*This is an update of the past few weeks, I haven't had internet-- so I cover the last few weeks at once! Sorry!
As we say in South Africa, “Eish!”… So, the past week was difficult—as predicted. Monday started off with a very depressing staff meeting where we decided how we were going to solve the “issue of the school garden.” It ended inconclusively. As depressing as it was to hear a lack of interest I completely understand! Teachers at my primary school are already spread incredibly thin! They have to educate classes of 50-80 students who are at completely different levels of comprehension (not to mention the age range of students; example, there is a 17-year-old 4th). Because there is no school nurse or counselor they also take on responsibilities like: administering ARVs (HIV/AIDS medication) to students at school, they also make sure that the 246 Orphans/Vulnerable children at our school have food at home, as well as encounter many instances where children come to school and tell their teacher that they are abused at home. Oh yeah, then there are the typical “school issues” including: lack of funding for programs, decaying/ broken infrastructure, bullying, and classroom management. I don’t blame them for being showing a lack of enthusiasm over school gardening projects. Unfortunately, due to a lack of resources, and a plethora of issues that typically arise out of poverty—their priorities are where they need to be. I constantly battle to find a way to help create a sustainable difference. It’s difficult not to fill a void for several reasons. One is selfish: when a volunteer fills a void they have a role, and feel purposeful and needed. It feels good. The other reason it’s difficult not to fill a void is because there is a lot of pressure from teachers and management for Peace Corps volunteers to just “do this task” (like type up a letter, make copies, write something in English). However, that void would be a void again at the end of my Peace Corps service. The only difference is that I would only dig the hole deeper, and the lack of my presence at the end of the two years might actually do damage. One has to be very thoughtful about the tasks they do, and the role that they play in “building capacity” it’s about empowering the people, and not being short sighted. It’s just hard not to fill these voids—there are too many to count.
Anyways, to add to it all, but without divulging too much information: on Monday things with our family got a bit more difficult. Jabulo (the oldest boy, age 17), was suspended from school… This was extremely embarrassing for the family because the community knows Sibu (Buddy) and I as teachers. The community also knows our Mkhulu (grandpa) as a vey respected elder in the village, and our Gogo (grandma) as a very integrated spiritual leader. The Mnisi family (our surname) is not wealthy by any stretch of the imagination, but we are respected.
Jabu is clearly working out some issues. And the community sees Jabulo as our “child”, because of age and our marital status. It is the “role” that we have in our family (but its not the same way that most would see a parent figure from an American perspective). Anyway, I don’t think that pressure of “parents as teachers” is helping him. Especially since we have only been a part of his life for almost a year, though it feels much longer than that. I am growing extremely worried about him (in the same way I worry about many young men trying to understand the difference between “being a man” and “being a good man”). This is like making a choice between what is right, and what is easy. And in a country where like expectancy is 47-years-old doing “what is easy” may even seem like that only real option.
He is at a very vulnerable age. He needs to see how to navigate the dangers of “thug life” as they refer to it in South Africa. Thug Life ( Th a-ug lif) n. —meaning a life of crime, sex, violence, and easy money. This life also strongly associated with hegemonic African-American culture seen in rap videos (which are always on TV). It often includes drugs, alcohol, and teen pregnancy… There are so many challenges for men, and so much pressure for men to fit this mold. Being a Black man in South Africa is especially challenging for men like Jabulo (an orphaned boy who takes care of his two grandparents). He sees few options, and the life he sees in music videos looks really great. At 17 he is forced to make very adult decisions that most 17-year-olds are not prepared to make. The whole family is worried for him, and you can feel it around our house. It’s just taxing—on the family, but mostly on Jabulo.
Ok, if you are feeling depressed you might want to take a break from reading for a while and come back to this later.
*insert Debbie Downer’s “wah, wah, wah” here… This section is crap. Literally.
So, all of these other issues I encountered Monday were really just the tip of the ice burg, because there was something even more severe brewing under the surface. On Monday evening I started feeling a new level of “bad”… I have been having some, how do I put it lightly, “stomach issues”. These had been kind of on-and-off for about 2 weeks time. However, Monday night shit got real… Literally if you know what I mean… You know, the kind of cramps that wake you up at night and force you to double over, and the kind of diarrhea that makes you think you left part of your intestines in the pit-toilet, and the kind of pain doesn’t even allow you to have a proper cry—your eyes just water on their own.
If you are like me and happen to be with a someone who loves you unconditionally—then the worst part of your illness is seeing the look on their face. Unlike almost everything else, Buddy can’t fix this—he has to watch the whole thing unfold. Having been in his position before I can say with confidence that though I felt horrible, I think he suffered far more.
I spent Tuesday and Wednesday within sprinting distance of the pit-toilet. The Peace Corps Medical Doctor advised me to let it try “resolve itself”. Which in most cases is the way to go. These episodes are a typical experience for Peace Corps Volunteers all over the world—quite frankly, I just felt like it was my turn.
Though this was horrible, one of the great things that happened was that Gogo and Mkhulu would come to check on me while Buddy was at school (I made him go). Gogo would come over and sing African Spirituals followed by a prayer. And Mkhulu would come over mainly to make me laugh (I think)… haha. I told him that I was going to try to walk up to the store to get some cold drink (what they call pop/soda). He STRONGLY insisted that he give me a ride—in his newly restored 1978 Ford Pickup. To call this car a “death trap” would be gracious… Anyways, as we drove down our “driveway” we got stuck in the sand trying to get onto the dirt road. Mkhulu told some younger men walking by that they must push us (when you are an Mkhulu you can pretty much do/say/demand whatever you want, age is highly respected). After the scraping sounds under the car had ceased and we were on the “road” Mkhulu looked at me and smiled his toothless grin and said, “Thandi (my name), I got no hand breaks!” He then squinted his left eye (the one he can’t see out of due to cataracts), and drove down the street. A small group of my grade 3 learners saw his care driving down the street and sprinted into the ditch. I’ve never seen such little legs move so fast! I arrived at the store (which is 1 k down the road), and instead of the traditional greeting of “sawubona sesi”, Mama Mbuyane said, “Thadni, ulungile?” (Em, are you alright?). I just started laughing, the cold drink was on the house—and Mkhulu and I managed to get back home: hand-break-less.
On Thursday I was still ill and had developed a case of what I have come to call “the wicked shits”. The Peace Corps Medical staff told me to make my way to a private hospital in the area. They pumped me full of drugs (I've never had so many in my life), and they accidently gave me not one, but two pain reliever shots! I had a big fat smile on my face as I stumbled out of the hospital. I wasn't feeling the best when I left the hospital, but they said I should give it a few days and I should feel better...
However, a week later and I wasn't feeling better. Same symptoms, a new case of reactive arthritis, and I started mysteriously throwing up bubbles. On Tuesday evening a car was sent from Peace Corps headquarters in Pretoria 4 hours to my house in Clau-Clau. And I was taken into the capital. My body couldn’t have chosen a worse time to get sick. There were 3 public holidays on this week and most offices has shut down for the entire week. I saw the Peace Corps medical doctor, but had to wait until the next week to see a G.I. specialist.
My "GI guy" as I like to refer to him was a really nice Afrikaans man. He said that the best thing for me to do was to be admitted to a private hospital where they could do a bunch of x-rays, and put a much needed IV in me. By the end of the week the reactive arthritis cleared up, and many of my stomach issues resolved themselves. However, the GI guy said that my body had been under some serious stress the past month and that I would be healing for some time...
So, that is where I have been the past few weeks (month)... However, I'm excited to get back to Clau-Clau this week and get back to work. I miss my community, and my husband a lot!
