You wouldn't believe how good some of these kids are at sports. Soccer, against an African backdrop. Red, the counselor from Monaco got to teach Sports. I was intensely envious, because he got to be outside everyday. Not that I'm any good at sports anyways, but I am an excellent timekeeper.
Saturday, September 25, 2004
Jekyll and Hyde.
My cabinmate Venda told me today that I'm the kindest person he's ever met. Me. Kind. If he only knew some of the awful thoughts that go through my head on a daily basis. Maybe it's because I'm actually happy here and it shows. Wayan told me the other day that he likes hanging out with me because I'm always "peppy". I started laughing. If my friends at home could only hear him. My college roommate once told me that she kinda likes the pessimism and sarcasm. She considers it part of my charm.
You wouldn't believe how good some of these kids are at sports. Soccer, against an African backdrop. Red, the counselor from Monaco got to teach Sports. I was intensely envious, because he got to be outside everyday. Not that I'm any good at sports anyways, but I am an excellent timekeeper.
You wouldn't believe how good some of these kids are at sports. Soccer, against an African backdrop. Red, the counselor from Monaco got to teach Sports. I was intensely envious, because he got to be outside everyday. Not that I'm any good at sports anyways, but I am an excellent timekeeper.
Friday, September 24, 2004
Thursday, September 23, 2004
The Big Day.
I met the kids today! Venda and Glasses are my co-cabin-counselors. The kids were shy at first, introducing themselves with small voices. But by lights out, they were rowdy and raucous. I'll never be able to remember all their names. The only ones I remember so far are the names of the bad ones, because I have to call them so often. "Siboniso! Don't run! Siboniso! No pushing!" Siboniso, coincidentally, is also the one who started running up to me anxiously saying things like, "Mammy! Mammy! Toilet!" and "Mammy! Juice!" Basically, when he doesn't need anything, he generally ignores me and makes himself a nuisance - like yelling "WAKE UP!" ten minutes after lights out, or pouting "No! I want to play!" when I tell him to get into bed. His older brother Karabo is a sweetheart and very eager to please. Very much the elder sibling, he responsibly came up with great Cabin Rules like "clean the bathroom" and "don't be mean". He also shushes the other kids when I'm talking and is concerned when we miss announcements because I was taking him to the toilet. "Glasses will tell us back at the cabin what the announcements were, right?"
A few of the kids were very homesick right off the bat. Two of them sprawled face down on the bed as soon as we got to the cabin and pulled their pillows over their heads. One of them dumped all his food onto another kid's plate and wouldn't eat, clutching onto this little white bear that had "I love you" embroidered onto it. Obviously, from his mom. Now that I'm a counselor, I question the value of such mementos as they only serve to push the already homesick child over the edge. I think they do more on the parental end for easing their anxiety about leaving their kids at camp. Most of the kids here are urban underserved, and a good amount are from children's homes. Out of the 12 kids in my cabin, 9 of them are from children's homes. Of the remaining 3, only 1 lives with his mother, and the other two live with siblings and without adult supervision. A social worker comes in to check on them once a week. Two of the kids are HIV positive.
I can't seem to get a grasp on how different underdeveloped countries are. Though my cabin is full of 10 year olds, a lot of them have trouble reading and writing. They're also a lot smaller than the 10 year olds in the States. I'd put them at age 6 or 7. Only some of them know their 2x tables, but camp friendships don't seem to mind such educational borders and boundaries as they became friends despite mathematical differences. Not knowing how to read and write doesn't mean they're not smart though. Upon arrival, we asked the boys if they had any questions before proceeding to the cabins. Karabo raised his hand and asked very seriously, "Are there lions here?" I answered very seriously back, "Good question. No lions. Just some spring buck."
One of my most glamorous moments today happened when I was trying to get Siboniso to drink some water. To convince him, I took a sip of it myself, going "Mmmm! So good!" before choking on it because it went down the wrong pipe.
PLil, the camp director, asked me whether we had a cabin name yet. I promised him we'd have one by tomorrow, so we asked the boys tonight what they'd like to be since being simply Cabin B is Boring. I thought they'd come up with the Bees, or the Buffalo! But instead, they came up with... Boxes. Bagels. And Beds. Finally after some more thought, Bums. I told them their homework was to think about it during dinner. Right before lights out, they came up with... Boys. Evidently, Venda, Glasses, and I will have to pick a name for them tomorrow. As it is, I'm exhausted and it's only 10 pm.
You wouldn't believe how much food these kids can inhale. I asked one of them incredulously, "Do you eat this much at home?" He paused between shoveling food into his mouth and said "No." He drinks a glass of water for breakfast. He only gets one small bowl for lunch. And for dinner, he eats 2 pieces of white bread with water. Having 3 meals a day at camp was incredible for these boys, and they ate each meal like it was their last. After the meal, they kept pulling their shirts up to show each other how big their bellies were. This Cabin B-er is also wearing my watch. I wasn't aware at the time, but my 7 dollar indiglo watch that lights up at night made me an instant hit with the boys.
A few of the kids were very homesick right off the bat. Two of them sprawled face down on the bed as soon as we got to the cabin and pulled their pillows over their heads. One of them dumped all his food onto another kid's plate and wouldn't eat, clutching onto this little white bear that had "I love you" embroidered onto it. Obviously, from his mom. Now that I'm a counselor, I question the value of such mementos as they only serve to push the already homesick child over the edge. I think they do more on the parental end for easing their anxiety about leaving their kids at camp. Most of the kids here are urban underserved, and a good amount are from children's homes. Out of the 12 kids in my cabin, 9 of them are from children's homes. Of the remaining 3, only 1 lives with his mother, and the other two live with siblings and without adult supervision. A social worker comes in to check on them once a week. Two of the kids are HIV positive.
I can't seem to get a grasp on how different underdeveloped countries are. Though my cabin is full of 10 year olds, a lot of them have trouble reading and writing. They're also a lot smaller than the 10 year olds in the States. I'd put them at age 6 or 7. Only some of them know their 2x tables, but camp friendships don't seem to mind such educational borders and boundaries as they became friends despite mathematical differences. Not knowing how to read and write doesn't mean they're not smart though. Upon arrival, we asked the boys if they had any questions before proceeding to the cabins. Karabo raised his hand and asked very seriously, "Are there lions here?" I answered very seriously back, "Good question. No lions. Just some spring buck."
One of my most glamorous moments today happened when I was trying to get Siboniso to drink some water. To convince him, I took a sip of it myself, going "Mmmm! So good!" before choking on it because it went down the wrong pipe.
PLil, the camp director, asked me whether we had a cabin name yet. I promised him we'd have one by tomorrow, so we asked the boys tonight what they'd like to be since being simply Cabin B is Boring. I thought they'd come up with the Bees, or the Buffalo! But instead, they came up with... Boxes. Bagels. And Beds. Finally after some more thought, Bums. I told them their homework was to think about it during dinner. Right before lights out, they came up with... Boys. Evidently, Venda, Glasses, and I will have to pick a name for them tomorrow. As it is, I'm exhausted and it's only 10 pm.
You wouldn't believe how much food these kids can inhale. I asked one of them incredulously, "Do you eat this much at home?" He paused between shoveling food into his mouth and said "No." He drinks a glass of water for breakfast. He only gets one small bowl for lunch. And for dinner, he eats 2 pieces of white bread with water. Having 3 meals a day at camp was incredible for these boys, and they ate each meal like it was their last. After the meal, they kept pulling their shirts up to show each other how big their bellies were. This Cabin B-er is also wearing my watch. I wasn't aware at the time, but my 7 dollar indiglo watch that lights up at night made me an instant hit with the boys.
Wednesday, September 22, 2004
Street cred.
My MD player has made me instantly popular. Being with the same 25 counselors for 3 days straight during training has made us bond faster than possible. Apparently, liking Black Eyed Peas and Outkast automatically makes me cool. I get to meet the kids tomorrow and I'm excited and nervous. My nights have been filled with all sorts of anxious dreams about losing puppies.
The counselor from next door, me, and my roommate.
The counselor from next door, me, and my roommate.
Tuesday, September 21, 2004
Even in Africa, some things don't change.
Today, sadly enough, seemed a little less amazing. Maybe the thrill of novelty wore off. Kinda like how by the second day of my safari, it was no longer "Oooo! Look!" and more of "Oh. Another giraffe." Or maybe it's simply because I've been cranky and tired all day. More staff training. More games. And a BBC video about the camp that made me cry. The day was saved though, by a fabulous conversation with Sideshow Bob, one of the South African counselors. Bob told me about South Sutu culture. Most interesting to me was the practice of putting prices on your daughters that's still current today. If Bob was to meet a girl he wanted to marry, he'd have to "buy" her from her family before he could do it, which is the complete opposite of every other culture I can think of where the woman's family pays a dowry to the man who wants to marry her. Despite the patriarchal nature of African societies, perhaps African women have an almost stronger role because they must be bought. Granted, that smacks of slavery, but having a price on your head for your hand in marriage is still a step up from your parents paying someone to take you away - which is pretty much what a dowry is. In fact, in Africa, if you get a girl pregnant and decide not to marry her, you have to pay her family for the "damage".
Even more jarring was the realization that its not just the campers here who are from the inner city, but many of the counselors as well. I found out over dinner today that Wayan never met his father. He doesn't even know who his father is. Him, his brother, and his sister all have different fathers, and this is a common scenario in African culture. Because it's so prevalent, it doesn't carry the same social stigma that it does in Western culture. I don't know why it was so startling for me to hear Wayan tell me that. But I suppose there's a difference between knowing a fact and seeing it. So many assumptions are made on a daily basis that the people you meet are similar to you. I found out tonight that Bob's mother as well is a single mother of two - also from different fathers. As Bob is one of my favorite people so far, it was a little strange to hear that he comes from such a dramatically different background. Besides being relatively good looking and funny, he also hasn't ever gone to college, doesn't have a job, and is 22. Yes, I'm finally getting old enough that there exist "younger men" over the age of 21. He's even younger than my ex boyfriend. Like most girls, I caught myself dilly-dallying down a path of daydreaming in which we dated and he came to visit me in the U.S. I realized quickly that it'd be a Sweet Home Alabama sort of situation, except I wouldn't move to South Africa to be with my down-home sweetheart. Bob is very cute and attractive at camp in South Africa, but I have no qualms that placing him in a New York or Philadelphia setting would be bizarre. Though I think my friends would be impressed by his good looks, I have to conclude 2 days after meeting him that sadly - we are never meant to be together. He has that strange boyish appeal I was attracted to back when I was 15. I'm surprised at the reversion to prior "types". Since then, I've developed a taste for solid manly bodies. One with a bit of heft. I'd rather have a man with a paunch than a skinny boy.
Many Africans believe that worms live in the condoms, or that they're too small to fit. So, during counselor training, each group was given a condom, and we were told to fill it with whatever we wanted - leaves, twigs, water, or in our case, air. Washington shows exactly how big a condom can get.
Even more jarring was the realization that its not just the campers here who are from the inner city, but many of the counselors as well. I found out over dinner today that Wayan never met his father. He doesn't even know who his father is. Him, his brother, and his sister all have different fathers, and this is a common scenario in African culture. Because it's so prevalent, it doesn't carry the same social stigma that it does in Western culture. I don't know why it was so startling for me to hear Wayan tell me that. But I suppose there's a difference between knowing a fact and seeing it. So many assumptions are made on a daily basis that the people you meet are similar to you. I found out tonight that Bob's mother as well is a single mother of two - also from different fathers. As Bob is one of my favorite people so far, it was a little strange to hear that he comes from such a dramatically different background. Besides being relatively good looking and funny, he also hasn't ever gone to college, doesn't have a job, and is 22. Yes, I'm finally getting old enough that there exist "younger men" over the age of 21. He's even younger than my ex boyfriend. Like most girls, I caught myself dilly-dallying down a path of daydreaming in which we dated and he came to visit me in the U.S. I realized quickly that it'd be a Sweet Home Alabama sort of situation, except I wouldn't move to South Africa to be with my down-home sweetheart. Bob is very cute and attractive at camp in South Africa, but I have no qualms that placing him in a New York or Philadelphia setting would be bizarre. Though I think my friends would be impressed by his good looks, I have to conclude 2 days after meeting him that sadly - we are never meant to be together. He has that strange boyish appeal I was attracted to back when I was 15. I'm surprised at the reversion to prior "types". Since then, I've developed a taste for solid manly bodies. One with a bit of heft. I'd rather have a man with a paunch than a skinny boy.
Many Africans believe that worms live in the condoms, or that they're too small to fit. So, during counselor training, each group was given a condom, and we were told to fill it with whatever we wanted - leaves, twigs, water, or in our case, air. Washington shows exactly how big a condom can get.
Monday, September 20, 2004
Day 1 of Camp. Counselor Training.
It's been the most amazing experience and I'm less than 24 hours into it. I've always felt a bit odd that Africa didn't feel as foreign to me as I thought it would, but today - today I gained a peep into the true voice and face of Africa through the singing and drumming and dancing that went on in the bus. The energy was just incredible, and I felt this tremendous sense of gratitude and disbelief that I was given the opportunity to witness this and be a part of it. The other counselors are very friendly and open. I've noticed that Westerners in general are much more reserved with strangers and much less warm than what I've experienced here. If I was on a bus full of Western counselors, we'd probably all be making polite chitchat with each other, generating a low buzz, not the hand-clapping drum-beating toe-tapping singing-and-dancing I saw today. Plus, the ability to improv is amazing. I can see the roots of hiphop and rap in the singing of these Africans - many generations and an ocean removed from African Americans, but sharing still the beats that are the foundation of their music. And the improv, oh God the improv. None of the music I heard today was scripted or practiced before. It was all done on-the-fly. Words cannot describe how incredible it was and I can't help but feel like I'm doing it a gross injustice by even trying to describe it. Even as someone who doesn't have African roots, I can feel the beats resonating in my body, as if it was speaking to me on a more primal human level that race doesn't even approach. Africa is the motherland after all. I find it interesting that a lot of African sayings are similar to ours. "You can see a rose. With thorns. Or you can see the thorns. With a rose." The majority of the counselors are from Soweto. There are 7 different cultural groups there and 7 different languages. This means that most Soweto inhabitants know all 7 languages plus an eighth one of "street talk" which is a mixture of the 7. Plus English. It makes you wonder who's really more educated.
One of the counselors gave me an African name. Palesa. Which means flower. Being 1 of 5 girls at a boys' camp means I get a lot of attention I'm sure I don't deserve. Am too tired to write more. Feeling incoherent.
One of the counselors gave me an African name. Palesa. Which means flower. Being 1 of 5 girls at a boys' camp means I get a lot of attention I'm sure I don't deserve. Am too tired to write more. Feeling incoherent.
Sunday, September 19, 2004
Irish friends.
I've managed to remedy the tragedy of losing a pen by getting one from the hostel, only to replace it with an even greater tragedy - I lost my Let's Go guide book. I met 3 irish boys at the bar on Friday night and decided to go with them on the Panorama Route. Sean, Davey, and Emmet were their names. I handed my guide book to Emmet in the navigator seat as a supplemental map and never managed to get it back. This may quite possibly top the losing of a pen. The stores are all closed already (we got lost on the way back and ended up driving up a mountain). I suppose I'll just play it by ear. At Funky Monkey's, I met and hung out with the guy who's writing the Alternative Route guide book to hostels in South Africa. Very cool Brit guy. The 6 hour ride from nelspruit back to Pretoria was bad. Not for any discernible reason besides that I was cranky, tired, and irritable. I'm back at Pretoria Backpackers, minus a travel guide, minsu a USB memory card, minus a usable sleeping bag liner. Checked into a dimly lighted dorm room. Still have to:
1. call malealea lodge to arrange blomfontein transfers
2. arrange plane ticket from port elizabeth back to jo'burg
3. arrange train tickets to blomfontein
Blyde River Canyon.
1. call malealea lodge to arrange blomfontein transfers
2. arrange plane ticket from port elizabeth back to jo'burg
3. arrange train tickets to blomfontein
Blyde River Canyon.
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