I’ve been somewhat absent from there.
The latest project – that has been slower in coming than I thought – has been cleaning and remodeling the school library. The original ‘storage room’ was a nightmare. Piles of books and spilt paint cans three feet high, with rumors of rats (also snakes to eat the rats) living in it like a trash pile out of the Dark Crystal. Over two consecutive Saturdays, the building was not only completely cleaned but repainted as well (some pictures are up on Facebook). It was a great project because it gave an opportunity for the learners that came to help the chance to truly own their school. It was nice because, frankly, I had pretty much nothing to do with it besides some initial pushing – the guys that came out were excited and hardworking. It would not have been done nearly so fast without everyone’s help. Once done, I’ve been working on getting the books back in and (hopefully) getting a carpentry-training NGO I’ve been working with to donate some shelves the trainees have made for practical exercises.
^With this last project in mind, I know I’ve had some people ask if there’s anything I’d like to have sent me from the States. At first, I gave some joke answers – and did, surprisingly, receive quite a bit of Peanut Butter, thanks everyone :-) – but I’ve started to realize that this may be a blessing in disguise. Sending packages doesn’t have to be about me, but offers you the chance to help out the projects directly. I’m not asking for donations, but if people are still thinking about sending boxes or packages, toss some children’s books in there instead. What I’ve seen, especially with the Kid’s Club, is that the books we read as kids – Dr.Seuss, Roald Dahl, etc. – are the same books these kids love to have read to them! Most of them, especially the ones living in the depths of the village and without literate family member, have no access to this. And to live in an environment where books are so rare as to be unknown is heartbreaking. Just a thought.
Well, I hope this gave you a brief overview of what’s been happening. There are a few other projects I’m hoping to get underway, some big and some smaller. For now though, one step at a time.
In one of these posts, I’ll fill in a bit more about travels around South Africa, multiday beach hikes, and croquet with Afrikaner children. Take care until then.
-Ryan
1)Stand on side of road. Not TOO close.
2)Wait for car to come.
3)Listen to how the sound the car makes seems to get higher as it gets close to you.
4)Listen to how it drops right back down as it drives away from you.
5)Pat yourself on the back. You are now a Physicist.
So, yeah. As expected, the learners caught the gist of it pretty quickly – like math or music or love, perhaps the Doppler Effect is really just the universal language. And seeing as how it’s good to connect these scientific ideas with applications, I explained that the Doppler Effect is more useful than just watching Mr.Ryan pretend to be a car in front of the room. Wanting to take the lesson a step further, I brought up cosmology. I talked about Edwin Hubble (that guy from the satellite), and galactic redshift – in a nutshell, walking them through how the Doppler Effect explains how the Universe seems to be expanding and offers scientific credence to the Big Bang, something they had never heard of until then. I wanted to get the kids – excuse me, young adults much like myself – talking a bit about the idea of how a scientific theory can have controversial social implications, and when suddenly people started warming up to a discussion…the bell rang. My hour was up, and the next teacher was standing at the door, waiting.
This is a pretty typical (part of a) day in South Africa.
With this post and about five months – crazy that it’s already basically May, by the way – into the school year, I figure I’ll let everyone in on what I’ve been getting up to here. The main focus of my assignment is school development, a vague enough term that essentially allows the volunteer to, within reason, operate as how they and the school see fit. Most volunteers teach, primarily, either with another teacher or on their own in more unfortunate cases. Right now, I’m teaching grade 8 English, and grades 11 and 12 Physical Science. All of these classes are occasionally wonderful – although the grade 8 class has 86 learners. Imagine 86 eighth graders, in a hot African classroom, listening to someone speak in a language they don’t really understand. Pretty scary visual, I bet. The grade 11 and 12 classes are more fun, with only 19 and 23 learners respectively I’ve gotten the chance to get to know most of them by name. Since it’s a subject I feel a little more comfortable teaching than English – I’ve often had to explain to my counterpart English teacher after class that “I don’t know why that sentence is wrong, I just know that it’s wrong” and that “English is really a horrible language to begin with” – the learners and I tend to get a good vibe going in the class. Especially in Grade 11, since Grade 12 is under a lot of pressure to simply cram as much information in as possible before the daunting exams, we can have a lot more fun. Also, we can blow more things up (Zinc + Hydrochloric Acid, anyone?).
With all the stuff that comes with teaching – between grading and lesson planning and evening/Saturday/holiday classes and so on – it gets fairly time consuming, but pretty much all volunteers try to tack on other efforts, known as Secondary Projects, as well. This term, the school garden which another teacher and myself started planning last December, is finally underway. With the help of the Department of Agriculture, nearby villagers and, of course, the learners, we’ve plowed out a sizeable plot to beginning planting some good winter crops. Hopefully, this will help supplement the food scheme for the lunches at school and, if possible, will expand to be fully managed and operated by the students themselves. Still a long term goal though. But everyone, including Mr.Ryan, seems to enjoy plowing barefoot into the weeds (when it’s not hot).
Another project that’s being supported by a local NGO is a Kid’s Club for a small group of OVC qualifying learners. The term OVC stands for Orphans and Vulnerable Children, and these learners are among the neediest of needy. As the social worker at the NGO had once put it, there is even a hierarchy in survival itself. So each week on Monday (only once so far this term, due to holidays), I meet up with about twenty little kids from 6 to 14 years old. After some organizational hurdles, the first meeting we had was terrifying – especially for me. I’m not a social worker, and something about very little kids is just…off putting. Possibly repressed memories of Children of the Corn surfacing. But it went amazingly well – bonding through games and activities, the learners are provided a safe environment after school to do homework and talk with other kids, two grade 12 learners, and myself about any problems they may be facing at school or home. It’s been a great way for me to connect more with the learners in the Primary School, because I feel like I’ve been somewhat absent from there.
The latest project – that has been slower in coming than I thought – has been cleaning and remodeling the school library. The original ‘storage room’ was a nightmare. Piles of books and spilt paint cans three feet high, with rumors of rats (also snakes to eat the rats) living in it like a trash pile out of the Dark Crystal. Over two consecutive Saturdays, the building was not only completely cleaned but repainted as well (some pictures are up on Facebook). It was a great project because it gave an opportunity for the learners that came to help the chance to truly own their school. It was nice because, frankly, I had pretty much nothing to do with it besides some initial pushing – the guys that came out were excited and hardworking. It would not have been done nearly so fast without everyone’s help. Once done, I’ve been working on getting the books back in and (hopefully) getting a carpentry-training NGO I’ve been working with to donate some shelves the trainees have made for practical exercises.
^With this last project in mind, I know I’ve had some people ask if there’s anything I’d like to have sent me from the States. At first, I gave some joke answers – and did, surprisingly, receive quite a bit of Peanut Butter, thanks everyone :-) – but I’ve started to realize that this may be a blessing in disguise. Sending packages doesn’t have to be about me, but offers you the chance to help out the projects directly. I’m not asking for donations, but if people are still thinking about sending boxes or packages, toss some children’s books in there instead. What I’ve seen, especially with the Kid’s Club, is that the books we read as kids – Dr.Seuss, Roald Dahl, etc. – are the same books these kids love to have read to them! Most of them, especially the ones living in the depths of the village and without literate family member, have no access to this. And to live in an environment where books are so rare as to be unknown is heartbreaking. Just a thought.
Well, I hope this gave you a brief overview of what’s been happening. There are a few other projects I’m hoping to get underway, some big and some smaller. For now though, one step at a time.
In one of these posts, I’ll fill in a bit more about travels around South Africa, multiday beach hikes, and croquet with Afrikaner children. Take care until then.
-Ryan
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
02-09-2011
Warning: This one's a long one.
Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I’d like to take this opportunity to share my longwinded thoughts on something near and dear to my heart – Science Education, or oftentimes, the lack thereof.
Science and Mathematics are two subjects that South Africa and the United States seem to hit about the same intensity – and they both seem to do it wrong. Test scores and general student interest in the subjects, in both nations, are generally low. Interestingly enough, this is true across all racial divides; across socioeconomic levels in both the United States and the even more racially divided South Africa. Every politician, at all levels, in endless speeches and a Ferris wheel of phrasing, has acknowledged that this fundamental problem will reverberate in the next generation’s approach to global issues and challenges – challenges that will require skill and understanding based firmly in the basics of the sciences and mathematics taught to children.
Interestingly enough, both the United States and South Africa have a history of scientific achievement. I’m pretty sure everybody who reads my blog could name by heart at least one scientist from America whose work affect their lives. And in South Africa, you had Dr. Christiaan Barnard, a surgeon who performed the world's first successful heart transplant.
So with all the glory of the sciences blared from every ivory tower…why are learners failing to grasp?
The Physical Science curriculum in South Africa is a horrendous mishmash of various scientific topics, often unrelated and presented in an ambiguous, convoluted or clearly incorrect manner. It is disastrously incoherent – jumping from Newton’s Laws to naming organic molecules, to the Doppler Effect to the diffraction of light to the equilibrium rates of reactions, to electrostatics to AC generators and finally a history of the South African coal and mining industry.
Looking at the work schedule for the year, I felt like the curriculum designer sat at a table, swallowed as many outdated college textbooks as possible, and vomited all over a pile of newspaper; whatever came out and was still partially legible – including the wet newspaper – made its way onto the national syllabus in the order it was found. The National curriculum takes too many concepts without clarity or connection, shoves them down the students’ throats and expects the students to successfully regurgitate them onto the single examination at the end of Grade 12. This is an inane and thorny task at even the best schools with the largest amount of resources in the Nation; try doing it in the rural outposts, where students do not even speak the language the test will be offered in. Is it succeeding? I will say that they are being forced to solve problems in fairly abstract scientific areas, but without knowledge or background of what those numbers they can so easily plug into, or read off of the calculator actually mean.
The class is difficult for difficulty’s sake, not for the sake of the science being taught.
First and foremost, students who come into a classroom need to understand what science is. Science is the study of Nature; it is the study of all we see around us. Science is not Nature itself; it is a process we use to understand Nature. It is not enough to know what Nature is, but how it is: this is the process of Science. It is asking a single question on a phenomena, making a guess to what an answer should be and why it should be, then answering that question with an objective experiment. If your answer was wrong, figure out why it’s wrong. Adjust your thinking, and learn. That is, from what I understand, science. It is organic and adaptive. It is more than just pouring one illegible chemical in a test tube into another illegible chemical in a test tube; it’s asking, “Why does the sun rise only in the East?”and “why do apples fall?”
Simple. Clear. Easy. These words are inviting to the layman, and seemingly, the bane of science. I’m not going to claim that academic science is, by any means, simple and easy; the heartbeat is a beautifully pure concept, which becomes terrifyingly complex when you go past the surface and look at the details. But I think that the scientists driven to these deeper searches of underlying mechanisms and principles are driven by a belief that the work they do expands and enriches the understanding that they fell in love with in the first place. And in order to get these scientists and engineers as adults, you must introduce them as children to these overarching and plain concepts.
Plenty of modern scientist-philosophers, principally those coming from the areas of High Energy Physics or Astrophysics, claim that a true theory of everything – combining all aspects of science – will need to be elegantly simple, concise and consistently true. I think that, maybe, we already have that fundamental theory in its primitive, qualitative form; in my undergraduate Thermal Physics class, Dr. Y. Lee – one of my favorite professors – said that there are two universal truths in physics. These are equilibrium and inefficiency. Equilibrium is the favoring of responses to stimuli that create a system of lowest continuous energy output; inefficiency is that, in these responses, you never get out as much as is put in – a little bit is always lost and irrecoverable. That’s it – that’s Physics! I sure wish that I had learned this, or maybe have been smart enough to figure it out on my own, back in high school.
Physics and Chemistry are riddled with theories (Newton’s Laws, Work-Energy theorem, LeChatelier’s Principle, Lenz’s Law, Gravitational / Electric Potentials and Fields, etc. etc. etc.) where equilibrium is being applied to a novel phenomenon, and nearly the entirety of thermodynamics is the study of the effects of inefficiency on processes. Everything relates back!
So where am I going with all of this? Take a look at a typical tenth grade Physics or Chemistry textbook. It parcels concepts along lines that are growing increasingly imaginary; any scientist or scholar will tell you that the separation between biology, chemistry and physics as well as the subdivisions within each of the three major fields are fading rapidly. I believe the interconnectedness is a story, with the subatomic interactions of quarks, leptons and fundamental forces leading to the atomic theory, organic chemistry, biological structures, and life itself. And along the way, the principles of equilibrium and universal inefficiency guide each step taken in every process by Nature.
That is how a good science class should be – it should be a story. It should go into the details of the various theories and laws, and it should always relate those theories and laws to one another in cause and effect. Throughout all of which, it should relate everything back to the most fundamental principles – so that students will not lose sight of the forest in the trees. This is a science class that is elegant, clear and concise.
Will this turn everyone and their mother into a scientist? Of course not. This is not the only problem that drives students from these fields. But it is one of the problems that is – and here is the key phrase in this blog post – SO SIMPLE to solve: basic, basic changes in the teaching style and approach to the overarching presentation of science. This is what will invite children to study science with rapt attention and genuine love.
And this is unifying – a global concept, that would apply with the same general effect for the systems of Education in the United States as well as South Africa.
That’s my two cents on the topic. Any thoughts or feedback?
-Ryan
Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I’d like to take this opportunity to share my longwinded thoughts on something near and dear to my heart – Science Education, or oftentimes, the lack thereof.
Science and Mathematics are two subjects that South Africa and the United States seem to hit about the same intensity – and they both seem to do it wrong. Test scores and general student interest in the subjects, in both nations, are generally low. Interestingly enough, this is true across all racial divides; across socioeconomic levels in both the United States and the even more racially divided South Africa. Every politician, at all levels, in endless speeches and a Ferris wheel of phrasing, has acknowledged that this fundamental problem will reverberate in the next generation’s approach to global issues and challenges – challenges that will require skill and understanding based firmly in the basics of the sciences and mathematics taught to children.
Interestingly enough, both the United States and South Africa have a history of scientific achievement. I’m pretty sure everybody who reads my blog could name by heart at least one scientist from America whose work affect their lives. And in South Africa, you had Dr. Christiaan Barnard, a surgeon who performed the world's first successful heart transplant.
So with all the glory of the sciences blared from every ivory tower…why are learners failing to grasp?
The Physical Science curriculum in South Africa is a horrendous mishmash of various scientific topics, often unrelated and presented in an ambiguous, convoluted or clearly incorrect manner. It is disastrously incoherent – jumping from Newton’s Laws to naming organic molecules, to the Doppler Effect to the diffraction of light to the equilibrium rates of reactions, to electrostatics to AC generators and finally a history of the South African coal and mining industry.
Looking at the work schedule for the year, I felt like the curriculum designer sat at a table, swallowed as many outdated college textbooks as possible, and vomited all over a pile of newspaper; whatever came out and was still partially legible – including the wet newspaper – made its way onto the national syllabus in the order it was found. The National curriculum takes too many concepts without clarity or connection, shoves them down the students’ throats and expects the students to successfully regurgitate them onto the single examination at the end of Grade 12. This is an inane and thorny task at even the best schools with the largest amount of resources in the Nation; try doing it in the rural outposts, where students do not even speak the language the test will be offered in. Is it succeeding? I will say that they are being forced to solve problems in fairly abstract scientific areas, but without knowledge or background of what those numbers they can so easily plug into, or read off of the calculator actually mean.
The class is difficult for difficulty’s sake, not for the sake of the science being taught.
First and foremost, students who come into a classroom need to understand what science is. Science is the study of Nature; it is the study of all we see around us. Science is not Nature itself; it is a process we use to understand Nature. It is not enough to know what Nature is, but how it is: this is the process of Science. It is asking a single question on a phenomena, making a guess to what an answer should be and why it should be, then answering that question with an objective experiment. If your answer was wrong, figure out why it’s wrong. Adjust your thinking, and learn. That is, from what I understand, science. It is organic and adaptive. It is more than just pouring one illegible chemical in a test tube into another illegible chemical in a test tube; it’s asking, “Why does the sun rise only in the East?”and “why do apples fall?”
Simple. Clear. Easy. These words are inviting to the layman, and seemingly, the bane of science. I’m not going to claim that academic science is, by any means, simple and easy; the heartbeat is a beautifully pure concept, which becomes terrifyingly complex when you go past the surface and look at the details. But I think that the scientists driven to these deeper searches of underlying mechanisms and principles are driven by a belief that the work they do expands and enriches the understanding that they fell in love with in the first place. And in order to get these scientists and engineers as adults, you must introduce them as children to these overarching and plain concepts.
Plenty of modern scientist-philosophers, principally those coming from the areas of High Energy Physics or Astrophysics, claim that a true theory of everything – combining all aspects of science – will need to be elegantly simple, concise and consistently true. I think that, maybe, we already have that fundamental theory in its primitive, qualitative form; in my undergraduate Thermal Physics class, Dr. Y. Lee – one of my favorite professors – said that there are two universal truths in physics. These are equilibrium and inefficiency. Equilibrium is the favoring of responses to stimuli that create a system of lowest continuous energy output; inefficiency is that, in these responses, you never get out as much as is put in – a little bit is always lost and irrecoverable. That’s it – that’s Physics! I sure wish that I had learned this, or maybe have been smart enough to figure it out on my own, back in high school.
Physics and Chemistry are riddled with theories (Newton’s Laws, Work-Energy theorem, LeChatelier’s Principle, Lenz’s Law, Gravitational / Electric Potentials and Fields, etc. etc. etc.) where equilibrium is being applied to a novel phenomenon, and nearly the entirety of thermodynamics is the study of the effects of inefficiency on processes. Everything relates back!
So where am I going with all of this? Take a look at a typical tenth grade Physics or Chemistry textbook. It parcels concepts along lines that are growing increasingly imaginary; any scientist or scholar will tell you that the separation between biology, chemistry and physics as well as the subdivisions within each of the three major fields are fading rapidly. I believe the interconnectedness is a story, with the subatomic interactions of quarks, leptons and fundamental forces leading to the atomic theory, organic chemistry, biological structures, and life itself. And along the way, the principles of equilibrium and universal inefficiency guide each step taken in every process by Nature.
That is how a good science class should be – it should be a story. It should go into the details of the various theories and laws, and it should always relate those theories and laws to one another in cause and effect. Throughout all of which, it should relate everything back to the most fundamental principles – so that students will not lose sight of the forest in the trees. This is a science class that is elegant, clear and concise.
Will this turn everyone and their mother into a scientist? Of course not. This is not the only problem that drives students from these fields. But it is one of the problems that is – and here is the key phrase in this blog post – SO SIMPLE to solve: basic, basic changes in the teaching style and approach to the overarching presentation of science. This is what will invite children to study science with rapt attention and genuine love.
And this is unifying – a global concept, that would apply with the same general effect for the systems of Education in the United States as well as South Africa.
That’s my two cents on the topic. Any thoughts or feedback?
-Ryan
Monday, January 31, 2011
01-31-2011
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
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
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.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Packin'
I enjoy blogging. It's like talking to yourself in front of the endless landfill that is the internet.
As I stare at my ever growing pile of stuff and my seemingly ever shrinking luggage, I'm beginning to wonder if it's possible to shrink my 3 dimensional belongings to a Cantor dust...ORRRRR maybe I can say that, if the set of my items is infinite (which I think they are, at this point), BUT I can still count them (giving them cardinality aleph-null like N), the dimension is zero and I don't have to pack them at all. That will either save me all my baggage fees...or cost me an infinite amount of money for the infinite size of the luggage, depending on whether the airline's scales examine it in 0,1,2 or 3 dimensions.
(^-^)
Here's a few blurbs of advice to future Peace Corps volunteers, or world travelers:
1) Play Tetris. It comes in handy when you start packing.
2) When people offer you free things because of your journey...take them. They'll feel better about contributing to your service, and you get stuff/food. It's a win-win.
3) Tie up loose ends. This is a must do. Probably the greatest life lesson I've learned is leave no task or relationship incomplete. It's like taking a shower for the soul.
And most importantly...at least so far -
4) Never make close friends, because saying goodbye is hard. It's really, really hard. And if you're like me - a hopeless romantic already - it doesn't get any easier.
As my friends...and yes, faithful reader, you are one of them...while you are losing someone to Africa, remember that I am losing you to America.
As Gandalf would say, "I will not say, do not weep; for not all tears are an evil." I've cried more in the last four days than I have for...maybe forever? But it's been wonderful, wonderful, wonderful. You've touched someone half a world away. How cool is that?!
OK...this is not helping me pack much. Real advice: Don't pack books? I dunno. I'll try and give more advice when I get out there. Right now, though...packing.
Oh, wait, real advice...PACKING TAKES A LONG DAMN TIME. Don't procrastinate.
This will probably be my last entry from Florida for...a while. I'll try and update once more up in Staging in Philadelphia.
Check yourself before you wreck yourself,
Ryan Monaghan
As I stare at my ever growing pile of stuff and my seemingly ever shrinking luggage, I'm beginning to wonder if it's possible to shrink my 3 dimensional belongings to a Cantor dust...ORRRRR maybe I can say that, if the set of my items is infinite (which I think they are, at this point), BUT I can still count them (giving them cardinality aleph-null like N), the dimension is zero and I don't have to pack them at all. That will either save me all my baggage fees...or cost me an infinite amount of money for the infinite size of the luggage, depending on whether the airline's scales examine it in 0,1,2 or 3 dimensions.
(^-^)
Here's a few blurbs of advice to future Peace Corps volunteers, or world travelers:
1) Play Tetris. It comes in handy when you start packing.
2) When people offer you free things because of your journey...take them. They'll feel better about contributing to your service, and you get stuff/food. It's a win-win.
3) Tie up loose ends. This is a must do. Probably the greatest life lesson I've learned is leave no task or relationship incomplete. It's like taking a shower for the soul.
And most importantly...at least so far -
4) Never make close friends, because saying goodbye is hard. It's really, really hard. And if you're like me - a hopeless romantic already - it doesn't get any easier.
As my friends...and yes, faithful reader, you are one of them...while you are losing someone to Africa, remember that I am losing you to America.
As Gandalf would say, "I will not say, do not weep; for not all tears are an evil." I've cried more in the last four days than I have for...maybe forever? But it's been wonderful, wonderful, wonderful. You've touched someone half a world away. How cool is that?!
OK...this is not helping me pack much. Real advice: Don't pack books? I dunno. I'll try and give more advice when I get out there. Right now, though...packing.
Oh, wait, real advice...PACKING TAKES A LONG DAMN TIME. Don't procrastinate.
This will probably be my last entry from Florida for...a while. I'll try and update once more up in Staging in Philadelphia.
Check yourself before you wreck yourself,
Ryan Monaghan
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Some information...Four days
Gainesville...I can honestly say, it was wonderful. Like a well worn pair of boxers tossed into the yard sale box of life, you will be missed.
Here's some information about what to expect as far as communication. *NOTE* some of this stuff is fairly dated and may/may not apply to me. I don't know yet; living conditions in South Africa tend to vary greatly, I think. Mail/Phones should (hopefully) work pretty consistently; I'm hoping the internet will be the same way, but I can't say one way or the other.
"
Dear Prospective Volunteer: Please give this letter to your family and/or friends and ask them to hold on to it for as long as you are in South Africa.
July 2010
Dear Families and Friends,
Greetings from the South Africa Desk at the U.S. Peace Corps in Washington, D.C.! It is with great pleasure that we welcome you to the Peace Corps circle of friendship. We receive many questions from family members and friends of Volunteers about life in South Africa, so we would like to offer you advice and assistance in advance.
1. Irregular Communication. (Please see #3 for the mailing address to Peace Corps' office in Pretoria, the capital of South Africa) Mail from the United States to Pretoria is fairly reliable; however, mail service within South Africa is not as efficient and reliable. There is enormous variation in the time it takes for mail and packages to arrive at Volunteers’ sites. Generally, Volunteers find that they receive mail and packages from the United States two to four weeks after it has been sent. The same is true for sending mail from South Africa. Of course, there are exceptional cases in which a letter or a package might arrive within a shorter period or be substantially delayed. Some mail simply may not arrive. The destination of mail for Volunteers is as varied as the length of time it takes for mail to arrive.
We suggest that in your first letters you ask the Volunteer to give an estimate of how long it takes for him/her to receive your letters, and then try to establish a predictable pattern of how often you will write to each other. Also, try numbering your letters so that the Volunteer knows if he/she has missed one.
Being a Peace Corps Volunteer is a rewarding experience; however, there will also be times when Volunteers may write home telling of their "war" stories. Letters might describe recent illnesses, frustration with work, isolation, lack of resources, etc.
While the subject matter may be good reading material, it can often be misinterpreted on the home front. Volunteers have a wonderful support network in-country that includes counterparts and community members at their site, other Peace Corps Volunteers, as well as Peace Corps/South Africa staff. The Peace Corps’ highest priority is maintaining the health and safety of every Volunteer. Peace Corps/South Africa maintains a medical unit in Pretoria with two full-time medical officers, who care for the Volunteers’ primary health care needs. If the Volunteer requires medical care that is not available in South Africa, he/she will be medically evacuated to the United States. Fortunately, these are rare circumstances.
If for some reason your communication pattern is broken and you do not hear from your family member, you may want to contact the South Africa Desk or the Office of Special Services (OSS) at Peace Corps Washington at 1-800-424-8580, extension 1470.
Also, in the case of an emergency at home (death in the family, sudden critical illness, etc.), please do not hesitate to call OSS immediately, so that a message can be sent to the Volunteer. Use the above number during regular business hours (9:00 am to 5:00 pm Eastern Time, Monday through Friday). After hours, or during weekends, the Peace Corps Duty Officer may be reached at (202) 692-1470 and you will be transferred to an answering service. Tell the operator your name, telephone number, and the nature of the emergency and the Peace Corps Duty Officer will call you back.
2. Telephone Calls. The telephone system in South Africa is relatively good and service in and out of Pretoria to the United States is mostly reliable. In the interior of the country, where most of the Volunteers are located, phones are fewer in number and of decreased reliability. Volunteers do not have residential phones; however, many Volunteers choose to buy cell phones or use public phones to make and receive international calls. They will be
able to inform you of the actual telephone numbers and the reliability of telephone service once they arrive at their permanent sites in the country.
The South Africa Desk maintains regular contact with the Peace Corps office in Pretoria through phone calls and e-mail. However, these communication lines are reserved for business only and cannot be used to relay personal messages. All communication between family members and the Volunteer should be done via international mail, personal phone calls, or e-mail. Many Volunteers are able to access e-mail at Internet cafes in larger cities and towns on a weekly or monthly basis, depending on their location.
3. Sending packages. Parents and Volunteers like to send and receive care packages through the mail. Unfortunately, sending packages can be a frustrating experience for all involved due to occasional thefts and heavy customs taxes. You may want to try to send inexpensive items through the mail, but there is no guarantee that these items will arrive. Even though many Volunteers choose to get local post office boxes, you may also use the following address to send letters and/or packages:
Ryan Monaghan
Peace Corps
PO Box 9536
Pretoria 0001
SOUTH AFRICA
It is recommended that packages be sent in padded envelopes or bubble envelopes if possible, as boxes tend to be taxed more frequently and might pose as a greater target for theft. For lightweight but important items (e.g. airline tickets), DHL (an express mail service) does operate in Pretoria. If you choose to send items through DHL, you must address the package to:
Country Director
c/o: U. S. Peace Corps
126 Verdoorn Street
Sunnyside 0028
Pretoria
SOUTH AFRICA
The phone number for the Peace Corps office in South Africa is (27) 12-344-4255, as DHL will need this information. If you send the item to the Country Director, no liability can be assumed. For more information about DHL, please call their toll free number, 1-800-CALL-DHL, or visit their web site at www.dhl.com. Other courier services may operate in Pretoria - DHL is only one possibility.
We hope this information is helpful to you during the time your family member or friend is serving as a Peace Corps Volunteer in South Africa. We understand how frustrating it is to communicate with your family member overseas and we appreciate your using this information as a guideline. Please feel free to contact us at the South Africa Desk in Washington, D.C. if you have any further questions. Our phone number is 1-800-424-8580, ext. 2255/2332/2333, or locally, 202-692-2255/2332/2333."
Lot of info there. I'll also be in training for about 7-8 weeks when I first get out there (we arrive on July 15th, and training doesn't end until Aug. 27th...my birthday.) During that time, I'm pretty much expecting to be completely unable to talk, but again I am not sure.
I will buy a phone in SA. I'll also have Skype; if my internet is working, I'll try and use Skype more but the phone should work either way. I'll post the phone number once I have it. My skype name is gerdlp1275 .
And yes, I suck at the phone, okay? But this experience will hopefully make me better.
Much love,
Ryan Monaghan
Here's some information about what to expect as far as communication. *NOTE* some of this stuff is fairly dated and may/may not apply to me. I don't know yet; living conditions in South Africa tend to vary greatly, I think. Mail/Phones should (hopefully) work pretty consistently; I'm hoping the internet will be the same way, but I can't say one way or the other.
"
Dear Prospective Volunteer: Please give this letter to your family and/or friends and ask them to hold on to it for as long as you are in South Africa.
July 2010
Dear Families and Friends,
Greetings from the South Africa Desk at the U.S. Peace Corps in Washington, D.C.! It is with great pleasure that we welcome you to the Peace Corps circle of friendship. We receive many questions from family members and friends of Volunteers about life in South Africa, so we would like to offer you advice and assistance in advance.
1. Irregular Communication. (Please see #3 for the mailing address to Peace Corps' office in Pretoria, the capital of South Africa) Mail from the United States to Pretoria is fairly reliable; however, mail service within South Africa is not as efficient and reliable. There is enormous variation in the time it takes for mail and packages to arrive at Volunteers’ sites. Generally, Volunteers find that they receive mail and packages from the United States two to four weeks after it has been sent. The same is true for sending mail from South Africa. Of course, there are exceptional cases in which a letter or a package might arrive within a shorter period or be substantially delayed. Some mail simply may not arrive. The destination of mail for Volunteers is as varied as the length of time it takes for mail to arrive.
We suggest that in your first letters you ask the Volunteer to give an estimate of how long it takes for him/her to receive your letters, and then try to establish a predictable pattern of how often you will write to each other. Also, try numbering your letters so that the Volunteer knows if he/she has missed one.
Being a Peace Corps Volunteer is a rewarding experience; however, there will also be times when Volunteers may write home telling of their "war" stories. Letters might describe recent illnesses, frustration with work, isolation, lack of resources, etc.
While the subject matter may be good reading material, it can often be misinterpreted on the home front. Volunteers have a wonderful support network in-country that includes counterparts and community members at their site, other Peace Corps Volunteers, as well as Peace Corps/South Africa staff. The Peace Corps’ highest priority is maintaining the health and safety of every Volunteer. Peace Corps/South Africa maintains a medical unit in Pretoria with two full-time medical officers, who care for the Volunteers’ primary health care needs. If the Volunteer requires medical care that is not available in South Africa, he/she will be medically evacuated to the United States. Fortunately, these are rare circumstances.
If for some reason your communication pattern is broken and you do not hear from your family member, you may want to contact the South Africa Desk or the Office of Special Services (OSS) at Peace Corps Washington at 1-800-424-8580, extension 1470.
Also, in the case of an emergency at home (death in the family, sudden critical illness, etc.), please do not hesitate to call OSS immediately, so that a message can be sent to the Volunteer. Use the above number during regular business hours (9:00 am to 5:00 pm Eastern Time, Monday through Friday). After hours, or during weekends, the Peace Corps Duty Officer may be reached at (202) 692-1470 and you will be transferred to an answering service. Tell the operator your name, telephone number, and the nature of the emergency and the Peace Corps Duty Officer will call you back.
2. Telephone Calls. The telephone system in South Africa is relatively good and service in and out of Pretoria to the United States is mostly reliable. In the interior of the country, where most of the Volunteers are located, phones are fewer in number and of decreased reliability. Volunteers do not have residential phones; however, many Volunteers choose to buy cell phones or use public phones to make and receive international calls. They will be
able to inform you of the actual telephone numbers and the reliability of telephone service once they arrive at their permanent sites in the country.
The South Africa Desk maintains regular contact with the Peace Corps office in Pretoria through phone calls and e-mail. However, these communication lines are reserved for business only and cannot be used to relay personal messages. All communication between family members and the Volunteer should be done via international mail, personal phone calls, or e-mail. Many Volunteers are able to access e-mail at Internet cafes in larger cities and towns on a weekly or monthly basis, depending on their location.
3. Sending packages. Parents and Volunteers like to send and receive care packages through the mail. Unfortunately, sending packages can be a frustrating experience for all involved due to occasional thefts and heavy customs taxes. You may want to try to send inexpensive items through the mail, but there is no guarantee that these items will arrive. Even though many Volunteers choose to get local post office boxes, you may also use the following address to send letters and/or packages:
Ryan Monaghan
Peace Corps
PO Box 9536
Pretoria 0001
SOUTH AFRICA
It is recommended that packages be sent in padded envelopes or bubble envelopes if possible, as boxes tend to be taxed more frequently and might pose as a greater target for theft. For lightweight but important items (e.g. airline tickets), DHL (an express mail service) does operate in Pretoria. If you choose to send items through DHL, you must address the package to:
Country Director
c/o: U. S. Peace Corps
126 Verdoorn Street
Sunnyside 0028
Pretoria
SOUTH AFRICA
The phone number for the Peace Corps office in South Africa is (27) 12-344-4255, as DHL will need this information. If you send the item to the Country Director, no liability can be assumed. For more information about DHL, please call their toll free number, 1-800-CALL-DHL, or visit their web site at www.dhl.com. Other courier services may operate in Pretoria - DHL is only one possibility.
We hope this information is helpful to you during the time your family member or friend is serving as a Peace Corps Volunteer in South Africa. We understand how frustrating it is to communicate with your family member overseas and we appreciate your using this information as a guideline. Please feel free to contact us at the South Africa Desk in Washington, D.C. if you have any further questions. Our phone number is 1-800-424-8580, ext. 2255/2332/2333, or locally, 202-692-2255/2332/2333."
Lot of info there. I'll also be in training for about 7-8 weeks when I first get out there (we arrive on July 15th, and training doesn't end until Aug. 27th...my birthday.) During that time, I'm pretty much expecting to be completely unable to talk, but again I am not sure.
I will buy a phone in SA. I'll also have Skype; if my internet is working, I'll try and use Skype more but the phone should work either way. I'll post the phone number once I have it. My skype name is gerdlp1275 .
And yes, I suck at the phone, okay? But this experience will hopefully make me better.
Much love,
Ryan Monaghan
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Time Flies
This may be long.
Have you ever heard the saying you can't go home again?
I think about that sometimes.
This morning, I woke up and, after a few seconds, realized that I now have almost exactly one week left in Florida before heading to Philadelphia and then flying out to South Africa. One week. Time flies.
Thinking about this made me home sick. Not the watered down, back of your mind desire interlaced with glimpses of old family or friends. No, I'm talking about a gut wrenching, real pain for a place that may not exist anymore, if at all. I have only felt this longing a few times before; the one time I remember most is the first day after moving into the college dormitory. It was the day I realized that life, for better or for worse, had abruptly changed and no matter the circumstances, could never change back to what it was. What I knew. What had seemed to finally become familiar, just as it ended.
That's how I felt today. For me, real homesickness has a very unusual symptom: a specific, vivid memory, of when I was about three years old, playing with pebbles behind my grandmother's house in Lake Worth. I remember trying to count all the pebbles I could fit between my fingers (I still do this. However, that's irrelevant to the story). I remember hearing an ambulance siren go off near the street. I don't know why it's this memory, but it always is. It fades quickly as I motivate myself, but the faintest lingering shadow remains.
What scared me is that I have become homesick before I have even left home. But what is home, really? The memories that I have from that day, as a three year old child, remain attached. That house is no longer there. The woods, last I had heard, had been torn down for new development. What I remember, what I can see in my mind, is no longer there. Perhaps that is what makes it real homesickness: not a longing for distant place or people, but a biting grief for a life and existence that no longer exists, and cannot again.
College has been wonderful to me. I remember thinking, after graduating high school, how amazed I was at the growth I had experienced in the last two years, with the close friends I had made (2004-2006). College has been that growth a hundred times over. To learn about yourself, to see your abilities and shortcomings and the minute details that make you unique amongst the world, is a humbling, humbling experience.
To write about what I've learned, and my own fledgling philosophy of the world nurtured by those experiences, is another blog post entirely. I may get around to it, may not. If you're ever interested though, I can always bore your ear off talking about it. Few things make me happier than contemplating the concept of existential purpose with others.
One thing I will say is that, as part of my philosophy, the most important (well, second most important) facet is to always grow, to try and understand the circumstances of others from their perspective and withhold judgement. This is why I joined the Peace Corps. I wanted to see culture from the culture's vantage, and not my own. Walk a mile in their shoes is cliche. That doesn't mean it's not true.
I could go on, but if you've read this far, you're already more patient than I could be. I'll finish off with this food for thought. I'm not religious (this is another post as well, or discussion if you'd like). However, I've read a lot of work by C.S. Lewis, the author of the Narnia series, and a devout philosopher of Christian thinking. One parable he offered for growth in life is that of a child in the womb: would the child choose to leave if they had a chance? The womb is warm, it is safe, food is provided. The space is comfortable, and the baby understands it. Outside, the world is strange. It is large, uncomfortable, and does not provide. Yet the opportunity for richer experience is so much greater still that life without birth could not really ever be considered life at all. The infant could never grow, it could never understand. As C.S. Lewis says, the parable fails only in that the infant has no choice but to be born. Often in our lives, he says, we do have the choice when opportunites for growth, at the expense of an existence we understand, arise. What would we choose?
That is how I feel now. I'm afraid, it's true. But if the opportunity to serve abroad enriches my experience and understanding of the world, that may just make it worth it. I leave home, specifically Gainesville, knowing that if I came back someday, the place I knew and understood would probably be gone. If not in location, than at least in the people and the meanings and feelings associated with the places I knew.
As Humphrey would say, we'll always have Gainesville.
I love all of my friends very much; it's the feeling that sends homesickness packing. With the internet, Skype, Facebook, on and on, connectivity stays constant. Our experiences change, but those who matter most, who care about me not because of my actions, choices or circumstances, but only because it's me, somehow always stick around.
You have been part of my life, and will continue to be so, no matter where our paths lead. You mean the world to me. :)
I'll try and stave off the sentimental drivel before I get too weepy. I don't always cry, but when I do, I prefer dos equis. Thanks for listening...feels good man.
It's been a RREAAALLL slice, Hercules.
- Monaghan
Monday, June 7, 2010
First Post
When I was thirteen and leaving middle school, I made two rules for myself:
1) I would never shave my legs.
2) I would never start a blog.
Times have changed. I've gotten older, thinner, and hairier. Maybe 13-year old Ryan would have a few choice words for me if I went back to see him now, like "Who the hell are you and why are you in my room?"
I guess I'll never know.
What I do know is that, in the next couple of weeks, I'll be departing the US and heading to South Africa as a Resource Specialist for the Peace Corps. I'll be teaching math to students in SA, and working with some of the teachers on outcome based learning. This blog'll give me and you (yes, YOU!) a chance to connect, and allow me to share some of the culture and my new life with friends and loved ones back home.
I'm excited, anxious and terrified. And now I'm blogging about it.
...Yikes.
-Monaghan
P.S. I still haven't broken rule number 1 yet. No promises, though.
1) I would never shave my legs.
2) I would never start a blog.
Times have changed. I've gotten older, thinner, and hairier. Maybe 13-year old Ryan would have a few choice words for me if I went back to see him now, like "Who the hell are you and why are you in my room?"
I guess I'll never know.
What I do know is that, in the next couple of weeks, I'll be departing the US and heading to South Africa as a Resource Specialist for the Peace Corps. I'll be teaching math to students in SA, and working with some of the teachers on outcome based learning. This blog'll give me and you (yes, YOU!) a chance to connect, and allow me to share some of the culture and my new life with friends and loved ones back home.
I'm excited, anxious and terrified. And now I'm blogging about it.
...Yikes.
-Monaghan
P.S. I still haven't broken rule number 1 yet. No promises, though.
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