Separated by a common language...

A week or so ago, Wendy had friends in from Exeter, UK.   We went out to dinner and there was a bit of a communication breakdown with the waitress, who was speaking English, though accented.

It hit me that we had South African (first-language) English, American English, British English, and South African (2nd language) English all at the table, and it made me think of the differences I've picked up between the versions spoken in the USA and RSA.  I may add to this list as time goes on:

• Yeah-no. (Also Afrikaans ja-nee, and hybrid ja-no).  It's an interjection used to acknowledge something before making your comment.  An example I heard on the radio: "And then there's the news from the weekend. What about Amy Winehouse passing away?" "Yeah-no, that was a tragedy."
• "Pleasure." When I was here last with the kids from ISD, they were amused that the response to "Thank you" wasn't "You're welcome," or any of the other nonsense we say, but "Pleasure."  I've heard some interesting variations, my favorite being one from Wendy's mother, when thanked for pet/house-sitting: "It's only a pleasure."  How civilized. 
• "Must."  Here, you don't "have to" or "need to" or even "should do". You "must."  You must take a shower before Anna starts laundry if you want consistent hot water. You must try new foods.  You must get petrol when you can.  You must get DVDs for quiet nights at home.  You must learn how to use that word.
• Learned on a previous visit: "Blah blah fishpaste."  A slightly more jarring version of "yada yada yada."
• Robots. Not traffic lights, not red lights. Robots.
• For the complete list of South-Africanisms, Wendy provided this link:  http://www.joburg.org.za/index.php?option=com_content&do_pdf=1&id=169&limitstart=1&limit=1 

Then there are the cultural differences:

• Tea.  Gotta love it. And we agree that the best tea in the world is that made by someone else.  I should buy one of their electric tea kettles to take back.
• Tipping in parking lots.  This still throws me a little. There are parking lot attendants who make sure that your car is safe, and who help you in and out of spaces.  They get a few rand for their help.
• Avocados.  Such a versatile fruit, or vegetable, or something.  A while back I stopped for lunch in a pizza place and got a "New Orleans" pizza:  bacon, tomato, avocado, and garlic. I'm not sure how that combination says "New Orleans!" to me, but it was damned good.  Avocado and butter sandwiches. Avocado and anything sandwiches. Avocados, period.
• Stick shifts.  Bless their hearts, but those people at the rental car place think that I'll be returning my car with transmission intact.  I can grind gears in most major keys, and a few minor ones.
• Full service gas stations.  When's the last time an American saw one of those??
• Driving on the other side of the road. I'm used to it now. Hope I can adjust back, or there's going to be trouble.

Of gas and gas: Our tanks runneth under

If anyone wanted to see a story about my going to Our Lady of Lost in the Wilderness in Putfontein this morning, my apologies.  But I'm sitting on a hot commodity for South Africans now that can't be squandered: a full tank of gas.  And by full, I mean brimming with a whole 35 liters of gas. That's 9 -- count 'em, NINE -- gallons of fuel.

I can't find the article with the statistics I wanted, but there are something like 1200 gas stations in this province, which includes Johannesburg and Pretoria.  150 reported the other day that they had no gas, but the news suspected that some stations reported nothing, in fear of retaliation. The real number could be between 200 and 250.

So… after Wendy took a trip to pick up Mike and The Boy, she reported that gas stations seemed to be belly-up for the morning. The problem is that the petroleum workers are striking, and the trucking industry workers are also striking. If there are supplies, they're not going to get anywhere.

Striking truckers also means that nothing that travels by truck is going anywhere. Wendy made a trip to the grocery store today to find a drastically dwindling supply of items.  Panic buying.  This could be bad.

Then there's the other gas shortage..

Central heating doesn't exist here.  Some South Africans use electric heaters, some natural gas heaters, and some just brave the elements.

A week or so after I got here, the natural gas (those little tanks we use for gas grills) became scarce.  It wouldn't have been so painful to accept if the industry, I'm told, hadn't burned off excess supplies in summer.  And, in a fit of business wisdom, they shut down the plant for routine maintenance.

Routine maintenance. Of the gas refinery.  At the winter solstice. When many use the product as their main supply of heat.

Sweet.

Now… remember that trucking strike above?  The gas that's available isn't getting anywhere.

We had three empty bottles of gas and were nursing the last bottle in one remaining heater as of Thursday.  Wendy, with a great sense of humor tinged with an acceptance of defeat, called some area suppliers. One said that he orders 150 tanks per day, and he was getting 20/week.  A number of people pre-paid for their gas two weeks ago, and haven't gotten anything.  It's turned the populace into scavengers, foraging for any source of gas.

That same day, we went to pick up Mike (the gardener) to bring him here, and because he wanted cigarettes, we took a small detour.  On the way back, Wendy caught sight of a gas station getting a delivery of natural gas bottles; the delivery truck was pulling away.

I tease the she made the turn into the station on two wheels. Not a total exaggeration. Tried to buy four bottles outright, but the man was doing only trade-ins.  Damn it!

The Amazing Race hasn't seen such driving as we did from there to home, and back.  We had two little boys in the car, and didn't QUITE throw them out of the car while making room for bottles and loading up empties, but I'm not sure they knew what hit them, either.

So… gasoline for the cars? Check.

Gas for heat?  Check.

Groceries to wait out the siege?  Check.

If you see stories on the news about shortages, we are, for now, sitting pretty.

For now.

***
Wendy reminded me, in her comment, that I forgot to mention the Bush Telegraph that went into effect:


"He he. Jimmy you failed to communicate the knock in effect, I called my brother who rushed out to exchange his LP gas, my cousin called me while we were trying to load up the bottle and she then told a friend who had also been struggling to get gas, and she told a friend and she told a friend .... the wires went crazy."

Norah: Queen of Putfontein

As you may have gathered, the bane of my existence in working with the Arks under Noah has been finding them.  How many red lights (robots, in South African English) was I supposed to go through?  If I'm going through 2 four-way stops, are you counting the 2 three-way stops that I went through, or was one of them a "four"-way stop?  (Yes, for the record.)  Contact numbers for managers, with numbers in the wrong order. Oy.

The first week that I was to go to Putfontein Ark, the organization sent someone to meet me and guide me in. That was the week that it took 90 minutes to find her.  I was looking for Norah's creche (day care center) as the meeting point. I asked at a gas station, a police station, a scrapyard, a random general store, and some business that I turned in to thinking it was the right place, but clearly wasn't.  How was I to know that the woman standing on the road, near a driveway that led a quarter mile to an unmarked building (the creche)… the woman I passed about 8 times... was my contact?

I'll never make a good spy.

The Putfontein Ark is one that is in informal settlement (think Squatter Camp).  Unlike Actonville, which at least has somewhat-organized streets, Putfontein, in the area of the Ark, is a haphazard scattering of houses. Just weave in between buildings, driving on what could be a road, could be a footpath, could be a gulley for water runoff, and thank your lucky stars for a teeny car.

I also spent, that first week, a good hour trying to find my way OUT of the settlement.  I knew that the boundaries weren't infinite and all roads had to lead to something in the way of an exit, but it was like driving in a hedge maze (think "The Shining").  When all the buildings around you are a mishmash of scap corregated metal, there's really not a lot to use as a landmark.

I never found the site again.  I went out on the next two Wednesday mornings, full of hope, which was eventually dashed.  But on those days, while I couldn't find my way to the center, I found my way out in roughly the same direction.  I decided this past Wednesday to try to START from the way that I had left.

It worked.  I took random turns, feeling my way back by instinct.  "It seems like it was this way. That tree looks potentially familiar.  I've seen men getting haircuts on the street corner before...Is that a road?"  Felt like a swallow returning to San Juan Capistrano.  Long and short of it, I made a random turn after following two sheep down a path, looked to my left, and there it was.

And there, I met Norah.

The Noah organization works by connecting with people in the communities who have some clout, identifying community needs, and getting the leaders to put the plans into action. Norah is ALL action.  On the site, there were the shipping containers commonly used by Noah as classrooms, offices, toilets, etc.  She was talking a mile a minute as she led me to another structure on the grounds, a large flimsy metal shack.  Inside, there were about twenty 20-somethings, clearly there for some sort of staff meeting.  And this is where Norah told me her story.

I am going to do this story from memory; there will be holes, gaps, and misinformation. But next Wednesday I'm going back and getting it all on tape, with her permission. Actually, she wants me to take the video back so that she can get invited to the US and raise some money. Here's why:

In '98, she went to a community water tap and found some kids playing nearby. Later the same day, she went back, and the same kids were there. It turns out that the kids' parents were off looking for work, which isn't uncommon. She found out that they hadn't eaten, and she took them home with her to share a loaf of bread.  The parents came home (with no job offers) and the kids went home.  The same thing happened the next day.  Eventually, the parents just left the kids in her care directly -- rather than having her find them left to their own devices. The home she was in she built herself from the normal metal sheets, but in her case she added a layer of insulation:  sand paper.  The roughly 12'x12' home was all she had.

Eventually, more parents left their kids with her, making her a de facto day care provider. Some left some food, the kids were fed, and they were safe.  When she got to 15-ish kids, she needed more room.  She was in Soweto, south of Johannesburg, and saw a larger-ish shelter, made of the same material.  She asked if the man was selling shelters, and he just gave it to her, once he heard her story.  According to Norah, that was perfectly fine -- she had no money anyway.

15 became 30... 30 became 50… and so on.  When her reputation spread, a "white man" donated a building and some land near the main road. (This was the daycare center that I couldn't find, mentioned earlier.)

In 2005, Noah came in and took over the daycare aspect and the education. She takes care of "after-care" for the most part.

Fast forward to now.  In the center where we were standing, they serve 140 daycare kids and 300 after-care kids.  The 20-somethings were her care coordinators, for lack of a better word. They're responsible for taking the kids to medical appointments, dealing with legalities and paperwork (who has a birth certificate, really?) school needs/uniforms/supplies, food and nutrition, shelter… and the list goes on.

The building that the man donated? Another 150 daycare kids (not funded by Noah), and I think 150 after-care.

The also pointed "over there" to another center, with 150 daycare kids, and 300 more aftercare. The care coordinators were EACH responsible for an average of 18 children and their families, for what families exist.

She also pointed out that "over there" they started a church of their own, saying that the need was there because several of the children in her care, orphans, passed away, and no church would bury them.  She invited me to come on Sunday to sing and dance with the rest of the congregation, which got laughs from her staff.  As I told them: don't dare me!

So… tomorrow morning I'll be looking for the Church of the Chosen in Putfontein. The directions I was given?

"You know the way you came in?  Did you see the sign for the clinic?  Good!  Don't turn right and go toward the clinic. Just go straight, and you'll find the church."

Is it marked? A sign? What's it look like??

"It's a brick building. You can't miss it." [The Ark is painted with bright colors, drawings of animals. I couldn't find that in a sea of gray shelters.]

But is there a sign?

"No. Everyone knows where it is… we just go."  [Well, everybody knows except the white guy from America.]

How far past the clinic sign?

"Oh, not far.  You'll see it."

Sigh.  Looking for the brick building with no sign or identifiable markings, just down the street from where I don't want to turn to go to the clinic.

I have three Sundays after this one to find it. If I DO, I was given permission to take pictures and video, so look for documentation on Facebook.

Wish me luck.

Ga-Ramoshoene

I had to think about this entry for a few days.  There are a lot of images bubbling around in what's left of my brain, and not sure how they'll eventually come out in text.

Last Thursday-Saturday, we took the Resident Little One to visit his grandparents and aunts in his mom's village, Ga-Ramoshoene. It's about 4 hours north of here, outside of the town of Polokwane/Pietersburg in the Limpopo province.

Wendy prepped me before we went, to some degree. It IS a rural village. Electricity, yes. Running water, not so much, but there is a well.  Outdoor "facilities."  All doable, right?  

Years ago, I overheard my friend Allyson describing the drive to my hometown in PA.  "You just keep driving, and you notice that civilization keeps dropping off.  Eventually, when you notice you're in the middle of nowhere, you turn left, go up a little hill, and a town appears out of nowhere, like Brigadoon."

Ga-Ramoshoene.

While a lot of the geography of this part of South Africa has a similarity about it (relatively flat plain, grassland), there's a definite change as you drive north.  Trees here are generally rather short, but they get more sparse as you go.  Mountains appear, but not necessarily as part of a range; you'll get one random mountain here, one there.  Steep, rocky sides.  We discussed whether it was some great upheaval in one spot, or an erosion of the rest of the world.

The roads go from wide highways… to two-lane roads….. to unpaved lanes.  And, as Allyson said, you make a left-hand turn and a village appears.  But unlike my hometown, unpaved roads, sheep in the yard, not much in the way of grass.

We were greeted by Phil's mother and father, followed by 3 sisters (Titi, Kolope, and Noko), and 2 very young nieces.  Long catch-up sessions, greetings by neighbors (or were they relatives??), and then a chance to watch the whole rural-village dynamic.

• women doing pretty much all the work (well, forget "pretty much")
• cattle coming down the street every once in a while
• interesting variation in housing:  some rather modern, others, less so
• dust. dust. more dust. Not a surprise, of course; been here before, but there just seemed so little vegetation to hold it down

The women were able, between the outdoor kitchen (with open fire) and the hotplates in the kitchen to whip up quite a feast… for 10 people. Wendy agonized over the fact that we got to meet our entree a few hours before dinner.  I tried not to think about it, but we did get to see her shortly after her demise, soaking in a pan of hot water.  

Friday was just a variation of activities.

Morning presented its challenges:

• Being presented with a large wash-tub with 3-4 inches of water for a bath
• A mug of water for brushing teeth.  (The Boy did show us the pile of rocks outside where teeth were brushed, when we got there)

First of all, the 3 sisters, Wendy and I went off to Polokwane for a short shopping run. Mr. Mashita, the patriarch, was sure it was about 25 km, and we'd be there in 20 minutes.  Never take directions from someone who doesn't drive.  Closer to 52 km, an hour. But no matter.  The area around the supermarket was lined with street vendors: hats, scarves, backpacks, fruit/veggies… anything and everything. How anyone made it through on foot was beyond me. But the general busy-ness was great to watch.  Insane traffic, intersections clogged with cars and not-so-defensive pedestrians.

Upon returning to the village, we took a sad side trip to The Boy's mom's cemetery, where he and her sister placed flowers on the grave. Yes, I know it's Africa. Yes, I know it's rural Africa. But the starkness of the  cemetery struck me.  Very small, with mounds of dirt marking the graves.  Less than half had headstones.   Sometimes, even when you're prepared a mental image of something, you're still not prepared for the reality.

We DID consider visiting the local witch-doctor/fortune teller, but ALL of Phil's sisters were up in arms over it.  She HATED that woman! She wouldn't speak to her!  Oops.  No swimming against THAT stream.

While the women cooked up another huge meal, Wendy and I took the kids for a long walk around the neighborhood to get them (and us?) out from underfoot.  Trips back and forth between outdoor/indoor kitchen, veggies everywhere, 

And mopane worms.

Titi spotted the worms in the veggie market and threw them into the cart.  It became a running joke all afternoon about who would(n't) eat them. Noko and Kolope both referred to them as "revolting."  I'll admit…. didn't look very inviting.  Titi eventually called me into the kitchen to show me how they're cooked. Boiled in water, twice, draining each time. They need to be re-hydrated.  Then, once that's accomplished, sautee in oil, add salt, and voila!

I was served four with dinner. I ate half of one. The Boy wasn't very interested in trying them, but I told him it tasted like nuts.  Not totally untrue, but I didn't tell him that it tasted like a nut that I'd rather never eat again.

Can't say I didn't try it.

Can say I'll look for it in my neighborhood supermarket in Indy.

I got up early Friday. As I was sitting outside, looking for sun to warm me up, two men entered the yard: Dan and Steven.  Now, in the tradition of nomenclature of relatives, I don't know if they were Mr. Mashita's brother/cousin/nephew/what.  All I can say is that Dan was older than Steven.  Were they even related to each other??  Don't know. All I caught along the way was that Dan said that Mr. Mashita called and said they have to come over and see Wendy/The Boy before the trip home. We went to visit their homes in a nearby village.  

Interesting contrast. One home was very small (2 rooms?), but another home is being built on the property. The foundation and the first few rows of bricks are down, but construction is stopped. According to Wendy, it's the normal pace. If one gets all the materials for building a house, they're are apt to be stolen; therefore, you get a little, build with that until that stage is depleted, get more… etc.

The other house, belonging to Steven (a police detective) was strikingly "western" and modern.  Tile floors, satellite tv, leather furniture.  Still wrapping my head around the contrasts.

Giddyap

Tonight, Wendy, Anna, Anna's grandson, and The Boy went to a steakhouse called "Spur."  Gotta love a steakhouse with a play area.

A few interesting notes:

• How interesting to see a Texas/cowboy/Indian themed restaurant in Africa… with an all black/African staff (including the kitchen staff) breaking from their duties on cue to line dance to "Hillbilly Rock, Hillbilly Roll."  It's a small world after all.
• Anna said, spontaneously, that she's coming to America to work for me :)  Wendy hit zero on the Amused Scale.

Anna's grandson is staying the week, since it's school holidays.  I've mentioned to some how dry South Africa is in winter, and that it takes on an especially dusty appearance.  Last night, after the two boys and a neighbor played outside ALL day, the boys took a bath together.  I've never seen such brown bath water!  Wendy and I got a good laugh out of it.  Clearly, a sign of a good day of outside play.

An Amazing Race-level misadventure:

Yesterday, my cell phone battery died. Plugged it in, but every time I checked this morning, it looked like it was taking no charge.  So, off I went to the Vodacom store in the mall. After waiting 3 days in 2 lines, handed over the phone and explained the situation. Is it the phone? the cord?  What??

She hit the power button and gave it back to me, saying, "It works."

So it seems.

Unsung Heroes

Today I made my way to an ark in Kingsway (the same one that I looked for for 2+ hours last Monday, and that I passed about 3 times today not realizing that it was the right place. But that's for another discussion.)

I saw the same basic setup, with classrooms for 5-6 year olds, 3-4 year olds, all working on the same basics that I saw last week. Most of it involves choral recitation of numbers, the alphabet, days o' the week, months o' the year, parts of the body, etc.  I even heard "Colors of the Robot (traffic light)" sung to the tune of Frére Jacques, which was pretty cool.  (yellow means be careful, yellow means be careful…).

It was also funny to see how my piss-poor knowledge of Zulu (and that assessment is generous) caught a few things: two teachers (last Friday in Wattville) were taking about the poster of basic shapes, and they referred to it as "amaShapes." They saw me looking funny. To my knowledge, "ama" is one of the Zulu markers for plural nouns.  I had to ask, "Did you just mention 'shapes' with both Zulu and English plurals?"  But I digress.

Back to today's ark.

The ark manager gave me a history of this ark.  Some of the dates/facts/numbers might be a little off, because my mind was boggling. She herself started this daycare in 2005, in a house of about about 20'x30', at best  There were ONE HUNDRED kids, ages 1 to 5, all being taught, cared for, protected, and fed by SEVEN staff members, who, I'm sure, were volunteers. They saw that the kids in their immediate neighborhood were being neglected, and they took action.  I stopped her several times along the way.

• "But 100 kids, with all the care (diapers, feedings) that a kid 1 to 3 needs"  Yes.
• "And you were able to feed them daily?"  Yes, the house had 100 kids, but a kitchen in a corner that we used to feed them.
• "One house?" Yes, with one bathroom. We made 'do' with buckets in the yard.

Eventually, funding came through to set up this day care center, with the government funding the after-school program, and Noah funding the classrooms. But because the requirements for each are different, regarding credentials/space/funding, they co-exist on one property.

I saw the after-school program for a bit, with kids from ages 6-9, more or less. Now, the school term ended last Friday, and they're on holiday for about 3 weeks.   Yet the kids were here, most in school uniform, still learning.

According to the Ark manager?  It's a safe place.  If they were at home, they could be abused, neglected,  in the presence of drugs and drug dealers…   At least here, from 9 to 2 every day, nothing could happen, and they were fed breakfast and lunch. She even pointed at a house across the street, in full view of the center, not 20 yards for the gate.  "They use THAT house for smoking drugs, all the time."

Her request from me had nothing to do with literacy. I had already made my little suggestions to the teachers in the classroom for steps to go for next, and I trust the teachers can take them, leave them, run with them, etc. They're doing a great job.

She wants me to come in for the after-care program and talk about issues:  Drugs. Poverty. Cleanliness/Hygiene/Environment.  Career goals. Abuse. Rape.  Safety.

It's going to get interesting.

Last week, Wendy and I were discussing the basic theme of what I saw and heard today: that there is so much need, and so few resources.

The women I've found at the Arks illustrate this story perfectly:

The Starfish

Based on the story by Loren Eisley...
I awoke early, as I often did, just before sunrise to walk by the ocean's edge and greet the new day. As I moved through the misty dawn, I focused on a faint, far away motion. I saw a youth, bending and reaching and flailing arms, dancing on the beach, no doubt in celebration of the perfect day soon to begin. 

As I approached, I sadly realized that the youth was not dancing to the bay, but rather bending to sift through the debris left by the night's tide, stopping now and then to pick up a starfish and then standing, to heave it back into the sea. I asked the youth the purpose of the effort. "The tide has washed the starfish onto the beach and they cannot return to the sea by themselves," the youth replied. "When the sun rises, they will die, unless I throw them back to the sea." 

As the youth explained, I surveyed the vast expanse of beach, strectching in both directions beyond my sight. Starfish littered the shore in numbers beyond calculation. The hopelessness of the youth's plan became clear to me and I countered, "But there are more starfish on this beach than you can ever save before the sun is up. Surely you cannot expect to make a difference." 

The youth paused briefly to consider my words, bent to pick up a starfish and threw it as far as possible. Turning to me he simply said, "I made a difference to that one." 

I left the boy and went home, deep in thought of what the boy had said. I returned to the beach and spent the rest of the day helping the boy throw starfish in to the sea.

From http://www.rogerknapp.com/inspire/starfish.htm

My Conscience

There's another member of the household that I haven't talked about: Anna.

Anna is Wendy's housekeeper, a sweet, sweet lady who is the backbone of the house.  The other day, I referred to Anna as my "conscience."  When I leave for the misadventures of the day, I try to make sure that everything in my room is just perfect, so that Anna won't really have anything to do.

No matter how good I think I am, everything is arranged absolutely perfectly when I get back, to a degree I never would have considered.

I was told tonight that Anna asked if everything was okay, and if I was happy/satisfied.

Pfft.  I'm wondering if there's grant money left over to bring her back to Indy.